Like Father, Like Daughter

Snow Gruffalo

2012-02-06T10:54:00.003Z

G loves The Gruffalo. For the uninitiated, it's an illustrated story by Julia Donaldson, which seems to fill the space in the consciousness of the nation's children previously occupied by The Very Hungry Caterpillar. It's G's bedtime story most nights.

Since she got it for Christmas, The Gruffalo has been joined in our household by the sequel, The Gruffalo's Child. The animated version which was shown on Christmas Day has been replayed often since in our household, and both the cartoon and the book are now accompanied by a running commentary from G now that she has learned what's coming next.

At one point in The Gruffalo's Child, you can see a snowman Gruffalo made by the mouse (stick with me on this). G delights in pointing and shouting "Snow Gwowoh!" whenever she spots it. So we took advantage of Saturday's snowfall to make her one of her own in the front yard. I don't think she really knew quite what to make of it, especially as it was taller than her. Proper snow fun might have to wait until next winter.

Road Signs For Dolls

2012-02-04T22:57:00.002Z

As befits the daughter of a stay-at-home dad, G has a wide range of boyish sorts of toys. It's not that I've deliberately set out to keep her away from dolls, it's just that an afternoon playing with her train set offers a better prospect of enjoyment for both of us. Which is of course the important thing.

This manifested itself once when, during a call by a health visitor, G completely failed to recognise a doll, and stared at it blankly intstead of brushing its hair as she was supposed to.

I got a sign the other day that G might be getting around this doll denial. When playing trains, she decided that all the signs were sleepy. So she laid them out on the floor and patted them, as shown in the picture.

She then decided that the signs had to kiss each other, so I was treated to the sight of Danger getting cosily intimate with Road Narrows Ahead. Poor G, I should probably give in and let her get a Barbie or something. But maybe not quite yet.

Who's This?

2012-01-30T18:17:00.003Z

Not actually as daft a question as it first appears. Usually, when picking G up from nursery, I just look for her distinctive mop of hair, which is particularly long and thick by two-year-old standards.

But one day last week I couldn't see her among all the other toddlers until one of the helpers pointed her out. They'd tied her hair up (to keep it away from her snotty nose, naturally), and it made G look completely different. You could even spot her rarely-seen ears. Proof that she does have them, even though the way she repeatedly ignores my instructions suggests she thinks she can fool me into believing otherwise.

Sleeping Like A Baby

2012-01-24T09:48:00.002Z

G is still having some difficulty adjusting to a world without a regular nap. This is actually entirely her fault, because she refuses to go down for a daytime snooze in her proper bed, so by late afternoon she's sometimes stomping around the house in an over-tired grump.

During our weekend trip to Aberdeen, she surprised us by dropping off to sleep on Mrs J. It was the first time either of us could remember her doing it since she was a baby. In fact, it left us wondering whether she was coming down with something, although she seemed fine after she'd slept for a bit.

The picture shows what happened back at home yesterday afternoon. After again refusing to get into bed, G was sat on my knee on the sofa when she turned round, leaned over on me and almost instantly started snoring. This meant I was stuck where I was for the next half an hour, something I haven't experienced for a couple of years. At least in the interim period I have acquired a fancy phone, so I was able to pass the time easily enough. Which is of course the important thing.

Little Liar

2012-01-19T14:22:00.002Z

Don't be fooled. Behind the cute exterior lies the devious mind of a master of deception.

As previously mentioned, G has been learning to sleep in a proper bed, with the help of a useful clock which shows a starry scene during the night, and switches to a yellow sun when it's time to get up. This has worked fairly well so far, with the clock helping to persuade G to go back to sleep when she wakes up during the early hours.

But I got the impression the other morning that G may be getting on top of the system already. About 20 minutes before the appointed time when the sun appears, I heard her fidgeting around in bed, before the familiar clumping of steps. When G came into our bedroom, I asked her to go back and check what was on her clock. I overheard her saying "stars... clock sleepy" to herself. When she returned, I asked what the clock was showing. "Sunshine!" she lied. Outmanoeuvred by a two-year-old, once again.

Tired Monday Morning

2012-01-16T13:28:00.003Z

Dealing with babies and young children isn't nearly so difficult when they sleep at night. A lot of people have told me this. More than two years in to bringing up G, I have to agree. She's always been a very good sleeper, so on the rare occasions when she's not, it generally leads to widespread tears and whining. From me.

This morning was one such occasion. G seemed to be coming down with a bit of a cold last night, which may have been the reason why she kept waking up. Now that she's in a proper bed, instead of just drifting back off to sleep, she can now get up and toddle about. Which means either I or Mrs J has to get up and put her back into bed. G usually does this willingly enough, but a whole night of it left both her and me rather short of sleep when we got up for good at the shockingly early (for her) time of 7am.

Knowing I'd have to try to bring back the much lamented afternoon nap for one day only, the morning was all about attempting to keep G occupied so she wouldn't realise how tired she was. The picture shows us having a go at her fancy playdough set's "haircut" feature, which was enough to entertain her for quite a while.

Things only went downhill when I tried to get her into some warm clothes so we could go out in the cold to the local Post Office. G didn't want to put her shoes on. When I put them on for her, she took them off. When I put them on again, she lay face down on the floor and delivered her first-ever proper legs-kicking, arms-beating tantrum, which lasted throughout the time it took to get her into the car and defrost the windscreen (this was only about five minutes at the most, although it seemed like about an hour and a half).

G calmed down once we got there, although she wanted to come straight back home after. In an attempt to encourage her to rediscover naptime, I lay quietly on the sofa-bed in her room after putting her in bed. I could have sworn she started snoring almost straight away, but when I looked up I saw a familiar pair of eyes looking back at me, quizzically. I decided to go back to an old tactic of going downstairs, and ignoring her half-hearted cries until they stopped. It worked in the end, but I'm ready for a nap myself now.

Out In The Cold

2012-01-15T22:27:00.005Z

It's been chilly here the last few days. After G coughed and spluttered her way through most of December, I've been a bit reluctant to take her outside too often, lest she pick up another cold. But we decided to take a bit of a walk along the canal to the local garden centre this afternoon, for a cup of tea and a cake rather than any garden implements. As everybody knows, garden centres have the best tearooms.

This gave us the opportunity to put G in her new snowsuit, a 2-3 years model so still a bit big for her. As shown in the picture, her hands didn't quite stick out the end of the sleeves. This meant that when G was doing her usual 'I want to be carried' signal of furiously waving her hands around, her sleeves just flopped about, which kind of lessened the impact of her mini-tantrums. Obviously I still picked her up in the end though. She's not quite too heavy for that yet.

Sleeping Bunnies

2012-01-09T13:19:00.002Z

Nursery rhymes, like children's TV and sweets, aren't quite like you remember. Everything seems mostly similar but just that little bit different, and not really as exciting or interesting as when you yourself were young. I suppose singing simple little songs can't really match the highly advanced things grown ups find thrilling, like video games and beer.

Although classic songs like The Wheels On The Bus and Row Row Row Your Boat remain staples at parent-and-toddler groups, the local favourite around here is a new one, Sleeping Bunnies. When I used to take G to a couple of groups every week, they always ended with songs, and the singing always ended with Sleeping Bunnies. At least twice.

G still enjoys doing it, especially now she's big enough to stomp about at the relevant part of the song. You can see her in action in the video above, a video which prompted another thought: I really ought to hoover that rug.

