Farts

I'm sorry, but it's true. Farts are funny. Fact. I'm told this all the time by Squeaky, though being 4, she doesn't have the most refined sense of humour yet.  One day though.

It got me thinking, mind. Farts are generally funny, at least to break the ice if nothing else. Farts in a maths lesson, hilarious. Farts in a Pilates class, expected. Farts during a smear test, cringeworthy. It's something about the level of vulnerability, as well as the proximity of someone else's face to your stinking nethers.

So, come on, admit it, where's the worst place you've let rip? (For full disclosure, I was mentally writing this post while getting a bikini wax and holding in a mammoth trump.)

The end of an era

It's a sad day. A very sad day. The end of an era, the passing of time comes to us all. For today I have had to bid farewell to an old friend. One who has been with me through good times and bad. Seen me laugh, seen me cry, seen me curl up & moan with a hangover.

For yes, today officially marks the day I have accepted the fact that my once favourite, much used, much loved, well worn out duvet set has not so much seen better days, but seen better decades.

Fare thee well in the next life, old red bedding set.

I'll be honest, I'm the kind of girl who doesn't like to spend too much money on bed linen, after all I'm asleep when I'm in it, so I can't see it.  I can't even remember where I bought this set from, but it was almost certainly in the sale.  I do love the feel of new linen though, and newly washed linen, so now I've got a good excuse to go out & buy something now, don't you think?

To be fair to the old red set, it doesn't really go with my current bedroom, which is all blues & greys, whereas it went perfectly in our old house with its red & cream bedroom.  So maybe it was time.  I'd love something like the set below, that would be perfect. Sadly they're in the US, and I'm not good at international bedding sizes.  Boo hoo.  Wonder what I can find bargain hunting instead?

Contemporary Bedding by Omaha Furniture & Accessories Hayneedle

The Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and like each night that week
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Squeak

Tucked up in her bed, with a new picture book
I couldn't help myself but to take a quick look

An old rhyming tale, about meeting Saint Nick
With bright colourful pages, she fell in love quick

Words from Clement C Moore, drawings by Henry Fisher
Each page illustrated with a beautiful picture

Santa and reindeers, she knew each one's name
And asked me "where's Rudolph", I had to explain

He was feeling quite poorly, nose snotty and red
When Henry drew these pictures, he was sleeping in bed

Now after that rest, Rudy's feeling alright
Ready to guide Santa's sleigh through the night

She started to yawn, her eyes closing too
A fabulous sight for a parent, it's true

So I tiptoed away, and left on the nightlight
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!

Disclosure: I was provided with a copy of this book free of charge as part of the Parragon Book Buddies programme. I was not told what to write and all opinions are my own, as is the very poor rhyming, inspired by Clement C. Moore's poem, as featured in the above book.  Links are provided for convenience only, I am not a member of any affiliate scheme & will not receive reward for their use.

Is There Any Room At The Inn?

It's Squeaky's first ever school play in a fortnight.  And just like everything else school-related she's reluctant to tell me anything about it.  At All.  I think they must make them sign the Official Secrets Act when they start, either that or she's got a great future ahead of her as an international spy - MI5 wouldn't be able to get any information out of her, even under extreme tickling, she won't give an inch!

I know the play is nativity-ish, because we've got a cast list, so we know what costumes we need to supply for our budding Oscar winners.  I can't help but feel a little sorry for the camels' parents, because that's really not an easy costume to rustle up at home from the contents of various wardrobes & dressing up boxes (though I have seen a few available online!).  And I know the play is called "Jump If You Love Christmas", which sounds bizarre to say the least.  "Sit Down If You Wish It Was January" for the Bah Humbugs in the audience, perhaps?

An Innkeeper?

Well, La Squeak is an Innkeeper.  Innkeeper 3 to be precise (that's the one with the stable, if you were wondering!)  It's a role I remember playing myself in the dim & distant past, along with a gymnast (obviously at the nativity), the colour pink, and Mrs Red Hat from the Village With Three Corners.  As you can tell, I've had a wide and varied theatrical career, sadly cut short at the point where it was discovered I had no acting talent whatsoever.

An Innkeeper?

An Innkeeper though?  What DOES an innkeeper actually wear?  In the name of research, I paid a visit to our local, and discovered that an aging t-shirt from the brewery teamed with a pair of dubiously stained jeans, and a couple of tattoos seems to be a popular choice.  I could probably manage that.  Or there's the more famous options.  Bald head, burgundy jacket & pint pot a la Al Murray?  Leopard print, big hair, cleavage & too much make up in the style of Bet Lynch?  Apparently these aren't ideal suggestions and are more likely to be met with a referral to social services than a standing ovation.

