Keen eyed readers may have spotted that the gaps between blogs are getting bigger. This is because mummy and George are both working to an educational year now. George has started school, and mummy works for the Learning Department at a museum. So mummy is tired and busy and happy in equal measure, and so is George.
Transition from Nurserwee to school went eerily well, considering George's vehement dislike of anything Changing (not just big changes, he despises small irrelevant stuff like me changing my weighing scales, and goes on about it for days). George's teacher is a young lady called Miss Adams, whom he adores. We have had a couple of incidences of bad behaviour- one involving the Headmaster, much to mummy's great mortification and George's subsequent banishment to his room. But normally George comes home laden with Good Work and Well Done stickers, the specifics of which he keeps a closely guarded secret. One sticker bore the monika 'Cleversaurus'- this was attributed to knowing which day of the week it was. Clearly that's the reason I have never had one.
Another closely guarded secret is What He Does At School. This has yet to be willingly divulged. Occasionally he lets slip that PE was enjoyed or that daffodil bulbs were planted, or that Benjamin had to stay in at playtime...Parents with female children know every minute detail of their daughters' days, and indeed their daughters' friend's days, but seemingly it is quite normal for boys to remain stubbornly mute on the subject.
Out of school, of course the big events this term have been Halloween and George's 5th Birthday. Both anniversaries were celebrated with appropriate costumes and festivities; George did VERY well for presents and I made a rather fantastic Spongebob Squarepants cake this year. I had some professional photos taken and made into a book (a new thing one can do on the internet). Happy Halloweening was fun, though bitterly cold so not as many children were out and about this year as last. George's night was slightly marred by the loss of my hat, which bothered him far more than it did me. Said loss caused endless whys and prolonged wherefores, and for a few days afterwards we had to look for the hat every time we drove past the spot where I may have lost it. Luckily, anticipation of his birthday exactly a week after Halloween soon prevented ponderings on the Disaster of the Lost Hat.
Recent notable quotes:
He still can't pronounce L, but it is getting better. I'm not a keen night driver, and my son has observed this- the other evening whilst driving home, a small complaint came from the back of the car: "Bwuddy nights, bwuddy dazzwing me".
Whilst playing schools: " I'm not the Headmaster now, I'm the photocopier".
Vocabulary now includes correct use of words such as: remaining, attracts, glimpse, available, included...and phrases such as 'I'll have to have a word with you about that', and "I'm afraid I'm going to have to stop you there!"
And talking of stopping...
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Back So Soon...?
Yes, yes, the title is ironic.
I haven't been blogging much recently- forgot the password, got annoyed, dongle broken etc etc.
George, of course, has continued his unremitting and largely senseless babble:
"How do echoes make theirselves?" YOU try answering that whilst negotiating rush hour traffic.
"What does a fly look like when it's dying?"
"I can't wear these shoes, they're magnetising my feet to the ground"(throws himself to the floor and writhes and squirms to demonstrate the point).
But in spite of all this rubbish (all the above were within a 48hr period last week- multiply by infinity for final total from last blog to now), George has made a firm friend. Daniel is a chum from nurserwee who comes to play at least once a week. Like George, Daniel is an 'only' child and so the two of them seem to have bonded exceptionally well; the unbearable anticipation of a visit soon dissipates into fighting, squabbling and shoving but none of this diminishes their enjoyment of each others' company. Daniel frequently tells George he loves him, and George always returns the compliment. Its so sweet, this first friendship, so genuine and so heartfelt. Luckily they will be going to the same school. I was given some excellent advice about being a parent observing childrens friendships; Trust your child to pick well: If your child likes the person, then YOU like them. Here's to George's first chosen relationship! Long may it last.
And so to swimming. Neville Two is proving slightly more challenging than Neville One (but not as challenging as those damn L-sounds). It was Assessment Week this week, and as usual the children were being observed as they tried various aquatic tests; swimming a width of the pool, showing confidence in the water, etc. Luckily, Sam (he spits shower water) and Levi (mischievous little imp who distracts the easily-distracted, ie George) were absent. Nevertheless, there was a Scene.
The five remaining classmates were lined up on the edge of the pool. As their names were called, they each had to jump into the pool, feet first, arms above heads, hands together. This is called a Pencil Jump. You'll recognise it from the Olympic Games...
