My little birthday girl

It's hard to believe, but my cheeky little girl is now two years old. She's as stubborn, loud and messy as her dad, and as silly and 'spirited' (temperamental) as her mum.

She also does a great 'mummy walk', which involves her sticking out her bum, and doing an exaggerated limp. She even does it with the correct leg. I like to think she's just trying to be like me, but I do have a sneaky feeling she's letting me know she's already noticed my weakness...

But here she is, playing with her new toys...

France

I know it's been a while, but it's been a busy summer. Here a few pics from our summer holiday in France. We did nothing but enjoy the sunshine, swim in the pool and relax (inbetween taking turns to chase after Holly!). Bliss.

Tesco boycott

I'm boycotting Tesco. Not for any 'green' reasons like supporting my local shops in their fight against the wrath of the greedy global corporation (although if I was more principled that might be a good idea). No, I'm boycotting Tesco because on Saturday afternoon they refused to sell me a bottle of Pinot Grigio. And that pissed me off. Big-style.

I went there at the weekend with Pete & Holly. The checkout woman (CW) was busy gas-bagging to her mate so Pete & Holly trundled off up to the butcher's while I waited in line. In my basket I had: grapes, bread, eggs, nappy wipes, The Times, and the aforementioned bottle of (mid-range) white wine.

I did not have: a litre of Diamond White, a multipack of Bacardi Breezers, and a Pot Noodle. i.e. none of the ingredients of a typical underage teen's drinking binge.

Despite this, CW asked me for ID.
"I don't have any. I'm 30," I explained, "That was my husband and daughter with me just now."
"We have a new policy. If you look under 25, we have to ask you for ID."
"But legally you have to be 18 to buy alcohol, not 25."
"We have a new policy...."

Cw calls over Stupid Supervisor (SS). I explained the situation again.
SS: "Yes, I can see you are obviously over 18 but because you've been asked to provide ID by a member of staff, I can't let you have the alcohol without it."

I grumpily shoved the rest of my shopping into bags (and no, I did not bring my own, resulting in more disapproval from my charming CW), refused cashback just to spite her (thus inconveniencing myself further as purse completely devoid of cash) and started stomping off down the aisle.

"Don't forget to bring your ID next time," CW smiled sweetly after me.

I would have liked to have shouted back stroppily: "Number one, it is not a legal requirement to carry ID cards in this country. Yet. And number two - I didn't realise Tesco checkout staff had nominated themselves as State Police."

But of course I didn't. I just struggled back to the car with my crap thin plastic bags loaded with wholesome food. And no bottle of wine to look forward to.

Pete suggested I might be over-reacting slightly to the incident and perhaps this was a sign of me using alcohol as an emotional crutch and that possibly CW might have done me a favour in restricting my consumption.

I made him go to a different supermarket and get me another bottle.

First time on a trampoline

Daddy Daycare

Off work this week on annual leave to coincide with Pete's half-term. I'd like to report how marvellous it's been to bathe my weary bones in the soothing spring sunshine we've been having. Unfortunately, as is customary during a holiday, I've spent a large proportion of the week in bed with headache/eye infection/sore throat. Which means the majority of the childcare has fallen to Pete.

My days at home alone with Holly generally revolve around activities: Rhythm Time music groups; trips to the park; going to the shop to get fitted for new shoes; meeting up with friends for playdates etc etc.

But Daddy Daycare is a whole different ballgame. It involves doing lots of things that daddy enjoys, as illustrated by this photo diary of their week together:

Reading the paper


Eating dinner


Watching TV



Chilling out


And chilling out some more



To be fair, they did also go to the local pool for a swim and trailed round Tesco "nearly every bloody day". But I'm thinking there's a lot to be said for daddy-style childcare: you fit the child around your day, and not the other way round.