A more appropriate Inn Keeper?

The internet leads me to believe that an innkeeper's costume is pretty much the same as a shepherd's, only without the sheep & crook (I might have to add a tankard, that would be fair, right?)   I quite like the look of this one, from Angels Fancy Dress - with a little adaptation, maybe a belt, my little Innkeeper could be the star of the show!

I still think Bet Lynch would be fun though.

Well, I was thinking aloud on twitter before I wrote this post, and the kind people at Angels Fancy Dress contacted me, and asked if I thought my readers would like a little offer?  Well, of course you do.  So, they've offered you all an amazing 10% off any item at Angels Fancy Dress - not just their Nativity Costumes.  All you have to do is use the discount code SQUEAKY10 which is valid on online orders until 31st December. Perfect for your Christmas or New Year's parties as well!  What are you waiting for?

Disclosure: This post was written without request. I have not received payment for this post.  I asked whether the company would like to be linked in my post, and they offered a discount for readers. Links are provided for convenience, I will not receive reward for their use, nor use of the above discount code.

We're Going On A(nother) Deer Hunt!

After our complete failure to find anything vaguely resembling a deer on our last trip to Cannock Chase, this time we decided to enlist the help of an expert, Squeaky's Uncle Terry, who apparently knows where they all hang out, and spots them on a very regular basis.  And they were all over Countryfile last week, so apparently people think they are real. Then again, I don't believe anything I see on the TV, with the exception of Dog The Bounty Hunter, they can do all sorts with technology these days!

Off we went, into the wilds of the chase, past a boulder left behind by a glacier at the end of the last Ice Age (I'm quite impressed by the pebbly steps  the Ice Age also seems to have left behind, hey ho!)  Deeper into the Chase, in search of the mythical deer.

And guess what we found?  Horse's hoof prints.

A feather.

A stream.

My jeans tucked into my boots to minimise mud stains.

A sign with the number 3 on it!

And, yep, you guessed it, a complete lack of deer.  They are definitely a myth, I'm telling you!  According to Uncle Terry, the problem was that we'd got cameras with us.  Cameras = No Deer.  If you haven't got a camera with you, they're practically coming up to swap Christmas Cards.

Maybe the constant shouts of "Daddy, Uncle Terry, Wait for MEEEEE!" and "One, Two, Three, WHEEEEEEEEE!" might have had something to do with the deer's absence too.  Maybe.

One, Two, Three, Wheeeeeeee!

So in the end, Ms Squeaky had to improvise, and do her best impression of a deer with a couple of handy sticks.  What do you think?

I'm linking up with the Coombe Mill Country Kids Linky

Mini Malaprop

I've written before about how entertaining it can be when Squeaky misunderstands things when she's learning Welsh at school, and some of the very cute variations of songs she comes out with. But the truth is, she does that in English too, as do most children, and much as I don't want to put her off by laughing, there's times when the malapropisms are just so funny I can't help myself.

For instance, the day she decided to put my washing basket on her head in her best Dalek impersonation, and walk around the house shouting "Inseminate".  That was a tricky one.  How do you keep a straight face?

Dalek-child.

It's not just children though. I've come to realise through Squeaky, how difficult a language English actually is to learn, and how lucky we are to learn it as our mother tongue, because I really don't envy anyone trying to learn it as a second language.  It reminds me of the Greek guy who ran a sandwich shop round the corner from my work, many years ago, who proudly announced to me one day while I was buying an expensive sandwich & can of a certain energy drink: "Red Bull gives you wind!"  And all that time I'd been blaming his sandwiches!

A Story: By Squeaky, Aged 3 3/4

Once upon a time there was an old Daddy called Mine.  Daddy was asleep and snoring and keeping Mummy awake.  Daddy's stinky socks decided to have an adventure to the woods.  The right sock said "I want to stay here."  The left sock said "You can stay here and I can stay in the woods, and don't come with me!"

Image courtesy of Gualberto107 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

The Right sock sang like this "la la la la la" Then the left sock said "I want to go home" The right sock went round and round and round to think about it.  Then the socks went home and said to each other "Bye bye, sleep tight"  And they all lived happily ever after.