The Afternoon Nap

2012-01-06T12:06:00.002Z

In the last couple of years at home with G, her daily afternoon nap has been of vital importance to both of us. She's usually been able to manage a good couple of hours every day, and it's helped her stay up late enough into the evening so Mrs J can see her before bedtime, while also allowing me the welcome chance to do some limited amounts of journalism work, something which has helped to keep me sane if nothing else.

She hasn't always gone down to sleep straight away. But when she was in her cot, it was easy enough to leave her fidgeting away, in the knowledge she'd drift off to sleep soon enough.

The arrival of G's proper bed has changed things a bit. If she doesn't want to go straight to sleep, she can now simply get out of bed and toddle back downstairs again, to pester me for another go on her train set.

Besides, as she's getting older, she probably doesn't need quite as much sleep as she used to. She's still prone to drifting off if she's in the car, as shown in the picture, but unless she looks as though she really needs it I'm going to stop giving her a snooze every day from now on. I suspect I'm going to miss G's daily nap more than she does.

Big Girl's Bed

2011-12-30T16:28:00.003Z

G has finally moved into a proper bed. A previous attempt at taking the sides off her cot was thwarted by her continual insistence on getting up when she should have been taking an afternoon nap, but this week's change went very smoothly.

On the morning after the first night, we wondered whether G would work out that she was now able to get out of bed whenever she wanted. At about 8:30am we heard a bit of fidgeting, then a bump, then footsteps, and the door to our bedroom swung open, pushed by an excited G who was chattering about her "big girl's bed." I suppose there's the risk she'll do it at 3am one of these days. But she seems to enjoy her sleep too much for that.

The only problem we've ever had with her sleeping is on trips away. If she wakes up and can see us sleeping in the same room, she has a habit of thinking it's time to get up, even if it's still the middle of the night.

Before Christmas, Mrs J produced a new clock for G's room (it's the circular thing on the right), which shows a sun during the day and a moon and stars at night time. The idea is that, if junior wakes up in the night and can see the moon and stars, he or she will realise it's not time to get up just yet, and will turn over and drift back off to sleep.

I don't mind admitting I was rather sceptical about whether this would work. But, on our weekend in Shropshire a couple of weeks back, Mrs J set it up in the bedroom we were all sharing. In the middle of the first night, I heard the familiar sound of fidgeting and gurgling, and could tell that G was getting herself stood up in her travel cot. Preparing to get up myself, imagine my surprise when I heard G say "clock... stars... clock sleepy" then lie down again. None of us had to get up before breakfast time, which is just how we all like it.

If it continues to work at home too, having G in a proper bed will be as much of a doddle as sleeping in a cot has been up until now. Next up: potty training. But maybe not quite yet.

Christmas Day

2011-12-26T13:33:00.004Z

This year was G's third Christmas, but the first in which she has shown more interest in the actual presents than the wrapping paper and packaging. It wasn't quite a morning of full-on excitement for her though. She let us have a lie-in until almost 9 o'clock, and seemed a bit confused when she came downstairs to find a pile of colourful boxes underneath the tree.

No doubt it'll be a bit different next year. But for the time being, G struggles with the concept of the future tense. The general build-up to Christmas had little effect on her, to the extent that, when Mrs J took her outside on Christmas Eve to sprinkle some glitter on the doorstep to attract the reindeer, she threw a mini-tantrum because there weren't any actual reindeer there. The fact we'd all just had venison casserole for tea didn't register either, which was probably just as well. Might have to drop that dish off the meal rota in future years.

G soon got the hang of opening presents, as the picture shows, although she instinctively wanted to actually get each present out of the box and play with it straight away, rather than move on to unwrapping the next one. If we'd let her do this we'd still be sat under the tree now, so we had to briefly hide some of her new toys so she could concentrate on the important task of opening the others.

She did find time to deliver her own Christmas message, of sorts. Not quite The Queen, but she's getting there:

A Very Slow Walk

2011-12-21T13:42:00.005Z

We were away for the weekend, at a pre-Christmas get-together with friends in Shropshire. Being the only little one among two dozen people meant that G was often the centre of attention, which unsurprisingly kept her happy.

One less happy event was our attempt to get her to the nearest pub for lunch on Saturday. At last year's event, I had used a back carrier to get G there through the snow. But she's too big for that contraption now, so we were left with little choice but to take her pram.

I gave up routinely using G's pram months ago after she made it clear that, as a big girl now, she'd rather walk. This is fine for toddling about our local village where distances are short and we've rarely got to be anywhere in a hurry anyway. But walking a couple of miles is a different matter.

Saturday's trek to the pub started off well enough with G in the pram, but after a while she started fidgeting and whining and asking "Walk?" until we finally got her out and let her toddle. The picture shows G taking a close interest in one of the many puddles we encountered at this point.

But no matter how much fun it was watching G splash about, the facts were that it was very cold, and the pub was still some distance off. G refused point blank to go back in her pram, so I picked her up and started carrying her down the road. This led to a tantrum, accompanied by wriggling, sobbing and more cries of "Walk?" as I hurried along as quickly as I could. The tears stopped as soon as we reached the pub, and G realised there were lots of people besides mummy and daddy to dote on her.

It wouldn't have been so bad, but we went through exactly the same process on the return journey too. I'm looking forward to when she can walk a bit faster.

Yoga For Toddlers

2011-12-12T13:09:00.004Z

I've written before about G's favourite TV programme, In The Night Garden. It's actually one of two that she particularly enjoys. The other is Waybuloo, and it makes up the first part of the CBeebies Bedtime Hour each night, an hour of increasingly valuable calm-down time which helps get G ready for tea, bathtime and bed.

The picture shows G in action during an episode of Waybuloo. The show features four computer characters who zip about a colourful fantasy world, and spend much of their time doing a form of yoga which is easy for little ones at home to copy. A few months ago, when Waybuloo started being shown as part of the Bedtime Hour, I had no idea she was taking any of it in until I looked up one day and spotted her sitting down and touching one of her feet, just as the characters on the screen were doing.

Now, the toddler yoga is as much a part of the nightly ritual as the Upsy Daisy dance and the bedtime story. The move that G is doing in the photo is called the Windmill. Whether this will help her become as bendy-legged as a gymnast when she's a bit older is hard to tell. Having been a born a decidedly sturdy 9lbs 15ozs, subtlety of movement has never been one of G's strong points. If she grows up into a dainty little girl, I may well have Waybuloo to thank. Or blame, whichever you prefer.

Shopping Bag

2011-12-07T15:01:00.002Z

Keen to get out of the house today despite the cold weather, I ended up taking G over the Pennines to Slaithwaite, to pick up a few bits and bobs from the Green Valley Grocer. I gave G the basket as I scoured the shelves for something for tonight's tea. When I put everything into the shopping bag, G insisted on carrying it and took it down the street, as shown in the picture.
Predictably, this didn't last very long. The bag was a bit on the heavy side for her, and we were making very slow progress on what was a freezing cold afternoon. So I ended up carrying both G and the bag back to the car. Soon she'll be too heavy for that. But, unfortunately for me, not quite yet.

Blow The House Down

2011-12-05T13:58:00.003Z

Here's G on the swings at the playground in Uppermill last week. It was the day of the public sector strike, so it was unusually busy, although many of the children were being looked after by a selection of harassed-looking grandparents.

Now that G is at nursery two days a week, we don't go to the playground as often as we used to. Neither of us seem to mind too much, the slides and roundabout would get boring if we went every day, after all. But I'm increasingly becoming aware of things that G is picking up at nursery, which she then surprises me with at home.

The other day G woke up early. Not really that early as it happened, but it was a weekend and me and Mrs J didn't fancy getting up, so G came and sat between us in bed. I could hear her chatting away to herself, before she clearly said: "Big bad wolf... huff... huff... huff... house down!"

