Lazy housekeeping tips #1

Thursday is cleaning day in this housejustaboutholdingtogether. Black Thursday. I hate cleaning, tidying, filing, washing. I don't iron, but I'm pretty sure I'd hate that too. The gute hausfrau, the domestic goddess, the happy little homemaker. None of these is me. Indeed I am the proud co-creator of the Looks clean/Is Clean © housework method. I would rather be doing anything than house drudgery. I would much rather be doing nothing. How I yearn for a lovely bit of nothing.

I am therefore always on the lookout for tips/ideas (besides the obvious Get a Maid option... did you know house staff are tax deductable in France?? While we're at it, I'd also get a butler, to bring me a G&T as I recline on my chaise longue watching the maid clean around my put-up feet) but I digress. I have no maid, no butler, no money and very put-down feet.

So, here's my tip:

Let the dust on your shelves accumulate to such epic proportions that it creates a layer roughly the thickness of your Sunday paper, then hoover it off. I just did this - it's so much quicker and easier, plus it has the advantage of actually removing the dust rather than unsettling it so it can resettle somewhere else.

Alternatively, why doesn't someone design a bookshelf where the books all hang over the edge, just a smidgen, thus obviating the need for dusting in the first place. Because you don't need to dust books. Books are meant to be dusty.

Happy 3rd Mouldy Birthday Wrigglesworth

Or Joyeux 3eme Moisiversaire, as the Frogs put it (le moisi means mould, but mois is month). It seems the done thing to mark these moments in Blogland. With beautiful pictures and even more beautiful sentiments. I have managed some pictures of my bright-eyed boy (one with bleary-eyed me behind) but I am feeling the deepest stormiest midnight blue and tired as... I can't think of an amusing simile, I'm too tired.

Owen, I love you, very very much. But I might love you just a little bit more if you'd let me get a bit of sleep.


Luckily for you (and me of course), when you're in a good mood, you are utterly charming.


Oh, and your favourite song is currently Day-O (The Banana Boat Song), which makes me cheerful every time I sing it (in my oh so funny Jamaican accent) and you do your nearly laugh (until you get hiccups).

Bex's Bookshelves: Twenty Thousand Streets Under The Sky, by Patrick Hamilton

I love books and reading. Especially now, when reading is my only time to escape and set the brain and the imagination in motion. (Parenting for me, at this stage, is about instinct, patience and silliness, not brainwork). I've just finished reading Twenty Thousand Streets Under The Sky by Patrick Hamilton. It's a trilogy of semi-autobiographical novels, written in the 1920/30s and set in London. I enjoyed them immensely. Not only because I could follow the characters through the streets of my beloved London town, but because Hamilton depicts human nature in a way that I recognise and which is down to earth. Simple truths, simply put; sometimes harshly put. The only way I can think of to describe these novels is to say that they don't feel like they were written by an author. Not that they are not stylistically distinct. Hamilton is a self-conscious writer and humorist (and he is acerbically funny) but there is no sense that the characters' experiences are being presented as a story or as literature. In hindsight this must obviously come in part from the autobiographical element (I only read the introduction afterwards and therefore didn't know this until I'd finished) but I think Hamilton has a gift for making the mundanities of life, the ones to which we can all relate, interesting, important and moving whilst also keeping them real.

For my fellow bookworms, I have a highly literate new follower who has her own blog just filled with book reviews (which I have already plundered to make up my next Amazon Wishlist - her opinions are most reliable). Just go to Ju's Reviews.

Greedy Bird Baking Enterprise #6 Coffee and Walnut Cake

Looks good doesn't it?


Look again.


No, it's not meant to look like that. I'd like to say that this was simply a question of accidentally catching a strange camera angle but it's culinary rather than photographic incompetence. It is that flat. The recipe blithely says, remove the cake from the oven, cool and cut into 3 slices horizontally. I could cut it into 3 slices vertically, and eat it with two of my fellow greedies...

I think it's time to admit that the Greedy Bird Baking Enterprise is a triumph of enthusiasm over skill.

Friday in photos

Back by popular demand. RTBC this Friday are:

1. It rained, comme une vache qui pisse, as the charming French saying has it.


2. After a horrid day of tears and "J'ai mal, j'ai mal" from the Monster, she was finally soothed by the Hovis advert. (There was meant to be a video here of her dancing to the Hovis ad but my technical wizardry has run out of magic). Then she was soothed by The Flumps, my favourite episode, The Cloud, including the immortal song, He's an umpty Flump.