The End

(Story dictated by Squeaky in the car on the way home from school.  Lovingly transcribed for your enjoyment by yours truly)

The Mythical Deer of Cannock Chase

Despite living in South Wales, neither Daddy nor I are Welsh. I was born in Wolverhampton &; moved around a few bits of England before I settled in Wales, and Daddy grew up about 10 miles up the road in Cannock.  And that's where we've spent the weekend. Cannock. Famous for being the early years training ground of Stan Collymore, and that's about it as far as I can tell.

Warning. Mythical Deer.

Except for one thing. The deer. Cannock Chase is a pretty big expanse of woodland & the like on the edge of the town, and apparently home to a large population of fallow deer.  Which I'm not quite convinced actually exist. I mean, I've seen road signs, heard "friend of a friend" stories about deer leaping out at your car in the evenings, but actually seeing one?  No chance.  There's about as much chance of finding Bigfoot & Nessie out on a date at your local Pizza Hut.  I've just about convinced myself that the deer are nothing more than a myth, made up by the tourist office to make a fairly dull West Midlands town sound a bit more exciting.

No deer here

So, with that in mind, Daddy decided we should go out to look for the deer over the weekend. It kept me out of the pub, I suppose!  Off we went in the car, found a likely spot & hopped out for a walk.  Miss Squeaky decided that the best way to get the deer to show up was to call "Deers, come out, come out, wherever you are!" at the top of her voice. An interesting tactic, I'm sure you'll agree, but unfortunately not a terribly successful one, as they decided against.  We did see a few dogs though, out for a walk, and a fox, running across the road, but no deer.  According to Squeaky, the reason we didn't see the deer is because they were too busy chasing the fox.  Fair guess.

No deer here either

We did find a deer's bed, apparently. No deer in it, but that's what she decided.

The deer's bed, but no deer.

The only other thing Cannock Chase is famous for is, errr, people enjoying sexual encounters in public places.  So we decided to go home before it got too dark & the freaks came out to play. My commitment to blogging only goes so far.

A tree that sort of looks like antlers

Personally, I still think the deer are all a myth, and I think I know why.  There's an awful lot of trees on the Chase like the one pictured above.  From a distance, if you squint in the right way, they kind of look like antlers.  Sort of.  Maybe?

NB: I know that the deer are real, and just very shy animals, and the chance of seeing them in such an expanse of dense woodland is pretty slim. But I like to live in denial of the existence of certain things. Deer, the M50, and Jim Davidson don't exist in my world, and a very happy place it is too.

Linking up with the Coombe Mill Country Kids Linky.
   

Row, Row, Row your boat

When I was a lass, there was only 1 verse of Row, Row, Row your Boat.  And the most interesting thing about the song was that episode of Men Behaving Badly where they sing it in the pub.

Then along came Squeaky and language & play groups, and we learned "if you see a crocodile, don't forget to scream", and shortly after "Rock, rock, rock your boat, gently to and fro, Watch out, give a shout, into the water we go."

And a little while later we discovered CBeebies podcast and learned verses about polar bears and lions.  To be honest, I'm getting a bit concerned about this rowing expedition - it seemed to be going a very long way & through some very dangerous territory.

However, Squeaky is bored of the limitations of these, and has now made up her own verse. Inspired, I believe by our trip to Folly Farm last year. I'm kind of impressed, it rhymes & everything. Ladies & Gentlemen, I present the final verse.

Row, Row, Row your Boat
Gently to the sea
If you see a giraffe
Don't forget to wee-wee.

Ode to Superglue

Superglue, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways
I hate thee with the pieces and fragments and bits
Of broken ornaments, the piece that never fits
From the ends of my fingers and ideal repair
I hate thee so much I have to swear
A smashed souvenir, of sun and candle-light.
I hate thee freely, I can't make this look Right;
I hate thee purely, my repairs earn no praise.
I hate that you are impossible to use
On household items, and on my childhood toys.
I hate that my fingerprints I seem to lose
When I open the tube, --- I hate thee with the breath,
Fumes making tears, all my life! --- and, because I can't choose,
I shall but hate thee again tomorrow.

Apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Nails: Bell Air Flow, Shade 702, with added superglue

Mother's Pride (Not the bread)

Yes, every day we're proud of our children, proud of ourselves for bringing these adorable creatures into the world & nurturing them to some sort of successful existence.  But some days you're more than that.  You're properly, really, truly, actually proud of your child, of how they behave, or what they achieve.  That you've done this, and this little person reflects well on how you've brought them up.  Today was one of those days.  A proper Proud Mummy Day.

