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104. And finally... (for now) (27 October - 3 November 2008)

A week in the life
And so, little man, we have reached the end of your weekly blog. I'm hoping, perhaps in vain, that somewhere out there in cyberspace someone will read those words and be moved to pass on thir own best wishes for your future and their thanks for your small part in their life over the last two years. But if no-one answers that call, the thousands of words committed to this blog will always remind us of the way we used to be.

Shall we save the gushing till later? Maybe I'll permit myself one final post in a few days' time once I've dried the tears away, because I have one last duty to perform in capturing the flavour of a momentous week in your life, the week in which you entered your third year. (The sharp-eyed readers will notice that I have sneakily extended the week until Monday 3 November.)

You know what? Actually - not much happened this week. Your party was on Saturday, and gave Grumps the opportunity to toddle down on a rare excursion from Fenny to join us at Yiayia and Bapou's house eating scrummy food including a carrot cake into which all of us had creative input (wisely, I was limited to making the icing - a task I still managed to balls up). These days, Grandad's declining health does rather limit the opportunities for you to see Naini and Grumps, and so when we allowed him to stroll in to your bedroom when you woke up from your midday nap it was lovely to hear your excitement at your surprise guest of honour. Nouno had been in Hong Kong for six weeks too, but had flown back earlier on Saturday morning to make sure he was in time to celebrate with you too. The only small glitch was a peculiarly common accident in which you threw yourself backwards without looking where you were heading, for once crashing into a wall at a particularly painful tangent. The black mood that descended on you remained for the rest of the day, aggravated no doubt by the disappointment of the icing on the cake.

After a very quiet Sunday in which our only excursions were to feed the ducks (who looked a lot like geese again) and to Ged's house for an unnecessarily dangerous fireworks display, we were joined briefly by Dada Willy Worm and soon-to-be (well, hopefully) Nouna Hannah who were keen to catch up on your progress as neither had seen you for a couple of months. I feel sure more cousins for you two can only be a matter of months away if you continue to play so cutely with the old boy, so keep up the gold medal standard on that front.

Your birthday itself was celebrated in Brent Cross, N20 and  Fallowcourt Avenue again. And if Brent Cross is an imposter on any list of fun birthday treats, you didn't seem to mind too much being fed egg fried rice and chicken at Wagamamas or running around the Early Learning Centre grunting a great many useful suggestions for possible presents that would meet with your favour. Amusingly (I felt) we eventually plumped for an artist's easel (or a blackboard to the imaginatively challenged) - possibly the only product in the whole store that seemed to leave you unimpressed. (As you can see, my wit remains dry two years on.)

Remember, remember
Two memories this week stand out (all things considered, I deserve a little extra this week). One is a memory of a specific moment, the other an impression of a hundred little glances I offered your way. Both took place on your birthday itself.

The first is simple to recount, not much to say, but how proud it made us feel. Back of the car, on the way to Brent Cross, me driving, Mum listening. Ubiquitous surround sound of bad nursery rhymes being mangled on cassette. The Rupert the Bear theme tune comes on, and Zach starts singing. But not just a step behind the lyrics and an approximation of the words as usual, this time even premature and beautiful pronounciation - especially of 'bear'. Nicole has a stunning voice and seems like she might be seriously gifted as a singer; maybe you too can emulate your Dad's finest moments as a key treble in the school choir, playing the great stadiums of our time - Albert Hall, Festival Hall and the Birmingham City Hall like some Take That wannabee. (Actually mate - I wasn't bad.)

The second, more powerful, image is of you running around N20 dressed in one of your cute new t-shirts (bought by Naini just as winter approaches - a typically idiosyncratic purchase but typically also a pretty well-judged present (it's the one your wearing in the main picture below, by the way). A little bundle of energy, you charged around as you had done a few weeks ago when I had taken you on one of my days off - only this time you're just that bit taller (imperceptibly to us) and are able to  climb up those ledges that just a few days ago were out of reach. One small step for Zach, on giant leap for us since it allows us now to take more of a back seat, and future trips to N20/Clown Town can once more include a Guardian or The Times. But there was little I'd rather have been doing at that time, on that day but watch you and think of that other beautiful day two years ago when we set eyes on your tiny body and we first dreamed of what possibilities it held.