4. Further attempts at soothing, after further tears, were nearly thwarted when I went into the chocolate shop to buy the promised chocolate lolly only to discover I'd left my purse at home. The lovely lovely people at Jeff de Bruges allowed me to take the lolly and let me return later to pay. I'll let you hazard a guess as to why they were so nice to me.


5. Wrigglesworth slept. All day. His stores of cute were therefore fully replenished.


6. In amongst all this I found time to read.

Sad Wrigglesworth

Wrigglesworth is master of the sad bottom lip. And I can't really explain why but seeing it pop out like that always makes me want to laugh. It's very difficult to catch on camera, as I always feel a bit mean taking a photo of him when he's upset but today (ok, it's a bit blurry) I got him!

I know, I know, I'm a big meanie but he had me up between 2am and 4.30am last night, so I feel no remorse.

Caca

Today is a proud day. The Monster proved to be a good little monkey indeed and did her first poo in the potty. A blessed relief for everyone as since she started weeing in the potty she has been holding in all her poo. Yesterday she began letting out deadly little pellets of what we call Nibbler poo (you'll understand if you watch Futurama) inadvertently and then exploded last night, unleashing a most ungodly stink that would have rendered senseless the olfactory function of any nose not already desensitised by two years of nappies. She got the chocolate lollipop she had been promised, possibly bad parenting but it worked, and to call her papa at work to proudly announce "caca pot". It's strange being a parent. I've just put her down for her nap and she was happily chuntering "Matilda caca pipi pot" as I closed the door.

Whether the Monster will thank me for discussing her toilet training on my blog is debatable, but I have at least drawn the line at a photo. Instead, a photo of our morning's drawing activities. She enjoys ordering me to draw things. Today it was boats and butterflies. Actually, I think she just enjoys ordering me about generally.

Conversations with the Monster (Monkey)

Me: You little monster! What are you? You're a little monster. Are you a little monster? (In that stupid way parents speak to their kids)
Monster: No, monkey.
Me: Are you a little monkey or a big monkey?
Monster: Good monkey.

Hmmmm, I think that remains to be seen.

Another post entitled "Beer"

The local creperie have asked me to translate their menu into English. For this we have been promised a free meal for all the family. Vero sent me the menu today, which includes a history of Bretagne and a detailed description of each of the delicious Bretonne beers I can't drink (much) at the moment. Slightly more than I bargained for but there's not much I wouldn't do for a crepe. I might have to get an IOU on the beer I would have drunk had I not been breastfeeding my child. Although they do say beer is good for producing breast milk... (who are this mysterious they? who knows, but they sound very wise).

To read more about Bretonne beer, see here.

I just inserted my first link! More technical wizardry from me.

Le Cousinage

The Monster and Wrigglesworth are incredibly lucky to have the happiest little band of cousins all living right on their doorstep (not literally, that would be awkward). They are:

Emile (7 tomorrow)
Pierrot (5)
and
Elise (5)
The twins, Amelie (needs an accent on the e, aarggrhhh) and Armand (3)

The handsome chap above is the birthday boy himself. Happy Birthday for tomorrow Emile. One of my favourite memories of Emile was when I was pregnant with the Monster and I asked him what name I should give the baby. He promptly suggested Schtroumpf (French for Smurf), then added: Non, ce serait un peu bizarre.

I am incredibly lucky that the ever lovely Tontine/belle soeur, Anne, is a fantastic cook. No crumby, sticky messes for her! Below photographic evidence (before the feast began) to reassure you that I made up for my sticky crumby mess yesterday by partaking most gluttonously of Anne's more successful efforts.

Oh, and one of those glasses of bubbly is mine. Was mine. I tried not to notice how many times it was refilled. And if I did, I'm certainly not telling.

Greedy Bird Baking Enterprise #5 Moomintroll's Delicious Chocolate Cake

No, it is not meant to look like that. I know the Finns are reputed to be strange, but not that strange. Here's a list of what went wrong.

1. I forgot to sieve the cocoa and had to spend ages crushing the lumps with my spoon. In retrospect, this seems laughably insignificant.

2. Beating together the egg and sugar I realised that "beat into a thick foam" probably meant meringue. I have neither an electric whisk nor the patience/arm power for this. So I decided that 5 minutes beating was enough. Again, in retrospect, it was rather pointless worrying about this.