Young Love, awwww.

First off, this morning, we went to a pre-school music & movement class.  We've only been there once before, it was recommended to us by Wednesday Boy's grandfather, who takes him along most weeks.  Last week was our first time & Squeaky was a bit hesitant, as she often is at these kind of things.  This week though, she & Wednesday Boy were not only angelic, but really actively participating in all the songs, all the dances, and having a whale of a time.  It's great to see her really joining in with something.  And seeing Squeaky & Wednesday Boy cwtching up together in the Dingle Dangle Scarecrow just made me melt a bit inside.

Then, the big adventure of the day, off we went to the school Squeaky will be starting at part-time in September.  For the next ten weeks, they're running "link-up" sessions, so the children can get to know each other, the teachers & the school so when they start properly, it's not such a big shock to the system.  Parents have to stay for these sessions, and they're only an hour, but it's a nice introduction to school.  We walked to the school without any complaint, and went in amongst a load of other three year olds, not knowing anyone (turned out later there were a couple of people we knew) and into the classroom.  Squeaky, rather than hiding behind my knees and trying to disappear, was straight off into the middle of everything. checking out the toys, playdough, paints, cars, computer (oh yes, the computer.).  Everything.  I don't get to see how she is at nursery after I've dropped her off, but this was great, it put my mind at ease that she'll be absolutely fine, and that this is actually what she's like the rest of the time when I'm not there.

EXTERMINATE!

After we got home from our school visit, it was playtime.  Or laundry time, depending on which one of us you're more interested in.  But after having sorted out the laundry, Squeaky decided to melt my geeky heart a little bit more.  She can't quite manage to say "EXTERMINATE" in a dalek voice yet, but we're working on it.  I should have grabbed the sink plunger really to complete the look, shouldn't I?  Maybe next time.

Remember that M People song "What have you done today, to make you feel proud?"  Well, my only real achievement was not screaming when a spider ran across the room earlier.  Squeaky's had all my pride for the day. She deserves it.

People Watching - Soft Play Style

We've spent the morning at our local soft play place.  You know the drill, a warehouse at the far end of an industrial estate, filled with other people's screaming children, running round at 100 miles an hour, hyped up on a mix of fruity bottled drinks & cheesy puffs.

Well, never mind the kids.  My favourite game at soft play is watching the parents &
carers.  See if you can spot anyone you know.

The Shadow  Can't be more than 3 foot from their precious darling, whether said precious darling wants their parent to hover over them or not.  Often to be found tutting about other parents.

I'm saying nothing.

The Overgrown Kid  Similarly to The Shadow, never far from their child.  At least in theory.  However, they aren't watching their child, they're too busy playing on the slides themselves.  Often to be found buried in the bottom of the ball pit, sat on by someone else's children, having balls and foam shapes thrown at their heads from close range.

The iPhone Owner  (Other smart phones are available)  They're present.  Physically.  Just about.  But they're sat as far as humanly possible away from the play area, giving 100% attention to their phone.  Their little darling is either tugging at their trouser leg, shouting "mummeeeeeee, look at me", or busy throwing things at The Overgrown Kid.

The Smoker  Not even present, they popped outside for a ciggie half an hour ago, asking someone else if they can mind their beloved offspring for a couple of minutes.  Now either chainsmoking, gossiping, or gone to the corner shop for a loaf.  (Please note, I have nothing against smokers per se, especially outside away from me, but that special breed of smokers who take advantage)

Supermum This parent shuns the tuck shop.  Secreted in that designer change bag (for it always is), is an entire wholesome picnic lunch.  Sandwiches on wholegrain bread, fruit, mineral water, carrot sticks, not a refined sugar or processed carbohydrate in sight.  They're probably not local, because they wouldn't be here if they knew where the park was. Either that or it's raining.

The Cool Gang You probably went to school with them.  The poisonous girls who'd spend their breaktime in the corner of the yard passing nasty comments about everyone who wasn't cool enough to be part of their gang.  They're still around.  They're standing in the corner of the soft play, ignoring their kids, and passing the same nasty comments.  They may also have a few 9 year old daughters who will be practising much the same nasty looks & comments.

Play or Party?  There, might be paying attention.  But, woah.  This is a children's soft play area.  Sheer blouses, miniskirts & stiletto heels?  Really?  Oh, right, I see which child is yours.  The three year old with glitter eyeliner, a mini skirt and a top with an inappropriate slogan.  Nice.