The children dutifully lined up, George at the end, last in the line up and last to jump. George looked cute and comical before they even began- he's the smallest by some way, but by far the most alert and indeed, the noisiest. He also has very sticky-outy-ears. The first four kids raise their arms and jump feet first, in turn, into the water. 'Hurray!' shouts the teacher, 'well done! Now, George, your turn'.
Those readers who have seen the famous Yuppie bar scene in the British comedy 'Only Fools And Horses' will know what I mean when I say that George did not do a Pencil Jump- he did a Del Boy. He held his body rigid, absolutely poker-straight, kept his feet on the side of the pool and, in a contolled motion, let himself fall in, landing flat on his front on the surface of the water before sinking like a stone.
In the Spectators Area, we mothers had been applauding generously -but with a competitive eye- at the achievements of Other People's Children. George's audacious performance caused a momentary silence followed by a gasp, and finally, when he resurfaced, the genuine comradeship of shared laughter. A wonderful moment. But I guess he failed that test. And he did demonstrate Confidence in the Water.
George is definitely developing a sense of dramatic effect and comic timing. He's turning into the typical Class Clown, and I have to say that although this may land him in trouble occasionally, at least he won't lack friends.
Another recent development, apart from Making Chums and Mucking About in Swimming Tests, has been The Unspeakable Torment of Getting Dressed. This has been causing fun and frolics on a daily basis. If one tries hard enough, one finds there are multitudinous ways of avoiding, delaying and/or disrupting the dressing process. From simple basics such as Running Off or Hiding in Mum's Bed, all the way through to 'I'm invisible so I don't need clothes' and 'I can wear pyjamas to nursery, they said I could', and of course, 'I'm a dinosaur/cat/egg/fish/car/other non-clothed creature or object'. Allegations are made about the ill-fitting nature of animal themed underpants ('The lizards are biting me'). The whole thing peaked with the aforementioned claim that his new shoes were unwearable, weighing him down due to their strong magnetic qualities. Walking was impossible, unless he went En Pointe, which was clearly not feasible for a day at nursewee. 'But you liked them in the shop' I wheedled, 'Loo-ook, they're silver'. 'I hate silver. I didn't want silver' was the emphatic response. I tried fruitless logic; 'They feel heavy because they're like football boots'. Football boots had hitherto been greatly coveted. 'I don't want football boots,' came the retort, 'they're not like football boots'. Can one think of a compromise in the face of such scientific certainty?
No. One just has to resort to the parental favourite 'because I said so'. This got the usual response of tears and foot stamping (well, tiptoed stamping, if there is such a thing). What joy I brought to nurserwee last Wednesday morn. What untold gladness of heart as I dragged my En Pointe and EnRaged four year old to the door. Even a look at a rubbish skip and a forklift truck didn't help. Yells and screams echoed 'theirselves' around the carpark. Even the presence of Daniel couldn't assuage the Lord of Doom in his Magnetic Trainers of Destruction. The punchline? Five minutes after I left, exhausted, mortified, sweating, late for work and tortured by doubts about my parenting skills, George was heard to announce loudly and proudly, 'I've got new trainers. They're silver. They look a bit like football boots...'
I haven't been blogging much recently- forgot the password, got annoyed, dongle broken etc etc.
George, of course, has continued his unremitting and largely senseless babble:
"How do echoes make theirselves?" YOU try answering that whilst negotiating rush hour traffic.
"What does a fly look like when it's dying?"
"I can't wear these shoes, they're magnetising my feet to the ground"(throws himself to the floor and writhes and squirms to demonstrate the point).
But in spite of all this rubbish (all the above were within a 48hr period last week- multiply by infinity for final total from last blog to now), George has made a firm friend. Daniel is a chum from nurserwee who comes to play at least once a week. Like George, Daniel is an 'only' child and so the two of them seem to have bonded exceptionally well; the unbearable anticipation of a visit soon dissipates into fighting, squabbling and shoving but none of this diminishes their enjoyment of each others' company. Daniel frequently tells George he loves him, and George always returns the compliment. Its so sweet, this first friendship, so genuine and so heartfelt. Luckily they will be going to the same school. I was given some excellent advice about being a parent observing childrens friendships; Trust your child to pick well: If your child likes the person, then YOU like them. Here's to George's first chosen relationship! Long may it last.