Lessons learned
* Though I'm relieved in a way to be reaching the end of this project, I'm going to be very sad next week imagining I don't have to write anything on here. And if next week is too early, it won't be long before I come to look back with dewy eyes at these long nights in front of the computer dredging bad jokes and half-remembered vignettes from the depths.

New things we heard you say this week
* Rupert Bear (or 'pa pa bear' as you pronounce it).
* Good Nnnnnight!!
* Eh-Eh-Eh (which clearly means 'I love you' and is your stock answer every time we remind you of our love for you)

Things we heard your sister say this week
Bonjour, c'est moi. Voici ma tete, voici mes yeux, voici mes cheveux... etc - a French song introducing all her body parts (well, some of them...) she has learnt off-pat already, and which is reaffirming daily the realisation that nursery school is a wonderful thing.

The week in a word:
Adieu!

Images of the week

Those eyes, again

Unwrapping your presents

Nicole does Spielberg

103. Pouting Warlord (20-26 October 2008)

A week in the life
I despair a little bit of the three of you. Whilst I am something of an iron man when it comes to resisting illness, you all seem to be trying to out-do each other in a battle to find out who can be laid low by the tiniest, weeniest little bug. So off you all march from one infection to another - and winter has hardly even begun. Consequently, it's been rather a slow week; and an especially slow weekend in which the furthest we roamed was Ally Pally. Life was brightened a bit by an overnight visit from Franny, James and Harry - who is growing up into quite a big, cuddly bear-man quite unlike you. Fran's about ready to pop another little sprog too, and I like to imagine that watching our domestic bliss may have given her some kind of reassurance that having two kids is really nothing to worry about at all. But see below...

When I was a kid, Saturday night TV used to feature prominently old men gurning. It was our idea of a good night's entertainment in the early 80s. (A sign of the depths to which this great art has plummeted since is that the spellchecker on this thing doesn't even recognise the word 'gurning'.) In recent weeks (perhaps because there's been nothing else to take your mind of how ill you're feeling) you have started pulling lots of new faces, all variations on a theme of pouting (I touched on this I think a few weeks back). I have no idea how this came to be such a dominant expression in your life - sure you have beautiful, big lips like mine, but where did you understand that you could manipulate them to such deadly effect? (Have you been watching me try it on with the ladies? Please understand how unsuccessful I am!) The standard pouting template is the one used when you're receiving a telling off - and that comes complete with doe eyes and immediately precedes the rictus wailing face. The variation you unleashed this week was the determined pout - very similar except that it is used to indicate that the search for a dummy has begun in earnest, and the rictus level is much reduced. Then there is the tetchy pout, used often at weekends when Mum has disappeared somewhere leaving you to bond with your Dad. In fact, the one pout that hasn't yet been properly developed is the catwalk pout. But since that's potentially worth millions, we're working on it tomorrow...

Remember, remember
You are an incredible bully sometimes, Zach! It may be (sadly) the case that you grow up never to have seen your Old Man playing footie, but one thing all my team-mates down the years have wondered about me is how gentle, caring Tim is transformed on the football field to rude, lippy, violent Tim. Well, it's true in most of my life isn't it that a simmering rage lies boiling over just beneath the surface (I am my father's son, after all...) but tragically it seems I've managed to pass that on to you now too. Without beating around the bush, you were a right little sh*t with Harry mate - you wouldn't let him play with your toys (which basically means dolls) and you wouldn't let him past the stairgate, preferring instead to shut it forcefully into his face whenever he had been lulled into making a new approach for clemency. It's incredibly embarrassing to have to apologise for the actions of a two-year old (though I suppose we should be glad that I'm not one of those parents who seems to take pride in the violent actions of their yobby sprogs) - but Franny and Jimbo seemed more concerned with emphasising to Harry that he shouldn't be so meek in the face of an attack from a little munchkin like you, half his age. I admire your spunk, but please don't take it with you onto the football pitch. Or I'll get hit by some violent Dad, hell bent on retribution. And if that Dad is James, remember how much bigger than me he is...

Lessons learned
* You're harder than you look
* You pick your opponents well - Harry's a bit soft if I'm honest
* I can't stand the sound of coughing; even if it's my own kids, I still want to throttle them.

New things we heard you say this week
* Upstairs

Things we heard your sister say this week
* Consonants and vowels, consonants and vowels, consonants and consonants and consonants and vowels.

