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Saturday 3rd November 2007
Clougha again
     
M**** was at work today (well, this morning), so it was just me and A******. I did want to go for a walk, really I did, but I really didn't want to have to go to Williamson's Park yet again. I was thinking, "Oh, never mind, we have the car," but then I realised we didn't (M**** had taken it). So it was a bit of a boring day for A******. I took A****** to Clougha later on that afternoon.
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But yeah . . . it was all going fine until, on the way back to the car, A****** decided he wanted to sit on this huge rock that looked vaguely bench-like. I was like, "No, come on A******, we gotta get back to the car - it's getting late," and then the tantrum started. It's kinda funny - when A****** finds himself in a situation he doesn't like, he'll just stand there and cover his eyes with the backs of his hands. We then had a bit of a power struggle, A****** just standing there, not moving, and me walking away, thinking he'll start moving once he realises daddy is really far away. But no . . . he just stood there, probably knowing full well that I would have to come back to him, as indeed I did. Hmmmmm.
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Monday 5th November 2007
    
Tonight we did over to my parent's house for fireworks and food. A****** was a bit freaked out at first, probably wondering what on earth was going on, but got into the swing of things eventually.
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Sunday 11th November 2007
Ginger, beetroot, celery and . . . orange? Grapefruit?
 
Today (or during the afternoon) we did wander into town, perhaps popping into a shop or two (I can't remember), before walking around Lancaster Castle and then the Priory. Thence (?!) onto the Millenium Bridge (which A****** insisted was a boat) and then to this fairly new looking café at the end (the end nearest Sainsbury's) of the quay, where we had lunch.
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Thursday 15th November 2007
Flock of seagulls
 Today M**** and I did go to the hospital for a scan. An ultrasound scan, that is. Looks like there's something there (but where's the phantom baby?). I never noticed before, but at first the radiographer will look at the monitor with it angled away from you, in case something bad has happened. However, nothing bad had happened, and the monitor was angled our way and there was an alive, but rather still entity. After a bit more probing and poking, he/she/it sprung into life, jumping around a bit, waving limbs about, but nowhere near as active as A****** had been at that stage. To which of course M**** surmised that this baby might be a bit more laid back than A******. Hmmmmm, right. But yeah . . . the picture ain't brilliant, I know. The radiographer missed loads of opportunities (can you not just take loads of pictures, like with a digital camera, and then just keep the best ones, deleting the rest?), so we had to settle for this. The radiographer estimated a due date of 30th May 2008 (like it would be any other year).
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Thursday 22nd November 2007
The use of zinc to repair moth wings, part 7
Yes, yes, yes, it's all fine. A****** now sleeps in a normal (single) bed. We made it tonight, it having arrived some time this afternoon. Erm . . . what else? Hello? Some things might have happened. A****** seems to be ever more vocal. Recently, M**** was doing a late shift and so I made me and A****** some dinner. Afterwards we had yoghurt. I'm sat there, playing some Beethoven on the piano whilst A****** eats his yoghurt, and A****** is like, "Daddy? Get off mummy's piano, please." (although he tends to say 'peas' instead of 'please', but hey) So yeah . . . and I'm like, "Erm, right. A******, little story here. This is daddy's piano, okay? This was my granny's piano, okay? And my granny, yeah . . . " but he had lost interest, so I carried on playing. "Daddy? Daddy? Get off mummy's piano, peas." Yeah, whatever. Cheeky little monkey. We also tried to explain the fact that his mummy is pregnant, but then he looked at us both, confused, and lifted up his own t-shirt to see if he had a baby there too. Ah well. Ne'er mind, eh?
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Saturday 24th November 2007
Who invited the ants? A planet with a moon? How un
Crikey. That's scary. I mean, I should know this, but apparently not: the title of an entry in my 'blog' is limited to something like 50 characters. Let's see about changing that . . .
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Sunday 25th November 2007
A little louder at the back; or how I learnt the futility of 'the hands' and their connection with lucid dreams whilst perusing through a '97 Haynes manual (Vauxhall Astra) and my sibling's failure to tune an ill-purchased French horn . . . she wondered where on earth to obtain raw cow's milk and th
I'm still thinking 300 characters may not be enough.
Hmmmm. I wonder where we are here then?
    
I'm just writing this because I've noticed that different browsers seem to render this particular entry differently and it's really bugging me. I think it has something to do with the images and the 'align' tags and such like, but god knows . . . I'm hoping inserting this text here will solve the problem.
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