1. The bucket of doom

The one that houses the victims of our toilet training misses. You’d think that we wouldn’t be fazed by this, what with being used to cloth nappies and all. But it’s different. With cloth nappies you just deal with the nappies. The bucket of doom, on the other hand, has no mercy. It eats pee-sodden pants, trousers, socks, slippers, sometimes even t-shirts if Willy went Wayward and if you’re really unlucky, your favourite sofa cushion.


2. Not remembering who my husband is

I mean he’s there, but not really. Or perhaps I’m not here. I couldn’t tell you whether he’s found time to shave - I was too busy wrestling the toddler into his trousers. I couldn’t tell you whether he’s managed to shovel in some breakfast - I was too busy scraping the toddler’s blueberries off the floor. I couldn’t tell you how he said his day has gone - I was too busy dealing with the toddler shouting over the top. I couldn’t tell what he thought about this TV programme or that - I was too busy falling asleep at 8:30 PM.

Still, I think the feeling is mutual, since he said two days ago “see you at Christmas”...


3. Model behaviour… 10 minutes before bedtime

He may have been demanding I choo-choo his train for him (not with him) but I need barely whisper the word “bed” to my toddler and he will become the picture of angelic cuteness. He will not only choochoo his train but make a bridge for it. He will not only read a book but recite it to me, actions and all. He will be wonderful company and let me crochet on the sofa. For a whole 10 minutes every day, just before bedtime. 

4. How nothing that is mine is actually mine

My handbag has become a receptacle for toy cars, soggy tissues and rampant raisins.

My brain thumps not to Daft Punk (you can see where I got stranded, can’t you) but roars to RaaRaa and wiggles to Iggle Piggle.

“Me-time” (bwahaha) is a race against toddler nap-time: check emails scoff biscuits take pictures make work phone calls do laundry write blog post crochet 5 rows maybe say hello to husband (but probably not, see point 2) faff about on twitter and none of it is enjoyed as it should be due to the constant terror that he might wake up. 


5. The “astute” observations of others

“Someone isn’t very happy” - are you talking about the screaming toddler, or the mother skidding across the supermarket floor with a screaming toddler in her arms and the shopping bags hanging off her ears?

“He doesn’t look very tired” - he’s cream-crackered, and as you will not be the one dealing with the fallout of a missed nap, he’s going to bed NOW.

“He’s really enjoying that cake” - oh, you mean the fifth slice of that chocolate-filled, dinner-obliterating cake you’ve just given him? I bloody well bet he is. 


6. My immune system having gone AWOL

You’d think that, as a former preschool teacher who once had 25 children wipe their snot on my sleeve on a daily basis, I’d have an immune system. Any immune system. But it seems not. *blows nose for the fifth time in as many minutes*

It's not a great month, November, is it. I had high hopes, of puddle-jumping and leaf-collecting, but the reality has been a little different. Think tissue-binning and back-to-back colds for all three of us. 

Still, as we hurtle towards winter, snot and phlegm fluttering in our wake (how is it nearly December already?), we console ourselves with this:

The mother of all hot chocolates, served up only a short walk away from our house (at a cafe that has agreed to let me do a photo shoot and feature for them - oh the glee!). Autumn may have been a wet and miserable affair so far, but the festive season is one Milan does very well. 

At home we'll be going for equally comforting dishes (though perhaps with about a million fewer calories):

fish fingers, potato wedges & peas
spinach gnocchi with cherry tomatoes
oven-baked chicken & mozzarella involtini, served with rice & green beans
porcini mushroom risotto
pumpkin & garlic broth, served with bread
wholewheat pasta with lentil ragù

Come say hello:

My Bean is a mover, always has been. He shimmied all night long in my belly, learned to crawl at six months, and now never walks but runs, skips and hops.

And yet. Every now and then even this little shaker has to stop moving. When it all gets a bit too much, he grabs his blanket and his dummy, maybe a furry friend for company. He climbs onto the sofa, demands a video on Mama’s “puter” and there he stays, all done for the day (or at the very least until someone puts something interesting on the dining table).

