A play on words.

I wanted to make something special for DH’s Christmas present, and in an attempt to out-do myself, I decided to make an even better photo frame than the last one.

I won’t take all the credit – I got this idea from Notonthehighstreet.com, but just wasn’t willing to splurge £49 for an assortment of arbitrary words. I do detest when random verbs are framed, like ‘laugh’, ‘smile’, ‘happy’, makes me want to throw a thesaurus at it.

Moving swiftly on – what you’ll need to buy is a 3D box frame, Scrabble letters (Ebay, of course) and glue.

Scrabble tiles

When you order your Scrabble tiles, make sure you read the description and check you’ve got all the letters you need. There’s a huge choice on Ebay, most are good but some are a bit naff and only provide vowels or one letter in particular. Read the small print.

3D box photo frame

As for the photo frame, obviously make sure it’s a 3D box frame, but also that it comes assembled. I didn’t read the small print <slaps wrist> and bought a frame that came in parts. This was from Ebay too, but there are also quite a few on Amazon.

3D box photo frame

Hopefully you won’t have to do this part – but I had to screw in the border to hold the glass in place. Luckily DH’s drill/screw driver thing was lying around and I managed to work it out. This was definitely the hardest part, but I’m a bit pathetic not one for DIY.

drawing

Next I placed one of DS’s drawings under the template for the frame, drew around and cut it. Obviously you can use a different background, or just keep it plain.

drawing

I had to make sure the tiles fit before I glued everything down. I spent fifteen minutes searching for glue to no avail, so I gave up and used flooring adhesive…

Scrabble photo frame

When the glued had dried, I placed the frame on top and sealed it. Here’s the frame on my wall (before I stashed it away from DH’s sight).

Scrabble photo frame

Deeda is what DS has called DH since he was tiny; it’s Daddy backwards. It’s not the most imaginative sentence in the word, but a sentence it is nevertheless.

Scrabble photo frame

Merry Christmas!

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Going potty over pants.

So I’ve been a bit neglectful of my blog over the past three months recently, but for real good reasons. Honestly.

My time has been mainly consumed by house-hunting (don’t even get me started on this) and potty-training – as well as the chaos that is my everyday life. Training a 2.5 year old boy to urinate and excrete in the ‘right’ place wasn’t an easy ride, there have been tears on both sides. I say ‘right’ with inverted commas, because, in DS’ mind, who am I to decide where is and isn’t appropriate to take a p*ss when over the 200,000 years since humans graced the earth, the majority of the population have let go wherever they so please. I can only imagine that kind of philosophical thinking in a 2.5 year old has such a deep and wonderful meaning that it occurs in the most condensed and simplest form.

So we played hardball with potty training, mainly because I only had 5 days where I wasn’t working so I didn’t have endless weeks to faff around. We didn’t leave the house for four days, until we felt we could trust DS would give us some kind of indication of needing the toilet. Even then we only went to other people’s houses, as the stress of venturing anywhere public was inconceivable.

I won’t give a blow-by-blow account of DS’ toilet habits, but he very quickly learnt to use the potty and the toilet (hurrah!). At home, when he is out the house with us or looked after by Grandma, he doesn’t have accidents at all. At nursery, he does use the potty for wees but it seems to still soil his pants on more occasions than not, which leads me nicely into the crux of this blog post.

The majority of the time DS is unable to hold his bowels for the day and ends up poo-ing himself, nursery have taken the decision to bin his pants. It is not every time, on occasion they bag it up, but I have noticed DS’ pants collection decreasing by the day. What was once a nice assortment of twenty M&S and Gap undies, has now diminished to ten. Needless to say, I have replaced them with Asda George and Primark.

I am yet to read the policy on binning soiled pants, but I do think throwing away DS’ clothes without my permission is a bridge too far. They are not disposable, they are expensive items of clothing. Regardless where they are from, parents cannot afford to constantly replace pants, just when they thought a saving had been made on no longer buying nappies.

You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.

A paper Easter basket filled with mini Lindor chocolate eggs, made by my little sister.

The Easter holidays are upon us, which usually means time off, free chocolate and some kind of religious festivity. Though I am somewhat excluded from all three, in consideration that I don’t work in the education sector, am an atheist and not much of a chocolate fanatic. DS naturally falls into my latter three, being a baby and not having much of a choice himself.

