Talk About Cheesecake

Musings, meanderings and meditation for my mind.


A Proud Moment – an Extra Special Post

This is an extra special post, so I wanted it to be about something extra special in my life. Of course, there is nothing more special than my beautiful, wonderful, funny and cheeky Mini Monsters, so let’s make today about them!

I’m doing this backwards, but let’s start with Mini Monster 2.

My wee man is 3 years old. He is a funny little chap, he loves to make people laugh so that he can join in with a great big belly chuckle. MM2 takes after his dad, he likes to do things properly and he won’t take instruction. Instead he watches everyone around him until he is sure he knows what to do – and then he goes for it.

For example – take learning to crawl. Mini Monster 1 did the whole pushing herself along the floor on her tummy – usually backwards – until she was wedged under the sofa. Then she learnt to get on to her hands and knees and rock for a while before splatting face first into the carpet. When it came to walking she spent time surfing around the sofa before taking her first tentative 3 steps – and splatting turtle style.

Not so for MM2. He sat and watched everyone run around him for ages. Not even a hint of rocking. One hot sunny afternoon in the summer he sat and studied MM1 and her cousins sprinting about the garden and splashing in the pool. All day. We went indoors in the evening, sat him on the floor and when we came back he was crawling off up the stairs. Yes, from sit to climb in one afternoon. When he was ready to walk – he did. He got up one day while we were watching TV and walked from one end of the room to the other.

Of course, I don’t have a super baby. I’m not totally mental. There were a few splats. But generally he likes to study the problem and then get it right the first time.

So – on to my proud mummy boast for MM2. This month we have tackled potty training. I did try about 6 months ago but clearly he had not spent enough time studying the process then. This time round, he got it pretty darn quickly. Yay to a nappy free house!

Now on to Mini Monster 1. My delicious 6 year old girl is pretty darn funny. She loves to make jokes and is a cheeky little girly – no flies on her when it comes to remembering something you told her so that she can use it against you. Who knew they actually listened to you, right?

MM1 shares some of my more admirable qualities. No patience, the ability to completely ignore you while staring you in the face (she just discovered daydreaming is a great excuse for everything), complete stubbornness (oh, hang on, they both have that) and being able to find something funny in just about every situation (believe me, sometimes this is just so inappropriate!)

We have been working together on her maths recently – as you may recall this is a stressful time for us both. Still, it looks like it has paid off, because she has moved up a group in class and is working on the harder problems. Proud mummy boast – I have spawned a genius. Clearly she gets that from me too!

OK – maybe not.

Still, I have 2 pretty wonderful monsters to cuddle and I am grateful for that!

Which reminds me – the extra special bit.

This is my 100th post – I am amazed that I have got this far and written so much, after my 1st little post. More amazed that some of you stop by regularly to have a read – so thank you very much for taking time not only to read but also to comment.

What’s made your month special? Share it with me, we can grin insufferably together.

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Are we harder on girls?

As I watch my son dancing around the living room, 5 days away from his 3rd birthday, I have another flash of guilt that he is still in a nappy. By this age we had done potty training with his sister and she was nappy free. Did I push her harder?

Of course, circumstances were different then. I was in full time employment, so I could take a week off to concentrate fully on rushing her to the potty every hour and cleaning the carpet five times a day. I knew that I was getting holiday pay. Now I am self-employed, every hour counts as time required to work. Basically, I haven’t had the funding to potty train my son.

With the first child, everything is new. I was keen to potty train her, in the same way that I concentrated on getting her to speak or to try to try her first food, to sit up or to walk. Each new stage was exciting and a proud moment for me as a parent. Undoubtably I am still proud of the second child but perhaps the same enthusiasm is no longer there, especially now that I have the added knowledge of the long slow slog ahead?

Articles and baby sites inform us that girls learn faster than boys. Your son will be slower, we are assured. In which case I shouldn’t presume that my son will be trained before his 3rd birthday just because my daughter was, surely? So, some relief there, a genuine scientific excuse to allow for the fact he is clearly lagging behind her in other areas as well – he certainly took much longer to talk to us in anything resembling English.

The same science informs us that the second child will talk later because their sibling does the talking for them (phew, more back up for me there then!) and that they will walk earlier in order to try to catch their bigger playmate. Well, my children both took their first steps exactly one week after their 1st birthdays. However, my boy was obviously much more steady on his feet and was climbing and bouncing about within days. The speed with which he managed to become a tool-using monkey and utilise props in his adventures to reach higher shelves and poke at the TV controls took us unawares.

My daughter, however, would undoubtably inform the observer that she has life so much harder than her baby brother. Already at 6 a mini diva, she knows it is unfair that she has to tidy their shared bedroom when it was him that made all the mess. Well, in her version anyway. And she definitely doesn’t see why she should have to do homework whilst he plays. ‘It’s not fair’ is rapidly becoming the theme in this house.

Am I harder on her though? Is this because we expect our girls to be more capable and boys to be more coddled? Or isn’t this just the natural result of being the first born?

So, should I start potty training my son now or shall I let it lie a little bit longer, until I am sure he ready to pick it up in one day with no mess for me. You know – about the age of 21.

What do you think?




A moment of silence

Ooops, here I am again, 2 months after the last update,full of excuses again. I pop in like a visitor to my own blog, prompted by guilt after seeing friends update theirs or start new blogs themselves! If I could just have a moment of silence to catch up with myself.

Well, once again it had been a busy few months. Self-employment is rolling along, the kids are now on their summer holidays and, feeling perhaps that I just had too much time on my hands, I introduced a puppy into our home and started potty training my son at the same time!

Any mum out there knows that potty training requires time, patience and a lot of carpet cleaner. Coincidentally, a new puppy requires the same, although I hadn’t realised, this being our first dog, that puppies go through teething and potty training at the same time. A mobile chewing, pee machine!

Picture this. I feed the puppy, knowing that within the next twenty minutes I will need to take her out for a pee (puppy training experts tell me that puppies pee after eating, sleeping and playing. No one told my puppy, she also pees after moving, barking, biting, walks . . . ) I sit at my desk, to get back to the same point in my work I have been trying to finish for the last hour. My son walks in, bow legged and walking sideways, panic in his eyes and hands cupped around his trousers. ‘Mummy, mummy, wee wee.’

Up I jump, there is no time to waste. We rush through to the living room, my son shouting ‘wee wee, quick mummy’ at the top of his voice (the potty dash should be an Olympic sport) ‘it’s coming mummy’. We yank off his trousers, sit him on the pot, stand him up and yank down his pants, sit him down again, and then … ‘Are you having a wee, son?’ ‘Not yet mummy’.

We wait. There is a brief moment of silence. The eye of the storm is upon us.

My daughter comes running through the kitchen, leaving child gates swinging free. The puppy comes bounding through, sees his playmate confined and still and jumps onto my son, teeth out to chew on his arms, legs and anything available. My son is shrieking, he jumps up. I turn to grab the puppy, who runs off under the table with my sons shoe in her mouth. My son shrieks ‘my shoe, my shoe’. I start to crawl after the puppy, my son shouts ‘I wee’d mummy, I wee’d’. I turn back to watch the trickle run down his leg to puddle in the trousers round his ankles and over the carpet. And behind me I just know that the puppy has squatted down to relieve herself in unison.