Whistle whilst you work...

Am taking advantage of the lack of Boys (still living it up in fresh air with my parents) to start planning Boy #1's birthday party. Have just spent half an hour on-line surfing for vital supplies as the Event is – oh god – only 3 weeks away. Last year's party was a big success in a retro-styley (cakes and games in the garden, Thomas party bags etc etc), but suspect we will need to up the ante this time around. The silver lining is that his birthday is usually the first of the school year so at least we don't have to compete with previous extravaganzas (thank heavens 4 year-olds memories are relatively short...)

Boy #1 knows his birthday is coming and frequently wakes us in the morning singing ‘Happy Birthday to Me’ to himself. And then repeats it a few times – just to make sure we get the message. Am trying to keep it small (small is 10 – 15 kids, apparently. Who knew?), but have the dreadful feeling it could balloon out of control. Like the 3 year old’s party we went to recently where the birthday girl sat shivering in the corner whilst 40 (yes, 40, I counted them when they sat down for their bespoke miniature burgers and hot dogs) screaming children rampaged around the ‘venue’ scaring the pants off any adults foolish enough to get in their way. I expect Birthday Girl will still be talking to her therapist about that when she’s 40…

Anyway, potty training in retrospect....


August 17th, 2006

Found myself on my hands and knees before 9.00am clearing up the first puddle of the day. Decided drastic action was needed and bundled the Boys into the car to make the trip to Baby Central; Mothercare in Chiswick Retail Park. (It was full of just-so Richmond mummies who usually shop for their cherubs in Gap but just occasionally find themselves looking for a bargain in TK Max and take a wrong turn, then finding themselves beguiled by the 2 for 1 offers and the baby-changing facilities out back).

The omens were good when it only took an hour from the moment of my decision to leave to actually getting both little angels strapped into their car seats; double-quick time, something of a record. Once inside Mothercare’s brave new world, gave Boy #1 a mini-trolley to push (which he promptly ran into the back of my ankles) and we headed straight for the potty section. After the ankle slamming incident I let him go first… I don’t need telling twice. Gave him instructions to choose whichever potty he wanted, and after giving it much thought and test-driving a few (with clothes on, I might add), he selected what I can only call a throne, complete with Winnie the Pooh branding – so it obviously isn’t the license that is the problem. Just to be sure I also let him see me buying a few pairs of training pants (which if you are nearly 3 years old and concerned with your appearance are the sartorial equivalent of the brown Clarkes shoes our mums used to force us to wear when all the other 9 year-old girls where wearing white courts. Even though the court shoes made the daintiest feet look like ducks, I still wanted them…).

Amazingly enough, the throne has been used 3 times since we got home (along with, I suspect the bath – but one step at a time), and in a real milestone, was once actually requested, so am keeping all my fingers and toes crossed that the trend will continue tomorrow. But Pooh has not seen any poo, so am now panicking when – and how – that is going to arrive...