Timber.

After the hedge, the next major item on my gardening to-do list was the ailing eucalyptus in the front garden. Slightly taller than the house, and not quite 3m away from it, the top third or so had been killed off by hard frosts over the last few years. Even aside from the fact that it kept most of the light out of the front of the house and provided a handy perch (right outside the bedroom window) for very loud birds at ungodly hours of the morning, it pretty definitely needed to come down. This, however, was definitely a job for the professionals* we decided, and resigned ourselves to having to part with a substantial amount of money to have it removed.

Then, unexpectedly, a man knocked on the door and said he had had a cancellation round the corner, and, since he was in the area and at a loose end, would we like to employ him to take it down for us if he gave us a really good price and got rid of the resulting timber. Rather inconveniently he arrived at the front door at exactly the same time as P's friend D, his mum, and his two little sisters arrived at the back, but the price was good enough that it seemed worth going ahead in spite of having a house full of guests, so off he went to get his equipment.

P and D gazing in wonderment at a man, halfway up a tree, chatting on the phone.

His equipment, it turned out, consisted of a wobbly ladder, a bijou chainsaw-ette, a length of blue nylon rope, and a sullen, chain-smoking sidekick in sunglasses. It soon became apparent that this was very much the "Eddie Grundy" school of garden landscaping: no safety ropes, no eye protection, no chainsaw-proof trousers, not even any gloves (he pulled his jumper down over his hands when he needed to pull on the rope!).** With us all watching from an upstairs window, he propped the ladder against the tree and wobbling precariously at the top of it (pausing only to chat on his mobile from time to time), hacked lumps off the tree with the chainsaw while his friend tugged on the rope to make sure they landed more-or-less in the right place. Meanwhile, in the relative safety of R's bedroom, five small people oohed and aaahed and D's mum and I speculated on the likelihood of having to call an ambulance, or go searching for a severed limb or two, if the ladder slipped. I did briefly consider offering to hold the ladder for him, but then realised that if the ladder slipped it might well be me that lost a limb...

However, terrifying though it was to watch, the tree came down (as did another smaller one in the back garden) and no limbs were forfeited (though a bit of the ladder did drop off as it toppled over when the tree fell). And there's nothing like a man up a tree with a chainsaw to keep five under-4s entertained all morning.


* A tree-surgeon, not Bodie and Doyle.
** Though at least he didn't try to flog us a novelty concrete gnome.

New Leaves: Part II

One of the few regrets we had about moving from our old house, was leaving the garden behind. While not large, the old garden had been well looked after for a good few years before we got there and was, as the estate agents say "well-established". It had a variety of attractive shrubs and perennials, a greenhouse, a shed, and a nice little pond full of frogs which set up a soothing chirping on warm summer days and kept the slugs down.

The garden at the new house is probably larger over all, but as with the rest of the house no one has looked after it in a very long time. When we arrived the whole thing (three sides of the house, since we're on the end) was dominated by one thing: a large, unkempt, badly-maintained conifer hedge.* The rest of the garden - apart from the paved area - was just grass, interspersed with the occasional dandelion, dock, and rather a large number of beer cans.

I knew this hedge of old, since, when we lived round the corner and I walked this way to the shops, I was always forced to walk in the road because I couldn't get the double buggy between The Hedge and the parked cars, so I was pretty determined to get rid of as much of the wretched thing as possible as soon as possible. A quote to have it taken out left us reeling, so we decided to have a go ourselves - or rather C and my brother did - and fortunately it proved not to be all that hard (the hardest thing being keeping the boys away from the big shiny axe!).

The demise of the horrible hedge: part I.

(The result of) the demise of the horrible hedge: part II.

So, in the course of the last year we have removed something in the region of 30 conifers, cut down two large trees**, substantially reduced the trees that remain, scraped a huge amount of ivy off the side of the house (allowing us to open two windows which were previously welded shut with vegetation), dug a gravel-filled trench to keep the soil away from the damp-course, dug and planted two flowerbeds at the front and three at the back, and made a start on improving the grass : dandelion/thistle/rubbish ratio in the so-called "lawns". There's still a long way to go, but now spring has just about sprung and a few things are starting to grow, it's beginning to feel a bit more like a garden. All I have to do now is find some way of deterring the cats from using every patch of bare earth as a lavatory, and stop the wretched postman walking through my new flowerbeds because he can't be bothered to go up the path!