3. As I was finally mixing everything together to pour into the tin, Wrigglesworth awoke after only half an hour of his nap and proceeded to cry. Fanf took the honours pacing while I finished my cake.

4. I poured the mixture into a tin that has this clever detachable bottom so you can pop it up and pop out the cake. Only my mixture all started to seep out of the bottom onto the kitchen counter. So I had to transfer the mixture, what was left if it, into my silicone cake mould, which I don't like because it messes up cooking times, but which the manufacturer told me would be fine unbuttered after one use. I have used it once.

5. I put the cake in the oven and then the Monster woke from her nap. Went upstairs to find her hot and sniffling in bed. Obviously a sympathy cold for her little Canuck pixie friend. Gave her some water, stroked her fevered brow and put her back to bed.

6. Meanwhile downstairs, Wrigglesworth was settling in for a full afternoon's crying. I checked my cake, convinced it was burning, by opening the door. It wasn't. But I watched it sink dejectedly as I closed the over door again.

7. Took my turn to rock, cajole, threaten Wrigglesworth. Just the time it took for my cake to really start burning.

8. Cooking time up, I removed my cake from the oven - looking none too promising. Once it had cooled I tried to turn it out of the silicone mould. It stuck. The resultant mess you see photographed above.

There are, as I see it, two reasons to be cheerful here. Firstly, the Monster did go back to sleep and seemed much better when she did finally wake. Secondly, no cake for Bex means no cake calories for Bex. I have to do all kinds of mental gymnastics to see this as a RTBC given that cake calories aren't really a problem for me. I intend to go out and buy myself a tub of ice-cream to make up for the emotional anguish I have suffered this afternoon. I suppose that is a RTBC...

EDIT: Actually, it's quite edible.

Friday in photos

RTBC this Friday, apart from the fact that it's Friday and there's a whole glorious weekend in waiting with the fella, include:

1. Being cheek to cheek with Wrigglesworth, his favourite position.


2. The Monster has started to use the potty this week....


3. ... she has also been redecorating.


4. The Monster and Maman silly photo shoot. Sometimes I worry that I spend way too much time just being silly with the Monster instead of doin' sum edukashunal wotnot, then I think again. Being silly is great!

George

Today, with the Monster off with the grandspoilers, I have had some time for me. There are lots of things I should have be doing (mostly housework and filing) but I didn't want to. Wrigglesworth slept through last night and it seemed madness to waste some alert time on meaningless mind-numbing chores. So, after our first massage class this morning left Wrigglesworth zonked for the afternoon, I listened to the BBC radio documentary I downloaded George Harrison - What is life? and then read my book, Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky by Patrick Hamilton, for two solid hours. Two hours, what indulgence! Bliss.

I have been a devoted Beatles fan since I watched A Hard Day's Night when I was fourteen. I fell completely in love with John Lennon but I have since grown up and for a number of years now have recognised the myriad qualities of the lovely George Harrison. In my opinion, he is the only Beatle to get better musically, in fact in every way, after the Beatles split up. Listening to the documentary has only made me love him more. He achieved so much, and seems to have remained so resolutely grounded, purely motivated, honest and kind. He's also hilarious, dry as a bone hilarious. I love Any Road, have a listen Jen (I'm going to drop the pretence that I'm writing this for anyone other than you :) ...and me of course), the lyrics are great, they speak to me right now! I have just listened to the song again and it has made me feel most cheerful.

Oh and Ben (if you're still checking in), George still reminds me hugely of you, which I mean as a enormous compliment, to both you and George.

Duck, Death and the Tulip

'Are you cold?' Duck asked. 'Shall I warm you a little?'
Nobody had ever offered to do that for Death.


I bought this book a while ago "for Matilda". I read it - it's beautiful - and tucked it away on the Monster's bookshelves. She recently dug it out for herself and we have been reading it over and over. She likes the Duck, or Canard and can also now say Death. I am not frightened of death, it's natural, and when my time comes, providing it comes naturally, I imagine it will be a relief. I am hoping that in a few years this book will help the Monster to accept death as a natural part of life as well. As the Duck is sent floating down the river when she dies I imagine the Monster might embrace the idea of death a little too wholeheartedly.