The week in a word:
Brawling

Images of the week

Exploring together

Soft focus

Walk of shame

102. Rat-a-TOOOO-weeeee (13-19 October 2008)

A week in the life
We've all been a little ill still this week, and the two of you have been especially snotty. But the thought of another weekend cooped up here in misery was just too much to bear, so we decided to keep a commitment on Saturday to meet Bafreen in Regent's Park. Such meetings with Baf serve two functions: most importantly, it means we get a break from looking after you and/or Nicole; secondly, each time she performs this role, she gets a little bit cluckier, and mini Bafs and Chrises will be such eligible foetuses that we need to have the two of you right at the front of the queue (so you really did blot your copybook later in the afternoon, as you'll see shortly). The afternoon was a raging success in both respects, and you especially seemed to have a lovely time playing in a very large sandpit (though you may find it hard to win friends or influence people by hovering menacingly over their sandcastles armed with a large stick and looking unhinged). Nicole spent much of the afternoon welded to Baf's right arm, which had the peculiar effect of helping Baf meet lots of Park Daddies, most of whom wanted to make friends with her - presumably because of her attractive daughter. I think Baf likes the idea of meeting lots of Park Daddies.

Sunday was another lovely day, and for the second week running we managed a trip to the farmers' market at Ally Pally where you and Nicole frolicked in the bushes over your boureks - how fabulously middle class we are. And if that evidence wasn't damning enough, you spent the rest of the week (as below) chanting 'Rat-a-toooo-weee' to yourself, which is your new favourite film.

Remember, remember
It's been many, many months since I've had to write in these pages about one of your nappies, and in fact one memory from recent weeks that I forgot to mention here hints at more hygienic times ahead - your first wee on the toilet about ten days ago. But a most unsavoury episode occurred on Saturday evening which very nearly resulted in a public health incident that might have required London to be shut down. As we ended our afternoon with Baf in civilised company over a pizza and a couple of drinks, a point came where Mum needed to leave us so that she could get to another world premier in Leicester Square. Already facing the prospect of lugging two knackered kids home on the tube and then the train, I decided the last thing I needed was the additional pain of her very gay baby bag, so I instructed her to keep it with her, forgetting it had nappies in it. (And Bobbie - why the hell didn't you remind me of that??? You have to take the lion's share of the blame for what follows, as I see things.) Wanting to impress the delectable Baf with my manly ability to look after two kids without assistance, I boldly encouraged her to join me in a completely unnecessary pot of tea, during which you filled your nappy in spectacularly offensive fashion. To make matters worse, Nicole took Baf off to accompany her to the toilet and you took advantage of the lack of control by running around the restaurant wafting your appalling treasure wherever you went.

Clearly, the good and caring father would have popped across the road to Boots to buy a nappy and would have changed you even in the cramped and unsuitable restaurant toilet. I am not that man though, and I boldly set forth with you strapped into the papoose and holding Nicole's hand towards Baker Street station, pausing only to check with Baf that the smell was not too offensive (what can I say, she lied) and to say goodnight. Just missing a train by a cruel twist of humanity, we endured one of those interminable and desperate waits on the platform desperate for information, and desperately hoping you didn't move too much that the ever-filling platform would notice your offensive bum. Fifteen minutes later, a crammed train emerged and a carriage of sardines had enough discomfort to worry about not to notice you. Not so on the train at King's Cross though (when finally we got it). Having just missed the previous train, you and Nicole had a full twnety minutes jumping up and down on the seats before we reached Finsbury Park, where quite a number of people joined the carriage and sat down. Most soon got up, and the sensible ones left the contaminated area. Those that stayed were heard to mention in increasingly agitated voices that this train had an unusual smell. I prayed no-one noticed why. Never have I been so happy to reach New Southgate, but I fear that final movement of your bum through the carriage rather betrayed us, though I didn't look back to see if there actually were any survivors.

Lessons learned
* So many lessons learned from the nappy thing I could write a book about them.
* Tea can wait.
* I should try being a Park Daddy some time. I think I might enjoy that.

New things we heard you say this week
Ratatouille
Bafreen

Things we heard your sister say this week
* We told her  that she was beyond cute. She asked: do I come from Beyondy-land?