*Just in case there wasn't enough of it, the previous owners had also left us a large pile of clippings outside the back gate.
** Of which more anon.

Nymphs and Leopards

Given that he is only two-and-a-bit, R is quite an articulate little beast, but he still often mis-analyses words or has trouble pronouncing them. For months, for instance, he has been demanding to put on his "dressing joan" over his pyjamas first thing in the morning. (A similar phenomenon led P to be convinced for some time that we had a "washing lion" in the garden for drying clothes).

Recently, however, I've started to think that maybe he's doing it on purpose. On Wednesday, for instance, he insisted that the seal we were looking at in a book had slippers rather than flippers, that I had presented him with a hot buttered trumpet to eat, and that his brother had attended the nursery nativity at Christmas dressed as a leopard.*

I suspect that this sudden streak of word-play is related to what his older brother has been doing at nursery, as they have been learning about rhymes. P has taken to rhyming like a duck to water, though he is perfectly happy to invent words where he can't think of a real one. Sadly, many of the words he invents do really exist, even if he has probably never come across them, which can be the cause of some embarrassment when he gets one of his periodic fits of rhyming in a public place. 'I know what rhymes with "muck", mummy! ...'



* Actually, there was a Gruffalo, but that's beside the point.

New Leaves: part I.

It has been some time since my last post.

In the meantime lots of things have happened. For one thing, we've moved house. The new house is much larger, but decidedly dilapidated, and so between every day life with two small boys, and going back to work for the second time after maternity leave, and trying (largely unsuccessfully) to renovate the house in our spare (!) time, the old blog has become somewhat neglected.

Now however, I am determined to make a concerted effort to get back to blogging, even if only now and then and in tiny bite-sized chunks.

Given that in the time it has taken me to write this post I have had to break off three times to get more glasses of milk/cereal, once to clear up the resulting mess, again to change the tv programme (it is a measure of exactly how long it has taken me that that have been able to watch more than one television programme!), and finally to confiscate pens being used to draw on the sofa, this may be a forlorn hope. However, I can but try. Oh, there goes another cup of milk...must dash.

C'est chouette.*

*When I was a kid and was learning French at school we were always led to believe that the usual Gallic exclamation of approval was "c'est chouette!" which apparently translates as "that's owl". I don't recall ever having heard an actual French person use this phrase. Though I did once meet someone whose favourite way of expressing surprise was to exclaim "Oh la vache!". Whether P and R will these are "owl" remains to be seen, but they were fun to knit.

Show home.

C and I bought our house about 6 years ago just before we got married, and until recently it's suited us very well. However, now its two bedrooms and one "reception" room are beginning to creak at the seams. Every piece of furniture has something stored under and/or behind it, it is physically impossible to clear the kitchen drainer because we don't have enough cupboard space to put all the sippy cups etc. away, and with four people squeezed round our little folding dining table it is proving increasingly impossible to position hot dishes out of reach of two small children with arms like Mr Tickle and no apparent sense of self preservation.

So, we're trying to sell. Which is fine, but showing the house to prospective buyers does require a certain degree of housekeeping. And these days that's easier said than done with a toddler intent on throwing every article in the house onto the floor and a mobile baby with a domestic appliance fetish and a fascination with filth. So, a morning which starts with a plan just to do the washing up, run the hoover round, and then go out and do something interesting, generally ends up going something like this:





