“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”
Another weekend, another festival: the pure joy of somersaulting around a field in the evening sun.
Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project.
“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”
Such an perfect week away with this little man: almost every second spent outdoors, exploring and playing and learning and socialising.
And in between it all quiet moments like this where I savoured him looking so self-assured, so content.
Love summer, love our campervan, and cannot wait for our next adventure.
Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project.
“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”
Puddle jumping at the beach with his friend Merlin: about as close to pure joy as it gets.
Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project.
“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”
Awesome weekend of celebrating in our household, with this little dude being fantastic company and absolutely loving making daddy feel like a superhero.
Summer has officially begun.
Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project.
“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”
This week, fuelled by sunshine and jet lag, we have mainly been getting the house ready for summer.
As part of this, on Sunday morning, we went to our local garden centre. Arthur was lured along enthusiastically by the promise of a visit to their play area, and was initially a little put out when we couldn’t go there STRAIGHT AWAY.
Actually, though, I think he surprised himself by how much he enjoyed looking at flowers. When we walked out to the back, basking in proper summer sun, he exclaimed “It’s so beautiful!”. And it really was. We meandered between the rows and through the poly-tunnels, picking up things that looked pretty and not too easy to kill.
Arthur was tremendously careful with the trays he was given to carry, and loved being part of our little garden project almost as much as he loved being let loose on the climbing frame when we were done.
And now, after a couple of hours of planting, we have a garden resplendent with colourful troughs. Arthur disappeared off around the corner this morning, and when I asked where he was going he said he just wanted to look at the flowers.
Now I just need to remember to keep them watered and fed…
Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project.
We have been to three festivals this summer, and all of them were accompanied by a generous dose of rain. It’s been a bit of a new experience for me – somehow, in my twenty years of festivalling, I have managed to avoid anything more than a few showers. In fact generally my festival memories exist in a blissful haze of summer sun, dry grass and being a bit too warm for comfort. Clearly that was never going to last.
I was a bit apprehensive as the weather forecast for the key weekends of this summer unfolded. I love festivals. Really I don’t think there is anywhere I would rather be than in a field with friends listening to music and drinking cider, stumbling upon weird and wonderful happenings as the days roll into nights and collapsing in a tent at the end of it all. Rain, mud and cold have absolutely no place in this vision, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was going to cope.
You know what though? It really wasn’t that bad. It was harder work for sure. And a bit less sociable. But there was something quite pleasingly symbolic about the perseverance, about the determination to have fun despite the universe’s best efforts. There was definitely a strong sense of camaraderie, and those moments where the sun peeped through the clouds or when music managed to whip damp crowds into a whirl of enthusiasm took on a whole new level of significance.
Sure, I wouldn’t have voluntarily trekked through miles of mud wearing an overexcited toddler or chased a flyaway gazebo through the campsite at four in the morning. I would rather not have covered my sparkly festival attire with waterproofs or kept said toddler entertained in the tent whilst the rain battered down outside. But actually, now that it’s over, I have a whole new range of festival memories to add to the pile.
And as for the toddler – to be honest he was in his element. What two year old wouldn’t want to splash through endless puddles, squelch in the mud and surf on rain soaked tables? In fact there’s a danger next summer, when the sun does return (are you listening, universe?), that there will be something fundamental missing from his festival experience…
I’m sure he’ll cope though. And even if future festivals are drenched in rain rather than the sun I’ve bathed in over the years it’s good to know it won’t dampen our festival spirit.
It’s so good to have you to myself again. I know you’ve been busy, making people’s ouchies better in the hospital. I know you’ve been working hard.
But I’ve missed you.
Life is so much more fun when you’re around.
I love going on adventures with you and mummy – I asked her where you were, every time, when we set out on our own. We had lots of good times together just the two of us, but it’s even better when you can come too.
Your shoulders are broader, and your hair doesn’t tickle so much.
I always got so excited when I saw your car pull into the drive: clamouring against the window, nose pressed to the glass as it misted up with my giggles. You would come right up and put your nose against mine and draw love in the cloud of our breath. When you disappeared again I would worry for a moment, but then I would hear your key in the lock and run as fast as I could for cuddles in the kitchen.
Thank you for always having time for me, even when you had been up since before dawn and had been ground down by mean consultants and endless traffic. Thank you for not even waiting to take off your coat before kneeling down to play train tracks, for finding the patience to do washing things before bed even when you would rather be having a glass of wine and collapsing on the sofa. Thank you for making me laugh and reading me stories until we both fell asleep in the chair.
I love it when you read with me.
Thank you for the tickles and the Gruffalo cuddles and the prickle kisses.
Thank you for making mummy smile.