I looked at Mrs J: "You haven't taught her that have you?" She hadn't. G had obviously been hearing all about the Three Little Pigs at nursery.

I suppose I could be upset that I'm no longer responsible for everything G learns. But I'm really not. When you've read The Gruffalo as often I have, I'm grateful for anything that's even slightly different. And with G's mind expanding all the time, I'm glad for other things to help stimulate her, whether that's nursery or even CBeebies, the electronic babysitter in the corner. Keeping a curious toddler entertained is a team effort.

Day Out In Saltaire

2011-11-28T14:48:00.004Z

We went to visit some friends for a day out yesterday. The three of us drove over to Saltaire, the workers' village established by venerable mill owner Sir Titus Salt. Clearly proud of his creation, he named it after himself, but I suppose as a mega-rich Victorian entrepreneur that was his prerogative.

His mill is now a complex of various things, and the picture shows G at our lunch table before we went for a walk around the village, a walk which included a ride on a little old tramway up the valley.

We were with our friends Penny and Sam, who had been at a wedding in Saltaire the night before. Penny is the person responsible for introducing me to Mrs J more than 11 years ago. This means that G basically owes her entire existence to Penny, so it was just as well G was generally very well behaved during our day out, although she did repeatedly insist that Mrs J had to carry her everywhere when she got tired of walking.

This might have something to do with the fact that G sees a lot more of me, and so whenever Mrs J is around, I am immediately a bit old hat. Yesterday, after a lot of "Mummy carry! Mummy carry!" Mrs J eventually gave up, protesting about sore arms. When I then picked G up she immediately burst into unconvincing tearful whines, wanting her mummy. This forced us into a quick pitstop for afternoon tea, a few mouthfuls of scones enough to cheer G up again. It's clear that the way to earn G's favour is still through her belly.

Mean Girls

2011-11-23T14:18:00.002Z

G was on the receiving end of some hilarious playground-style bitching at a parent-and-toddler group this morning. I overheard one youngster saying, as she pointed very deliberately in G's direction: "I don't like that girl." What G had done to irritate her remains a mystery. Anyway, she rose above it and carried on playing, perhaps plotting her revenge for another time.

Playing Trains

2011-11-21T14:31:00.003Z

Christmas came a bit early to the Jones household over the weekend. G's grandad was up to visit, and he brought a train set for G to play with. We saved opening it until she got up on Sunday because, given that she'd recently shown how much she enjoys trains, we knew she'd be far too excited to want to go to sleep if we'd let her have it the night before.

So, with a cold and foggy day outside, and the lights on inside, Sunday morning felt rather like Christmas with G playing trains on the living room rug. She quickly developed a habit of commentating on herself: "Train... train... toot toot... train" followed by the inevitable "Crash!" then the equally inevitable "Daddy help!" until I put the carriages back on the tracks. If she keeps playing with it as much as she has been so far, I'm sure it won't be long until she's announcing details of the buffet car menu.

Sore Eyes

2011-11-15T16:50:00.006Z

Having got through more than two years with nothing worse than the odd cold, G's ox-like constitution has finally given in to something slightly more serious. I got a call from her nursery yesterday to say she'd woken up from her nap with gunky eyes, which is apparently the technical term for conjunctivitis. And so here she is on the sofa today, seemingly happy enough even though she's stuck with me and away from all her new friends at nursery.

We went out to see the doctor this afternoon and he prescribed some eye drops. I had conjunctivitis as a little boy, and I can certainly remember not being very co-operative when my mum tried to prise open my sticky eyes to put some drops in. In fact, I may have screamed loud enough for the neighbours to hear. So it was with some trepidation that I got the little bottle out of the packet, perched G on my knee and tried to get it somewhere near her eyes.

It didn't go very well. I can now confirm that trying to keep a wriggly toddler subdued with one hand while squeezing liquid out of a bottle with the other is hard. When you have to try to open said toddler's resolutely-shut eyes at the same time, you could really be doing with an extra hand, which I didn't have. So after a bit of Clockwork Orange-style prising open, and a couple of drops in the general direction of the lower eyelid, I gave up and let G calm down in front of the always-soothing CBeebies. Apparently I have to do this every three hours. Might wait until Mrs J gets home before trying it again.

Stew

2011-11-08T15:55:00.003Z

I made some beef stew and dumplings for tea last night, and these before and after shots show what G thought of it. The second was accompanied by the inevitable question: "More?" Just as well I made plenty, really.

Sleepless In Stamford

2011-11-07T14:39:00.003Z

We took G to Stamford in Lincolnshire for the weekend, to visit some friends. On Saturday afternoon we went along to Burghley House, where G enjoyed meeting a very sociable deer, as the picture shows.

Saturday night wasn't nearly as successful, as we suffered through G's worst night for sleeping since she was a little baby. After waking up after midnight and spotting us in the room with her, she didn't seem inclined to go back to sleep. This isn't unusual when we're away with G, and after a while we got her up and let her play with Mrs J's phone for a bit, in the hope she'd want to go back to sleep soon enough.

But she didn't. Attempts to put her back in her travel cot were met with whining, crying and, after an hour or two, wholesale screaming. At one stage I took G downstairs whereupon she howled for her mummy, huge fat tears plopping down her cheeks, and got herself so worked up she started struggling to breathe. I went on a mercy dash to the car to pick up an In The Night Garden DVD, and after a couple of soothing episodes she finally went down to sleep at about 6am.

This was bad enough, but Mrs J and her friends were due to run a 10k in Sherwood Forest later that morning. After three hours sleep Mrs J not only managed to get to the start, but completed the course in her best time ever, while I joined a tired but surprisingly not-too-grouchy G in cheering her on from the sidelines. I drove home afterwards though. G slept all the way.

Train Set

2011-11-03T14:13:00.004Z

G can be a bit timid around older children. In the playground, she usually backs away when a bigger toddler wants to go ahead of her on the slide, or swings, or whatever. G often needs a bit of encouragement from me to get her elbows out and stand her ground.

This isn't the case when G is with younger ones, however. Whenever I take her to a parent-and-toddler group these days, she's invariably one of the oldest children there. At yesterday's group in Dobcross, she spent much of her time playing in one of the two big plastic cars. After a couple of occasions when she looked like she was about to barge a little girl out of the way to get back behind the wheel, I decided she needed distracting with something else.

And look what I found. A box of wooden tracks and trains were over in the corner of the room. I put together a rudimentary track, stuck a few of the carriages together, and G was kept amused for the rest of the morning.

"Chuffa-chuffa-chuffa-chuffa-toot-toot!" she said repeatedly. I didn't have the heart to explain that the trains were all diesel.

Turning It Up To Eleven

2011-10-31T13:04:00.002Z

Here's G enjoying herself on the climbing frame in Uppermill this morning. Whenever clambering up onto it, or up the nearby slide, she's got into the habit of counting her steps as she goes, just like she does at home.

As a result, G's counting is coming along very well, although she sometimes goes 1-2-3-4-5-8, completely missing out 6 and 7. And because there are eleven steps on the way upstairs in our house, she usually finishes by saying 9-10-11 rather than stopping at the more traditional 10.

She often emphasises the last number with quite a flourish: "ELEVEN!" (or rather more accurately, "LEH-VEH!"). That's also the moment when, if we're at home and she sees there are still two to go, she looks confused and tries starting again at some random earlier number for the last couple of steps. But then, as we all know, you can't go any higher than 11.