7am: Get up - shower and dress - make beds quickly while C takes kids downstairs and makes breakfast [make mental note to go to the loo before C leaves for work].
8am: breakfast. [So far so good].
8.30am: C leaves for work. [Damn, never went to the loo!].
Clear the table - wipe the table/baby - pick up bits of food from floor/walls/hair - attempt to sweep floor in spite of baby clinging to and trying to chew the end of the brush. Meanwhile toddler empties toybox into middle of floor. Consider going to the loo but think it's too much effort to drag everyone upstairs and then come down again and I daren't leave them alone downstairs.
9am: Replace brush in kitchen and close gate to keep baby out. Place baby at far end of living-room and attempt to beat him back to the kitchen, get washing out of machine and shut gate again before he can get at the damned brush.
Realise baby has gone quiet. Discover this is because he has puked milk all over the floor and is happily paddling about in it and smearing it around with his hands. Retrieve baby and wipe up worst of sick with baby-wipe adding "wash floor" to the list of things to do before viewing.
9.30am: Leave toddler engaged in posting things into the stereo cabinet (which, in spite of the child lock, will open just enough to allow entry to a toy car/wooden brick etc.) and baby sorting through remaining toys in search of something small enough to choke on. Go into garden to hang out washing keeping watchful eye on kids through the patio windows.
*Return to house after having pegged only one item to sort out baby who has been sick again/ pulled himself up on the toy kitchen and got stuck/ fallen down the side of the sofa and got wedged/ is being ridden like a horse by the toddler/ is eating shoes or electrical cables or chalk that he has been supplied with by his helpful brother who reached it down from the high shelf for him.* [delete as applicable and repeat from * for as many items of clothing as are in the washing basket.
Return to house where baby is now standing up leaning against the back door howling, smearing it with sick/snot and won't move. After several minutes trying to tempt him to move to one side by tapping on the glass and pulling faces, give up and open the door very slowly in order to catch him as he falls out onto the patio.
Add "wash windows" to list of things to do before viewing.
10.30am: Attempt to get both children upstairs in order to change nappies and dress them (and go to the loo). Leave toddler pulling cushions and throw* off sofa (apparently in order to construct a rocket) and carry baby up.
Shut stairgate and return to retrieve recalcitrant toddler who won't come up of his own accord but is wittering about having found "a funny thingy" down the back of the sofa. Establish that said thingy is a) a vital part of some treasured toy that one or other of them has somehow snapped off; b) an equally vital piece of some item of furniture; c) something expensive and electrical that C has left within reach; d) something completely unidentifiable but which looks suspiciously as though it might have a bit missing which may have been eaten/posted.
Musing over identity of "thingy" is interrupted by ominous crash and wailing from above. Return upstairs with toddler to find baby has pulled the clothes airer down on himself and is trapped underneath.
Free baby and start to collect clothes together. Meanwhile toddler has swept a pile of Mr Men books onto the floor and is engaged in throwing handfuls down the stairs. Engage in brief tussle to get remaining books off him and put out of reach.
11am: Notice baby has disappeared. Go into bathroom to discover he has pulled himself up on the changing box, acquired and unravelled the loo roll and is now engaged in eating it.
Put loo roll on high shelf out of reach and prize soggy bits from between protesting jaws.
Change baby's nappy (despite screaming and struggling) and take him to toddler's bedroom to find clothes where he promptly throws up milk and half chewed toilet paper all over the carpet.
Try and to clean worst of mess off carpet with another baby-wipe which promptly disintegrates and adds to mess. Fetch hoover in desperate (and vain) attempt to improve situation causing toddler to run screaming from the room and baby to launch himself at it and begin chewing the nozzle.
Add "shampoo carpet" to list of things to do before viewing.
Distracted by loud hooting from our bedroom. Go in to discover toddler has pulled all bedding off our bed and used it to construct a train, wiping snot across most of it in the process.
Add "change beds" to list of things to do before viewing.
Sudden loud crash. Discover baby has crawled back into the bathroom and upended nappy bucket all over himself and the floor. Before have time to do anything about this toddler enters dragging the covers from his bed which he has decided to use as a cloak.
12 o'clock: Trap baby in cot and take toddler back downstairs and park him in front of Postman Pat.
Return to bathroom and finally sit down on loo to survey damage.

At 7am the beds were made, the washing up done, the floors swept and the toys tidy. It is now going on for lunchtime. The bedding is on the floor and liberally covered in snot. There are no cushions on the sofa. The floors are covered in books/toys/sick/crumbs and in the case of the bathroom unwashed nappies and soggy paper. I haven't even thought about the washing up which is piled in the sink. The toddler is still not even dressed, and what is more, I can't reach the bloody toilet roll!


* A throw which we have put on expressly in order to prevent him wiping his hands/nose on the sofa so that it still looks relatively respectable when we have viewings.

Last of the Summer Pants

This summer, after literally years of not quite getting round to it, I finally bought and used the Big Butt Baby Pants pattern that so many of my friends have raved about. And (unsurprisingly) I love it. That said it has taken me the whole summer to succeed in making three pairs of light summer trousers for each of the boys.







However, in spite of increasing interference from a small boy with a fascination for electrical cables, especially that attached to my sewing machine foot control, I finally finished the last pair this week, just in time for the weather to go cold. Better start on some winter ones I guess.*

*My attempts at photography were not helped by the lousy weather and the aforementioned small boy!