There are other signs too, that this creature appreciates life’s little comforts. When sat on the sofa or curled up next to me in bed, he’ll dig his feet under my legs so they’re extra toasty. I do that with Mr. P&P. He’ll stroke a fleece jumper or a furry collar, smile at me and say “soft!”. He’ll work his way through a scoop of ice cream in silence and with dogged determination, until there’s not a dribble left. He’ll crunch and munch through a plate of “flornflakes” in front of a video on a Sunday morning, the only time when screens and eating are allowed to mix in any way.

It makes me smile, when I see him monging out and cosy like this. I stare at his little face and think: good for you, little boy.

Everybody needs time to just do sweet nothing, to curl up under something soft and warm. To say, the rest of the world will just have to wait. Good for you, little boy, that you’ve figured this out already. Goodness knows Mama could take a tip or two from you. 

Come say hello:

When we took the castors off the Bean's bed (why would you want a toddler bed to move willy-nilly?!) I immediately wanted to make some sort of vehicle for him with them. It seemed a shame to waste free wheels, after all! And so this pull-along cardboard box bus was born. 

I love it (toot toot there goes my own horn), partly because it's thrifty and mostly recycled, and partly because it's a nice little reminder of all things British. Since the Bean is obsessed with all things be-wheeled, he's pretty pleased with it too.

It's really very easy to make and won't break the bank even if you have to buy some new castors (available from any DIY shop). Do use a good, sturdy cardboard box though - this one has been sat in, dragged about sideways, turned upside-down and sat on... You get the picture. I got mine from a pile outside my local supermarket.

Cardboard box bus

You will need:

A very sturdy cardboard box

coloured paper (red, blue, orange) and white paper

black marker pen

ruler

1 metre of sturdy rope

4 castors, ideally recycled

clear sticky tape

strong tape such as parcel or gaffer tape, in any colour

glue

scissors or a paper knife

Method:

1. Using the knife or one blade of the scissors, make four small holes in the bottom of the box, where you want the wheels to be. The circumference of the holes should be smaller than than of your castors to ensure a snug fit.

2. Push the castors through the holes carefully so as not to rip the cardboard, then secure with lots of strong tape both on the outside and inside of the box. Make sure the wheels can still turn. 

3. Cover all four sides of the outside of the box with red paper. 

4. Reinforce the corners with coloured tape.

5. Cut (or tear, depending on your levels of patience) ten squares out of the blue paper for the windows. Stick five on either of the long sides of the bus. 

6. Cut two rectangles of blue paper for the front and back window and attach.

7. Cut four small squares of orange paper for the head- and taillights, attach two on the front and two on the back.

8. With a black marker pen and a ruler, draw around the windows to make them more realistic-looking.

9. Make a small hole at the front of the bus, near the top, and thread through the rope.

10. Cut one large and one small rectangle out of the white paper, and give your bus a number and destination.

11. Done! Hand over to toddler to pull about and fill with stuff as they see fit...

As regular readers of this blog will know, I'm a bit of a hardliner when it comes to toys. As in, very few make it through our door! This partly because we have little space for them in our 60 m2-flat, but also because I tend to get on a very high and green horse, getting upset at the plastic nastiness and the excess-driven consumerism and ... 
You get my drift, so I'll get down now.

Of course, my toddler doesn't really share my views and loves a toy or fifty. To keep us both happy, I do one of two things:

a) Make toys myself
b) Buy well-made, eco-responsible toys - think quality not quantity

And now, I should add:

c) Get gifted a well-made, eco-responsible toy by the wonderful people at Babipur!

A few words about Babipur, before I get on to the review:

We've been Babipur customers since well before they gave us this wonderful toy, and as such I can recommend them wholeheartedly. They are a family-run company based in Wales, selling ethically sourced and good quality clothes, cloth nappies, toys and accessories for children aged 0 to 6. Their product range is impressive, but what I like most about them is their customer service. Tom and Jolene, who set up the company, as well as the rest of the Babipur staff are helpful, the orders arrive promptly and well-packaged, and they will try to price-match with other suppliers if they can. They run a blog too, which is full of product reviews and currently features a gift list of ethical toys for 1 to 4-year-olds (Oh to get my hands on that DIY truck!).

