My contrary child

Sometimes I think that Isabel likes to do the opposite of whatever I've asked her to do, just for the sake of being contrary. And then I realise that of course this is exactly what she's doing, since she is her father's daughter after all. She's actually not been too bad today - during the "terrible twos" she had phases of just being a bundle of No, it was as if she'd forgotten every other word in the English language.
I've learnt, obviously, to play this to my advantage wherever possible. For example, in the shoe shop yesterday I made a fuss over the shoes next to the ones I actually wanted her to have, so of course she ignored them, and went for the ones I'd wanted all along. Cunning.
These little tricks don't always work though. This evening, since Husbandio is out playing badminton and then having dinner with a friend he doesn't see too often, I decided we'd have a decadent tea of blueberry pancakes. Not standard dinner fare, but not too bad - only eggs, milk, flour and blueberries really. We shared them between us and she ate exactly as much as me - how I don't know, since I was stuffed once I'd finished. But no, she then gave me a sideways glance, and whispered "let's find some dessert in the fridge...!" I'd kind of thought that blueberry pancakes were both main course and dessert but no, she wanted something else, so I joked "well, you'd better have a pork pie then" - and that's exactly what she did. The whole thing. Good job it was only a mini one. She's clearly regained the upper hand now - how can I play things to my advantage if she's sometimes going to unexpectedly agree with me? Curse that clever child!

Friday is the new Friday

Until this week I'd worked either a three day week or a four day week for the last four years. Since I now have official permission to be a person who works from home, my hours have changed, and I'm working a four day week (i.e. 28 hours) over five days. So, 9am - 3pm most days, and some time in the evenings to catch up with those West Coast colleagues whom I can't otherwise manage to speak to.

Working a four day week I found was just right - a nice long weekend, but still a good amount of time to get stuff done in. Three days just wasn't enough to do anything productive - I always felt that the week had no sooner started than it was over again. And I used to really enjoy having Fridays off, seeing friends, or going to places like soft play centres without them being packed with schoolchildren. That's all over now though - for the next umpteen years we'll only be visiting things out of school hours, and Friday has again become the final day of the week.

This is an oddly depressing thought. But not quite as depressing as the knowledge that Husbandio, my mum and I will be spending Sunday packing up the kitchen in preparation for getting the old kitchen ripped out and a new one put in. Husbandio's depressed too, since one of his best friends moved back to South Africa today, so he's lost a good PlayStation buddy as well as a good friend. Sorry about this whingy post everyone, back to my normal cheeriness tomorrow after a good night's sleep and a day of sorting things out in the house, always perks me up (sad, I know.....).

Working from home - officially

I had breakfast with my boss this morning, and one of the questions I wanted to ask her was whether I'd be allowed to change my working location from our Covent Garden office to my home office. And the lady from California (as opposed to the man from Del Monte), she say "yes"! Hoorah! I didn't really have any doubts that I'd get a positive response, partly because so many people in the company already work from home, and partly because the response to any reasonable request like this in the past has always been positive. But it's nice to know that it's a definite yes, since now I can get on with planning things. I won't get my home office properly organised until I go back to work after my maternity leave in October, at which time I'll need a dedicated business line and one of those nice posh printer/scanner/copier thingies. Which is handy, since we don't have a printer at the moment.

I'll probably still have to do some travelling since that's a fairly integral part of the job, and I'll have to go into town occasionally to see clients, but I can try to do that on days when I've already arranged for school pick-up to be looked after, and of course I can try to make sure I get more than one appointment on days when I do go into town. One of the things I may well have to attend is our annual conference, which this year is being held at what looks to be an enormously posh hotel in Ireland. Husbandio's best friend lives over in Ireland with his wife and daughter, so we may be able to combine the work trip with some socialising too. Or maybe I'll just hide in the spa, now there's a nice thought.....

My first NCT experience

Yesterday I went to the first of my NCT (National Childbirth Trust) ante-natal classes. The course itself was fairly pricey which made me go into the whole experience daring it to be value for money - so far the jury is still out. But I can't really judge yet, since I've only been to one class and I have five more to go. And when I say class, I don't mean a 45 minute session, I mean two and a half hours of conversation and bonding. And also a full day six hour Saturday session in a couple of weeks' time which Husbandio has been informed he is coming too as well. So from a time persective it's good value for money!

I'm sure some of you are wondering why I even bothered to sign up for NCT classes since I've been through this childbirth thing once before and should have a vague inkling as to what's going on. It's not really the content of the classes that interests me, it's the ability to get to know local mums with kids the same age as mine. Since we only moved out here a year ago I thought this would not only help to expand our social circle with people we had something in common with, but would also help me to find out about local services for babies and toddlers which will be useful while I'm on maternity leave. I tried to get into one of their refresher classes for second time mums but they were all full, so I ended up on a course of first timers. Slightly annoying, but not much I could do about it.

There were eight of us in the group, and two brought husbands/partners. We did quite a lot of "getting to know you"-type exercises, such as splitting into groups of three and trying to come up with ten things we had in common. Apart from babies. Not as easy as it sounded, but a good ice breaker. We also did some relaxation, unfortunately not on very comfy chairs so the result was that I lost all feeling in my arms and hands. This was because the course leader recommended that we turn our chairs around and sit astride them, resting our arms on the back - this apparently encourages the baby to get into a better position, and is quite important from 34 weeks on. In standard slumpy on the couch positions the baby tends to settle with its back against the mother's back, and if they're in that position when you give birth it's meant to be excruciatingly painful. So, lots of sitting up and straddling the chair for me from now on!

