Dr and Mrs Rock Home

Of Snails and Whales

Wednesday 8th July, 2009

I find it necessary to take a break from the whole "moving to the UK" saga (of which hopefully more later) to post Éila's latest drawing, of whales. I think it was inspired by watching Diego Saves the Whales — or perhaps by the Julia Donaldson book, The Snail and the Whale. Everything seems to get a bit muddled in Éila's head. I'm not sure whether this is to do with being three years old, or if the poor girl is just genetically doomed not to know whether she's a snail or a whale (I wonder which relatives will assume I think they're muddled and take offence?). A couple of examples:

Singing: "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, how I wonder what you are?" (Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Alphabet?)

Reading to herself: "I sat there with Sally, we sat there... all on the broomstick." The Cat in the Hat meets Room on the Broom. (The Cat on the Broom? Room in the Hat? Two more children's stories that definitely need writing.)

Anyway, back to the initial point. Éila's drawing. As someone with exactly zero artistic talent (is it possible to measure talent on a negative scale?) I'm always impressed when my daughter scribbles something that's even vaguely recognizable.

And to close, I'd just like to apologise for the number of parentheses. I have a lot of asides going on today. At least it makes a change from the mdash — my usual punctuation mark of preference.

Trinny or Susannah, aged 2½

Sunday 8th February, 2009

Over the last couple of weeks I've been forced to look at myself through the eyes of my 2½-year-old daughter. Toddlers are not generally shy with their opinions ("Mummy, that lady has a funny hat", said loudly in the supermarket) and they can be microscopic in their observations.

An example: "Mummy have bops (spots)", gleefully pointing to a new pimple on my chin. I've also been informed that my shirt is dirty and needs changing. However, I can still get away with showing up to collect Éila from school wearing torn jeans, manky old trainers and a shirt covered in bleach marks and paint (I'd been decorating). I can see that won't wash (pardon the pun) in a few years, when she'll likely roll her eyes and edge away in embarrassment as we walk to the car. The little princess already chooses her own outfits from her cupboard each morning and is far more colour-coordinated than I am.

I feel I really ought to make more effort with my appearance. It's lovely to see Éila's reaction when I get smartened up for an evening out ("Mummy's pretty dress!") but perhaps there shouldn't be quite such a note of surprise in her voice to see me actually looking presentable.

The final comment on how my daughter sees me came when she drew a beautiful picture of Mummy and Granny on her Etch-a-Sketch. Apparently I look a lot like Mrs Potato Head. Mind you, Granny didn't come out any better and by Éila's own admission looked a bit scary. I'm choosing not to take literally the representation of pin-hole eyes, big squashy nose, protruding tongue and pear-shaped body. Instead, I'm really quite proud that Éila managed unaided to produce an anatomically fairly accurate sketch of a person. How will I spin it when she says to me "Mummy, you really should brush your hair"?

Must make more effort in the bedroom

Saturday 3rd January, 2009

Other people's kids have these beautifully decorated, polished and personalized rooms ready to move into by the time they're a blip on an ultrasound screen. My kids are one baby-step up from sleeping in a drawer. Cian has a bare crib plonked in the middle of the guest bedroom; even the fishy mobile that used to be Éila's doesn't work because I haven't changed the batteries. No wonder the poor guy is so skinny - he's obviously sickening for his own little corner of Pottery Barn Kids.