Yiddish

Mummy, I can speak Yiddish.
(me) really, say something in Yiddish, then.
(him) "you're losing your gatkes"

Loving the olympics...

I've often struggled with my hyphenated identity, but right now I feel proud and delighted to call myself British. I love the up-beatness, the volunteering ethos, watching athletes acheive their dreams after so much hard work (the antithesis of the overnight-celebrity dream, which makes me feel rather unwell). I love the opening ceremony's celebration of the complexity of modern Britain, how we delivered a great games logistically / operationally, and how the atmosphere has changed into people being positive and smiling. And I'm quite excited about Finchley's gold postbox (thank you Anthony Joshua). Roll on the paralympics.

Tech rant of a kind

I hate the built in obsolescence of modern technology. I teach J not to waste things, and that we like old things (the refrain to most of our conversations is "is it old, mummy"), so I really resent having to buy a new £150 printer (which used to be £300) because the paper feeder is broken and it will cost more to repair than replace. Bad for the planet, bad for me.

We all scream for ice cream

So there's an ice cream van going down the street, and the last few days, when J asks what it is, I say, "I don't know." Just now, in the bath, he heard it again, and D and I did the whole "it's just a van playing music, it's a music van." When I left the bathroom, he said to D "daddy, is it an ice-cream music van?" Oh well, no point hiding...

Small pieces...

My inner (OK, not very hidden) control freak finds it really distressing when small parts of games and toys are spread around the house as part of a different (very imaginative) game, never to be seen again. Who ever gets to fill a whole Connect 4 grid, anyway, right?

Customer service (again)

When someone in a call centre says in their specially trained relaxing voice "do you mind holding the line for me for two seconds?" you know that (a) it won't be two seconds and (b) it won't be good.
Time on hold at Tesco call centre, waiting for info on late delivery: 15 minutes (two calls)

When I grow up...

"When I grow up, mummy, I will still be me but I will be taller like a grown up and have a different face." What kind of different face? "I will look like a brother, mummy." (we are very interested in brothers in our household, I suspect because J doesn't have any (real ones)).

Too much social media?

Do you ever find that you're looking into a company, and all you can find is their twitter / facebook / pinterest / founders' LinkedIn profile / google+ / flickr? All I want is a good old fashioned website that tells me what the proposition is. gah.

Bad behaviour?

Now Phartee has oddly morphed into a tiny red rubber calf (which is a baby cow, mummy) that Shoshie in nursery gave him because she loves him. We had a long conversation about whether she really did give it to him, as we can't take things that aren't ours. Despite the "no bringing toys to nursery" rule (which I wholeheartedly support) they seem to have given him one and now it's variously a calf, Phartee, his brother. Huge melt down just now where he insists that the only place Phartee/calf/brother can sleep is in his bed, and we got stuck in a "we made a policy decision, we can't stand down now" scenario. I found it incredibly difficult not to laugh. We suggested swaddling him in Igglepiggle's red (matching) blanket, but Josh was very insistent that Phartee only wanted to be with him. Eventually, after consulting ACAS, we have agreed that *we* will look after small calf/Phartee/brother all night and he can have him back in the morning. Sheesh. Also, there are two Darths, mummy, did you know?

Lawn stories

As far as I can tell, all the birds in London have now heard on the bird-grapevine that there's a great fress-up at ours. Birds 1, lawn 0.

True blue

Small child tells me he has been blue all day (it is his new thing). Also, when doing the bedtime shema (prayer), he tells me that hashem (G-d) is also blue. As well as being invisible and in the playroom. Who knew. In other news, I have attempted to reseed the garden lawn, which basically means it's like Starbucks for birds. This morning when I got up there were like 8 birds having a lovely breakfast. All advice gratefully received.

Brothers

It is the Lag B'Omer teddy bears' picnic in nursery, and everyone is supposed to bring a teddy bear. J would like to take his "new" brother, Bingo, who is a plastic-sucker bath toy he's actually had since he was born but seems to have rediscovered yesterday. I have explained he's not a teddy bear. J doesn't care. We are still not laughing at Phartee. I had resorted to saying I'm a happy mummy, and I'm always laughing anyway (he doesn't buy this).

Brothers again

Small child has a new (imaginary) friend Farty. Possibly Fartie. This has caused much merriment in our house, especially as I can't stop laughing, and small child is going round saying "don't laugh at my friend, you are hurting his feelings." You reap what you sow, eh? Night night, sleep tight, don't let the bed frogs bite.