We also discussed where we were having our babies, and to my surprise I was the only one going to Wycombe - some were going to Stoke Mandeville, some to Wexham Park, and one to Watford. I still think Wycombe sounds fine - there was a rumour that the unit was closing but apparently that's not the case, so that's good to know. It's the closest place to us, which for me was the main criteria, since I'm not planning on being in there very long, fingers crossed.

Actually, if those are the only things I learn then it's money well spent. And the people seemed nice too, so it's all looking quite positive so far. And not too hippy happy clappy, which was one fear of mine - although I'm still waiting for the "breast-feeding good, bottle-feeding evil" lecture...!

A foodie post

Just a short one tonight, since it's gone 11pm and definitely time for me to be a-sleepin'. Which is a shame, because I did a lot today so have lots to write about, but I'm just too darned tired. The review of my first NCT class will have to wait until tomorrow.

Tonight I went into town for a work dinner at Hibiscus, one of only eight restaurants in London to currently hold two Michelin stars. We went there in December for our work Xmas do, which was lush, and I was a little disappointed tonight as I didn't think the food was as good as it had been before . Given the bump, I wasn't there for the drink, although they did do a nice non-alcoholic cocktail with lots of fresh mint. The menu for tonight's meal is below - and my only comment before going was "Beetroot??!! Why is there always flamin' beetroot?!" I can't bear beetroot - it's not just the taste, it's the way it infiltrates and stains everything else on the plate. And my experiences in the past couple of years of dinners at posh restaurants have always resulted in me having to eat either beetroot or, even worse, goats cheese. On one dreadful occasion I was served a beetroot and goats cheese salad, which was just vile. Anyway, I tried the beetroot tart, and it wasn't bad. It was also small, so I finished it. I'm not one for leaving anything on my plate, especially nowadays. It was rescued from over-beetrootness by the feta sorbet, a very Heston Blumenthal-esque invention, if you ask me. Whoever heard of a cheese sorbet? Nice though.

Fine Beetroot and Orange Tart,
Smoked Feta Sorbet

Roast Rack of Shropshire Veal
Ragout of Puy Lentils
Jerusalem Artichoke, Argan Oil

New Season Carrot Cake
Purple Carrot & Rosewater Sorbet, Blood Orange

Posh eh?

Spring is sprung

When I was a kid my parents taught me a little poem about Spring, which I've never forgotten. It goes like this (last three lines to be said in a silly New York-style accent!):

Spring is sprung
The grass is riz
I wonder where de boidies is?
De boids is on de wing
But dat's absoid
De wings is on de boid!

It seems appropriate to quote this poem since, in the UK at least, Spring is definitely in the air and, after the snows of early February, it's most welcome. Our rockery now has some lovely colourful ferns, and even some snowdrops.





Of course, last year we had lots of snow in April, so I'm trying not to assume that the weather will hold! But it is lovely to pop out of the house in a jacket, rather than in a huge coat, scarf, hat and gloves.

With that in mind, we re-visited Wendover Woods this weekend, which looked very different to the last time we were there. We could actually drive in and park in the car park, which was impossible last time due to all the snow and ice. It's a lovely place to go because it has a Go Ape centre (always fun to watch screaming people sliding down zip lines), a nice cafe, a playground and several signposted walks and cycle rides. One of these walks is the All Ability trail which is only 0.6 miles, about right for a four year old and her Fat Bird mother. Actually, Isabel, Husbandio and I could probably have gone further, but we were with our friend Lisa who was visiting for the weekend and is renowned for not being the keenest walker in the world (I'm sure she won't mind me saying that!).

There are some lovely views from Wendover Woods too, because it's the highest point in the Chilterns (below we're posing next to the stone which marks the highest point - OK, it's not a mountain, but still cool!).



Wendover Woods also has lots of tepee-type structures built by the visitors presumably, and just right for little girls to sneak into.


And before you ask - no, I couldn't squeeze in there, which is why Isabel is in there by herself...!

Slumdog verdict

I went out last night, which is a very unusual occurrence, and therefore definitely worth writing about. When Isabel was little it was difficult to go out due to breast-feeding schedules, and it's been remarkably easy to fall into a habit of going to work, coming home to make dinner and do bathtime/bedtime, and to just forget about going out entirely. I've got to the point now where I find being out in the dark at night quite disturbing. How pathetic.

Anyway, my good friend Lisa came to stay for the weekend, so I took the opportunity to go out for once, leaving Husbandio and his friend to babysit while also blowing people up. Using a PS3 game, you understand. She and I went to High Wycombe, that mecca of cultural experiences, to go and see Slumdog Millionaire. And gorge ourselves on popcorn and Minstrels. And drink vats of diet coke. (Sidenote: why are drinks at the movies always so big? Are cinema owners trying to force their customers to miss part of the film because they have to go to the loo?!)

The premise of the movie is a clever one. We see the main character's life in flashback as he is interrogated by the police on suspicion of cheating on India's version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire, and recalls how it is that, even as an uneducated "slumdog", he knows the answers to the specific questions posed to him on the show. The film's brilliantly shot - the scene of the main character as a small child jumping into a disgusting pool under an outdoor toilet was enough to put me off my Minstrels. For a minute anyway. I felt quite crowded in after seeing it - all those hundreds of thousands of people living in slums is hard to imagine. All in all, I very much enjoyed it, and am glad to have seen at least one of the Oscar contenders. And the kids in the movie are very cute and I love the story about them going to Hollywood. But then my over-active hormones started making me sad about all of the kids for whom living in those Mumbai slums is an everyday reality - indeed, even the kids in the movie still live in the slums, one underneath a tarpaulin. Movies are a cruel business indeed....