Spring Has Not Sprung

I signed off my last post with a hope for a sunny spring.

It promptly snowed more than it has done all this winter, at least in Leith, anyway. On Monday morning we awoke to the powderiest snow I've ever seen this close to sea level. It drifted along pavements and blew off rooves all the way along the road to school. Josie and Lori appeared to be in some form of nirvana as they capered along the road. Josie threw a snowball at me about every ten metres, and Lori was fully engaged with making new footprints everywhere she could. We spent the next few days inching our way home, as the powdery snow had turned to sheet ice, with Lori shouting, "Those are mine!" at every child-sized footprint on the edge of the pavement.

Most disappointingly, the snow melted in short order, so we haven't had a chance to try out Winter Lightning, the new sledge purchased by Josie and Lori with a combination of Christmas and Tooth Fairy money. I think it might need to wait until next year now, which is pretty dull, although I've just checked the weather forecast and it does indicate that we're due more snow this weekend.

Bizarrely, this time last year, it was so hot that the BBC reported on the "March heatwave" from Portobello Beach, while locals paddled and swam in the unseasonably warm water. I don't think there's going to be any of that this Easter.

The Nadir of Winter

It's about 48 days since the shortest day of this winter.

I say "about" because I counted it on my calendar, then lost count, and couldn't be bothered to count again.
So, 48 (+ or - my attention span) days since the shortest day, but it doesn't feel like the darkness is passing. In fact, it feels much more miserable than the shortest day, because at least on the Solstice you have Christmas to look forward to. And for me, the Winter solstice feels like my alternative wedding anniversary. We got married on the longest day, but always planned to do it on the shortest day. Long story.

Anyway, it's 2 days until school half-term, and this year I feel compelled to take a week's leave to coincide with it. I don't usually, but I am this year. It's just that kind of week/month/job. So, I paused today, before I responded to a question from my manager, which in turn was in response to the request by his manager for a document, whose requirements have changed, but which needs to be presented to our director on Tuesday. Yes, that's a long sentence, but I lost the will to edit. Anyway, the question?

Manager "You're away on leave next week, aren't you?"
Me "Yes."
Manager "Where are you away?"
Me <strategic pause while I consider my response>
Would it be wrong to claim that Muir of Lownie has no mobile phone coverage?

The Magic Stone of December

Today, I was taking some photos of food. That's because the website I've been writing for, Weekend Notes, has just started a new website, RecipeYum. I decided to make a fruit salad, because, well, do I need to explain? Yes?

Here's why:

1. It's healthy (this is Josie's reason, proffered as she read this post over my shoulder).
2. It's the perfect Christmas tea (Lori's reason).
3. It's colourful (another idea of Josie's).

I tell you what, let's forget my reason and go with theirs, shall we? They're ever so much more fun than mine, and a lot less lazy-sounding.

Anyway, I took my camera through to take a picture. A few minutes, I heard a call from Lori. She had made her own recipe from her dinner, and wanted me to take a photo. I wasn't expecting much. Lori's recent school report claimed that she was "particularly artistic". I scoffed slightly. At 5? How can they know this? Perhaps I should have listened to the teacher. I was expecting a rubbishy smiley face, drawn on with the tomato sauce. I got this:

She has even unrolled an individual leek to make a surround.

I went away to do a bit more on my salad and she had transformed it into this. It is "The Magic Stone of December".

I tell you, if +Andrew Law has ever doubted Lori's parenthood, he should stop right now. She is clearly a child of an obsessive, artistic Law, if ever I saw one.

Lucky Unicorns

Josie has inherited my raffle luck. Or maybe it's just that I wrote her name on the ludicrous number of tickets that I bought. It's not luck, so much as sheer weight of Law tickets in the raffle bucket. Yesterday we won a unicorn and a head, shoulder, and neck massage. Woot woot! Three raffles, 5 prizes. Good going.

Josie also had other news for me:

Josie: I like Daddy better at somethings

Me: Like what?

Josie: Cuddles. He does picky-uppy cuddles, bouncy cuddles, slow cuddles, fast cuddles. But, Mummy, if the bed does break it won't be just our fault, because sometimes you give us bouncy cuddles too.

She also expressed her concern about a household appliance:

Josie: I have been observing the washing machine for some time, and it has been spinning slowly, then stopping and spinning the other way. Is it broken?

She also had an opinion on her sister:

Josie: Wow, look at your hair Lori, you look like a scraggle-bumpkin.
Lori: What is a scraggle-bumpkin?
Josie: You, Lori.

Basically, she is now a proper human with her own opinions, ideas, and worries. It feels like only yesterday she was freaking out because she thought the Pinky-Ponk would crash into a hedge.

I win at life!

Further to delivering 28 pints of milk to school, by foot, in preparation for tomorrow's Christmas Cafe, I am now making my savoury contribution: filled rolls.