And so to swimming. Neville Two is proving slightly more challenging than Neville One (but not as challenging as those damn L-sounds). It was Assessment Week this week, and as usual the children were being observed as they tried various aquatic tests; swimming a width of the pool, showing confidence in the water, etc. Luckily, Sam (he spits shower water) and Levi (mischievous little imp who distracts the easily-distracted, ie George) were absent. Nevertheless, there was a Scene.
The five remaining classmates were lined up on the edge of the pool. As their names were called, they each had to jump into the pool, feet first, arms above heads, hands together. This is called a Pencil Jump. You'll recognise it from the Olympic Games...
The children dutifully lined up, George at the end, last in the line up and last to jump. George looked cute and comical before they even began- he's the smallest by some way, but by far the most alert and indeed, the noisiest. He also has very sticky-outy-ears. The first four kids raise their arms and jump feet first, in turn, into the water. 'Hurray!' shouts the teacher, 'well done! Now, George, your turn'.
Those readers who have seen the famous Yuppie bar scene in the British comedy 'Only Fools And Horses' will know what I mean when I say that George did not do a Pencil Jump- he did a Del Boy. He held his body rigid, absolutely poker-straight, kept his feet on the side of the pool and, in a contolled motion, let himself fall in, landing flat on his front on the surface of the water before sinking like a stone.
In the Spectators Area, we mothers had been applauding generously -but with a competitive eye- at the achievements of Other People's Children. George's audacious performance caused a momentary silence followed by a gasp, and finally, when he resurfaced, the genuine comradeship of shared laughter. A wonderful moment. But I guess he failed that test. And he did demonstrate Confidence in the Water.
George is definitely developing a sense of dramatic effect and comic timing. He's turning into the typical Class Clown, and I have to say that although this may land him in trouble occasionally, at least he won't lack friends.
Another recent development, apart from Making Chums and Mucking About in Swimming Tests, has been The Unspeakable Torment of Getting Dressed. This has been causing fun and frolics on a daily basis. If one tries hard enough, one finds there are multitudinous ways of avoiding, delaying and/or disrupting the dressing process. From simple basics such as Running Off or Hiding in Mum's Bed, all the way through to 'I'm invisible so I don't need clothes' and 'I can wear pyjamas to nursery, they said I could', and of course, 'I'm a dinosaur/cat/egg/fish/car/other non-clothed creature or object'. Allegations are made about the ill-fitting nature of animal themed underpants ('The lizards are biting me'). The whole thing peaked with the aforementioned claim that his new shoes were unwearable, weighing him down due to their strong magnetic qualities. Walking was impossible, unless he went En Pointe, which was clearly not feasible for a day at nursewee. 'But you liked them in the shop' I wheedled, 'Loo-ook, they're silver'. 'I hate silver. I didn't want silver' was the emphatic response. I tried fruitless logic; 'They feel heavy because they're like football boots'. Football boots had hitherto been greatly coveted. 'I don't want football boots,' came the retort, 'they're not like football boots'. Can one think of a compromise in the face of such scientific certainty?
No. One just has to resort to the parental favourite 'because I said so'. This got the usual response of tears and foot stamping (well, tiptoed stamping, if there is such a thing). What joy I brought to nurserwee last Wednesday morn. What untold gladness of heart as I dragged my En Pointe and EnRaged four year old to the door. Even a look at a rubbish skip and a forklift truck didn't help. Yells and screams echoed 'theirselves' around the carpark. Even the presence of Daniel couldn't assuage the Lord of Doom in his Magnetic Trainers of Destruction. The punchline? Five minutes after I left, exhausted, mortified, sweating, late for work and tortured by doubts about my parenting skills, George was heard to announce loudly and proudly, 'I've got new trainers. They're silver. They look a bit like football boots...'
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Swimming Techniques
At swimming today George was wading about in the shallows with dramatic arm movements.
Me: What are you doing, George?
George (as if explaining something to a very dim pupil for the umpteenth time):I can swim like a dinosaur, but not like a dog.
