I'm not Biscuit

Bunny!

Hanna was away this weekend, and as Tumble Tots was off for the half-term, I went down to Ipswich to help look after Arya.

I got there at about six, and picked her up from the nursery as Andrew was running late due to bus delays. She seemed perfectly happy reading with the helpers, but still ran over as soon as she saw me, which as nice. We headed home for dinner and cuddles, and I took her to bed, which was typically difficult. She really doesn't want to go to sleep at the moment, fighting it as long as possible. Given what happened on Sunday night, I wonder if she's started having bad dreams, and having done it once is concerned about recurrence.

She was also very insistent that she was Arya, not Biscuit, a statement I only understood when Andrew mentioned her 'Empire name' later that weekend. While good at pretending, she remains attached to her proper name.

On Saturday we got up and went into town to visit a craft fair. She had a great time running around the church where it was held, but got a bit bummed out about being told not to touch things. I do think one of the stallholders was much sharper than she needed to be, basically assuming that small child = heedless destroyer, where actually Arya is capable of considerable delicacy. I'm not saying she had no grounds for concern, just that she didn't need to be so snappy about it. We came out of the fair to find that the weather had turned brutally pleasant while we were indoors.

Ice cream.

We got some drinks and then went to Christchurch Park, and thence to Ipswich's new fascist paramilitary ice cream parlour, decorated in disco Goth black and pink, where ice cream is sold without joy and the shift manager legitimately seems to feel comfortable insisting on being called 'Chef.*' The ice cream itself was nice, but the gluten free selection was not good. The quantities were fairly epic, even in Arya's three scoop ice cream, and I'm proud to say that she made no attempt to eat the whole thing; just what she was comfortable eating.

Sunday was a fairly quiet day, with trips to the park across the common and the little shop with its sit-in school bus. Arya asked for a bag of sweets, despite having had ice cream, and I decided to try to make a learning experience of it. I said she could have the sweets, but she would have to share with both Daddies, and save some to share with Mummy when Mummy got home. She did this very well, offering them around and then holding back a good third of the packet.

Having found a set of face paints, she insisted that I draw a rainbow on her face, and then that her Baby wanted a butterfly. She painted the latter, although the butterfly shape rapidly fell away. The rainbow was understandably a bit of a disappointment when she eventually saw it.

On Monday morning, Arya woke from a bad dream and wanted Daddy Andrew. She was saddened when he left for work, but the fact that she opted to have breakfast with Mummy and me instead of at nursery consoled me. I dropped her off at nursery and she seemed perfectly happy to be there, and it made me feel like a proper part of her life to do it.

I took Monday off so I could get my pills without having to lose Saturday morning, and I'm glad I did. It meant that I had Friday evening, all Saturday and Sunday, and Monday morning with her, and some time to spend with Hanna to boot.

* In fairness, it might have been his name.

Revenge of the Sleepus

This is the Bugbear. Arya calls it a Bumblebear, which is actually pretty
sharp of her, since it involves recognising its essentially chimerical nature.

Okay, I'm going to be honest with you, this weekend involved not a lot of sleep and a great deal of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

In fairness, Arya arrived asleep on Friday night. Once she was settled in her bed it was about ten o'clock, so like sensible grown up parents Andrew and I watched two and a quarter hours of Star Wars. Look; I'm not saying we didn't deserve to struggle, I'm trying to do full disclosure here.

On Saturday we got up, had breakfast, all going fine, and then headed to Tumble Tots. It was cold and windy, and once she got out of the pushchair at the station, Arya decided that she wanted to walk home. "I don't like the train, I just like the bus."

Arya: Doesn't like trains.

We got the train into Ely and then waited in the cold and wet for the bus to Soham. We discovered that a family Dayrider saves us all of 50p on two individual tickets. As usual, Arya and I sat at the back of the bus and discussed the landscape while she waited for the chance to push the 'Stop' button. Fair play, she is really good about this now and never presses ahead of time.

Then she didn't want to go in until I took her in, but this time she settled fast and I was able to leave her to it and get a cup of tea. Not, I should add, before being grilled about my presence in the class by an eight year old. So it goes.

We came home by way of the shops and had lunch in the Tesco Costa, then spent the afternoon chilling. Hanna called at one point and Arya, not recognising the distinction between a phone call and a video call yet, kept trying to show her things. It was adorable. when we had ice creams she also wanted to get one out for Mummy, despite Mummy not being there. I eventually persuaded her to leave Mummy's in the fridge.

On Sunday, Arya was pretty out of it. We're starting to wonder if she's short on something in her diet; possibly Thiamin as a result of the absence of fortified bread and cereals from her diet. Alternatively it could just be a growing thing. This was the day when most of the My Little Pony got watched.

There was a bit of an upset when her Pinkie Pie (a tiny Kinder surprise toy) went missing. We spent half the day on and off looking for it, then I went to put Arya's socks in the laundry.

More Kinder delights.

"Arya. Did you put Pinkie Pie in your sock?"
"Yes."

She had a reason and everything; she'd just forgotten all of it until that moment.

We had a magnificent bust-up when it came to bath time. She'd already got upset because I wouldn't let her bite me, and the prospect of bath drove her into hysterics. She got herself all worked up and it took an age to calm her down, only to go off again when she realised that Daddy Andrew had used the wrong bath carrot (because of course she hadn't been responding to anyone enough to make a choice.) We finally got her in the bath, where she grabbed everything that could be used to wet her hair and clung on. When I tried to wet her hair by hand she demanded Daddy Andrew and was shocked when he did exactly the same.

After the bath we went straight to dinner, then got her dressed and into bed. That went slowly, and eventually she again asked me to swap out for Daddy Andrew, which was actually nice to see after giving him hassle over the bath.

This morning I sent her off with Mummy and Andrew in the car and got a cuddle and a kiss for my troubles. Bless her.