My thought process on discovering something unusual about the cheese:

My pack of pre-sliced cheddar cheese is supposed to have ten slices in it. It has eleven. I win at life! I need to make 12 rolls.  I need to open another packet. I saunter into 4th place in life. I'll count the second packet too. It also has 11 slices! Should I got to the shop and buy all the packs they have available? No, I probably don't need that much cheese. It wouldn't help me win at life.

Andrew's thought process:

Her pack of cheese has 11 slices in it? It is probably sold by weight, and so it needed the extra slice. She has exactly the same amount of cheese as she would have had anyway.

Result
He didn't greet my suggestion to "go out and buy all the cheese" with much enthusiasm. I have since checked the packet. 250g. He is right. I do not win at life. Except I do, because I have amused myself for the past 20 minutes whilst undertaking the otherwise boring task of preparing rolls for other people and their children to eat.

I win at life again!

Castle Cloudberry Ballet Book Party

A few weeks ago I previewed the Castle Cloudberry Ballet Book Party on Weekend Notes. The girls spent the next few weeks trying to get their mouths round that lengthy title, and at the same time got quite excited at ballet fun on offer.

And there was a lot of fun: crafts competitions, cakes, author signing, a raffle, dance classes, and more.

It was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Josie and Lori had great fun dancing around:

Lori has just tried some berry juice. It was fizzy. That was unexpected.

Waaaaaaaaah! Ninja dancer!

This is my signature walk, and it's going to make me famous.

She danced for about 15 minutes, then ran over to tell me she wanted to perform in front of "thousands of people"

Ah, an arabesque. Lovely.

And there you go. That was the Castle Cloudberry Ballet Book Party. 2 hours of lovely ballet fun!

We Made Them Out of Fluff

Parenting is quite hard, and yet at the same time it simply flows along, from day to day.

You don't need to work hard to let the days pass. They just do. Although sometimes they do feel like very hard work.

Before you know it, you have fully formed people, who interact with each other without recourse to you, except the occasional yell of "Mummy!" when they can't reconcile their own issues.

They are endlessly fascinating to eavesdrop upon, even if eavesdropping is a behaviour one shouldn't role-model for one's children.

One of the most special  parts of being a parent of siblings is when they stop needing you for their interactions with each other. For many years, their conversations have been moderated, and facilitated, and to some extent, created, by one or other parents.

Then, that starts to stop. They start to engage each other, like proper little humans, in proper little conversations.

Occasionally, although I know I shouldn't really, I hover on my way past their bedroom door and have a sneaky listen. Their conversations are so sweet, and a little odd. Here's a sample that I observed tonight:

Lori: Where do you do a World War?
Josie: All around the world.
Lori: No, I think you'd just do it in random places
Josie: No, you wouldn't do it in random places, I don't think. What kind of random places?
Lori: Just in the middle of the road. Places like that.
Josie: I don't think so. I think in fields maybe.
Lori: I will ask Mummy.
Josie and Lori: Muuuuuuummy!

Aaaaaaand I'm back. I'm glad they're growing into proper little people, but it is also quite nice to still be needed. Moments like that make all the hard stuff worthwhile.

And at moments like that, Andrew and I turn to each with these words: We made them out of fluff. It's the kind of thing that the child of a teddy bear would say, I suppose.

But we did: adorably sweet, lovely fluff. As cute as can be to us, their parents, the ones that will always love them more than they can possibly imagine.

"Out of fluff" we will say to each other, knowingly, when we are old, and they have their own children, their first job, or a broken heart.

The Fairy Swimming Pool

As if to illustrate the point I made in Quantum Theory, I heard the following sound issue from the bathroom last night:

Lori: Nooooo! Josie! Don't let the water out. I still need to make the fairy swimming pool.

Intrigued, I wandered through to the bathroom to mediate this burgeoning dispute.

Lori was lying on her back in an ever-reducing pool of water, splashing it on to her tummy to fill the "fairy swimming pool".

Yes, you've guessed it, her tummy button now functions as a place for her imaginary fairy friends to have a refreshing dip.

Now that was...unpredictable.

Quantum Theory

I was reading a book about the world's greatest ideas, and I came across this passage:

"Quantum theory is based on the discovery that at the very smallest scales, smaller than atoms, things behave very differently. The classical rules of physics, the rules that govern everything from how an ant crawls to how the universe expands, just don't work at the sub-atomic scale, it seems. In classical physics, things behave according to a strict pattern of cause and effect. Quantum theory...is all about probabilities. It means you can never say where something is...you can only say where it probably is. It's position is fixed only when you observe it."

Either this is wrong, or my children are sub-atomic particles governed by quantum theory, because this describes *exactly* the state of unpredictable chaos that occurs when they have a bath together and I shut the bathroom door.