I love children's books and can't wait to introduce my children to some of my favourites from when I was a kid. These include: the stories of Milly Molly Mandy, the Moomins, Winnie the Pooh, Paddington, The Worst Witch, Dorrie the little witch and Teddy Robinson, Alice in Wonderland, The Owl who was afraid of the dark in fact anything by Jill Tomlinson, Roald Dahl (obviously), Philip Pullman and of course the poets, my beloved Spike Milligan, Roger McGough, Edward Lear, A.A. Milne. I could go on... But I'd like to discover some new stuff as well. I just bought Emile and the Detectives by Erich Kastner as a birthday present for my nephew, Emile. I'd never read or heard of this book but apparently it's great so I intend to borrow it from him. (If I don't sneakily read it before I wrap it.)

So, I would love to get some new ideas, anyone? anyone?

Beer

9.30pm to 8am.

I am off to buy some more beer.

Reasons to be miserable/cheerful

I wrote the beginning to this post at about 3.15pm. And was interupted by Owen crying again.

It feels like Owen has cried all day today. He won't sleep. Anywhere. I usually try to make light of his tears but today I am not amused. I am tired and I've eaten way too much chocolate (my way of coping, only I have a tendency to overcope). Being stuck with a crying unhappy baby is torture. An hour can feel like a lifetime. Hell, five minutes can feel like a lifetime. The worst of it for me is the feeling of anger I have towards him. I think this is normal. At least I have spoken to a couple of other parents who have admitted to similar feelings of anger, and they seem normal enough. But it's horrible to be angry with your child. Your poor, helpless, innocent but nonetheless unfuriatingly screaming child. Then add sleep deprivation, just to really make you feel like you can't cope.

At 5pm, we all piled in the car and drove down to the playground by the river. I sat and watched Matilda and Fanf play on the pirate ship. Owen enjoyed the sunshine and then when he grizzled I took him in my arms and he fell asleep with his head pressed to my chest. After a while Matilda came dashing over, gave me a kiss, and then dashed off again. For one brief emotional happy moment I thought I might cry (that'll be the sleep deprivation). We then walked along by the river and stopped in a cafe for drinks and an ice-cream (3 spoons).

There are no good or bad days with children, only good or bad moments. Or brilliant moments. And truly awful ones. Owen cried on the way back to the car and Matilda had a blue fit when we got home, bless our two little bumps back to reality. Still, the day is ending not too badly. Of course it's not over yet. Will Owen sleep tonight...? I had a beer. Maybe that will help. It helped me.

Hic.

La vache qui pompe

Wrigglesworth slept until 4am. And then didn't sleep, and didn't sleep some more, and continued to refuse to sleep just a bit longer, until it was time for normal people to get up. Now he's asleep. Grrrrrr.

So where is the RTBC here...?

1) Well, I allowed myself an extra huge slice of banana bread for breakfast to help deal with the sleep deprivation. And then allowed myself a second huge slice, just in case (just in case I wanted another slice, turns out I did, so good call me).

2) While Wrigglesworth is having a lie-in I decided to try the breast pump for the first time. How sexy does pumping your milk make you feel? The Monster kept pointing to the pump and saying "Owen, Owen"... I am now slightly worried at her inability to distinguish her brother from a couple of bits of plastic tubing. So anyway, the little tinker won't be sucking at me this morning. The fella will be taking charge. I am about to snuggle up with a cup of tea and my book (and maybe another slice of banana bread...) and am already dreaming of nights out sans enfants.

So Margot? How did you do??

Greedy Bird Baking Enterprise #4 Banana bread with Chocolate Chips and Walnuts

After Wrigglesworth's sterling effort last night there is no more early bird baking. So I've decided to call a spade a spade and rename the enterprise.

So banana bread. I am starting with the classics. I fleetingly considered doing something without chocolate. And then I laughed at my own foolishness and quickly googled recipes with added chocolate chips. Still, this is super healthy compared to last week's triple chocolate coronary. You can tell, because it's called bread.

Best moment today: eating my sort of healthy banana bread warm from the oven, whilst chatting on the phone to the most lovely lovely Jen (so lovely she needs two lovelies to even begin to describe her), whilst both my children slept upstairs in their beds.

Oh and by the way, Margot, Owen, we're on to you, you can stop your little game now, tonight we want a full night's sleep from both of you. Got it?!

Sleeps through the night model has arrived

11pm to 7.30am. Whoo hoo.

We had the evening's screaming but no jabs this time. And apart from waking up at 5.30am and going from elation to panic in ten seconds, followed by a quick trip downstairs to check Wrigglesworth was safely asleep, a good night was had by all. Let's hope this model is not faulty.