The week in a word:
Ratatouille

Images of the week

The Dweebs

Jockey training

Ratatouille

Dancing Queen

101. Maladies and remedies (6-12 October 2008)

A week in the life
Six months ago, we could have trademarked your smile - all teeth and dimples, it seemed to greet us wherever we went, whatever the situation. Recently though you have adopted the pout as your look for the season; it seems to be your reaction to every interaction, and not just when we tell you off too. I shall endeavour to find a picture of it to go in next week's entry - but take my advice - the male pout can be enigmatic, sexy even when used sparingly. Yours has rather lost its lustre from overuse. And this week, you had plenty of opportunity to wear it out still further: not only were you pretty naughty (you've learnt to throw things down in your hissy fits, though not - apparently - that the naughty step awaits each time you do), but you were also pretty run down over the weekend with the first cold of the winter. As a result, none of us had a particularly exciting week. The highlight of the early part of the week at least was another Daddy Day on Monday.  Mum took herself off to town to schmooze around with Paulette, and the three of us took full advantage. I started by playing golf again early in the morning, and in the afternoon the three of us went to play at N20, the first time I'd been there in quite a while. You had a great time - you're now just tall enough to be able to clamber on most things, but not quite energetic enough yet to want to spend all the time hurtling around. In fact, being your Father's child, you seemed to quite enjoy sitting down watching the world go by. So I did the same and sat with you, companionably. Nicole meanwhile had befriended every mother and child in the place, and when periodically I caught up with her, she always had the camera in the face of some poor, unsuspecting guinea pig taking random shots of random children. In an adult that's a criminal offence, but she seems to be getting away with it for now. By the end of the day, I think you both must have had such fun that you didn't even notice that Mum had been away. Except that my boobs didn't give you the send-off you're used to, that is.

Remember, remember
Because we all felt a bit pants on Saturday, we went nowhere - in fact I think only Nicole and I even managed to get out of the house, and one of those trips was a five minute session in the garden to pick up the leaves which have come down in droves ths week. On Sunday we all felt a little better, and managed to make a couple of trips - first to the farmers' market at Ally Pally and then in the afternoon to Trent Park - oddly, the first time any of us had been, to the main part of the park at least. As you can see from the shots below, the weather was stunning - an incredibly unseasonal 29 degrees apparently. What an amazing space it is too - the mark of how popular a destination it's likely to become is that Mum has already earmarked a trip with you and Bapou tomorrow to see the animal sanctuary and to play on the little adventure playground there. I'll remember the event as a whole rather than any particular incident, but I loved watching you run into the setting sun and the open fields as fast as you could, and then, when you collapsed, I loved that you couldn't be bothered to get up again, and just decided to lie there, basking in the day. I hope you did enjoy it too, since it's likely to be the last really balmy day we see for a few months now.

Lessons learned
* Trent Park is soooooo cool!
* Minor colds in children cause the most extraordinary disruption to routines.
* I can tire of your pout after all. In fact, I'm very tired by it.

New things we heard you say this week
* Catch! (Throwing the ball at me from your high chair).
* Hong Kong (Dada Nick is over there, and you think he went on his motorbike).

The week in a word:
Pouting

Images of the week

Laziness

God how cute!

On guard

  

Please don't stop the music by Nicole

Attacking Mum

100. London Life (29 September - 5 October 2008)

A week in the life
Whilst I spent at least part of Wednesday night getting to know Michael Parkinson down at the NFT, I suspect the cultural highlight of a comparatively quiet week for you was your first ever trip to Greenwich Market on Saturday afternoon (although knowing you as I do, you will have been less impressed by the market than by those cool DLR trains which allow you to pretend to be the driver). Knowing you, knowing me - as someone nearly said. We went down there specifically to look for breakfast mugs and plates to give to Letty for Christmas, but found nothing suitable - but the fact that we returned (pretty much) empty-handed didn't take away at all from the fun of the experience. A right palaver it may have been to get there, but a lot of gentle, dewy memories to take away made it immediately a day to remember.

It will be interesting to see what you come to make of life in London. I was born here, but moved away very early in my life to grow up in Warwick, Surrey and finally back in Warwickshire; and by the time I went to Uni in Southampton in 1994 I felt I was certainly a country bumpkin. That feeling continued in my early years working in London too - for all the gamour and opportunity around me, the place felt soulless, anonymous, too big a canvas for me. Recently with a home and a family has come some kind of emotional stability, and the focus in life is no longer on me. And in that spirit I have come to see the rewards of living here, with large clusters of family close by to help take the pressure off, friends for life made at work, and any number of cultural opportunities not much more than just around the corner. I suppose it's true to say that I'm proud to call London my home town now, and I no longer want to leave at the earliest possible opportunity. And since we have very little prospect or opportunity of leaving, I suppose the two of you will grow up knowing no other home town. Will that one day cause you to yearn for pastures new? Here or abroad? Well, good luck in filling your life with such opportunities; but in the meantime, I look forward to sharing as many memories as we can of our life together in London.