Who the daddy?

Since J went to a drumming birthday party last week, he has been wandering round the house telling me various iterations of "I've got the funk, mummy."

Full house

Our house is getting really full. We now live with J's brother Andy (from Toy Story, although sometimes he lives next door), as well as his sister Molly (who is not J's sister), and Andy's "owner" Stirruppy (no, I don't know either) and two golly rabbits at the bottom of the garden (no, still no idea). We also talk a lot about Toy Story 4 (where Buzz takes off his wings and leaves them on the mantlepiece while he goes to nursery), and Toy Story 6 - The Aliens Wear Orange (our favourite colour). Of course, I will be laughing the other side when J is *actually* making Toy Story movies in thirty years' time...

Rabbits...

One of those days: too much to do, not enough time, small child needs haircut and left me one of his "babies" (cuddly rabbit, he's a rabbit-kinda-kid) to talk to on my desk this morning. Does that mean he thinks he doesn't see enough of me? Last night, when we finished reading the Hungry Caterpillar, he said "Mummy, when I come out of my cocoon, will I turn into a lovely little rabbit?"

Poetry, of sorts...

Small child had some 12-hour bug this morning - which thankfully has worn off, and he bouncing around again - but he threw up twice. Or, as he described it, "I don't want to be all buttery spluttery all over the kitchen floor again."

I know, I'm biased, but I feel he is very poetic (as well as talking lots of bo**ocks). Yesterday he told me a whole story about how the remainder of his chicken pox spots (he's got a lot in his hair) are sending medicine to his brain to look after him. I went to pick him up from a playdate on Friday, and the mother said "I didn't know you had another one, Andy, who's four." And I said, "I don't, that's Andy from Toy Story who lives with us, but is not, er, real. As I said, patent bo**ocks :)

Pox day three...

The pox day three - we are all completely wrecked, but I think we've turned a corner. He actually went to bed around 8pm, and is still asleep, which is a record since Monday. Here's hoping we have a good night.

And also, I am very moved by all the nice people who have messaged/texted/called with advice and real offers of help and drugs. Thank you. And to Ruth - he was totally bowled over by the Toy Story get-well-soon cupcakes - you are our fairybakemother:)

When this started on Monday, and J was basically fine but had spots, and was wittily walking around the house telling tales of what "his chicken pox" wanted to do (which was, of course, largely Toy Story related) I was thinking "this chicken pox lark, what a breeze." And when people said "have a stiff drink" or "see you on the other side", I didn't really get it. Like everything, really, that you haven't experienced yourself.

But boy, do I get it now. And I *really* appreciate by the warmth and support. And also, I'm really tired.

Pox in the house

Small child has chicken pox (yesterday was day one of spots). People tell me that the infection makes you just want to sleep, and with the piriton thrown in, rather drowsy. Don't know if we have a rare strain (or perhaps a rare kid) but he has been chatting solidly - and very loudly - since 7pm. A sort of live-stream-of-consciousness that encompasses Toy Story, chicken pox, snow and his current favourite today (Froggy Frieze). "J, it's really time to sleep now," I say. "Mummy, the chicken pox is making me awake. Hello, chicken pox, I need some more medicine". I have bribed him with "shabbat treat breakfast" aka cocopops. "Chock'n' roll cocopops, mummy?" he asks as turns over and temporarily fakes sleep. It's gonna be a long, long night....

Chicken pox day two: we have moved to New York time: we're lethargic and basically sleep all morning, then at 2pm we're bouncing of the walls till 5am. J tells me his chicken pox are hungry and he wants more medicine. I've been up all night and feel appalling. We've got CBeebies on a loop, with Toy Story reserved for the afternoon.

It's all about strategy...

Small child has spent a lot of time in the last week discussing his "Batpole strategy", which consists of hanging an oversized kids measuring tape from the first floor landing, stacking up loads of other toys ("for the strategy") at the base, and then trying to get something to reach it from the hall. "I am going up to get the batpole ready for some more strategy, to make the batpole working, we're using plastic balls and strategy space rockets."

Last week, we collected everything yellow in the house for the Gold Party. I think the Gold Party has crossed over with the Batpole Strategy, because everytime I try and put something (yellow) away, it returns to the Gold Party basket, "for the strategy". I think he might be a management consultant (as he appears to talk b*****).