I am aware that as he grows older, he will gain interest in the things I try to shield him from (i.e. Easter eggs). But the thought of giving my baby boy an Easter egg, or anything else sugary coated, horrifies me. Children have the rest of their adult lives to eat, or do, whatever they like; it seems ridiculous to give a baby chocolate just because it’s mean not to. He doesn’t think it’s mean, because he doesn’t know any better.

DS has only tried chocolate once or twice, because nursery had slipped up, and he is not overly crazed about it. Honestly, he would happily devour an apple and not think I was cruel. My line of thought is that all children are inquisitive and it is our job as parents to guide them down the right path. If we start as we mean to go on, children will trust their routine, take comfort in the rules set and hopefully grow up not being all that phased by the junk that is constantly shoved in their faces.

So now you know my stance on the matter (though you could have probably guessed), rest assured any chocolate presented to DS will not be wasted, it will be thoroughly enjoyed by DH and I.

Please, Sir, I STILL Want Some More.

Since my last nursery post on the 9th September, I am saddened to say nothing much has changed. DS is still coming home hungry despite my incessant complaints to the nursery. Wednesday 21st September sets a fine example of how his nursery fails to address DS’ needs.

Needless to say, my boy came home starving that day. DS has been eating two full Weetabixs since forever, yet somehow, he had only managed half of one on Wednesday. Following breakfast, he had a pathetic minimal snack which he obviously ate all of. He most probably did not reject lunch, but was neglected and left to fend for himself. I can only imagine the worst because there is no evidence to suggest otherwise. DS has always been a hungry boy, to the point that he tries to lick the bowl clean, failing that, he puts his face in the bowl instead.

This incident does not stand alone, as illustrated in my previous post, this is a regular occurrence. The food DS eats with me is not a one-off, I place him before myself and always ensure he has the best meals filled with nutritious goodness. Today he ate a whole bowl of porridge for breakfast, followed by three quarters of an apple and a cracker for his snack. For lunch he devoured a bowl of smoked haddock, spring greens, spinach, carrots and leek with cous cous. He is currently eating half a banana after he gobbled up whole croissant for a snack. For dinner he will share our roast beef with potatoes, carrots and whatever else I throw in the mix. It is incredible how little he eats at nursery in comparison to at home.

After much upset, DH wrote a response:

This is not new information to them; when he started nursery we made them very aware of our angst. DS started at twenty months old in an aged two to three room, with children who were capable of feeding themselves without aid, spoke clearly and were able to communicate their needs. DS can string a few words together and can demand things like a car and a ball. He would not demand food, water or a nappy change though – those things are not fun. He needs to be sat down and fed, given water accordingly and changed regularly without being asked. Adults often speak to children as though they should control themselves and have their own answers, however I believe children of all ages should be told, not asked; especially not rhetorically. I have witnessed one or two nursery workers who ask the children if they would like food and the conversation always goes along the lines of, “are you going to eat that?” .. “no” .. “fine I will take it away”. What kind of ‘looking after’ is that?

If it was a matter of survival then yes, I will hand it to them, they are doing a brilliant job. However, I am paying extortionate fees for my boy to be well looked after and I expect a certain level of standard. I do not scrimp and save, work my arse off all week, just to come home to an unhappy boy who has been neglected by people who are meant to be his carers. The staff are meant to bond with the children, engage them in learning activities, encourage them to read, and above all, energise them with nutritious foods. I do not see this happening, or at least, I am not hearing about it. Their 2010 Ofsted report states they should improve to ‘further develop the regular, two way flow of information with parents to maintain and support communication with parents and users of the service‘; a year on, a shabby school book they ordered especially for us because other parents receive feedback verbally does not constitute as a ‘regular, two way flow of information‘ I’m afraid.

Where’s Dee-Da Gone?

*I am not sure if I have mentioned in previous posts, but DS’ name for Daddy is Dee Da (obviously Daddy reversed!).

I am swarmed with mixed feelings when DS asks where either of us are – His cuteness makes me smile; I become very proud of my little boy and his ability to string three words together at 21 months, but then I become overwhelmed with guilt and sorrow. When I call my mother from work and DS speaks on the phone, he repeatedly says ‘Mummy gone, Dee Da* gone‘ and it is incredibly heartbreaking. I wish he could understand, see the bigger picture, imagine how much better off we will be in a few years. But I know he only lives in the present and when something sad happens it is the end of the world for him.