This started as a chance to jot down some of four and a half year old Woody's statements, the product of the brilliant logic of childhood. But over the last few days, he's suddenly leapt forward in his ability to change the world. His words may get less silly, so I'm glad I caught some of them.
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| Who me? |
"If you see a big dark fish like this, that's Bacon!"
"And then I could take it into school for show and tell." (said about any random object)
Looking over my shoulder at the computer screen and reading album titles (he's just learning to read, very exciting development) :
"Have you ever been to Electric Ladyland? What was it like?"
"When I'm grown up, I'll let my child have ice cream even when it's a cold day."
Reading the computer screen over my shoulder seems to be the tip of an iceberg. A moment of change as he steps towards our world. I can't pretend (or is 'lie' the word?) about what I'm doing on the computer anymore.
And there's more. The other day he took himself off and re-filled one of our bird feeders. Reaching in to the tree to unhook it, taking it to the shed, pouring in new seed and taking it back to the tree. All by himself.
Of course, while I type this he's upstairs lying on his bedroom floor doing anything possible to avoid changing out of his uniform in to play clothers. Oh how I envy his ability to calmly lose an hour stairing at the ceiling making up stories about the shadows!
For some reason I'm always completely flawed by this question in the playground. So, just in case anybody asks me, here's what we did...
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| Caning it! |
Our neighbours (who have their own smallholding) donated a load of spare raspberry canes. So we planted them in the patch by our front door. The sunlight was slanting around the house and Woody played war with his toy tape measure while I dug a trench then sheet mulched them. They're Autumn fruiting. Roll on Autumn!
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| Lonely Daffodil |
We spotted the first daffodil flowering in the back garden. There's drifts coming up under one of the massive cherry trees we've inherited. Snuck up with camera and Woody after lunch to grab the picture. Collected a few sticks to feel like we were doing something real.
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| Sell!! |
Inspired by a recipe on Em's website, I got some pork belly from our utterly fabulous farm shop. They cut it into strips before I could stop them so I used a Hugh recipe instead (so I've nicked his picture - mine didn't look like this - and I was too hungry and busy to take a picture anyway). Eliza grouchy for the last couple of days with teeth or something, but she eat her fair share. We had it with: roast parsnips, lightly boiled broccoli, mayo cabbage, apple sauce, rice and potato cake from last nights left over mash. If you exclude the rice everything was grown or oinked from a 5 mile radius. It's fresh, it's local, it's Sunday dinner! Apple sauce and roast parsnips particularly fine together and pork crackling and cabbage also unexpectedly ace.
So, repeat after me, what did I do this weekend? I :
- planted citizen canes
- saluted first daff of the year (and of our new home)
- went big on pork belly
Spring arrives by stealth and there's a hidden benefit to country life away from street lamps and Ikea blinds.
'What's it like looking after the kids all the time?' is not a question I get asked very often. I'm much more likely to be asked how my wife is getting on without them now she's back in full time work. Interesting how we create expectations of a different type of bond between mums and kids and dads and kids. But since this is my blog, I'll answer the question anyway. (And don't worry, I'll get my other half to guest blog soon so you can get her answer too. She already writes - if you like food, you love this.)
One of the greatest benefits to my new life as a house dad is having time to just hang out with Woody (4.5), Eliza (1.5) and sometimes Nat (10.5). Time to get bored and desperately invent silly games. Time to feel the rhythm of their moods, to drop the books and chase them around the house for 20 minutes. That's fine until about 4 'o' clock when I've run out of steam and I'm chewing my own leg off with claustrophobia. Which is when my new discovery comes in - twilight roaming.
Back in the city, you don't really get twilight, or if you do, it's not a time to linger. Street lamps come on and bathe us all in sodium glare. Net curtains used to give a brief glimpse of domestic chaos as house lights came on while main curtains were still open. Now they're replaced by Skandi style blinds with nothing to show. In the office there's no sense of its existence. Strip lights have been on all day and as daylight fades it's replaced unnoticed with their clinical sheen.
Out here in gentle Somerset, as the days start to lengthen from Winter brevity and the air warms up, twilight is a semi-magical gap between day and night. Round about 4 'o' clock the air starts to thicken and slow. Often the wind drops and the birds get chatty in the quiet. Hedges and trees take on crazy shapes against the darkening sky.
If I've managed to get dinner sorted ahead of time, or if my wife is home, I like nothing more than grabbing coats and wellies and tumbling out in to the garden with the kids. Released from the house they fill the space with chatter and games, just as excited by our gloaming world as myself and the birds. It might be hide and seek; it might be creature spotting; it might be climbing on the log pile. Best of all, it might be time for a bonfire...
We all watch as the flames lick the sky and the fields shimmer through the heat. Then of course the kids want to get back inside to warmth and light. So then, as often as not, it's just me lingering outside as late as I dare, enjoying the echo of their games, smelling the first night air and watching brilliant sparks rise and blaze on their brief journey from earth to sky.
