Ask not for whom the bell tolls...

I'm running scared of the resumption of my Russian classes with Ludmilla. The first one has not been scheduled yet but, as sure as I'm going to not have lost any weight on my 'thinking about dieting but doing precious little about it' regime this week, I know it'll be soon. As a result I'm trying to reverse some of the damage that a summer of being out of Russia had done on my already negligible command of the language, and to that end have resurrected my dusty copy of 'Learn Russian with Rosetta Stone'.

I am now having great fun providing free entertainment for our neighbours (who can see straight into our uncurtained dining room where I do most of my computer-based stuff,) as I sit here with headphones on, shouting at the laptop along the lines of 'That's what I said, dammit! I said 'yellow bicycles', you bloody machine!' and frying my brain for as long as I can stand when Husband is out for the evening...

This does mean however that the hours between the Boy's Bedtime and my own, when I was previously free to witter at will into the ether, are now somewhat curtailed hence the lower frequency of posts.

Something tells me you'll live.

In the meantime though, here are some of the highlights of Boy #2's first couple of days at school:

Running full tilt down the corridor outside his class with outstretched arms, and hitting his rather round teacher in her rather well-padded stomach. Not the best impression to make on your first day of school - although I do think she could have taken the whole thing slightly better...

Saying to me, as we left together after his lunch time pick-up (a little first two week 'present' the school gives the parents) and I tried - unsuccessfully - to take his hand; 'The children here don't hold their mummy's hands, mama.'

Ah well. It had to happen sometime, I suppose...

(I'm comforting myself with the fact that on the other hand, Boy #2 has now stopped giving wet sloppy raspberry kisses and has started to give proper ones, along with hugs, when we say hello and goodbye to each other at the door of his classroom. It's a fair trade, I suppose)

Ringing of the School Bell

Boy #2 starts school tomorrow. Tomorrow? How did that happen? I just went to check on him in bed and he seems so small when he's lying down that I can barely make him out under the duvet. How can it be that he's ready to make first his foray into the big bad world when a too-hot risotto can still reduce my hungry boy to frustrated tears, and when after his bath I can bundle him up in a towel and carry him into the bedroom to find his pyjamas?

And yet. He's totally ready for it.

He has an answer for everything, does Mr Independant, and loves nothing more than to mix it up with his older bigger brother just for the hell of it if he feels things are getting a little boring. He plans to be a pizza-delivering train driver when he grows up (well, it's a niche, I suppose), and when he can, helps out with what he considers 'manly' tasks around the place whilst adopting a deep, matter of fact tone of voice. He likes to make conversation whilst on the loo when making a delivery (cough) during which he will make pronouncements on trains, planes, and the state of world in general. (I call being on the receiving end of this conversation 'being in the presence of Deep Thought'...)

He may get himself into trouble frequently but he knows the value of a prompt apology; after an unfortunate incident on holiday at his grandparents involving boistrous play, some floor-length curtains and a curtain rail that ended up where it shouldn't have, he was quick to own-up, quick to say sorry, and then just as quick to forget it and get excited over the subsequent opportunities that this accident afforded for diy. There was plenty of standing around with hands on hips, and speaking in a deep matter of fact voice whilst passing Grandad various tools to replace the rail. My father said wistfully to me afterwards; "He doesn't mess about, Boy #2, does he? Says sorry, draws a line under it - 'that's life, you know grandad' - and moves on. And expects you to, too..."

We looked at each other, simultaneously realising that that's a skill a lot of adults have yet to acquire.

All in all, I think Boy #2 will be OK when he starts school tomorrow.

I, on the other hand...