Why I should listen to my mother and that she is Always Right.

Such is the lesson learned by er pupo this morning. The hard way. The hard as a bathroom unit way.

Boy is notorious for his attempts to leap headfirst from the change table. This morning, he was actually behaving relatively well and we had got as far as the trousers, before he decided that he was bored and that despite it being -7 outside, the sweater was optional. Having realised that if he doesn't move at the speed of light, we will grab him and hold him down (cue: much whinging, wailing, gnashing of teeth and ocassional biting of The Mother Who Doesn't Understand Me) he launched himself at superhuman speed towards the sink unit. Mamma grabbed legs as they slid on the muslin lying on the change table. Legs stopped. Head kept going. Result: one burst lip, enough blood to satisfy the darkest fans of Oliver Stone and a very surprised and sorry expression on a little boy's faced. He looked at me stunned that this could possibly have happened to him and for a moment, I believed that he had in fact realised that my insistence that he lie still on the table was not just an arbitrary decision of mine, but actually served the purpose of facial preservation.

By 4pm he had forgotten the entire incident. Unfortunately.

Otherwise, the now walking boy shows no end to his independence. Neither mother nor father (ESPECIALLY not father) may assist him with the challenges of eating but instead er pupo is perfectly capable of holding his own bowl and his own spoon and steering his dinner into his own mouth. One. Stellina. At. A. Time. 25 Stelline on the floor. Per spoonfull.

And for my next trick

he walks! He's been getting bolder and bolder, holding on less and less, standing up on his own rather well, and finally, on Sunday, he decided to take a grand 5 steps or so, and has been practising ever since. Not quite ready for the London Marathon, but hey, at least he is walking. I keep believing that this will somehow make my life easier (for example, he can stand up so I can put his snow suit on), but I strongly suspect the attitutude will remain unchanged, and he'll still be scarpering off, because he'd rather stay at the daymother's than come home.

The case turned up from KLM, so er pupo is happily in repossession of his little emperor hat. The boy that hates hats will not take this one off! I suspect he knows its significance. Or maybe he just likes the Roma red and yellow. KLM still owe me cash for my replacement purchases in Amsterdam, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they will be less than forcoming.

And meanwhile, to top it off, my neighbour is learning the trumpet. As in learning. From the very beginning.

A few less ducks in Beijing

since hubby, er pupo and I tucked into a few. yum, yum.

Er pupo became the central tourist attraction of Beijing for a month, as every visit took an extra hour spent with him flirting with all sorts of hoi polloi and having his photograph taken, perhaps ten times on each day trip. I kid you not. The ladies in the hotel even delivered him a big bunch of flowers. He thoroughly enjoyed himself, though is also happy and excited to be home, and delighted to return to his dagmamma and tell the other kids about his adventures. He talks and talks these days, though nothing comprehensible. Walking is every day closer, but still no cigar. He refused to sleep on the plane, both going and returning, giving us a token 45 minutes in each direction. Of a ten hour flight. That´s 9 hours and 15 minutes of trying to entertain a toddler on a plane. He was happy enough, though, and didn´t cry, so I count my blessings.

One of our suitcases has gone AWOL, but KLM will pay up the big bucks in due course; only tragic loss is the Christmas present for my sister and er pupo´s "last emperor" hat, which he simply adored. I mean, this is the boy that hates wearing a hat, but take this one off him, and he would cry and stretch his arms out to have it back. Must be the colours, red and yellow, i.e. Roma, for my little pupo.


Uncle Mao says hello, by the way.

Scottish football has come down to earth after a loss to Ukraine. We knew it couldn´t last.
SCO 4 9
FRA 4 9
ITA 4 7
UKR 3 6
LTU 3 4
GEO 4 3
FAR 4 0

Lorry loads of laundry await, as does a desperate need to get some more sleep.