Manufacturer: Hape
Materials: wood, water-based paints, PMMA, PA 
Dimensions: 24.5 x 24.5 x 2.1 cm
Recommended Age Range: 2 to 12 years
Packaging: Cardboard (no plastic wrapping, hurray!)
RRP: £17.99

Using the magnetic pen, push the marbles around the maze.* Very good for encouraging hand-eye coordination and concentration. Also a great starting point for learning about colours, shapes and bugs.

Yes! Even though the Bean is still a little too young to push the marbles around the corners by himself (he understands the concept but lacks the fine motor skills), he loves it anyway. Mad about all things bug-related, he likes to point out the different bugs, referring to it as his "ladybug" when he wants to play with it. Like many toddlers he is also fixated with the idea of ordering things by colour and so takes great delight in telling Mr. P&P or myself to drag the marbles to the correct bug, and shouting "oh no!" dramatically should a marble go wayward. As he gets older and his dexterity improves he should be able to do the dragging and pushing himself!

Very well made. The wooden base is thick and sturdy, and the perspex-like cover (which keeps the marbles in!) is securely attached to it. The drawings are lovely and vibrant, and the magnetic pen does not look like it will detach easily (she says with reasonable confidence, given that the Bean was seen dragging it across the floor by said pen...).

At £17.99 this is not a cheap toy, but I do think the price reflects its high quality. I also think the manufacturer's recommended age range (2-12 yrs) is realistic, making this a toy with potentially very good longevity. 
From a practical point of view, the Best Bugs Maze is a little heavy (roughly 600 g) for a toddler. Clearly this is because it's made of wood (which I would always choose over plastic in a toy!) but it means we probably couldn't take it with us anywhere unless travelling by car. 

Definitely! The Hape Best Bugs Magnetic Maze is fun, well-made and original, and should last for years. It'd make a great Christmas or birthday present and is available to buy from Babipur's store.

Back in January Mr P&P renewed his work contract here in Milan for another 18 months. At that point the summer of 2015 seemed very far away, but *news flash* we’re already more than halfway there. Help!

Help! because we have no idea where we’re going after this (though we are at least almost certain we won’t be staying). Help! because we don’t know if we’ll have to make do with one instead of two incomes for a while. Help! because I don’t know if, when or where I’m supposed to be applying for schools for the Bean.

That’s a lot of unknowns. In some ways it’s nice, though. Honestly! I like that they’re known unknowns, in that we have plenty of advance warning of the changes that are afoot. It’s nice because the stillness before this storm of changes is something we’re enjoying: we know we have it good, right now. Because we’re basking in the absolute absence of bureaucratic palaver… We’re just waiting, quietly, contently.

Of course, on some days panic does creep in. The desire to find certainty dominates and the thought of having to box up our lives again fills me with nothing but dread.

On those days I …

1. Look for comfort in the everyday

Every day is full of little moments and places that are wonderfully familiar. Although knowing they’ll disappear from our lives soon is sad, in the meantime, I hold on to them for dear life. Stupendously good cappuccino, and fresh juice for the Bean, at the café down the road on a Sunday morning. 

The little walk back from nursery, during which the Bean points out every flower and stick and dog (and, less pleasingly, every dog poo on the pavement). Weather good enough to allow outdoor swimming well into September. Persimmons in the autumn, artichokes in winter, asparagus in spring, all manner of juicy fruit in summer.
Wrap myself up in every single one.

2. Day dream (but don’t plan)

Of course there are things about Milan, and our current living situation, that I don’t like. And so I dream of a lovely garden, of a separate bedroom for the Bean, of a kitchen big enough to allow me to cook and the Bean to play without us constantly tripping over each other (or is that just an inevitable part of having a toddler in the house??).
Of towns filled with green spaces and air that doesn’t smell foul as soon as the Autumn fog creeps in.
I dream of a home that I can decorate the way I like. I dream of a new adventures, new delicacies to try, new friends to make.