Cut Finger

2011-10-26T14:06:00.003+01:00

I was putting away the shopping in the kitchen earlier when I notice G walking over with her hands in front her. There was red all over her fingers, and she'd got a bit on her jumper too. I was about to castigate her for drawing on herself, when I realised that the felt pens were still well out of reach on the shelf. No, G had managed to cut herself and was bleeding.

I would probably have sprung into some kind of urgent action had G been at all bothered about this. Instead, she held out her arms and said "hands" in a confused sort of way, as I dug out the antiseptic wipes and a plaster from the medical box. Actually getting the plaster on caused a lot more upset than the injury to her finger, and she picked at it for a few minutes before settling down in front of some CBeebies, my daytime treat to her for being such a brave little soldier.

It turned out that she'd managed to break a small glass which had been hidden inside something else in the living room. As I picked up the broken bits, I found a couple dramatically stained with blood, rather in the manner of a crime scene off TV. Any guilt on my part was tempered by the fact it was hardly a major emergency, though. Given that Mrs J has managed to break each of her four limbs during her life, I'll save that for when G does something similar.

In The Night Garden

2011-10-24T13:29:00.005+01:00

We need to talk about television. When G was a bit younger I used to try to keep her away from the box in the corner of the room as much as possible. Partly this was because she didn't seem that interested in it, other than when she was a small baby and could be diverted by the flickering lights and sounds for a few minutes at a time. But it was mostly because I knew she'd end up watching plenty of telly when was older, so did my best to delay her interest in it for as long as I could.

A few months ago though, a bit of TV in the early evenings became necessary. I'm usually cooking tea between 6ish and 7ish, and G would habitually lean on the kitchen stairgate during this time, watching me potter around by the stove. After a few months of doing that every day, she started to get bored, and I found myself having to constantly bob in and out of the living room trying to find things to keep her occupied. By far the best way of doing this turned out to be, yes, the TV. Or to be precise, the CBeebies Bedtime Hour.

I'm now guaranteed an hour of quiet every evening while I get the food ready. The main reason is G's new found love of the programme which takes up half of the Bedtime Hour each evening, In The Night Garden. Made by the people who brought you Teletubbies (and the frankly frightening Rosie and Jim, spongey faces and all), it's a baffling array of colours and characters of varying sizes, accompanied by bits of music and the tones of Shakesperean favourite Derek Jacobi, slumming it a bit in his role as narrator.

It would take more than a simple blogpost to begin to explain all that goes on in an episode of In The Night Garden. Indeed, there have been entire PhDs awarded for much less. It may be utterly confusing to grown ups, but G loves it, and that's the important thing.

One of G's favourite characters is Upsy Daisy. Here she is demonstrating the dance that Upsy Daisy does in every episode.

I'm sure she'll go off it one day soon. But as long as it keeps her amused for the time being, I'm happy to let her keep watching. Two-year-olds can't all watch Question Time, you know.

Cheese Sandwich

2011-10-17T14:00:00.003+01:00

G has always had a healthy appetite. But if there's something she likes more than anything else, it's bread-related products. Breadsticks and crumpets were an early favourite when she was still just a few months old, and sandwiches and (whisper it) cake rarely last long in her presence these days.

Unfortunately, as her talking improves, G has developed the ability to ask for what she wants at mealtimes. And what she wants is a cheese sandwich. Always.

After I spent the afternoon making roast pork for tea on Sunday, she took a look at the plate in front of her and picked around the food doubtfully. The conversation went something like this:

G: "Cheese sandwich?"

Me: "No, eat the food you've got."

G: "Cheese sandwich?"

Me: "No darling, look at all that yummy food daddy's made for you. Mmm, yummy."

G: "Cheese sandwich?"

And so on. Eventually, after she realised she really wasn't going to get a cheese sandwich, G started eating. She did eat most of her roast pork in the end, which just proves how devious even two-year-olds can be. Me and Mrs J had finished ours by this point, and went to hide in the kitchen to eat pudding, so G wouldn't want that instead. Which perhaps proves how devious parents can be.

As the picture shows, I gave G a cheese sandwich for lunch today though. As G herself has learned to say: "Mmm... nice!"

Lost Sheep

2011-10-12T13:51:00.005+01:00

G has started going to nursery. It's two days a week so far, so I can do some work lecturing at various universities across the north. If I can get some more work in the new year we might extend it a bit, but it's Tuesdays and Fridays only for now.

After a full two years at home with me, the transition has been difficult at first for G. During the first settling-in session, we left her in one of the nursery rooms for an hour while me and Mrs J sorted out some paperwork next door. We were vaguely aware of a kind of distant sobbing throughout, and when we went to get G we realised it had been her all the time.

The next day, I left her for two hours. Although I didn't have to sit and listen to her crying, I had a pretty good idea that's what had been going on when I turned up to collect her. She immediately burst into tears, shouted "Daddy!" and grabbed my leg. It was all so dramatic, I thought the only thing for it was to treat her to some ice cream:

Her first full day didn't go much better. The crying and leg-grabbing began as soon as we arrived, and continued until I left, which kind of put me off all the work I had scheduled in for myself during the rest of the morning. Not that I felt or feel guilty about leaving G at nursery, I think she needs to start spending more time away from me and with other children, but the trauma of it all was a bit off-putting.

When I picked G up that afternoon, the nursery staff suggested she join a group of younger toddlers, instead of the older ones that she had been with. Things improved straight away. Although I got more weeping at the next morning drop-off, she was a lot calmer when I went and got her that afternoon.

The nursery staff, of course, didn't miss a trick. "She's been playing beautifully all day... She ate all her lunch... We'll send you some photos!" they said, clearly concerned that I didn't look entirely thrilled every time I turned up with a sobbing two-year-old.

It's obviously in their interest to give me the impression that my daughter actually loves nursery and is full of smiles as soon as I've gone, and I know this is probably true. But it's still mildly amusing to see them battle to reassure me. I can only imagine that some parents decide to switch nurseries or give up on the whole idea if their child doesn't settle in straight away.

Sadly for G, she's stuck with it. Not least because the nursery we're using is one of the few around which offers flexible enough hours so both me and Mrs J can do drop-offs or pick-ups if we need to, depending on our work commitments. Besides, G is already looking a bit less like a lost sheep with every nursery visit, and the morning crying is now down to token levels. Soon she'll be crying because she has to leave, I'm sure.

Green Lipstick

2011-10-06T17:20:00.002+01:00

This is what happens when you turn your back for five minutes. G had one of her colouring books out on the living room coffee table, and I gave her some felt pens to use instead of the usual crayons while I went into the kitchen to do something.

When I returned, I found that G had taken her first steps in make-up. I was quite impressed at how accurate she was, there wasn't a trace of green anywhere else on her. Not sure it's really her colour though.

Cheeky Face

2011-10-03T14:31:00.003+01:00

We had some family up at the weekend to extend G's birthday celebrations a bit. On Saturday we went to Shibden Hall near Halifax to enjoy a picnic in the unseasonal sunshine.

In the playground, G had a go on the roundabout, and Mrs J caught her doing this face. She looks suspiciously guilty, but I can't think what for. There's a limit to the amount of trouble you can get into on a roundabout, after all. Even for G.

Birthday Girl

2011-09-29T21:58:00.005+01:00

It was G's second birthday today. Here she is opening her presents in the living room this morning, still in her pyjamas. She got quite a few, as I'm sure you can imagine.