Me: What are you doing, George?
George (as if explaining something to a very dim pupil for the umpteenth time):I can swim like a dinosaur, but not like a dog.
Resolute for the New Year
There has been a gap in my blogging. But there has been no let-up in George's stream of consciousness yattering. And we have seen the decline and demise of our aquatic friend, Ish.
I kept thinking he looked unwell, but was ridiculed for voicing this opinion. But he looked, well, downcast. Then he began to swim a bit strangely, and developed a distinct list to port. Then he kept sinking down to the bottom of the tank, nose first, and when he touched the bottom he would shake himself and swim normally for a bit. The final stage of his indisposition was a curving over sideways, like a fortune-telling fish from a Christmas cracker. When he had rolled himself into a complete circle he sank for the final time. The Grim Ladler scooped him out, and off Ish was flushed to the great big fish tank in the sky. Poor Ish.
The grand plan was to get another fish quickly, but Ish passed on about two days before Christmas, when our priority was Christmas Frenzy, not Ish Replacement. Luckily George was distracted by the mountain of gifts he received, so he didn't notice Absent Ish for a while. We were concerned he'd be upset, so we didn't mention it. Until one teatime, George piped up, 'I can't see the fish!'. I murmered something vague about him being the other side of the tank. George said brightly, 'No, he isn't. I think he's dead'. At which my mouthful of hot tea suddenly found itself propelled forcefully in two directions; up my nose and across the table. BFS staunchly defended the Other Side of Tank Possibly Behind the Plant theory, then changed the subject swiftly, while I gathered myself together.
A new fish has been purchased. Its got a bigger tail than Ish, but George hasn't noticed.
George himself has been learning to swim, and gained a silver star for his efforts in swimming lessons last term. We have had a road to Damascus moment with his lacklustre kicking: I explained his legs are like the propeller on a submarine. Once a machine was involved, it all became clear. George's opinion of his watery abilities far outstrips the actuality. He told his Grandparents he had a snorkel and could swim underwater. This was a blatant lie. But he genuinely believes he can swim underwater, as fervently as he insists that he can see in the dark with his 'Night-time red glowing eyes'. Unfortunately neither claim can be borne out by the facts. He also anounced that he walked from his father's to home once (about six miles).
George has new swippers(still can't pronounce the letter L- at the start of a word it's an N, and in the middle of words its W). The swippers are bwack power wangers swippers. Work it out...
He got a Neville Crossing for his train set on his birthday, and- 'Have a Nook, mummy, the cat is Nurking on the radiator'.
And joyfully, we have artistic ability! It's finally begun to flourish. Thanks to a friend's 'Make and Do' birthday party and a new 'Mister Maker' program on kids TV, George now frequently announces that he feels 'afty and crafty', and is displaying a decent level of ability, particularly with modelling clay. He made an anthill and several dozen ants yesterday. A strange choice...
Of course, his love of wheeled items has in no way faded. He got a Scalectrix set for Christmas, and a motorised tricycle from Grandparents. It goes slower than walking pace but he LOVES it. Inspiration for many car scenarios comes from watching Top Gear on the tv, and also Police, Camera,Action (real live police chases). He also listens intently to the traffic reports on the radio, and they are all re-enacted; high sided vehicles being warned from bridges, shed loads, overturned/jacknifed lorries, floods, all manner of localised disasters. All of them require full attendance of all emergency vehicles, and the setting up of all available roadsigns, whether or not they are relevant. Usually a car chase will ensue, and definitely a traffic jam. Normally air sea rescue pilots will jump in to assist, and mummy is called upon to broadcast a traffic update.
Life is full to overflowing. Mummy is feeling slightly iffy about George starting school this year- the end of an era, no more leisurely morning cuddles, no more wonderful 'just the two of us' moments. Much as I celebrate and encourage his development, a part of me wants to keep him all mine and little (nittle) for ever.
