I don't know if it is the lighter mornings, her skin being itchy or the fact that she still insists on wearing a nappy, but she is wide awake for the dawn chorus.
4am this morning I was changing her soggy nappy, creaming her skin and trying to get her to settle back down. "I want a muwky" (milky) is all she will say, and like a digital alarm clock, it gets louder and louder until, for fear of waking the rest of the house at such an ungodly hour, you hit the snooze button and give in "well just a little one". She always promises she will stay in bed with bear whilst I go downstairs to get it, and every time she is in the kitchen with me before the microwave beeps.
Then we have "I want Misser Maker" (CBeebies Mister Maker art show) which gets louder and louder until ... well just a quick one. It's no wonder I look like her grandmother dropping her off in the morning. I feel old and grey (skin not hair) and can't understand where she gets her energy. You would think she would drop like a stone after a fun morning eating playdough at pre-school but she can tough it out until gone 3pm which is when I need to get her sister and so have to poke her to keep her awake. A number of times I have been making their tea and realised she has finally crashed out about an hour and a half before bedtime, so after a nice refreshing power nap she is up and bouncing again and the last place she wants to be is bed.
Roll on the teenage years when I will have to prise her out of bed with a crow bar - only another fifteen years to go - yay!
Friday 6 June 2008
Craft Crazy
Her sister is an extremely gifted young artist. Her drawings were chosen for the front cover of the School Fete and Christmas Carol programmes. Her latest achievement was being featured in a crafting magazine, which I said makes her officially "published"!
It is very hard not to have the pens, paints, and all the accoutrements needed for some serious licking and sticking in the house. The trouble is Dais can spot a felt tip from a hundred yards and so our home is one huge installation piece and we have come to realise we will just have to wait until she leaves for college before getting the decorators in.
Not only does she express her creative flair anywhere but on paper, but her favourite medium is the body. As she suffers from eczema, this is particularly challenging. As the dutiful parents, we spend ages bathing and creaming her only to find she has ink stamped her legs, painted the soles of her feet and run across the "good rug" and has usually added a fresh scribble to a blank wall between bath and bed.
She won't let me brush her hair in the morning and screams "No! I luff my knots" spits the toothpaste onto the floor (or wipes it into the shaver's plug point on the wall) and usually goes to pre-school with glitter glue on at least one cheek.
Her teachers must think "there's that poor little sod that nobody loves ..."
It is very hard not to have the pens, paints, and all the accoutrements needed for some serious licking and sticking in the house. The trouble is Dais can spot a felt tip from a hundred yards and so our home is one huge installation piece and we have come to realise we will just have to wait until she leaves for college before getting the decorators in.
Not only does she express her creative flair anywhere but on paper, but her favourite medium is the body. As she suffers from eczema, this is particularly challenging. As the dutiful parents, we spend ages bathing and creaming her only to find she has ink stamped her legs, painted the soles of her feet and run across the "good rug" and has usually added a fresh scribble to a blank wall between bath and bed.
She won't let me brush her hair in the morning and screams "No! I luff my knots" spits the toothpaste onto the floor (or wipes it into the shaver's plug point on the wall) and usually goes to pre-school with glitter glue on at least one cheek.
Her teachers must think "there's that poor little sod that nobody loves ..."
The Great Flood
If it weren't for that mass of curly blonde locks, I could probably learn to discipline her. There is something so full of joy in the way she trashes everything we own. There is not a spiteful or malicious bone in her body.
I would be a rich woman indeed if I had a pound for every time I said "No! - Don't touch ... dirty/hot/dangerous/hurt the baby etc" She has absolutely no fear, and can't understand why I make such a fuss.
My father-in-law reminded me of a recent occasion we call "The Great Flood". She was supposedly brushing her teeth and I nipped out of the bathroom to attend to some minor but very quick job. I heard the characteristic gushing of water and called out the usual warning "Turn it down Dais ... not so much water" I came back into the bathroom within minutes and let out an involuntary scream as I watched the water flooding over the edge of the sink onto an already soaked bathroom carpet. I knew it was bad, as the carpet is usually cream and already it was a dirty beige from all that water. Instead of bursting into tears or jumping out of her skin at my outburst she just calmly looked around and said "Whatta matter wid you?"
Daddy and sister were down in the kitchen with bowls under each of the dripping light fittings, wildly mopping the skating rink that once was our laminate flooring whilst I was on my hands and knees pressing every clean towel we possess into the squidgy carpet and where was Dais? Jumping on my bed - of course!
I would be a rich woman indeed if I had a pound for every time I said "No! - Don't touch ... dirty/hot/dangerous/hurt the baby etc" She has absolutely no fear, and can't understand why I make such a fuss.
My father-in-law reminded me of a recent occasion we call "The Great Flood". She was supposedly brushing her teeth and I nipped out of the bathroom to attend to some minor but very quick job. I heard the characteristic gushing of water and called out the usual warning "Turn it down Dais ... not so much water" I came back into the bathroom within minutes and let out an involuntary scream as I watched the water flooding over the edge of the sink onto an already soaked bathroom carpet. I knew it was bad, as the carpet is usually cream and already it was a dirty beige from all that water. Instead of bursting into tears or jumping out of her skin at my outburst she just calmly looked around and said "Whatta matter wid you?"
Daddy and sister were down in the kitchen with bowls under each of the dripping light fittings, wildly mopping the skating rink that once was our laminate flooring whilst I was on my hands and knees pressing every clean towel we possess into the squidgy carpet and where was Dais? Jumping on my bed - of course!
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