Last night in the same room there was a rather different scene. After she'd struggled to go off to sleep, a very rare event indeed, we finally got her out of bed and put her on the sofa with us to quietly watch a bit of TV. No sooner had the face of Richard Madeley appeared during an episode of Who Do You Think You Are?, then I heard a gulp, and then a splat. G had just thrown up in epic style all over my lap. Whether this had anything to do with Richard Madeley or not I don't know, but I choose to believe that it did.

To put this in a bit of perspective, G is never ill. She has an iron constitution. Beyond a bit of colic at about six weeks, and the odd cold, she hasn't been sick at all. No chickenpox, no mumps, no whooping cough. Some babies always seem to be ill, but G isn't one of them.

Perhaps unsurprisingly then, she didn't seem to have much idea of what had just happened, and was very upset. But she finally got off to sleep and showed no ill effects this morning, although the stack of presents and, possibly just as importantly, shiny paper to rip up, may have had something to do with that.

Just like last year, we took her to Chester Zoo for the day. Unlike last year, when it was decidedly chilly, today was roasting hot. G flagged a bit through a combination of the heat and tiredness from her broken night's sleep. But I did manage to snap a picture of a rare moment when G was actually walking under her own power, and not either being carried or asking to be carried.

She could even see over a few of the low fences this year to get a better look at the animals. Favourites included the chimpanzees and the elephants, although despite my best efforts I failed to generate much interest from her in my favourite animal in the zoo, the okapi. But then I suppose a creature that's part-giraffe, part-horse and part-zebra seems perfectly normal when you're only two.

Holiday Snaps

2011-09-22T18:26:00.005+01:00

While I was taking some fairly mediocre pictures with my camera phone, Mrs J spent part of our recent holiday using her rather more fancy photo-taking machine to capture some quality images of G. Here are some of the best of them.

It's quite a transition from the angelic shot above to the one immediately below, in which G looks as though she's ready to cut anyone who goes near her. Must be the hoodie that does it.

Boats

2011-09-20T18:24:00.004+01:00

As part of our holiday to Knoydart, we had to take regular boat journeys. Well, when I say we had to, that's not strictly true, but given that the only other way to get to where we were going was a 15-mile hike over rough country, we opted for the boat.

After a couple of days sat mostly indoors watching the remains of Hurricane Katia lash down outside, we finally got out and braved the ferry last Tuesday. Even though the water was still a bit choppy, G seemed to enjoy standing up and looking out of the cabin window. She did go a bit quiet when we started to pitch up and down a bit more violently as we approached port, but thankfully her breakfast stayed in her tummy.

All rather more fun was our journey on Thursday, on which we took a total of four boat rides, from Knoydart to Mallaig to Skye and back again. This picture was taken on the last of those, as we sped (relatively speaking) back to Knoydart over a very calm Loch Nevis, and Mrs J held G up for the benefit of a photo. She seemed to enjoy it. My little girl has clearly developed her sea legs early in life.

Hurricane

2011-09-18T19:53:00.002+01:00

We're back from holiday. We spent ten days away in Scotland, a week of it in a cottage with some friends on the Knoydart Peninsula, a largely uninhabited corner of Britain which also happened to be in the path of Hurricane Katia as it blew its way through last weekend. It wasn't really a hurricane by the time it reached us, but as you can see, the wind was certainly strong enough to make walking problematic for G.

More pictures and stories and all that to follow.

Climbing Frame

2011-09-04T14:03:00.002+01:00

I often take G down to the playground in Uppermill of a morning, because the fresh air and activity helps tire her out for her afternoon nap. When not enduring roundabout-based mishaps, she always enjoys having a good go around the various bits of equipment. At first the swings were her favourite, then she graduated onto the slides, and now she's big enough to gingerly work her way along some of the more precarious parts of the big climbing frame, as shown in the picture.

The effort and concentration required for a less-than-two-year-old to keep her balance on something probably built with much older kids in mind is evident from G's face. I suppose I should have been doing something responsible, like keeping my hands ready to catch her in case she lost her balance, rather than taking the photo. That stance looked pretty rock solid though.

Leeds Festival

2011-08-29T17:47:00.005+01:00

A year ago we took G to her first festival, Green Man in south Wales. It was a fun weekend, and the festival itself was very family-friendly. There were lots of little Tarquins and Cressidas toddling about, while their parents sipped chai lattes. Sadly enough, we kind of fitted right in.

Back in the pre-baby days we used to go to Reading or Leeds most years, but I never thought we'd try to take G there, at least not until she's about 15 and we need to go to make sure she doesn't do anything too stupid involving gas canisters. But on Tuesday Mrs J said she'd acquired a couple of last-minute weekend tickets for Leeds through work. Having checked the typically miserable forecast, and debated whether or not to bother with the whole palaver, we decided we would, although the decision was made a lot easier by the fact we live close enough to the site to go in and out each day.

And so it was that on Friday afternoon, with Mrs J at work, I got all our stuff together and headed over to Leeds. Soon, me and G found ourselves at the main stage for Frank Turner:

The constant drizzle on Friday presented various problems. Not for G, but for me. I thought better of trying to use the pram and left it in the car, so I resorted to carrying her around everywhere so I didn't lose her in the developing quagmire. This meant that, after seeing a couple more bands, we left for the day, before my arms fell off.

But the next day, we returned, this time with Mrs J, and also with G's ear-defenders. This picture was taken during Frankie and the Heartstrings in the NME tent. My only comment about the band was that they sounded a bit like dungarees-period Dexy's Midnight Runners, which I realised made me sound all of my 29 years. Given that a large proportion of the crowd appeared to be celebrating their GCSE results, this was elderly indeed.

Having struggled around with the pram on Saturday, we opted to transport G in her back carrier on Sunday. This proved quite effective, although I had to stand at an angle to the stages so G could peer over my shoulder. Here we are during Yuck:

But I couldn't carry her all day. She is getting a bit big for her carrier, after all. When she inevitably wanted a snack, while watching the even-more-elderly-than-me Madness on the main stage, this is the scene that resulted:

Watching Madness generated a certain nostalgia in me, because House of Fun was number one the day I was born. I looked up what the number one record was on the day G was born, and discovered it was by someone called Taio Cruz, a man described by Wikipedia as a "singer-songwriter, record producer, occasional rapper, and entrepreneur." Yes, he sounds like a total bell end. I'll be frankly alarmed if I'm watching a festival set of his when G is 29, but you never know I suppose.

After Madness we decided to head home. G had spent most of three days entertaining festival goers by doing a lot of smiling and high-fiving, and she even learned how to do the rock hand signal. Not being a family festival, she was one of very few young children there, which made her something of a celebrity. This reached its logical conclusion on the Sunday afternoon when two over-excited girls bizarrely asked to have their photo taken with her. Should have charged them, really.

The whole thing left G rather exhausted. This was about five minutes into our journey back on Sunday evening:
Maybe we'll do it all again next year.

Rushcart Weekend

2011-08-24T15:00:00.002+01:00

G has got a bit of previous when it comes to dancing with our local morris men. So it was no surprise when, as we watched various groups of morris dancers take part in the Saddleworth Rushcart festival on Saturday, G couldn't resist joining in.

Perhaps this is something I should encourage by buying her a proper outfit. Not because I particularly want her to become a morris dancer, you understand. But rather because getting her some shoes with bells on would have the added bonus of helping me keep track of her now she's big enough to run off as soon as my back's turned. Might take the fun out of hide-and-seek though.

Hair Salon

2011-08-22T21:27:00.002+01:00

I've been taking G for haircuts for a while, and the trip to one of the alarmingly many (for a village) salons in Uppermill for a quick tidy-up is now a fairly regular event. And a quick tidy-up is all it is, because Mrs J wants to grow G's hair out a bit. This is probably less essential now people have stopped mistaking her for a boy, but it should still look pretty when it's longer, which I suppose is just as important.