LOL.  There's normal folk there as well, somewhere.  You just have to look closely.

Happy Easter

However you celebrate it, have a Happy Easter!  And don't wear chocolate on your head, it's much better in your mouth.

And another thing!

An unexpected bonus relating to my last post (what? You haven't read it yet? Hop to it!)

Miss Squeaky's still stuck at home with the chickenpox, and we're rapidly running out of the Toy Story Trilogy.  However, the paella ingredients came in a massive box, filled with what Douglas Adams called "missing matter" - polystyrene packing peanuts to you.  Add these items together, and you get... FUN!

So a second thank you to the folks at Thomson Al Fresco for not only providing Daddy & I with a tasty meal, but also giving Squeaky an afternoon's entertainment.

Fee Fi Fo Fum!

I don't think it's directly a result of this year's CBeebies panto, as they didn't use the immortal line.  I suspect tonight's entertainment is probably courtesey of reading a more traditional version of Jack & The Beanstalk at nursery.

Tonight's bathtime, like much of our playtime at present was all about imaginary play.  "You be a mommy & I be a baby", and similar topics.  I had to be a dragon, a monster, and a giant, as well as the more typical doggy and ice cream man.  The giant was the important one for tonight's tale.

I have to be honest, I wasn't quite sure how to be a giant, so I had to ask for help.  Squeaky told me how to be a giant.  Apparently, I have to say "Fee Fo Fum, I can smell a bloody Englishman!" Innocent misunderstanding, you say?  Well, we live in the South Wales valleys, but both Daddy & I are English (which makes Squeaky English too, thank you very much!), and the 6 Nations rugby starts this weekend.

That's what I thought.

(And to anyone who says "She was born in Wales, so she's Welsh" my answer is "Jesus was born in a stable, doesn't make Him a donkey!")

Mystery solved!

A couple of weeks ago, when I picked Squeaky up from nursery, one of the carers told me how brilliant she'd been that day (naturally!).  They'd been looking at healthy eating & some vegetable flashcards, and Squeaky knew every veg, straight away.  Even the aubergine!  The carer said that she'd forgotten the name, and Squeaky just looked at her & piped up "aubergine", amazing everyone.

I wracked my brains, trying to work out how she knew that.  We'd been shopping over the weekend and bought an aubergine (it took me 3 shops to find one, grrr), so I put it down to that.  But I was still a little bit puzzled, they're not really an everyday veg, or not in our house at least.

Moving on, I'd almost forgotten all about that.  And then over this weekend, we were listening to the new CBeebies cd (more on that to follow), and Squeaky was singing along.  And it all made sense.  It was nothing to do with my shopping, and everything to do with Mr Bloom.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/cbeebies/mr-blooms-nursery/songs/mr-blooms-nursery-meettheveggies/  (about 28 seconds in)

"And Sebastian's a singing aubergine, la la la la, mi mi mi mi miiii!"

One more little mystery solved. Now if only someone could tell me where I put my hair straighteners!

Bingo Lingo

We're off on our travels again this weekend.  It seems like we spend most of our free time, at least in the reasonable months, trekking off to some holiday park somewhere, and our evenings in the entertainment watching Squeaky hare around like a miniature maniac.

Part of the whole holiday park experience, and to be honest a pretty unavoidable part, is the bingo.  And they take it very, very seriously.  I'm rarely prepared, and have been known to use emergency substitutes, such as an out-of-favour lipstick to mark my bingo card, but I'm learning.  I've even bought my own bingo dabber now, look!

Trouble is, I get distracted.  The traditional bingo calls, well, what IS that all about, I ask you.  A Flea In Heaven?  (37, in case you didn't know)  I spend too much time giggling & not enough time marking my bingo card.

Costa Bingo have launched a competition for bloggers to come up with their own Bingo Lingo, something a bit more relevant, a bit more fun, and that maybe makes a little more sense.  I racked my brains, and came up with a couple...



All the twos, Noels Red Boxes, it's 22.
Deal or No Deal has taken the whole world by storm.  It was launched in the UK in 2005, but started in other countries a few years earlier.  One thing the worldwide shows have in common though is those 22 boxes, normally red, but they change colour for special shows.  A show all about luck, what better match for a game of Bingo!