I know that sometimes I am hard work with my throwing and my hitting and my frustration at the world. But every time you listen to me it helps me begin to work it out, and every time you hold me it helps me remember how much I am loved.
I love you too, daddy.
Thank you for being.
I’ve decided I’m calling it.
Admittedly it’s early days: as I’ve been writing this post the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard has been accompanied by the rain spattering the window panes. White horses skitter across the bay, and the leaves in the trees are being buffeted by a wind too strong to be called a breeze. But that’s just part and parcel of the season here in Devon.
And looking at the week in balance there is no doubt in my mind that we have crossed the boundary into summer.
It’s half term of course, so the streets of Brixham are filled with holidaymakers. Dangling lines over the harbour wall to tempt crabs into their buckets, clutching ice creams which drip deliciously over little fingers.
On Breakwater beach paddlers are venturing deeper and deeper into the sea, delightedly splashing in the icy water and sometimes taking the plunge and diving in for a swim.
It’s that for me that marks the transition into summer most clearly. I am still a fair-weather swimmer. I aspire to being one of the hardy souls who takes to the sea all year round, but I’m not there yet. This week, though, I made it in.
We’d managed to tire the toddlers out with stone-throwing, and leaving them dozing under the watchful eye of friends we headed for the water.
And it was glorious!
Pretty feckin’ freezing, obviously. We’d hoped to have a dip in Shoalstone pool, which whilst it wouldn’t have been warmer would have at least given the option of jumping or diving in. But pump problems combined with excessively low tides put paid to that, so we scrambled over the rocks instead. Feeling my way through the shallows I almost gave up, but my stubbornness took over and saw me through till that all-important moment when numbness takes away the worst of the cold and you can just concentrate on how wonderful it is, floating in the salty sea looking back at the shore, cobwebs of all varieties well and truly blown away.
We’d hoped to have another dip yesterday, but the sun wasn’t shining quite so brightly. It didn’t deter Arthur from paddling up to his waist – I think swimming kit is going to be an essential part of the arsenal when we head to the beach from here on in!
The clouds cleared as the afternoon went on, and the beach was still busy when I walked back from my council meeting at 9 o’clock last night.
So yes, I’m calling it: summer is here.
Stay tuned for more watery adventures over the weeks and months to come!
My word of the week is summer.
Is it just me, or do the evenings all of a sudden seem to have got lighter?
I realise that *technically* the lengthening of the days is a gradual thing, but I swear this week someone has just flicked a switch. Suddenly we’re finding ourselves sitting down to dinner in broad daylight, and I’m having a hard time explaining to Arthur why he has to go to bed before it’s got dark…
Toddler sleep habits aside, it is pretty wonderful.
There is nothing that screams to me that summer is finally coming more loudly than when the days begin to stretch out beyond the afternoon. And it is when living here, in our beautiful little seaside town, really comes into its own.
What with all the hectic we’ve been juggling recently we’ve really appreciated being able to go out as a family in the evenings more easily, wandering into town and soaking up the views. There is a sense of excitement and anticipation that all three of us share as we venture out just at that point when normally things would be winding down. Arthur has taken the evening strolls in his stride, enjoying another burst of energy and of course the obligatory beach time.
We even got to sit outside at Rockfish for a bit the other night, gazing out to sea as the fishing boats trundled through the twilight with their catch. Arthur was absolutely transfixed as he watched the fish being docked – he hasn’t stopped talking about it since.
There is certainly something incredibly liberating about the extra hours of daylight this time of year brings, and it’s making me ever-more excited for the summer.
My word of the week this week is anticipation.
For me and Arthur, the last couple of weeks have been about finding our rhythm again. We’ve done so much this summer, had so many adventures, but now, as the autumn draws in, it’s time to settle back into our little routine.
A big part of this for me has been to get back into the swing of things with writing my novel. I’ve been relieved to find that after a bit of a shaky start the inspiration is now flowing again and I’m loving the challenge of the redraft. As per usual a little bit of organisation and structure, painful as it was to put in place initially, has really helped me use the time I have whilst Arthur naps as efficiently as possible, quickly unlocking my creativity and setting it to work.
But it’s been the time that Arthur’s been awake I’ve loved most of all. I was worried that after a summer surrounded by family and friends he’d struggle to adapt to being only with me – would be bored or lonely. But actually he’s seemed to enjoy it too. We’ve started back at his regular classes this week – music and gymnastics – but other than that we’ve done an awful lot of not very much at all.
It’s been awesome to see just how much he’s grown up over the summer, how his skills and confidence have grown both physically and verbally, how much more an active part of the world he has become. I knew he’d developed loads recently – I managed to capture some of it here – but it’s only been since we’ve had the space and the quiet to just hang out and regroup that I’ve truly appreciated the little boy my baby is becoming.
Sophie is... 