In the meantime, the process of the actual hair cutting is usually helped along by giving G a book. Not because I'm being all pushy and starting her young on the Russian classics, but actually because it's as good a way as any of getting her to tilt her head forward, allowing the hairdresser to trim around the back.

The salon has a stack of books for little ones for just this sort of task. So many in fact that they let G keep the one she's reading in the photo, because she seemed so fascinated by it. An eight-page story about Upsy Daisy from the baffling but strangely-captivating-to-toddlers In The Night Garden isn't exactly the complete works of Gogol. But she's got to start somewhere.

Roundabout

2011-08-19T20:36:00.002+01:00

G likes most things in the big playground in Uppermill, but the roundabout is probably her current favourite. Whenever I take her, which is pretty often, she's usually toddling towards the roundabout as soon as we go through the entry gate, pointing expectantly.

As you can see, she enjoys it very much. The problem comes when she has to get off. After a previous occasion when she was very dizzy, attempted to toddle and fell over straight away, I've been careful to try to hold her still for a while before letting her walk, so the dizziness wears off.

But the other day, after I'd been spinning her particularly fast and for a particularly long time, even a pause didn't do the job. She started off confidently, then swayed a bit, then ended up flat on her face. This led to lots of tears and a very obvious graze on her nose. I'll make sure she sits down for longer next time.

Rabbit Ears

2011-08-15T15:38:00.002+01:00

We took G on a day trip on Saturday, to Ironbridge and the nearby Hoo Farm animal centre. Despite the undoubtedly fascinating relevance of the bridge to Britain's industrial history, G was much more interested in the animals.

Walking around the farm, G took the opportunity to run through her now extensive repertoire of animal noises. These ranged from sheep to cows to dogs to cats, even if the animals she was actually looking at bore only a vague resemblance to the ones she was impersonating.

G's rabbit impression consists of putting her hands on her head as ears, rather than making any particular noise. As a result, it's not exactly clear which animal she's doing until you've seen her do it a few times. Putting her behind a giant cut-out rabbit also helps though. It's the power of suggestion.

Sporty Tot

2011-08-10T15:22:00.002+01:00

G's journey to becoming an Olympic athlete has begun. The council is laying on various activities for bored youngsters over the summer holidays, and one such is Sporty Tots, a series of free sessions for the under 5s held in the local schools. The first was in our village this morning so I took G along to see how she got on.

I wasn't exactly sure what sort of sporty things they'd get the little ones doing, although I was hopeful somebody would be on hand to teach G to throw, an important life skill which sadly passes many girls by.

When we turned up, it was clear G was by far the youngest of the children who would be taking part. Not that it seemed to bother her. During all the different games she ran around with a big smile on her face. Even though she only had a sketchy grip on what she was actually supposed to be doing, nobody seemed to mind, least of all G.

The picture shows her playing with the hula hoops. Long after the game that actually involved the hula hoops had ended, she kept on toddling back over to where they were to pick them up again. As far as the Olympics goes, I think they do use hoops, albeit in the rhythmic gymnastics. Besides the fact I'm not entirely convinced that's actually a sport, I'm not sure the ever-unsubtle G quite has the poise for it anyway. Will have to go back next week, if only to work on that throwing.

Soft Play Area

2011-08-04T13:23:00.002+01:00

It was raining this morning. So I finally caved in and took G to the local soft play area, something I'd been saving for, well, a rainy day.

I'd actually taken her once before, when she was still a baby, just to check the place out. I'd seen soft play areas from the outside, usually in unappealing settings such as windswept industrial estates. Ours is in an old mill complex, which makes it slightly less bleak. But only slightly.

On our previous visit G was only really able to crawl around the babies' bit, and I thought I'd bring her back for another go when she was old enough for the trampolines, bouncy castle and the rest. Needing something to use up her morning energy, I decided that today would be the day.

Inside, soft play areas are a weird combination of the happiest place on Earth and the seventh circle of Hell. The excited laughter of youngsters bouncing around is only disturbed by bitter crying whenever one falls off something, and is carried away in tears by a harassed-looking parent.

G loved it. Really, really loved it. It being the holidays, there were a few rather bored looking older kids around, but G managed to avoid being trampled on while struggling to keep her balance on the various bouncy things, which was an even bigger bonus. In the end, possibly a bit put off by all the noise, she toddled back to the tots' area and kept herself quietly entertained there, as shown in the picture. She's still young enough to be a baby when it suits her.

Biker

2011-08-03T13:47:00.002+01:00

I'd always wondered what those stubby little see-saw things you see in children's play areas were actually for. Compared to the traditional attractions of slide, swings, roundabout and climbing frame, they seemed like the unloved orphans of the playground, rarely used yet bizarrely always in poor repair.

Well, now I know. They are perfect for toddlers. Here's G having a go on one in the Swan Meadow play area in Delph, much to her obvious delight. Mrs J used to ride a motorbike herself, so she took this picture as proof that G was showing an interest in doing the same one day.

I'm not so sure. G gets just as excited whenever she sees a train, and I don't think she's likely to grow up to be a train driver. But if she does end up riding off on her 18th birthday at the handlebars of some terrifying motorised deathtrap, then I suppose I'll be able to trace it back to this photo. Might stick to the roundabout next time.

Spot The Toddler

2011-07-29T15:25:00.002+01:00

Ok, so it isn't all that difficult to pick G out of this picture. But of all the ones I took of her yesterday on our trip to the Brownhill Nature Garden, she was always at least ten yards in front of me, toddling off to explore something else.

I must have walked past the garden dozens if not hundreds of times without ever going in. It's between Dobcross and Uppermill, squished in between the river, canal, railway line and road. But I'm glad to have finally discovered it. It's certainly safe enough to let G run around on her own, something which I'm increasingly reluctant to do elsewhere, given that she always looks like she's about to toddle out in front of a passing truck or something.

The only shame was that we must have been in the garden for the best part of an hour, and were the only people there. A sadly hidden gem in our little corner of the world.

On The Fridge

2011-07-27T14:30:00.002+01:00

This is G's first masterpiece. It was the end product of a solid quarter of an hour of determined painting at yesterday morning's playgroup, down at the local Sure Start centre. They only had two colours of paint out, but I'm sure you'll agree G used them to great effect.

No doubt it'll be replaced with something else in time, but this will always be the first artwork of G's to be stuck on our fridge. So I thought it was worth recording. Just in case, you know, it's worth a fortune one day.

Thistles

2011-07-25T22:10:00.004+01:00

Here's G during one of our regular afternoon walks down by our local canal. That's the Saddleworth Viaduct in the background, and even though I'm no expert on flora and fauna, as a Scotsman I have no trouble identifying those things on the left as thistles.

The main reason for posting this photo though is to remind myself that, no matter how often people tell me how much G is growing, she's clearly still pretty small. In the grander scheme of things and that.

Lazy Walker

2011-07-21T20:18:00.002+01:00

Taking G for a walk is a twice-daily event these days, to help tire her out for her afternoon nap and night's sleep. Usually I just take her for a toddle about by the canal near our house, but this morning we went further afield, for a walk around beauty spot and pseudo-seaside resort Hollingworth Lake.

The photo shows G starting out strongly, pulling on the lead which we use instead of toddler reins. But after about 200 yards she was already turning around and reaching her arms up, wanting to be carried.

