Winter is Coming (if you feel like waiting around for a while)

Season three of Game of Thrones is nearly upon us.  I'm reasonably excited about the show, but far less so than season two.  This is strange, because I love me some fantasy.  It's been my favourite genre since I was small, and more than one person has accused me of secretly being a teenaged boy.

I pondered the reasons for a while - it used to be that a mere whisper of "Winter is Coming" would give me chills.  I love the cast's performances.  I love the sets and the costumes and the lighting.  The directing is great.  I know how the story is going to turn out (for the show, at least), so I mostly just appreciated the artistry of the show and seeing how they'd diverged from the original novels to make it accessible to television audiences.

But the urgency of my feelings about the series is gone.  I realised that George R.R. Martin lost me with A Dance of Dragons and I'm not all that worried about when the next book will be out.  I have lost a bit of interest in the conclusion.  Partly it's the fact that I can't stand whipping myself into a frenzy given the general time gaps between books, but mostly, I have realised, I can't stand Daenerys.

It has always been reasonably clear that Cousin George (as we refer to him chez moi) is setting Daenerys Targayen up as the great heroine of Westeros.  But I have always read her scenes feeling like I'm eating my way through a giant plate of brussels sprouts (my most hated vegetable) - theoretically it's good for me (or the story), but damn if I don't hate it.

And for those of you who want to tell me that brussels sprouts are delicious if you just cook them with a little butter and bacon, you are only confirming to me that no one actually likes brussels sprouts.  Sand would taste delicious if you cooked it with enough butter and bacon.

So I find myself startled to realise that I really don't care when Winds of Winter comes out, and if Daenerys becomes queen of Westeros, then by God, I pity the people she rules.  But she will most likely get distracted by someone she decides to save along the way and will eventually arrive in Westeros ten years too late when the White Walkers have already eaten everyone.

I am, however, waiting with bated breath for a few other sequels.  I am on the verge of finding Brent Weeks' phone number and calling him weeping to let me know what happens in the next Lightbringer book.  Does Liv have to break the halo to do what Koios wants her to do?!?   I want to go hold Patrick Rothfuss' hand until he finishes the next Kingkiller book (metaphorically, obviously, since typing would be hard if I wouldn't let go of his hand).  Why is Kvothe in such an enormous sulk?

The truth is, there are legions of great fiction writers out there, and while I enjoy Cousin George's writing, he's only one of the people you should be reading.  Go out there, find some new authors and enjoy.

PS: I did read My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me.  It was like hiding in a toilet stall while people outside gossip about someone you know.  Dirty, but fun.  I had to shower afterwards.  And I know more about Chad's pubic hair than I ever wanted to.

What's my age again?

I keep having these moments where I realise that I am now properly grown up.  I often forget (not deliberately) exactly how old I am, having settled in my mind simply on early 30s.

They included things like seeing someone who used to be part of my weekly pub quiz team take a role in national politics. The birth of my children.  My tenth wedding anniversary.  My mother's retirement.  Hearing a friend from grad school on the Today Programme as a pundit.  Finding out the title of the book I wanted to read referred to a guy I ate lunch with every day in high school.

It is apparently not a very flattering portrait...

 



I heard about this book ages ago.  And thought it would be a funny read.  Then today, I read a piece in the NY Times that made the startling connection for me.

 

I was a smart kid and sat with other smart kids.  You might even go so far as to say we were the nerd table.  Except that I think there was at least one other table of equally smart kids who probably worked harder in school than we did.  It is, however, hard to reconcile the teenager who drew a lot of muscle-bound superheroes in his notebooks with the author of Average American Male.

 

With added controversy for your reading pleasure!

 

But hey, we all grow up, don't we?  It wasn't even the most surreal of those moments - the prize for which goes to someone who was talking about their polyamoury on facebook.  I had a moment where I thought "he can't be polyamorous, he's only eight years old!" before I realised that the man in question had been eight years old at the same time I had been eight years old and had presumably aged at an identical rate.

 

The weirdest part of the article for me, though, was when they printed his age.  "35?" I thought.  "He can't be 35 because I'm only... aww crap."

The new supervillain in town

All is quiet in the house.  Miss A is having calm quiet time in her room.  Itsyboo, having slept a bit on the school run is resolutely not napping, but cooing away in his room.  I am doing my lesson planning (clever me!).  On the baby monitor, I hear a small crash.  I pick it up to look, and the temperature in Itsyboo's room jumps from a balmy 20 degrees to 27.  The heat alarm starts beeping frantically.

Our central heating is warming the house up, but not that much and not that quickly.  There can be only one explanation.

Itsyboo is eating the baby monitor.  It's only a half hour after lunch, so you'd think he would be satisfied.  Two and a half fish fingers, four sweet potato "chips" and a handful of peas cannot sate the...

...BITINGEST BABY EVER.

Yes, that's how he kisses.  He made another baby cry today while showering him with affection.

 

Don't be fooled by the angelic face - this baby means biting business.

 

Coming soon to a playgroup near you! (If you live near Tonbridge, that is...)



It's my job

When we put the house on the market in August, I got in to some bad habits.  Before then, I had planned activities very carefully for the three days a week I had Miss A.  We had a rota of painting, baking and gardening that we did during Istyboo's morning nap.  Istyboo mostly just needed interesting things to look at, so was pretty easy to keep entertained.