I kept thinking he looked unwell, but was ridiculed for voicing this opinion. But he looked, well, downcast. Then he began to swim a bit strangely, and developed a distinct list to port. Then he kept sinking down to the bottom of the tank, nose first, and when he touched the bottom he would shake himself and swim normally for a bit. The final stage of his indisposition was a curving over sideways, like a fortune-telling fish from a Christmas cracker. When he had rolled himself into a complete circle he sank for the final time. The Grim Ladler scooped him out, and off Ish was flushed to the great big fish tank in the sky. Poor Ish.
The grand plan was to get another fish quickly, but Ish passed on about two days before Christmas, when our priority was Christmas Frenzy, not Ish Replacement. Luckily George was distracted by the mountain of gifts he received, so he didn't notice Absent Ish for a while. We were concerned he'd be upset, so we didn't mention it. Until one teatime, George piped up, 'I can't see the fish!'. I murmered something vague about him being the other side of the tank. George said brightly, 'No, he isn't. I think he's dead'. At which my mouthful of hot tea suddenly found itself propelled forcefully in two directions; up my nose and across the table. BFS staunchly defended the Other Side of Tank Possibly Behind the Plant theory, then changed the subject swiftly, while I gathered myself together.
A new fish has been purchased. Its got a bigger tail than Ish, but George hasn't noticed.
George himself has been learning to swim, and gained a silver star for his efforts in swimming lessons last term. We have had a road to Damascus moment with his lacklustre kicking: I explained his legs are like the propeller on a submarine. Once a machine was involved, it all became clear. George's opinion of his watery abilities far outstrips the actuality. He told his Grandparents he had a snorkel and could swim underwater. This was a blatant lie. But he genuinely believes he can swim underwater, as fervently as he insists that he can see in the dark with his 'Night-time red glowing eyes'. Unfortunately neither claim can be borne out by the facts. He also anounced that he walked from his father's to home once (about six miles).
George has new swippers(still can't pronounce the letter L- at the start of a word it's an N, and in the middle of words its W). The swippers are bwack power wangers swippers. Work it out...
He got a Neville Crossing for his train set on his birthday, and- 'Have a Nook, mummy, the cat is Nurking on the radiator'.
And joyfully, we have artistic ability! It's finally begun to flourish. Thanks to a friend's 'Make and Do' birthday party and a new 'Mister Maker' program on kids TV, George now frequently announces that he feels 'afty and crafty', and is displaying a decent level of ability, particularly with modelling clay. He made an anthill and several dozen ants yesterday. A strange choice...
Of course, his love of wheeled items has in no way faded. He got a Scalectrix set for Christmas, and a motorised tricycle from Grandparents. It goes slower than walking pace but he LOVES it. Inspiration for many car scenarios comes from watching Top Gear on the tv, and also Police, Camera,Action (real live police chases). He also listens intently to the traffic reports on the radio, and they are all re-enacted; high sided vehicles being warned from bridges, shed loads, overturned/jacknifed lorries, floods, all manner of localised disasters. All of them require full attendance of all emergency vehicles, and the setting up of all available roadsigns, whether or not they are relevant. Usually a car chase will ensue, and definitely a traffic jam. Normally air sea rescue pilots will jump in to assist, and mummy is called upon to broadcast a traffic update.
Life is full to overflowing. Mummy is feeling slightly iffy about George starting school this year- the end of an era, no more leisurely morning cuddles, no more wonderful 'just the two of us' moments. Much as I celebrate and encourage his development, a part of me wants to keep him all mine and little (nittle) for ever.
Monday, 26 November 2007
Now We Are Four
Many things improve once one is a big Four-Boy. For instance, when one wears a hat, it is because (I have been gravely informed) it is a Four Year Old Hat. When one takes a sudden and previously hidden interest in painting, it is because one is using Four Year Old Paints. Unfortunately, the grown up benefits of the Four Year Old philosophy do not extent to Going To Bed Without Complaint, or Remaining In Bed Until After Seven A.M.
Now the birthday is out of the way, Christmas is approaching fast. But first, an important visit; George is currently bubbling with excitement about Auntie Mish and Uncle Matt coming to stay. We are counting down the amount of sweeps (sleeps) until their arrival, and many gwitterwy (glittery) pictures have been drawn in anticipation of the visit. The last birthday party of the season is tomorrow. Oh, the social whirl of a big Four-Boy!