I'm trying not to encourage this sort of lazy behaviour, and at least with plenty of dogs on the path I was able to keep her interested enough to continue walking. G always points and shouts "doggie!" every time one comes into view, although what the dogs make of her I'm still not quite sure, and one or two of them were a bit tentative around her today. Perhaps it's her lead that confuses them.

Bye Bye

2011-07-19T15:23:00.003+01:00

G seems to pick up something new every week, if not every day. Her latest trick is saying "bye bye" whenever anyone leaves the room, or whenever she does. And if there aren't any other people, she's happy to say it to any teddies that might be in sight.

This is extremely cute, but it brings its own problems. At a family get-together at the weekend, G insisted on waving goodbye and giving kisses to everyone before leaving. I'm going to have to start allowing extra time whenever I take her anywhere. At least until she learns something else.

Down By The Canal

2011-07-15T14:01:00.002+01:00

In order to make sure G is tired out enough to sleep in the evenings, I've got into the habit of taking her for an afternoon walk. I realise this makes her sound a bit like a dog, but seeing as we usually bump into a few dogs when we're out and about, this keeps G more than entertained.

I'm still reluctant to let G walk on pavements too much because she's prone to randomly dashing off in one direction or another, which is a little bit dangerous when there are cars roaring by. So the canal near our house is a safer bet. She seems to know not to go near the edge, but I suppose it's inevitable that one day she'll get her feet wet. At least now the canals have been restored, they're not quite as dirty and disease-ridden as they once were.

A Walk At Dove Stone Reservoir

2011-07-11T15:14:00.003+01:00

I decided we should start the week by heading to one of our local beauty spots, Dove Stone Reservoir, for a bit of a walk around. Or, in G's case, a toddle.

She didn't get very far before she got distracted by a field full of sheep, then a succession of dogs which came past at regular intervals, offering several opportunities for G to both stroke them, and then show off her increasing array of animal noises.

Before long, G refused to go any further, and asked to be carried back to the car. Or at least I think that's what she was signalling in the picture above. It wasn't bad timing though, as the almost-inevitable drops of rain began to fall as soon as I strapped her in to her seat.

Once we'd got back home and had lunch, a very tired little girl drifted straight off into a deep afternoon nap. Might have to start making it a regular event. Weather permitting, of course.

Ice Cream

2011-07-07T15:18:00.002+01:00

Trundling G through the nearby village of Uppermill the other day, I stopped by the Sweet Memories of Saddleworth shop for a few Vimto bonbons. After all, having been a good dad and taken G to the playpark, I thought I deserved a treat too.

They've started doing ice cream in there, and I was persuaded to try the new lemon meringue flavour. I gave G a lick of my cone, and was both surprised and alarmed when she took it in her hand and contentedly started licking it, as if she'd been doing it for years.

So, courtesy of the shop owner, I got G a (small) one to herself. I had to help her out a bit by eating some of the ice cream when it started melting down the cone and onto her hand, but other than that she polished it off in good style.

Teddy Bears' Picnic

2011-07-04T20:11:00.003+01:00

I took G to a teddy bears' picnic last week. Because it was being held in our local Sure Start centre, not only was it free, but specifically you all paid for it. This photo shows G enjoying a taxpayer-funded sandwich. You'll be glad to know that she enjoyed it very much.

Before we left home, I had pondered filling G up with a second helping of breakfast, just so she wouldn't show me up by eating more than her fair share at the picnic. More fool me for not doing so. After polishing off her allocated sandwich and fruit, a mum next to me offered G the sandwiches that her little ones didn't want.

Unsurprisingly, G started chewing her way through a second sandwich. One of the leaders of the group came by and collected the half-finished plates belonging to all the other little ones, but still G ploughed on. By the time she'd polished off half of the third, I finally took it off her, because all the others were getting impatient waiting for the singing to the start.

As for the nursery rhymes, I noticed the woman leading the singing had one or two slight variations to the lyrics. For example, she finished Miss Polly Had A Dolly with "I'll be back in the morning with my bill bill bill" instead of "yes I will will will" which is how I've always done it. Perhaps it's just because I was brought up in the socialist utopia of Scotland, but I was shocked to learn that Miss Polly had apparently gone private. Clearly the waiting lists for dollies with unspecified illnesses are still too long.

Fundraiser

2011-06-30T20:45:00.003+01:00

The other day a local mum came over to me (we were both at a teddy bears' picnic, but that's a whole other story) and asked for my e-mail address, so she could send me a "cute photo" she'd taken of G. And here it is!

This was on Sunday, during a free concert by our local brass band in the centre of the village. During a break, someone came on the microphone to ask if there were any "young volunteers" to pick up the collection buckets to take around the crowd. I looked down to find that G was already one step ahead, had grabbed two, and was toddling about, a look of determination on her face.

Everyone laughed. And, as the picture shows, I had to put down my pint to go and make sure the buckets got to some slightly older kids, more capable of carting them around without almost toppling over. G got her moment as the centre of attention though, which I'm sure is all she really wanted, little show off.

Swimming In The Sunshine

2011-06-28T21:50:00.003+01:00

Often it's difficult to spot how fast your child is growing up. There's the occasional notable breakthrough, such as learning a new animal noise or reaching a previously-safe shelf with lots of valuables on it, but generally the progression is gradual. When you spend every day with a little one, you barely notice the differences.

So one of the best ways of checking is to compare new and old photos. Yesterday I took G for a day trip to Hathersage in the Peak District to visit the lido, and realised it was almost exactly a year to the day since I last did so. I blogged about it then, and I think it's fair to say she looks rather more grown-up in the picture above.

In fact, that swimming costume is now too small for her really, something I can confirm having struggled to squeeze her into it while dripping with sweat from the roasting hot sunshine. Actually it may not have been all that hot, but having been forced to spend Saturday in the house watching it drizzle all day, the contrast was quite something.

The pool itself was much cooler, but very pleasant. In fact, with the hills of the High Peak providing a lovely backdrop, it rather looked like a Yorkshire version of the Icelandic blue lagoon. Only with a little less steam and a few more kids around the side slurping on 99s.

As a tired-out G snoozed on the drive back over the Snake Pass to Saddleworth, I thought about how good it would be to have a lido that little bit closer to where we live. But then I realised I'd end up going all the time, even when it was raining. And it wouldn't be nearly as special then.

All Kinds Of Trouble

2011-06-26T20:46:00.003+01:00

The ways in which G can get into mischief increased significantly during a wet Saturday. It was the sort of day when it rained and rained, meaning we couldn't really leave the house.

Instead of allowing boredom to set in, G set about conquering one or two home-based challenges I imagine she's had her eye on for a while. One of these was climbing onto one of the dining chairs all by herself. The first inkling I had that she had learned this new skill was when I turned round to find her standing up on said chair, leaning forwards over the back of it, and grinning at me all proud of herself.

The danger of this was emphasised by her next trick. Having left the laptop closed on the desk in the corner of the living room, not only did G manage to scramble onto the chair, but she then worked out how to open the laptop and start bashing the keys. Thankfully she hadn't done anything really serious, like send an obscene e-mail to the taxman, or, even worse, her granny. But at her current rate of progress, I don't want to take too many chances.

Hopefully we'll get a warm summer. Playing out is much safer all round.

Father's Day

2011-06-20T15:25:00.004+01:00

Yesterday was Father's Day, and frankly I was a bit unsure what to make of it. My instinct has always been to dismiss the whole thing as a load of nonsense dreamed up by greedy executives at greetings card firms. But even though, as a journalist, I've always taken a certain professional pride in being cynical, as my Facebook feed filled up with various friends and acquaintances changing their pictures to ones of their own dads, I had to wonder whether I shouldn't just go along with it all.