Do as I Say, Child, Not as I Do.

I offered to help Josie and Lori tidy their room, and then made the following statement.

"Right, Josie, let's go and see what we're up against."

She then took me on a tour of her room, with the following words:

"We're up against this. We're up against a little bit more of that. We're up against this. We're not up against that (points to the top of the wardrobe). I'm not sure about that or that. Basically, Mummy, we've got a lot of work to do. We're up against a lot,"

She is such an adorably literal child.

P.S. My room is even messier than theirs. It's embarrassing.

Bide a wee

My little girl is growing up. Today, she announced,

"I used to love the Singing Kettle when I was little."

I thought you were still little, Josie Posie.

Lindsay was confused by how quickly Josie seemed to be growing.

Last year, she told me she never wanted not to walk to school with me. I told her she might change her mind when she was a bit older. Three days ago, she asked to walk home on the other side of the road. On Thursday, it was walking to school over the road. And now on Friday it was a super, mega-sized teenage huff, because she was sent to bed before Strictly Come Dancing.

I watched this with sweaty palms and my heart in my mouth. It's only a climbing wall, for goodness sake!

It's by turns lovely and horrible to watch her growing independence.

A couple of useful hints that will serve you well in life.

Mornings are always compressed around here. I get sick of the sound of my own voice.

"Lori, eat up."
"Porridge, have you eaten your porridge?"*
"Josie, stop reading, and get your shoes on."
"Josie, stop reading, and brush your hair."
"Lori, remember to drink as well as eat."
"Josie, while I'm glad you're reading, please don't do it while you clean your teeth."
"Josie. Put the book down!"

I'm sure you can sense the theme with both my children. One won't eat. The other won't stop reading. Both of these things cause our mornings to stretch interminably towards the 08:30 deadline, by which time we have to be out of the house, or we will be late for school.

My own routine sometimes gets a little side-tracked, and distracted.

Does yours?

If it does, then have two very handy and helpful hints for you:

1. Carefully inspect the aerosols that you pick up. Shaving CANNOT be substituted for deodorant. It will set you back quite some time in your morning routine.

2. Carefully inspect your make-up bag. It may be that a child has put something in it that will not work with your look. Like a glue stick, instead of lip gloss. Take it from me. This does not work, not even for constructing an on-trend high-shine glitter look.

Lindsay's workmates were impressed with what she could create using only the children's art supplies.

*One of Lori's nicknames. We used to call Josie, "Josie Posie, and then just "Posie". When Lori arrived we called her "Lori Pori", and then "Lori Pori Porridge", it ended up as "Porridge". Why? Who knows.

Sentences I dread...

Josie: Mummy! Mummy! We really need to start working on an extremely complicated costume for Hallowe'en.
Lori: Why, Josie? I have a bumblebee costume [see below].
Josie: Because you have to have a complicated, home-made costume so that you can win a prize.
Lori: Oh yes, my friend Orla won a surprise. She was a cardboard box. A cardboard box! It was on her head, and her feet stuck out the bottom. She got a pens and pencils surprise. We need cardboard boxes.

Oh. My. God.

Children don't understand the concept that there are 120 children in P1 - P3, and only 2 prizes. When am I going to make a costume? What am I going to make?

Ideas, anyone?

This is what she means by Bumblebee, of course. A Transformer, not an actual bee.

Sunrise

As I mentioned in a previous post, Josie has been going to choir. I was going to show her progress with a new song that she learned, but instead she asked to do her "performance piece" on the piano.

Therefore, without further ado, I present the pianist:

The Playfair Library

It's all very well packing my weekends full of classes, trips, review adventures, book research, Dr. Who, and roleplaying, but sometimes I get back to work on a Monday morning and just feel like having a whole other weekend.

My Weekend Notes reviewing is coming on very well. Edinburgh is shooting up the table with a whole 19 articles. Wow! 19. Here's a link to my profile, where you can sign up to become a subscriber:
http://www.weekendnotes.com/profile/222833/

One of my latest articles might be interesting to my running friends, a Hallowe'en-themed 5k in Holyrood Park. Perhaps one to do with the family?

It's not going to become my new job, ever, but it is good practice. 

And that's how I've been viewing it: practice. Which is all very well, but if you don't actually write anything on your book, then the practice is actually pretty pointless.

So, I stayed on at work for an extra half-hour earlier this week and squeezed in some writing while all the experiences of last weekend were still fresh in my mind.

We were at the Playfair Library on Sunday as part of the book research.

Who else took finals there? 