Eight & Five, the Black Ball Final, it's 85

OK, this one might be a little less popular.  But 18 million of us stayed up past our bedtimes in 1985 to watch Dennis Taylor beat Steve Davis on the last ball of the Embassy World Snooker Championships, and I'm sure a few of them are playing bingo right now!  I'm a huge snooker fan, this would just make me smile so much to hear this bingo call.  Snooker is a game all about numbers, just like bingo, and can't you just picture celebrating a win, Dennis Taylor style?

I really wanted to find a way to include snooker's maximum break in my Bingo Lingo, but bingo only goes up to 90, far short of the 147 of snooker.  But Dennis' win was so memorable, and so much fun, I just couldn't resist.  You know how it is.

This post is associated with the Bingo Lingo competition from Costa Bingo. To find out more information go to http://www.costabingo.com/skin/costa-bingo-lingo-twitter-competition.php

Spot The Difference!

We were watching the telly earlier this evening, when Squeaky piped up "Look, Mummy!  Father Christmas!"  So look I did, and got a bit confused.  "Where's Father Christmas, Squeaky?" I asked.  "There, look! Father Christmas, on the telly."  and she pointed at the screen.  Where I saw a picture of... Winston Churchill?

Not Father Christmas

Not a former British Prime Minister

Now I know she doesn't know who Winston Churchill is, but let's compare & contrast.

Both are older men in pictures (though I'm sure both were young once)
Both have chubby round faces (and bodies)
Both have appeared in episodes of Doctor Who

Churchill is bald & clean shaven, Father Christmas has white hair & a beard
Churchill tends to be shown in a black suit, Father Christmas in a red suit
Churchill is not renowned for his team of flying reindeer
Father Christmas rarely appears on wartime posters

I couldn't help but laugh.  And then tried to explain that it wasn't Father Christmas but someone else, without going into too much detail.

Have your little ones had such an odd case of mistaken identity?  Or one you'd be prepared to admit to yourself?

Mortified!

We had a little adventure down to the wilds of Torbay last weekend. Any excuse, I know, but as Squeaky woke us up last week crying "I want to go on holiday, I want to go to a caravan", we couldn't really not take our latest £9.50 hol, could we?  I'll write a proper blog post about the trip another day, hopefully.

Not far away...

Today though, I wanted to share one of the finer moments of life with a 2 year old.  Picture the scene.  We've just been swimming, and are in the changing rooms of the holiday site's swimming pool, squeezed into a little cubicle.  Squeaky is dry and dressed, and giving her usual running commentary of every thought that passes through her head.  I am in the middle of getting dry.

Squeaky: Where's Daddy?
Me: In the boys changing room.
Squeaky: Boys smell of feet
Me: Yeah, ok, they do
Squeaky: You smell of feet
Me: Errr, THANKS, no I don't.
Squeaky: Incey Wincey Spider climbs up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sunshine and ... POPPED the spider out. Out came the sunshine and... POPPED the spider out. (Repeat this line 10+ times) Incey Wincey Spider climbed up the spout again

There are a few giggles to be heard in the changing room as Squeaky is not a quietly spoken child.  At this point, I breathe a sigh of relief, and continue getting dry.  I've just put my t-shirt on, and peeled off the bottom half of my swimming costume.

Squeaky: Mummy, what's that?
Me: What's what, darling?
Squeaky: THAT!  You've got a bit of hair on your bottom!
Me (thinking fast): Oh, so I have. Incey Wincey Spider?

There are now much louder giggles from the rest of the changing room, and I am looking for a hole in the ground to swallow me up.  I mean, WHAT do you say?  And is this one of those milestones I should be writing down for future reference?

Flip it!

Your pancake! What else? Honestly, some readers! I got a teeny tiny saucepan before Christmas, mostly to cook Squeaky's omelettes in, she does love a good omelette, but when your appetite only runs to a 1 egg omelette, a big frying pan isn't the best starting point. Being an inquisitive child, she came into the kitchen to watch me making pancakes (we had ours yesterday, Daddy's on a late shift tonight), and got quite interested in the tossing aspect of the pancake process. So much so that I decided to make a couple of pancakes in her little frying pan and let her have a try herself.

OK, the tossing didn't quite happen, she just jiggled the pancake back & forth a bit, but really, have you ever seen a child look so proud of herself for holding a frying pan?

What did you have on your pancakes today? We went down the traditional lemon & honey route, because I forgot about the jar of chocolate spread sitting in the kitchen cupboard. Oh well, that'll have to go on toast!