Look out, baby about - by Theo

As I had a week off work for Semana Santa, we decided to take the opportunity to head up to France to stay with Cathy and Jean. Rosie was again a superb passenger, not complaining too much and after an early start (7am) on the Sunday we made it to Ste Croix around 6pm with quite a few stops along the way.

Usually I find it very relaxing to be at Cathy and Jean's. It's a pleasure to get out of the city into the beautiful countryside around their old farmhouse and forget about marking or lesson planning for a week. Plus Cathy is an excellent chef and I'm always amazed at how she manages to pull 5 course meals together in a matter of minutes from seemingly nothing. At least one upside of Kate not being pregnant was that she was able to join in with the booze and unpasteurized cheese.
But this trip had a slightly different feel. Jean is sadly not in the best of health and therefore wasn't his usual busy, bustling, ebullient self, which cast a slight pall over the week, although he was still able to guide me (his card partner) to a bulote whitewash over the ladies' team, and join us at a delicious barbecue lunch at Alex and Dawn's, whom we had met the previous summer. However the biggest problem when it came to Kate and I really relaxing and unwinding was our darling daughter; she's just far too mobile nowadays.
When we visited at Christmas Rosie had only just started crawling; it was easy enough to sit with her on a rug while she tentatively moved around. Now, she's on the verge of walking and, with the aid of a helpful hand or her trolley, which we discovered goes off-road, she zooms off everywhere.

Mind you, she still objects to crawling outside (which we're pleased about) so regular shouts or moans from her require Mum or Dad to pick her up and move her to her desired location, indicated by pointing and her ubiquitous new word "dyim" (meaning = there, not there, this, not this, that, not that...).
Indoors she was happy to crawl about, although low steps, uneven surfaces and easily openable cupboards meant Mum and Dad (and Nonna) had to be ever vigilant. Not that we aren't vigilant at home I hasten to add, but this was a whole new level of watchfulness, a Def Con 2 of baby minding, if you will. All this meant that by the end of the day we felt much like our darling daughter - completely exhausted.
Not that she used the holiday to enjoy luxurious lie-ins. Oh no. After lulling us into a false sense of security the first night by sleeping through, Rosie got progressively more wakeful as the week went on, until three in a bed from 4am became the norm.

Still, it was wonderfully refreshing to be out of the city for a few days and spend time with Cathy and Jean - and for Rosie to enjoy some grandparental devotion, which never goes amiss. Now we're all back home enjoying some post-vacation recovery time.

the birds and the.... er... - by Theo

One of my favourite walking routes for Rosie's morning nap is the park of Los Molinos, about 10/15 minutes stride away on the posher side of Arturo Soria. A lovely landscaped park that was once the property of a noted local architect, Rosie and I have become such a regular feature there that I'm now on "buenas dias" terms with several of the dog walkers there - one even apparently knows if he's running late if we're leaving as he arrives!
Over the past couple of weeks the park has become increasingly beautiful as the blossom has made an appearance, and with it the photographers. Several of the walks are completed surrounded by fruit and nut trees in full flower, and the scent is delightful.


So, as temperatures hovered in the early twenties last weekend I suggested to Kate that we head to the park before Rosie's naptime to give our now confidently crawling little girl a chance to try out her skills on grass. She was less than impressed - occasionally putting out a hand as if to test the water before quickly withdrawing it at the strange texture. She was quite taken by some falling blossom, stroking the petals gently, but generally she was, as ever, far more taken with her shoe.
Still, it was a lovely afternoon, fresh but warm in the sun with birdsong and the heavy smell of nectar all around. It was only as we left that I realised what was missing. In all my visits to Los Molinos I have yet to see a bee or, for that matter, a pollinator of any kind. Sad to think that all that beautiful blossom may never bear fruit.

Safety Skills By Kate

You can't start 'em too young when it comes to encouraging your offspring to pick up skills that will help keep them safe. Although safety is an alien concept to most small children - until they're at least school age, the kamikaze tendency is quite pronounced - a few habits promoting self-preservation are always helpful, if only to lessen the rate of grey hairs sprouting on parents' heads.

Granted, Stop, Look, Listen; Don't Eat Random Wild Mushrooms and Stranger Danger are a little way off yet, but I felt it was at least worth teaching Rosie The Perfect Dismount, even at her tender age of thirteen months old.

I was inspired by a friend who said she's never bothered with stairgates because she taught her babies how to go down stairs backwards from the moment they could crawl.

Although our flat doesn't have any stairs, it does have a selection of beds and settees that Rosie has been known to frolic on at various times. So after a few unfortunate nose-diving incidents, Theo and I made a concerted effort to teach Rosie the useful backwards dismount technique.

As you can see from the clip below, I think she's got it.

Next, how to safely re-wire a plug.

Here Rosie, Rosie, Rosie! - by Theo

Now she's started crawling in earnest, locating Rosie can occasionally be problematic. You turn your head for a moment and suddenly she's in her room attempting to scale her cot or she's nipped into the bathroom to try her hand at opening the drawers.

Still no matter where she goes, it's always pretty easy to find her again...

And she's off.... By Kate

Rosie's been on the point of not-quite-crawling for weeks now - then, over the last few days, with a bit of help (room rearrangement to facilitate free movement) and a few confidence-knocking head-bashing moments, she suddenly realised she could get herself places instead of wailing for Mummy or Daddy to help her out.

The world - or at least our flat - is her oyster.

Let the baby-proofing commence.