I haven't been back since, but I could remember it vividly. Sitting under the archway and doing some final cramming. Chatting with friends about how the last exam had gone. It was cold, even though it was spring. I correct myself: it was cold, because it was Spring. The Library amused me, even through the fug of stress of finals, because of all the busts on their plinths. Who were they? Did anyone still remember why they had been put up there? Did they watch student after student passing in front of them, and smile benevolently down. Did they nod to each when everyone was gone, and say, "That's another year, then. I hope they do well." Of course they didn't, but when I was struggling for inspiration in The Psychology of Adolescence, I looked up at of them and found my thoughts anew.

Unlike during my exams though, they were all tucked away in the alcoves, not sitting on the end of a pillar each.

As well as the busts being hidden in corners, there library presented some other useful, and unexpected, surprises. When I was writing about the it, I didn't expect it to be so filled with light, I'd envisioned a darker place. Indeed, I remembered it being much darker than this, but perhaps it was a cloudy day when I did my exams. 

I wanted to check who all the busts were, but I was also interested in what books were still in the library. While I took pictures of the busts, Lori and Josie wrote down some book names. Lori was much more interested in this than Josie, surprisingly. This is her, diligently writing down a few titles, letter by letter.

Lori Law, little law student.

Then, research started to get a bit boring and tiring, so they ran up and down the library until they collapsed on the floor, giggling and gasping.

I have written and written and written, and now I am very tired.

I was quite pleased with the visit to the library. It set my imagination alight, all those years ago, and last Sunday it did that again.

On that note, back to redrafting!

Lip Gloss. Really?

Last weekend we went to the final event of Stockfest, which was a fair at Broughton High School.

There were lots of activities, stalls, food, and fun things to do. It was a beautiful day, as summer made a last hurrah and the sun deigned to shine down warmly upon us.

Here are some highlights from the day:

Shortly after this picture was taken, Josie uttered the words: "I can't drink out of that cup because my lip gloss will come off." Those are not words that should spill from an 8 year-old's lips. However, it was my own fault because I'd let her have a makeover from the lovely Miss Sutherland, an English teacher.

This is Lori shouting at the top of her voice, " I can't get any higher than this!", as the helpful man tried to encourage her to climb. He brought her straight back down.

This cygnet has had bread rain down from the heavens onto his feathers, but he just didn't care. Too warm. Too cosy. Must sleep now.

Just finished a double scoop icecream. Happy. 

Magical Mr. Mistoffelees. Not Mephistopheles, which is what I wrote first time. He's a demon. And certainly not a magical cat, or a Lori.

Well, that's just fantastic!

Last night, at about 01:30, I remembered that it was "Dress as a Roald Dahl character day" for Josie.

I had not prepared the BFG, as per her request. So, we had to fall back on our old faithful, Fantastic Mr. Fox.

Here's all you need to do it:

• 3 facepaint colours: orangey-brown, white, and black
• White shirt
• Tie - any colour, but blue looks good
• Waistcoat or jacket - again, we went with the blue theme. Tweed is also an excellent choice. I did have a yellow waistcoat, but it was from Anne Fontaine and I wasn't really sure I wanted to unleash it on Josie and school.
• Trousers - He doesn't wear trousers in every picture, so you could use brown leggings to make it look like fur. Josie wore joggers that only went down to just below the knee, which I thought made a good stand-in for britches.
• Boots (we went with trainers - comfort over style).

Here's how to assemble it:

1. Get dressed.
2. Paint face
3. Paint bottom of legs (if wearing britches) and backs of hands in orangey-brown.

Job done. 15 mins, start to finish, and no clothes used that you wouldn't have in the house anyway.

The finished product, after 7 hours of school and after-school club, is a pretty angry-looking fox:

Save your chickens! Or your horses' heads standing in as a proxy for chickens!

I'm not sure how to respond...

Me: Girls, I saw a Schnitzel von Krumm (go here if you do not know to what I refer) today.
Josie: Where?
Me: Well, you know that bathroom shop just down the road from where have lunch on a Friday?
Josie: Sometimes.
Me: Right, well, on that basis, it might or might not be there then.

I imagine when she thinks about boring things, like bathroom shops, a sign like the below appears:

Then her mind swiftly moves on proper things like jam, sweeties, and how to convince parents to go to the park. So, she can only sometimes remember the bathroom shop. It makes perfect sense.

My Body Lies over the Ocean

Josie went to choir for the second time last night. Before the holidays she auditioned for the Edinburgh Training choir for the National Youth Choir of Scotland. She got in!

I asked her to sing a song she learned, and she responded with:

"My Body Lies over the Ocean"

I think she means bonnie, but she's not sure, she said it could be either. I told her I was pretty sure it was bonnie, and we went on like that for a while.

Whatever the case, she sounded quite sweet when she sang it. Choir is working out well, so far.

Which is good, because after the first week's evidence (Unlisted Youtube clip below), I wasn't so sure about choir...

And here is my weekend.

It was the best. Isn't lovely when you have a weekend where you feel like you did such a lot, but all of it was just good fun?