Now the birthday is out of the way, Christmas is approaching fast. But first, an important visit; George is currently bubbling with excitement about Auntie Mish and Uncle Matt coming to stay. We are counting down the amount of sweeps (sleeps) until their arrival, and many gwitterwy (glittery) pictures have been drawn in anticipation of the visit. The last birthday party of the season is tomorrow. Oh, the social whirl of a big Four-Boy!
Monday, 12 November 2007
Big Four-boy
This week has been the festival of George. His birthday was mid week but the festivities began on Monday and finished on Saturday. How many toy cars can one boy cope with?
The main event was his party on Tuesday; a visit to the Funtime Factory (bouncy castle, ball pool, slides etc) followed by a party tea and Pass the Parcel at home. He conned me into making him a cake in the shape of a stegosaurus. My Victoria Sponges usually turn out like frisbees, so rather than baking, I constructed said dinosaur from bought chocolate swiss rolls glued together with butter icing, then carved into shape. Green food colouring and cocoa powder makes quite a convincing sludge green butter icing, and the plates on Steggie's back were made from After Eights. A sprinkling of chocolate flakes finished the reptile off. It tasted great! As birthday boy, George got to chop its head off- accomplished with great panache.
May I also mention a dessert triumph: Traffic Lights Jelly. Six individual red, amber and green striped jellies slid gracefully, and intact, from their moulds and were greeted by gasps from the assembled pre-schoolers. A marvel to behold.
We won't talk about how I completely miscalculated the pass the parcel. That game is by far the most stressful event of a party, timing it so everyone gets a go. Hell was narrowly avoided by the swift inclusion of Extra Sweets.
By 4.30 George had finally had enough and put out the plaintive cry 'I just want some peace and quiet'. I couldn't have said it better myself. Luckily the proud Four-boy's visitors took the hint.
By 6.00 he was dropping off on the sofa. An Exciting Day was over.
The main event was his party on Tuesday; a visit to the Funtime Factory (bouncy castle, ball pool, slides etc) followed by a party tea and Pass the Parcel at home. He conned me into making him a cake in the shape of a stegosaurus. My Victoria Sponges usually turn out like frisbees, so rather than baking, I constructed said dinosaur from bought chocolate swiss rolls glued together with butter icing, then carved into shape. Green food colouring and cocoa powder makes quite a convincing sludge green butter icing, and the plates on Steggie's back were made from After Eights. A sprinkling of chocolate flakes finished the reptile off. It tasted great! As birthday boy, George got to chop its head off- accomplished with great panache.
May I also mention a dessert triumph: Traffic Lights Jelly. Six individual red, amber and green striped jellies slid gracefully, and intact, from their moulds and were greeted by gasps from the assembled pre-schoolers. A marvel to behold.
We won't talk about how I completely miscalculated the pass the parcel. That game is by far the most stressful event of a party, timing it so everyone gets a go. Hell was narrowly avoided by the swift inclusion of Extra Sweets.
By 4.30 George had finally had enough and put out the plaintive cry 'I just want some peace and quiet'. I couldn't have said it better myself. Luckily the proud Four-boy's visitors took the hint.
By 6.00 he was dropping off on the sofa. An Exciting Day was over.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
A Splendid Time
We went Trick or Treating for the first time tonight- or, as politically correct George preferred to call it, 'Happy Halloweening'. Much of the week has been spent in preparation for this event. Two pumpkins have been hollowed out (one went mouldy and had to be thrown away), a spider with pipe-cleaner legs made, flashing shoe decorations purchased, and a costume selected.
Today, we baked and iced Halloween biscuits; witch, pumpkin, bat and ghost. All resplendent with silver balls (yes, the innuendo WAS intentional).
Off we went at 5.30 as George thought it was the middle of the night because it was dark. A prearranged call started us off and then we got carried along in an excitable current of miniature devils, witches, skeletons and werewolves. George was dressed in last year's pumpkin costume (last year he didn't really 'get' Halloween, so it wasn't worn in anger) and carried a scary lantern. He had originally intended to wear a dracula cape as well, but decided against it at the last minute.
George got progressively more excited throughout the evening, as it dawned on him that lots of children were out after dark, in fancy dress, knocking on strangers' doors for sweets. Children were waving light sabres and flashing wands. Children were roaring, screeching, running about and shouting and best of all, children were doing all this and not getting told off .