Remember, remember
A number of times this week, like any other, I was greeted as I came in through the door after work by the sound of feet shuffling excitedly on the floor above me and cries of 'Dad, Dad, DAD!!' By the time I reach the stairs ready to peer up at the cause of all this noise, your beautiful face is beaming back at me through the stairs and you're desperate for me to come up so you can tell me all about all the new things you've learned in your ever-so-busy, amazingly exciting day. At least, that's what I always hope your calls and smiles mean; but so far all you seem interested in doing when I finally arrive is turn your back on me (before even so much as a kiss!), and career through the living room back onto the sofa to watch more bedtime TV from the comfort of Mum's lap/boobs. I'm a sucker, though - and I fall for it anew every time.

Lessons learned
* For a trainspotter, you weren't quite as excited by our trip on the DLR as I had expected.
* I can't ever hope to compete with Mum for your affections. I should probably try coming to terms with this!
* Greenwich is cool, Parky is way cooler.

Things we heard your sister say this week
* Nicole and I took advantage of a short break in the weather on Sunday afternoon to pop outside and gather the last of the conkers from under the tree (quite an impressive haul of 57 actually). She kept insisting that there was another secret conker tree in the nutty, secret, dark forest - which turned out to be at the end of the path to the station. As we turned right past the storage shed, she said 'keep quiet, and follow me, me hearties'. I have no idea where her pirate lingo came from.

The week in a word:
Gentle

Images of the week

Sticker fun

Mucking about in the garden

99. A few of my favourite things (22-28 September 2008)

A week in the life 

We spent a lovely weekend at Andy and Viara's in Caterham watching the leaves turn all shades of all colours and the autumn ebb gloriously away in a final blast of heat and colour. Seriously - is there a better part of the world to spend a day like Sunday than in leafy Surrey? Of course, my poetic recollections of the scene have been heightened by the fact that I was on the golf course and able to watch the world drift by around me rather than looking after the two of you, but every man deserves a break once in a while, and I thank Mum for mine. (Again!) As ever, my thoughts turned on occasion to all those countless rounds of golf I have planned for the us in the future. Please God you don't take until 33 years old to learn how to wield a sand wedge from 25 yards - just about the only thing that (regularly) took the edge off my Sunday.

Watching Viara and (especially) Andy struggling to come to terms with the routines of two children made me think about how much easier our life has become in recent weeks. And not surprisingly, you're very much at the centre of it! Here are a few of my favourite things:

* I've re-discovered sleep! Everyone knows about the sleep thing - the first question of any new parent is 'how are the sleepless nights?'. And though we would never complain about how things have been for the last four years, it's paradise now to be able to say that my day usually begins at 6am rather than between 4 and 5am as was the case just a few months ago. The only period recently when your sleep has been disturbed regularly has been your periods of teething, including the big gnashers coming through last month. You have always seemed to love your sleep as much as I love mine - it's just that recently you have come to understand that CBeebies doesn't actually start until 6am.

* Settled routines - I've mentioned before how fortunate I am to be able to predict when I'll be able to leave the office, and although I can feel that beginning to change a little as I get more senior and the economy less stable, it's the final touch to a routine that has been allowed to develop around Mum working three days a week and you two being cared for by Yiayia and Bapou for the remainder of the time. In January, though, Nicole starts at school, and it will be interesting to see how that significant change will affect the balance.

* The support we've had from everyone has been superb, and has really taken the pressure off the two of us to such an extent that we have maintained our status as culture vultures (in fact, in a fortnight's time Mum is due to see five films in five days during the London Film Festival). Despite Grandad becoming more and more needy, Naini continues to find time to visit usually at very short notice, and Yiayia and Bapou are so concerned during the current 'credit crunch' about Bobbie's job that they seem to be only too happy to contemplate allowing her a four-day week when Nicole starts school.

* Nicole is such a help with you. But as she grows up looking out for you in every way, it begins to dawn on me that for all the talk of living with you until you go to Uni etc these years when the the bond between the two of you has time and space to develop is so limited. Already Nicole is showing signs of relishing the independence she'll begin to taste as a schoolgirl, and I hope it doesn't cause you two to grow apart.

