Life's a (cold, cold) beach

For the second time during our adventures in the UK, we decided to take a July 'mini-break' at the beach.

The first trip was for our anniversary in July '04. We stuffed our overnight bags with swimwear, tank tops, shorts, and flip flops and made our way to Brighton. There was nothing bright about the weather. It was so cold and windy we had to layer on every item of clothing we'd brought. There was barely a brave sole on the beach, and those that were wore raincoats and wellies. It's a fair statement to say the sun made it's appearance probably less than 1% of our visit.

Fast forward to this past weekend, when we loaded up Nana, the boys, and the dog into a rental car and headed to Bournemouth. Now, granted, it hasn't exactly been a lovely summer so far this year - more like a cool, wet, and gray autumn - so our expectations were relatively low and we packed light rainwear and sweatshirts. But British beach weather did not disappoint. It was windy and cold and the only reason I probably didn't feel like a penguin on the shores of Antartica is that I'm pregnant and producing an extraordinary amount of body heat.

What gives?

(Editor's Note: The next day was lovely. Absolutely brilliant. Of course, we'd left the beach. But our drive, ferry ride, and explorations around Corfe Castle were filled with sunshine and a light breeze. Thank goodness for at least one day of summer!)

Say what?

As Tadpole's speech improves, so does my fascination at the things that come out of his mouth. (Luckily, so far, it hasn't been anything too terrible!)

This morning as I was getting dressed, Tadpole climbed up on my bed and wiggled his way under the duvet, as he loves to do. In the course of our conversation (that makes it sound like we were discussing global warming or the '08 elections, doesn't it?), he asked me to come sit with him. Of course I obliged, as I tend to procrastinate doing anything to seize a cuddle moment with my children.

Almost immediately after I cozied up next to him, he told me to get up. Puzzled and admittedly disappointed, I looked at him and asked "why?" To which he quite seriously replied "just cuz."

Just cuz? Where did he get that?

It's Official!

Tigger is officially crawling, and we have entered into a whole new dimension of parenthood with a mobile second child. He is all over the place in the last few days - mostly going after the dog's toys or Tadpole. Unlike his brother, aka commando kid, Tigger is doing the traditional crawl on all fours. And he's getting faster by the second. Watch out world!

Now I've got to keep my eyes on kids going in two different directions... is this partly where "eyes in the back of the head" came from?

Testosterone

My handsome boys. It's hard to believe there will be ANOTHER BOY in this house in November!!

Awh-dorable!

It just doesn't get much cuter than this: Tigger enjoying the blow up pool (filled with plastic balls since, er, it has barely broken 70 degrees here this summer).

Watch what you say!

Tadpole is at such an impressionable age, linguistically speaking. We’ve had loads of fun both listening to wacky phrases he comes up with and repeating things he probably heard just once, as well as teaching him interesting new things to say.

For the longest time the answer to any numerical question was one. Then it became two. He responded to “How old are you?” by answering “two!” Which is not quite true, since his birthday is in August. So we taught him to say “almost two” and he says it in absolutely the most adorable voice. When asked how old his brother is, he accurately replies “almost one!”

Nana is visiting now, and I thought it would be fun to teach him her age. But he just couldn’t quite say sixty-four, so I gave up, laughing, and indicated simply that she was “old.” Well, this came back to haunt me, as you might have guessed, when the next day Tadpole exhuberantly declared that Nana was “OLD!”

We got a good little laugh out of that, but a bit later, he repeated it again... and then I started feeling really guilty and embarassed. Especially after I told my husband, who laughed but thought it a wee bit mean.

So I decided I’d remedy the situation by repeatedly telling Tadpole that Nana was “young and pretty.” Young and pretty, young and pretty... after several repititions on my part, I was confident my smart little cookie had gotten the message.

That evening, I thought I’d do a little test. So I cheerfully asked “How old are you?” and he said “almost two!” “And how old is your brother?” He smiled, “almost one!” Then I asked, “And how old is Nana?” To which he cheekily responded, “Pretty Old!!”

Oops.

We all scream for RICE cream!

My highly (milk) allergic Tadpole experienced ice cream - make that, RICE cream - for the first time this weekend! Of course, we were all thrilled, and so proud of him, and excited about this fun new world of ice cream that was opening up for him. Intrigued, he had about 6 licks... and then promptly passed it off to his daddy. :)

World's Strongest Baby

At eight months, Tigger is pulling himself up one-handed, and then doing multiple squats, all while hanging on with a few fingers and reaching for magazines with the other hand.