By the way, before you ask... Yes, he was on his tummy.

Gratuitous shot of my kids. The Monster pretty much expresses how we all feel about Wrigglesworth this morning.

Peace

This week has marked a revolution in our little lives. Wrigglesworth has slept 2/3 hours every afternoon, in bed, on his tummy. This means 2/3 hours of peace for everyone. This also means everyone is much more cheerful. The fella now comes home to a happy little herd rather than frazzled grizzly grumpy bums.

Yesterday, having packed the monster off again to the grandspoilers, spending the day with new improved "siesta Wrigglesworth" was particularly delightful. After our nap, we went for a walk in the old cemetery. I used to go there every day when the Monster was still of an age when I could put her down and know she'd be where I left her when I came back. I love cemeteries, such a sense of peace and history - you can read so much from a gravestone. Pere Lachaise will always be my favourite but Beziers cemetery is lovely as it's on a hill overlooking the surrounding countryside and you can see the mountains beyond between the gravestones. I tried to capture this with some arty farty photo shots, but they turned out more farty than arty.

My mini me

Me: So, what would you like for tea?
Monster: Chocolat.

Me too!

More Mad Men

I often claim, rather haughtily, that I do not watch tv. This is a filthy rotten lie. No, I do not trawl the tv listings, just turn on the box randomly or tune in regularly to my favourite shows. But, much as I'm slightly embarrassed to admit it, one of the best moments of the day is when the fella and I have put the kiddiwinks to bed and flop together in front of my laptop to watch something we have downloaded. In our current no sleep, no money state, tv is a bit of a lifesaver. And it's good tv, mostly. I am particularly excited this week because we have started the new series of Mad Men, which I think is brilliant. Other shows I will happily admit to enjoying include Weeds, True Blood, 30 Rock, Outnumbered, Six Feet Under (I'm a late starter to this one) and Dexter. (A special mention for the wonderful Michael C. Hall. I found out he played the Emcee in Sam Mendes' Broadway production of Cabaret, how much would I have loved to have seen that.) Shows I will less happily admit to watching, but will happily watch nonetheless, include Lost, Fringe, Glee, Top Gear and The Big Bang Theory. And the show I am ashamed to say I watched rather a lot of before I finally realised it was terrible and wouldn't admit to watching at all if I hadn't determined to be completely honest on this blog: Desperate Housewives. (A special mention for the truly detestable Susan/Teri Hatcher - I would cheerfully snap every one of your unfeasibly scrawny limbs.)

Reasons to be miserable

I have spent nearly a month seeing the bright side and when I read back my life seems mildly idyllic which, sometimes, it is. Keeping this online record does indeed make me cheerful. So great - as that was the point of the blog, to help me to stay positive. But this morning [when I wrote this post - I wanted to check with the fella before publishing] I was feeling pretty blue [the two posts below have helped with the blueness]. So I have decided that every now and again, I am going to have a moan about the things that get me down. Not as a means to making things better, but just to have a moan. Because my life at the moment is not always idyllic. And because I don't want to irritate anyone with a false neverending chirpiness. So, I will start by listing the long-standing, ingrained, can't see a way out of them reasons I have for being miserable.

1. We are not, in way of the world, poor. But, in our world, it feels like we are. Poverty now, if we could see the prospect of an end to it later, would perhaps be livable. But we don't, largely because...
2. ... neither the fella nor I have really got a hang of this career thing. Despite having a PhD I am not qualified to do anything. It worries me sick wondering how I am going to occupy my working life and, although this is irrational and silly, how my children will judge me for what I will or will not end up doing.
3. Try as I might (and I am still trying) I can't seem to make friends in Beziers and I miss my friends around the world hugely. I have never had difficulty making friends before.
4. I used to live in Paris and London and because we live in Beziers and have no money I feel culturally starved. I miss theatre, art galleries and museums. And travelling of course. And I worry about my kids missing out on them too.

There are positive sides to this handful of miserable coins, but here is not the place for them. Here is my 100%, my life can be really quite rubbish, poor me space. Misery loves company, I hope that my reasons to be miserable might give some companionship.

That said, to make clear to my beloved family that whatever might be rubbish in my life it certainly isn't them - they are the most brilliant family ever - here's a photo of my litte lot taken by the Etang de Thau this weekend, a lovely day out. This marks a feat of technical wizardry on my part. It's the first time I've ever used the zoom.