During the whole moving house process, my primary concern was keeping the house in reasonable shape for potential buyers.  We often had viewings every day and evacuated the house at the weekends.  I made the most of the fabulous East Dulwich infrastructure.  We had the fabulous local parks (especially Goose Green, tiny but brilliant), the libraries, and playgroups, all within walking distance and all guaranteed to keep my house sparkling and tidy.

One of the advantages of the new house is the play room.  I finally have a place where all the toys live.  We do lots and lots of free play, so it normally looks like this:

Why, yes, we do tidy up every evening.  Why do you ask?

Now that we are (mostly) settled in, I feel like I should start planning activities again.  I like a plan and find it much easier to make a big mess if I've planned it out and made sure I've got all the necessary stuff.  I have Miss A all but two mornings a week, so there's extra time to fill.  Also, Itsyboo needs more stimulation these days and I'd like to make sure there are some age-appropriate activities for him.

I came to the conclusion that, as a stay-at-home mum, I should really be doing something akin to a weekly lesson plan.  I've done lesson planning before, during the five summers I spent working at the amazing Concordia Language Villages (my kids are so going there when they are older).

Mildly embarrassing photographic evidence here.

 

There are so many fabulous resources, too.  My favourites are Imagination Tree, the Artful Parent, and Rainy Day Mum, but my twitter feed is constantly pointing me towards new ones.

 

So this week, my resolution is to start my weekly lesson planning.  We will have fun!

 

What are your favourite at-home activities with your children?  Are there any sources of inspiration that you'd recommend?  I look forward to your tips!

Codebreaking

In any close relationship, you develop a code that lets you communicate politely even when you would like to strangle the other person.  It's a delicate art, but necessary for the long term stability of the pairing.

For the last couple of days, I have had flu with fever, chills, aches and the lot.  I blame the children.  It's the kind of ague that would have kept me out of the office.  Now that I'm at home with the kids, that's not an option.  However, it did spark our first "code" conversation of the morning.

C: "If you're so sick you need me to say home from work, just let me know"
      "Please don't ask"
Me: (sceptical) "You could stay home from work?"
                          "Yeah, right..." 
C: "Not really, I've got this thing and this other thing and a very important lunch."
     "I don't want to stay home"
Me: Nods head
        "I kind of want to die, but you go right on ahead."

Our second code conversation happened as I was trying to get out the door to get Miss A to nursery.

Me on the phone: "Darling, have you seen my keys?"
                             "Can you check your pockets as I'm pretty sure you have both sets of keys?"
C: "I haven't... Oh, wait... They're in my pocket..."
     "Dammit, I'm going to miss my train..."
Me: "Seriously?"
         "This is like the third time you've done this.  Why do you keep taking all the keys?!?"
C: "I'll come home..."
     "Why can't you just magic up a spare set or call a locksmith or something?"
Me: "OK, hurry, please."
        "We are already running late because I've been tearing the house apart looking for my keys.  I may need to kill you."
C: "It was an honest mistake, you shouldn't get mad at me."
     "I refuse to be held accountable for not paying attention to how many sets of keys I have in my pockets."
Me: Deep breath
       "Scratch the 'may'..."
       
I can't wait to see what we find to talk about tonight.

It could be worse...

Friday was not an easy day.  The morning started out like many mornings recently.  Miss A slept in and I had to wake her up to get to nursery on time, which didn't go down well.  Itsyboo is in a rather clingy stage so every time I set him down to try to do something, he wailed.

Mum, how dare you try to make me breakfast?!?

 

I eventually did make it out the door on time.  Miss A's nursery is about a half hour walk for toddler legs.  She wasn't happy about going and wailed nearly the whole way there.  I knew she'd love it when she got there, so I gently cajoled her along.  We were within a few feet of the school gate when I ran into the nursery manager who was dropping her child off at the primary school.

 

"Nursery is closed today, didn't you know?"

 

"No..."

 

"We sent out an e-mail."

 

"I didn't get an e-mail..."

 

"Whoops!  We must have forgotten to add you to the list."

 

So there I was, a half hour from home with a screaming toddler and no chance of stopping somewhere warm.  We had something like a forced march home, which made me wonder how people who actually have to do forced marches, or flee a terrible situation, get their toddlers to cooperate.  Cajoling, bribery, distraction, nothing was working to stop the tears and get feet moving a little more quickly.  I mean, seriously, how do people do it?

 

We finally made it home and had hot chocolate and Winnie the Pooh, and suddenly the cold and snow were beautiful, peaceful, and most importantly on the other side of the window.

 

Our first Kentish snow

 



 



 

Expectations v reality

My to do list:

-put Christmas decorations away (as we lumber towards Valentine's day, they are looking more and more inappropriate)

-put together flatpack bookshelf (I had it rush-delivered two weeks ago - money well spent)

-unpack some boxes (hopefully I will find my nephews' Christmas presents... and our landline phone... and, well, I forget now, but a lot of stuff that would be pretty handy)

-clean house (as the saying goes, cleaning with children is like brushing your teeth with oreos)

-put away washing (C "did the laundry" by putting in the machine, asked me not to touch it because "he is doing it".  I have to come downstairs to get dressed every morning as I have no clean clothes in my bedroom)

What I will actually get done:

-cuddle unhappy baby

-reassure daughter that there is enough room on my lap for her too

-referee elbowing match between children

-put everyone down while I recover from elbow to the nose

-pick up unhappy baby

-repeat