On Monday we went swimming. Round and around the pool floated arm-banded N with me supporting her and encouraging leg kicking and arm scooping. Then scootering down the road before the umpteenth tricycle trip around the car park - S or me pushing up the hill, N careering intermittently back down again.
Yesterday we backed gingerbread biscuits, mixing then rolling and cutting and rolling the remainder and cutting and... etc. N doesn't seem convinced that she likes the result but S and I will eat them even if she doesn't.
Today I have rearranged the furniture (slightly) while N is at nursery so that she will come home to a newly erected super-den (Ikea play tent) with a maze of displaced chairs, sofa and side tables to negotiate to get there. The amount of effort will almost certainly outweigh the excitement generated, especially as there's a large chair squatting in front of the television. That is not an accident.
Will this keep us going for the afternoon or will I need to resort to Postman Pat and/or Charlie & Lola? Perhaps I should hide some books around the sofa to prolong the experience.
Any suggestions for tomorrow? Keep 'em coming...
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
Friday, 9 January 2009
the dreaded bloggers' block
Maybe I have just run out of things to say - will that do as an excuse for the empty days when you have arrived at my URL, thirsty for my words, only to be turned away with nothing but the dry gristle of last week's diatribe?
I'm still an unpublished author and yet, whenever I turn to literary agents' websites I find that they are extremely successful in reducing their workload by being so unwelcoming. They might as well write 'abandon hope all ye who submit your work here'. To be fair, that's not all of them - but most of the ones I can find who seem friendly have already turned me down.
The third Mr Grasshead is growing his hair.
N is back at nursery. Four mornings each week now and she stays for lunch one day too! I discover that, given that I need to have lunch too, this does not really give me any more time for 'getting things done'. That is not a complaint, merely an observation. I'm sure it will be good for her to get used to eating in a room of her peers, even though school dinners are still some years off. Given the work that dear old Jamie Oliver is up to, she will presumably be served a magnificent banquet each day by the time she gets there (and let's hope she eats some of it).
I have decided that, in the interests of motivation, inspiration and of providing a frisson of danger, a whiff of risk and a soupçon of chance, I would like YOU, dear reader, to request topics on which I can burble, meander and waffle. Anything at all - I throw this down as the first challenge of 2009. Don't let me down.
As an incentive, I shall write nothing more until someone gives me something back. (Unless, of course, I feel like writing something before then.)
I'm still an unpublished author and yet, whenever I turn to literary agents' websites I find that they are extremely successful in reducing their workload by being so unwelcoming. They might as well write 'abandon hope all ye who submit your work here'. To be fair, that's not all of them - but most of the ones I can find who seem friendly have already turned me down.
The third Mr Grasshead is growing his hair.
N is back at nursery. Four mornings each week now and she stays for lunch one day too! I discover that, given that I need to have lunch too, this does not really give me any more time for 'getting things done'. That is not a complaint, merely an observation. I'm sure it will be good for her to get used to eating in a room of her peers, even though school dinners are still some years off. Given the work that dear old Jamie Oliver is up to, she will presumably be served a magnificent banquet each day by the time she gets there (and let's hope she eats some of it).
I have decided that, in the interests of motivation, inspiration and of providing a frisson of danger, a whiff of risk and a soupçon of chance, I would like YOU, dear reader, to request topics on which I can burble, meander and waffle. Anything at all - I throw this down as the first challenge of 2009. Don't let me down.
As an incentive, I shall write nothing more until someone gives me something back. (Unless, of course, I feel like writing something before then.)
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