* You are so beautiful, and so beautifully behaved! It's impossible to stay angry with you for long, no matter what you do.

Remember, remember
When I was a kid, Will and I used to love waking up at Nan and Grandad's house and inviting ourselves into bed with them, where we would play story games and natter about the neighbours - Doug and Ivy Jones, Mrs Sermon and Miss Basden, who led a double-life as my music teacher. And whilst I remember well enough playing similar games in bed with Mum and Dad, I don't remember being in the habit of running into their room as soon as I woke up. No doubt this is a trick of the memory; but if I didn't do that, I think we all must have missed out on something very special. I love having you in bed with us after a good night's sleep. Although you remain very alert, it's usually limited to a quest for boob action - usually your mother's, thankfully. The best part is when we all hear Nicole stirring too; and a couple of times this week I've been able to watch the raw excitement on your face as she puts here head round the bedroom door. It really is as though she's the greatest thing in your life. Next to Mum's boobs, that is.

Lessons learned
* The temptation to have a third child reared its head again this week. For the reasons above, I feel we could cope with any news that another was on the way, but I have this sneaking suspicion that one reading of the first five entries of this blog would destroy these fantasies. Am I right?

New things we heard you say this week
Krispies

The week in a word:

Autumnal

Images of the week

Not quite Elvis the Pelvis

Another gratuitous shot

Imagine it's a stetson

98. Chillaxing (15-21 September 2008)

A week in the life
Another week, another birthday celebration; and Mum being Mum chalk another one up for her. At least the Queen has the decency to separate her birthdays by a few months at least to allow all the paupers in the land the chance to recover between celebrations. I can only imagine how lucky you and Nicole must have felt on Tuesday then as you unexpectedly had me for company all day long as we celebrated Mum's actual birthday. Still a little weary from the weekend that was, we plumped for a leisurely day, the highlights of which (in no particular order) were a trip to the dump, an afternoon at yiayia and bapou's (for once) and a trip to Giraffe at Muswell Hill where Mum and I watched from behind heavy eyes as you played with crayons (but daftly ignored the paper in front of you), screamed blue murder every time Mum left for a moment, but scoffed down a cosmopolitan dinner of garlic bread, spring rolls, pizza and chips, barely needing my usual assistance to clear your plate whenever Mum's back is turned. We were high as a kite on fun by the time you'd gone to bed - so much so that we were collapsed in bed long before the 41st year roared around to pick us up.

Perhaps it's some deep-seated desire to tell us to stop feeding you birthday cake, but this week has been characterised above all by a series of rapid leaps towards conversation. So far, it's an A+ for effort and a D- for delivery, but it's so exciting to have heard you jabbering away at nineteen-to-the-dozen that we've all been more than willing to fill in the blanks for you. Mum made an interesting point that if communication was about grunting noises, waving hands around, and flouncing around you'd be fluent already. Which, as I write it, is ringing some pretty major bells on a personal level. Are you copying me for some reason? How very, very misguided.

Remember, remember
On Sunday afternoon, Nicole and I baked a birthday cake for Mum and rather than scoff it down in the warmth of the kitchen, Nicole had the brilliant idea of going on a little family picnic through the early autumn mildness of Friern Village and into the nooks and crannies of Coppetts Wood. Nicole is not a country bumpkin, and dressed inappropriately in sandals, proceeded to tread in a pile of poo within ten paces. You took to it like a duck to water though, and were soon running away from us to explore your new surroundings. So whilst we ate the cake from a pleasingly prone outlook, you started climbing on the trunks of fallen trees, balancing for longer and longer and with more and more confidence. And then a quite extraordinarily beautiful moment occurred as Nicole, who had been despatched to make sure you were okay, helped you up to a new stump, held your hand as you balanced, and then caught you as you began to topple, finally placing you so delicately on the floor - ready to go again. Predictably, the camera had been left at home; but the image is crystal clear nonetheless.

Lessons learned
* Watch out for the glass in Coppetts Wood - it's literally everywhere. Thank God neither of you fell over in the fun.
* Botanist, maybe?
* Perhaps you're already fluent in Mandarin...?

New things we heard you say this week
* Thisss (your new favourite word)
* Down!