I'm telling you, at 33 years, I don't think I could do that!

Lil' Lover

Tadpole has been quite the little lover lately, constantly requesting "Hug, Mommy." This happens at all sorts of random times - in the middle of dinner, after a lazy nap, halfway through bathtime, after I stub my toe and whince, when I am zoning out from getting up at 6am and thus looking forlorn... you name it.

And he always, always follows the hug with a "Thank You, Mommy!"

Really, it's me that is thankful!

O Brother Where Art Thou?

Since about the age of four months, little Tigger has been taking a nightly bath with his older brother Tadpole.

The other night, Tigger (who was tag-teamed with Nana) beat Tadpole into the bathtub, while Tadpole was busy having a tantrum at the bottom of the stairs with his less than amused mommy.

Although he normally enjoys splashing about and laughing in the bathtub, on this night Tigger was particularly forlorn. It wasn't until Tadpole finally joined him and he perked up that we realized why: something - his brother - was missing!

Oh the joys of brotherhood!

Where's Tigger?

My eight-month old Tigger has reached the stage in which he is clearly ready to move, but is often frustrated by the fact that he can’t exactly get where he wants to go.

This becomes especially apparent when his big brother is playing with a toy five feet away from him that he wants to play with, too. He fusses and reaches and screams, most often resulting in the backward crawl, which is the direction I understand most babies tend to move in first.

Sometimes, while working in the kitchen, I set him down next to the couch surrounded by lots of toys. He often ends up flipping onto his belly and scootching backwards, getting one foot caught beneath the couch and crying out that he is stuck.

Yesterday, after glimpsing into the room and seeing that he was on his belly, I figured that soon I’d be rescuing him from entrapment. But after several minutes of quiet and then giggles from Tadpole, I peeked out to discover my bewildered-faced wigglebuns had nearly scootched himself completely under the couch!

Flower Child

My dear husband has already begun to set a good example to Tadpole on how to treat women properly. Whether it be a gorgeous bouquet from the two friendly men who run the casual flower shop on the corner, or wild flowers freshly picked during a trip home from ‘guy time’ in the park, they often present me with these amazing creations that so readily brighten any woman’s day.

An added bonus that ups the heart-melting factor is the way my husband has taught Tadpole that mommy is “sweet and pretty” just like the flowers.

Recently, Tadpole has entered an obsession phase with this flower picking and presenting thing. No sooner is he out of his buggy wandering around the park, and he is off hunting down the tiniest weed of a flower somewhere in the middle of the vast fields of Regent’s Park. He picks it, delicately of course, and then runs full speed (which for a toddler is quite hilarious to watch) towards me and presents me with this precious token of his affection.

And, of course, I go bonkers with gratitude every time, because I absolutely cherish this tender act of his, and even more so I love to see the smile reflected on his face when I light up with joy.

This is all cute and wonderful and innocently sweet until, well, until it happens in the wrong context.

The other day I was visiting a playgroup with a new, unfamiliar circle of women. It just so happens that the playgroup was held in the unbelievably gorgeous garden of a staunchly English woman.

As an aside, if you’re not already aware, I must impress upon you the grand importance the English place on their immaculately manicured gardens. They take much pride in their outdoor space, be it five square meters or 50. (As a woman with a truly black thumb, this is all quite intimidating to me.)

I’m sure you can already see where this is going...

Tadpole is off running around the spectacular garden with the other munchkins, and I am holding Tigger and engrossed in discussion with the kind English woman who owns this lovely land. Suddenly, Tadpole appears exclaiming “Beautiful! Beautiful!” and proudly presents me with several flowers roughly ripped from their rich roots (if I didn’t have a black thumb and general complete ignorance about all plant life, I might be able to tell you what kind of flowers they were, but what I can tell you is that he indeed chose some of the prettiest ones in the whole garden). I’m not sure whose look of horror was greater - mine, the embarassed parent, or the woman who invested so much money, energy, and love into the planting.

As you would expect from a proper English woman, she was quite pleasant and forgiving when I apologized all over myself for Tadpole’s inappropriate (but kinda sweet, don’t you think?) behavior. I also gave my little lovebug a compulsory lecture on how we can pick wild flowers in the park, but not the very pretty ones found in other people’s lovely gardens. He ran off, not quite comprehending, and left me holding the colorful representation of this woman’s hard labor.

Needless to say, I’ve not yet been invited back to her house.

First Finger Food

Tigger's first attempt at finger food (Gorilla Munch) was so fun, especially the adorable puckering of his luscious lips!