Sibling Love

Tummy Boy

Hallelujah. Wrigglesworth slept for two and a half hours this afternoon. Not on me, not in his bouncy cradle but in his cot. Getting Wrigglesworth to sleep anywhere other than chest to chest on me has been difficult so this is a major RTBC. So, what's the secret? Well, turns out Wrigglesworth is not, as I thought, a mummy's boy (little sob) but a tummy boy. I put him in his cot face down. Now I know that French medical would have me hung, drawn and quartered, or rather guillotined, for such an unforgivable parental misdemeanor but I say va te faire foutre (excuse my French) French medical science. Will this work tomorrow...? I'll let you know.

After a sleepless night with Wrigglesworth and a grumpy Monster with a sore bum this morning the new Hovis advert, already a favourite of the Monster's, helped us all find a smile this morning. Matilda's commentary goes: "Car, ball, de l'eau, pig, dog, again". She particularly enjoys seeing the teacher pushed in the swimming pool. I love the music. I sense something of the monster's future in this little video. I shall be sure to keep a careful eye on her when we are around livestock.

(Not so) Early Bird Baking Enterprise #3 Triple Chocolate Brownies

Owing to an unforeseen egg shortage (due to a brain failure on the part of one seriously sleep-deprived maman) the brownies were for lunch rather than breakfast. So we had the early bird without the baking. I say brownies, more like Triple Chocolate Sludge. I hate brownies that are over-baked and dry but I think I was a bit too cautious. My brownies (sludge) look like strange amphibious creatures ought to be crawling out of them any minute to start life on earth. So sludgy are my brownies in fact that I can't even cut them into brownies, we are having to spoon my primeval ooze directly from the tin. This has the advantage of not allowing you to register exactly how much you've eaten. Not exactly, but I think it can safely be said that I've eaten quite a lot. It's pretty delicious sludge.

Donne Owen

As I was scurrying around trying to tidy up after breakfast the Monster came and asked me, "Donne Owen?" which meant she wanted to give a toy to her little brother. I turned round a couple of seconds later and Wrigglesworth was just visible after the Monster's fit of overenthusiastic toy-giving.

Things can only get better

Given the early and unwelcome start to the day (apart from the wriggly smiles), I am pleased to report a number of reasons to be cheerfuller have presented themselves already today.



1. It is cold... ish, and slightly damp, and grey (see above shot from our bedroom window), yes, I am weird, but hooray! (You can take the girl out of England...)
2. My neighbours. I met Emile (the grandfather) for a chat in the street and Maeva (the granddaughter - they are 3 generations in the one house) in the market at Mimi's boulangerie. Lovely friendly people - Emile offered to babysit Matilda. As I say, lovely lovely people.
3. My first post-pregnancy peanut butter and banana sandwich with lovely Mimi's bread and Peanut Butter & Co.'s Old Fashioned Crunchy Peanut Butter, no oil or sugar, just peanuts and a bit of salt (ilovepeanutbutter.com.) A present from the littlest bro. Delish.
4. Mummy and Wrigglesworth time, as the Monster has been whisked off by the Grand-Spoilers to Nimes. Lucky her, she's gets out and about more than I do.
5. Discovering two sticky patches on Wrigglesworth's head where the Monster gave him two sticky melon kisses yesterday. Bad, dirty, slovenly mother, with her fruit smeared child. Though I don't think he'll suffer any lasting damage from my lapse in hygiene and it has afforded me another RTBC. And if you've ever wondered what sticky melon kisses look like (who hasn't?) see the strange photo below. You have to look quite closely.



6. A very sweet text from the fella, which contained the words "love" and "unbounded".

More jabs please

...No. It is not possible. In fact, just to prove how not possible it is, Wrigglesworth has decided to abandon his usual and most agreeable feed-zonk nightime routine for an impromptu feed-wriggle-smile variation. At least he's smiling.

Chilly mornings

I love the season change from summer to autumn. I love waking up on top of the covers because the night is hot and then having to snuggle under the covers because the morning is cold and feeling cool air blowing across my face as I unfurl from the arms of Morpheus. I particularly love it when Wrigglesworth has slept from 10.30pm to 6.00am, and then gone back to sleep again. Unfortunately this extraordinary feat of slumber was precipitated by two doses of jabs followed by a full evening's crying. Could it be possible to do without either and just keep the sleepy Wrigglesworth? I'll let you know...