Things we heard your sister this week:
We took her out for a curry to celebrate Mum's birthday (her first proper curry with us) as soon as you had gone to sleep on Tuesday night. She came up with a couple of pearls, the first of which still sends me into fits of giggles when I think about it - not just the words but also the weary face she was pulling to emphasise the point.
* (When asked what she had done that day at nursery): 'It was a very day at nursery today, and I'm very tired from all that gluing'.
* (On being taken (by me) to the toilet): 'Daddy, I think you must have come into the girls' toilet. That toilet roll is pink, and pink is for girls.'

The week in a word:
Chatty

Images of the week

First shower with Mum

Cuties

Wrestle mania

Chatty Zachy

A day in her life

97. Playing at helicopters (8-14 September 2008)

A week in the life
I know what you've been thinking this week - such a beautiful, youthful, amazing beacon of vitality - how is it that Dad maintains such an amazing physique? No? Not me? Of course not - none months in the preparation, this has been the week of Mum's 40th birthday. Can you even believe it? Well, I'm sorry if you and Nicole have felt a little neglected as a result, but did you see her reaction? You and Nicole joined us in the car on Saturday morning, Mum believing that the surprise we were witholding from you was that we were meeting Naini, Grumps and Grandad at Virginia Water for a trip down memory lane back to my own childhood and any number of memorable trips there with Nan and Grandad. In fact, the joke was on Mum as we took a hasty left turn into an airfield somewhere in Surrey and met, first, Jemma, Jaya and Jove and then the real star of the show - Paulette, who had helped me set up a helicopter ride for Mum up the Thames and into London Town. And while they flew, you played merrily with Jove, running around in the wide open spaces periodically noticing the helicopters and small around you as they took off, landed and generally hummed around. In your element, I'd say. Just a shame that you're not quite big enough to have joined your sister in her own little spin around the airfield. And for you two, the surprise ended there as we drove back to Barnet; for Mum, a whirlwind shopping trip through the West End with Alice, cocktails at The Ritz, and a big party at Cicadas in Clerkenwell followed. It made me think a little of the birthday celebrations that lie ahead for you. I wonder what you'll be treated to on your 40th birthday in 2046. I hope I'm around to play a part - although that number looks a bit scary to be, a little like the date of a B-movie involving space travel and cars that drive in the air. Closer to home, what will we do on your 18th, your 21st? What will you look like, who will be sharing your life, what hopes will you have? What will you think of me, and what I became? Are you proud of me?

The future's a funny old thing mate. One mate it's there in front of you - expansive, energetic, just inviting you to begin exploring it. And then, unless your careful, before the first fumblings are finished, it's suddenly shrunk, and you find the expanse is no longer in front of you but behind you. I'd encourage you to regard both perspectives as illusions. Life is there to be lived all the time. You don't have to be climbing mountains or making money to be living life, you just need to be doing as best you can with the hand your holding.

And for as long as you read that in your youth and think it’s rubbish, you’ll be living life properly.

Remember, remember
I have never been so complimented about my ability to organise things as this week; but the one thing I can guarantee to have forgotten at all the key moments of life is the camera. So, Jemme - when you read this, will you dig out a picture or a video if you have it? Because one memory at the airfield more than any other has been the focus of my thoughts ever since: a beautiful sight as the four of you, led by Jaya nad Nicole, copied each other hurtling around the airfield with your arms outstretched pretending to be aeroplanes. A perfect image of childhood, repeated a million times this weekend across the world. But nowhere was it more beautiful than in the little corner of the world where you and I happened to find ourselves.

Lessons learned
* I reckon I could organise a piss up in a brewery after all!
* I think you might be a bit of a planespotter mate.
* I can still write bad philosophy (I based an entire university career on this cheap skill - and you can too!)

The week in a word:
Secretive

Images of the week

Running around the airfield

Zachy of Arabia

Teamwork

Playing in the sandpit

96. Back to basics (1-7 September 2008)

A week in the life

After the hell that was last week in your company, this week has seen a return to something like normality, a change that must have been helped by some mercifully long sleeps. However, it’s only really been towards the end of the week that you’ve been well enough to muck about with us properly, and so we’ve generally taken it easy.