3. Rethink the finances

Upping sticks costs money, and this time I don’t think we’ll be able to get away with rocking up with just two suitcases, no savings and nowhere permanent to stay. Heck, I don’t think I want to do that again! So we’re squirreling away at least some of our pennies (well, cents!) to fund all the boring bits: packing and shipping, deposits, documents, enrollment fees and goodness knows what else.

4. Start preparing where possible

I may not know where we’re heading, but I do know we’re not staying. And not staying means … *drum roll of doom* a house move.
I hate moving house, but at least I can start getting things ready now, slowly, in the hope of making the move easier when it comes. Throwing or giving away things we definitely won’t take. Boxing up and storing the things we will, but don’t use on a day-to-day basis. Not buying new, non-essential things that I will only have to get rid of or move again. Nothing beats feeling like you’re doing something useful, even a little  bit...

5. Make the most of now

I refuse to leave Italy before having achieved the following:

Gone south: Sicily, Sardinia, Puglia - I don’t care as long as I get to further down (and closer to a beach) than Rome

Eaten my body weight in gelato

Climbed to the top of the Milan's Duomo

If you thought the weather was always glorious in Italy, think again. Milan is currently soaked because of a particularly rotten weather system and, as is wont to happen on a landlocked plain, it. just. sits. Sits and rains and sits and rains. 

Still, silver linings and all that: at least the toddler is happy he gets to wear his wellies, and I get to whip up all manner of comfort food. 

Hope the weather is less damp around the edges where you are!

One of the most vivid and treasured memories of my childhood are of days spent roaming around my grandparents' enormous garden. 

I remember the grave sense of purpose when faced with a several tennis fields worth of lawn to cross. The smell of the grass and the warmth of the sun on my back, as I caught grasshoppers with my cousins. The elation of pulling up potatoes with my Pépé, the glee of sneaking off with strawberries when my Mémé wasn't looking. The mindblowing excitement, and also the tiny nugget of fear in my stomach, as we carted our pillows and teddies and torches to the tent at the very back of the garden. 

The Bean is still very young, but I think if I could explain my grandparents' garden to him in all its colours, images and sensations, he would understand its significance. He only has to venture into his own Opa's garden (for the garden is my father's domain) to see for himself. 

There are flowers to sniff knowingly (and never mind they don't actually smell - it's the thought that counts).

his Opa's garden has gigantic pine cones, and a toddler-sized wheelbarrow to put them in.

More trees that our city kid could imagine even in his most green-fingered dreams.

All manner of blooming and growing things, ready for harvesting with solemn concentration.

The Bean may be too young to put many of his feelings into words. He may still be a little too scared to roam the woodlands at the very back or to consider climbing the trees. But I think I can be confident there are many adventures waiting here for him, many afternoons to be spent rigging up snail race tracks with his cousins, many berries to sneak off with. And I also think he loves his Grandpa's garden as I much as I loved the one of my own childhood. After all, not even the rain was enough to stop him from taking the pine cones out for their daily walk. 

This post has moved!

You can now find this pattern at my new online home:

​http://www.emmyandlien.com/crochet-pattern-tutorial-triple-puff-granny-square

The sounds also make me want to talk. But I mustn’t.

So the baby hates her cot and will only sleep in daddy’s arms - I know! M did that for 16 days straight! Have you tried a hot water bottle and a …
No. Hush mama.

So she will only drink from one boob and we’ve had to buy a pump for the other - Yes! Good! What brand did you buy and Oh I remember when M…
No. Hush mama.

So she hasn’t yet recovered her birth weight and we don’t want her to catch cold and - It’s okay! Because, you know, she’s filling her nappies and so she must be fine, and you really don’t need to worry about…
Stop it mama. Hush.

Hush because it’s their baby to get to know, their feet to find as parents. Hush because you know, you remember, not just your own Bean’s cries but everyone’s else attempts to shush him, to prove They Knew Babies, to show you the hundreds of things you had yet to learn. Hush because you didn’t need their advice, in the end. Hush because they don’t need yours.

Hush, but open your ears and listen when they want to talk. Hush, but get cooking and bring them some stew or flapjacks. Hush, but open your arms and cuddle that little person so her mama can have a shower or a cup of tea. Just hush and be there, mama.