Additionally, George was the smallest, and the only one dressed as a pumpkin, and therefore was getting the cute vote. We were knocking on doors and people were saying 'Aah...don't you look lovely', rather than screaming in terror. He is his mother's son, and took all the compliments in his stride, batted his eyelashes and forgot to be offended that no-one was scared of him. But he wouldn't take the sweets! He just loved the atmosphere, the costumes, and the village glittering like a giant Ghost Train, the houses all bedecked with flickering pumpkins, ghosts, glowing eyes, and paperchains.
I managed to catch hold of him long enough to get him indoors, and then we customarily lit our pumpkin in the front window to indicate willingness for Halloween Callers. George shrieked with joy at every knock, and opened the door with cries of 'Trick or Treat!!' which rather confused things, as he was the one INSIDE the house.
The biscuits went down a storm. Darth Vader had to hand his light sabre to his mum so he could choose a bat shaped one, and a Werewolf had such long, rubbery claws that he had to be assisted in picking his biscuit up. All the vile green, orange and black icing was consumed by the undead hoards in such quantities that there were no biscuits for the final visiting coven, who had to be offered lollipops.
As the children left, George shouted his best wishes after them, and got more specific as time wore on; first, 'Happy Halloweeeen!'- amusing enough on its own when you can't say L- then, to a crew of varied alien/zombie/corpse children, 'Happy Halloween you trick or treat stonefaced skeleton heads'. And finally, as The Dark Lord and his mum disappeared up our driveway, 'Happy Halloween, Darth Vader! And- Skull and Crossbones!!'
He fell asleep, in the time honoured tradition, as soon as his head touched the pillow.
Today, we baked and iced Halloween biscuits; witch, pumpkin, bat and ghost. All resplendent with silver balls (yes, the innuendo WAS intentional).
Off we went at 5.30 as George thought it was the middle of the night because it was dark. A prearranged call started us off and then we got carried along in an excitable current of miniature devils, witches, skeletons and werewolves. George was dressed in last year's pumpkin costume (last year he didn't really 'get' Halloween, so it wasn't worn in anger) and carried a scary lantern. He had originally intended to wear a dracula cape as well, but decided against it at the last minute.
George got progressively more excited throughout the evening, as it dawned on him that lots of children were out after dark, in fancy dress, knocking on strangers' doors for sweets. Children were waving light sabres and flashing wands. Children were roaring, screeching, running about and shouting and best of all, children were doing all this and not getting told off .
Additionally, George was the smallest, and the only one dressed as a pumpkin, and therefore was getting the cute vote. We were knocking on doors and people were saying 'Aah...don't you look lovely', rather than screaming in terror. He is his mother's son, and took all the compliments in his stride, batted his eyelashes and forgot to be offended that no-one was scared of him. But he wouldn't take the sweets! He just loved the atmosphere, the costumes, and the village glittering like a giant Ghost Train, the houses all bedecked with flickering pumpkins, ghosts, glowing eyes, and paperchains.
I managed to catch hold of him long enough to get him indoors, and then we customarily lit our pumpkin in the front window to indicate willingness for Halloween Callers. George shrieked with joy at every knock, and opened the door with cries of 'Trick or Treat!!' which rather confused things, as he was the one INSIDE the house.
The biscuits went down a storm. Darth Vader had to hand his light sabre to his mum so he could choose a bat shaped one, and a Werewolf had such long, rubbery claws that he had to be assisted in picking his biscuit up. All the vile green, orange and black icing was consumed by the undead hoards in such quantities that there were no biscuits for the final visiting coven, who had to be offered lollipops.
As the children left, George shouted his best wishes after them, and got more specific as time wore on; first, 'Happy Halloweeeen!'- amusing enough on its own when you can't say L- then, to a crew of varied alien/zombie/corpse children, 'Happy Halloween you trick or treat stonefaced skeleton heads'. And finally, as The Dark Lord and his mum disappeared up our driveway, 'Happy Halloween, Darth Vader! And- Skull and Crossbones!!'
He fell asleep, in the time honoured tradition, as soon as his head touched the pillow.
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