And the combination of taking it easy and your return to happier spirits has once again allowed us to watch you bonding ever more closely with Nicole. In recent weeks, I’ve noticed that your increased physicality and stature has meant that you’ve become a proper playmate of Nic’s – whilst previously she’s always been very affectionate towards you, you’ve always been that bit too small and, well, boring to play properly with her. Not so these days though – and many a happy moment is spent at weekends watching you clamber into her bed pretending to be asleep, or throwing all the stuffed toys out of the cot together, usually with greatest vigour if my head is within range of your cuddly missiles. And best of all is when you play together on the big bed, tickling each other or tag teaming against one or both of us in some grapple action. It’s a peculiar thing, but I have no recollection of my own Mum and Dad wrestling with me and Will in this way. Thank God, I suspect – was ever a bed made that was sturdy enough to cope with such a bout? And I suppose it’s all a bit more of a revolution to me to watch you together than it is to Mum – my childhood bonding with my brother was all about physicality and not much about affection. Mum’s relationship with Nick was, as I understand from Yiayia’s stories at least, a lot more like yours with Nic – and I can only imagine therefore how beautiful it would have been to watch develop. 

And, as I write, it’s quite possible that the very best thing about watching you grow up is to watch you interact with each other. I suppose that it’s in helping to shape this relationship that parents have the greatest opportunity to influence a young child for the better – and Mum and I feel justly proud therefore to watch you playing together more and more.

Remember, remember
Summer is fast drawing to a close, and I’m already noticing that the light is getting less and less bright when we come back form picking you two up from Bapou and Yiayia’s. But, luckily for all of us, it’s not too dark that we can’t enjoy watching the two of you playing together, at least for a short while. One evening this week, I drove you back, knocked on the front door as usual, and when Mum came outside to see you (which she’s always very excited about, unlike me I fear…) instead of picking you up and carrying you inside, she let you run around with your sister, chasing her around the driveway and beyond, copying what she was doing, trying to have even more fun than she was. And eventually, you followed her to the narrow ledge of path that skirts the road and copied her doing her ‘practising’ (which means ‘balancing’ but has long since been misused). She’s more confident than you, of course, but it’s one more revelation of the obvious charm of growing up with an older sibling. I never knew that myself, of course; but I’m living all the joy watching you now.

Lessons learned

Things we heard your sister this week:
On another late evening, she accompanied me to collect a curry, and on the way back started complaining of another pain in her chest. I asked her how long she'd had it, and she said (she has no concept at all of dates): well, I think it began on the 6th of April.

The week in a word:
Quieter!

Images of the week

Not altogether happy

Mummy time

95. What a little sh*t! (26-31 August 2008)

A week in the life
You are a beautiful little boy, a gift to all of us with your lovely, cheery outlook on life and above all your cute and toothy grin. Do I tell you that often enough, darling?

There, that's that out of the way.

What a complete arse you've been this week Zach! Horrible, noisy, horrendous to be around, a catlayst for stress and anger in equal and destructive measure. Why this should be is not exactly clear, and we are both desperately hoping there is a more rational explanation for it than the sudden birth of a second (and unwanted) schizophrenic son, the spawn of Satan. The jury's out on that one.

I think the problem may be that you're teething - I took some persuading that this was even an option so massive is your current set of pearly white gnashers, but sure enough some mountains have popped up in the corners of your mouth. It may be that you haven't recovered from a recent cold. Either way, you started waking up horribly early in the middle of the week, and on Thursday and Friday (apparently, I was at a fantastic charity golf day in Essex - a desperate attempt to get out of your warpath) you were as miserable as sin. I didn't miss much though, as Saturday and Sunday were turned into and utterly horrendous carcrash of a weekend by your increasingly foul mood. Even Mum seemed like she was on the verge of throttling you, so you can only imagine what I wanted to do with you.

In the end though, I settled on cutting off only your hair. Solomon's hair gave him strength, yours had begun to give me a deathwish. Watch this space for updates next week. If we all survive another week in your torture chamber.

Remember, remember
Tempted though I am to say that there is nothing to remember from this week except how annoying you have been, it's not quite true. I shall always remember cutting your hair, and the feeling of relief it brought me.

Lessons learned
* I've been very stoopid recently even entertaining thoughts of having a third kid. Who am I kidding that I could cope with this all over again!
* That said, a week like this has taught me once again how lucky we are that you (and your sister) are usually so compliant and adorable. The perspective remains, even if it's been pretty well hidden. For one week only, I trust...

New things you heard us say this week
* (Cheerfully): I want to kill you!
* (Angrily): Shut up you little sh*t!

The week in a word:
Torture

Images of the week

Dr Jekyll

Mr Hyde

The ASBO's in the post