On this weekend last year I was in the middle of an epic stag weekend which I'd organised, so the whole question of what to do on Father's Day didn't really materialise. This time, G was old enough to scribble all over a card for me (doing her actual name will have to wait a while yet), and Mrs J gave it to me as we had dippy eggs for breakfast.

And that was enough Father's Day for me. I even bucked convention by cooking my own roast in the afternoon, sticking it to the man in my own maple-glazed way. But seeing as I spend every day with G, the notion of using Father's Day to spend some quality daddy-daughter time with her seemed a bit pointless. Surely, I thought to myself, we should use it an excuse to avoid each other for a day?

I more or less ended up doing that as I negotiated a pass out for the evening. Since having G, and moving next to the largest town in the country without a cinema, my movie going has declined dramatically. But I was very keen to see the Ayrton Senna documentary, and so headed into Manchester to check it out at the Cornerhouse.

One day I'll sit G down on a Sunday afternoon and try to explain to her that her dad has spent an alarmingly large number of Sunday afternoons sat in front of the telly watching Grands Prix. For just now though, I'm happy to leave her playing with her new water table instead. Much more exciting.

Trumpet

2011-06-18T20:22:00.004+01:00

G has been to Saddleworth's Whit Friday walks and band contests before. But last year she was just a baby, and far too little to appreciate much of the music and pageantry (for what it's all about, you can read an article I wrote for The Guardian, yes that one, here).

This time was a bit different. At the age of almost 21 months, G was able to take in a lot more of what was going on around her, which particularly involved taking a close interest in the various doting older ladies she encountered during the day.

Also keeping G occupied, as shown in the photo taken during the morning Whit Friday service in our local village square, was a toy trumpet. Mrs J was late back from work on Thursday night because, she said, she simply had to stop by a well-known toy retailer and buy one. With brass bands coming and going all day, she correctly predicted that G would inevitably want to join in.

Given that some of the young children in the Dobcross Youth Band didn't look all that much older than G, it was easy to imagine that it might be her marching with them a few years from now. Much to my surprise, and even though G hasn't yet worked out that you only have to blow into the trumpet rather than put one end entirely in your mouth, the prospect of this filled me with pride.

I won't try to push her into it though. Well, maybe just a teeny bit.

Weekend Away, Then Holiday

2011-06-13T15:10:00.005+01:00

After almost two years with G, Mrs J and I finally got our first couple of days away from her. We'd had the odd night out here and there, but the weekend before last was the first time we'd properly left G with someone else for any significant period of time, as we went down south for a friend's wedding.

Obviously we missed her but, you know, after more than 20 months of all G all the time, not really all that much. At least not until we were on our way home again, and we started wondering how she'd managed without us. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the answer was that she hadn't caused our babysitter any trouble at all, although I couldn't help but notice the extra toys which had magically appeared in the house in the meantime. It seems G can be bought, although I imagine the price of doing so may rise over the next few years.

On the Monday morning it was all a bit different. We were heading off to Northumberland for a few more days of holiday, taking G with us this time. But as we rushed around getting everything ready, we had to contend with a confused-looking toddler, who kept grabbing on to Mrs J, as if to try to prevent her going anywhere.

Once we'd got her into the car though, G soon calmed down and drifted off to sleep, as demonstrated by the picture at the top of this post. She also went on to enjoy some of the cultural contrasts of the north east during our break, ranging from the impressive Barter Books in Alnwick, where she ate a scone while appearing to take an important call from someone or other:

To the rather more simple charms of fish and chips, on the beach at Cullercoats:

She had good helpings of both the scone and the fish and chips, but I think G preferred the latter. Quite right too.

A Vision Of The Future

2011-06-02T21:12:00.003+01:00

When you have a young child, sometimes you look at them and get a glimpse of what they'll look like when they're much older. Quite by chance, I caught one of these moments on camera the other day when we were in a shop, and I've reproduced the photo here.

Even though G is only 20 months old, I think she looks alarmingly grown up in this picture. In fact, I can imagine seeing a similar face for many years to come, staring back at me and making unreasonable demands, such as asking to borrow the car.

At least when I tell her she can't do something now, she usually forgets about it within a few seconds, so her tantrums never last very long. But I know that when I inform the 17-year-old G that she has to take the bus, I'll be unleashing several days of moping. Having a toddler rather than a teenager does have its advantages.

Little Insect

2011-05-30T17:35:00.005+01:00

Here's G coming face to face with a pig on a day out with her mum at Tatton Park today. She's dressed in her new standard wet weather attire of a ladybird coat and wellies, with a bee backpack.

The backpack has got a little lead attached to it, which means it's easy enough to let G toddle about without worrying she's going to run in front of the nearest car, which given her independent streak (she never looks round to see where I am, ever) would be inevitable sooner or later without some kind of restraint.

We went for the backpack instead of the conventional reins worn by many little ones because, well, it just looks a lot less like a harness. And besides, there's space in the backpack pocket for a few nappies but not much else, thereby teaching G an early lesson in the importance of travelling light.

Nobody's yet commented on the apparent contradiction of G wearing an outfit that suggests two different insects. But then, I'd suggest having everything co-ordinated into one ensemble should be well beyond the ability of any stay-at-home dad. If you've got the time and inclination to worry about such things, you could probably do with getting a hobby.

Warmer Waters

2011-05-23T17:53:00.002+01:00

I took G swimming a lot when she was a little baby. But after taking her to lessons in a heated pool when we lived in Manchester, the transition to our particularly cold baths in Saddleworth proved a bit of a shock for both of us.

On Tuesday mornings for several months last year, I dutifully got us both into the water in time for the 9am start at our local pool for the weekly parent-and-baby session. G usually seemed to enjoy it, although she could never keep herself from shivering, and I always needed a good five minutes in the hot showers afterwards to feel normal again. So eventually I gave up going.

But after a tip-off from a mum at one of the groups I sometimes go to, we've taken G to the Copley pool in Stalybridge on the past couple of weekends. Not only is the water a more bearable temperature, there's also a small pool for toddlers which is very pleasant indeed. No doubt that's not just because it's heated a little bit more than most pools. But when you've got a little one yourself, that's the sort of thing that doesn't really bother you as much as it used to.

Singing To The Nation

2011-05-16T22:59:00.006+01:00

G has been on TV before, and today she did it again, as I was called on by my old colleagues at Sky News to do an interview about the latest government plans for more flexibility regarding maternity and paternity leave.

Now that she's a bit older than she was for her previous media appearances, G can't be relied on to sit quietly while daddy discusses the finer points of employment law (or rather while daddy burbles on in the hope the reporter can find a brief bit coherent enough to use in the final report). So, the reporter and cameraman needed to get lots of shots of G playing and doing various cute baby things, to use along with the interview.

One of the cute baby things G has learned is the actions to the nursery rhyme Wind The Bobbin Up, the sort of cotton mill-based rhyme I don't imagine they sing much down south. Anyhow, with G plonked on the sofa, I sang this to get her to do the actions, and smile winningly, which she duly did. It was only when I watched the story go out on Sky later that I realised not only had they kept the sound of my singing in, but they'd put it as the very first thing in the report.

I'm not sure the nation is quite ready to hear my singing. If I'd known they were going to do that, I'd have suggested they got the presenter to read one of those warnings, like "you may find some aspects of this report distressing" or whatever. I hope the sound of my dodgy singing voice didn't put too many people off the proposal, which as a stay-at-home dad I perhaps unsurprisingly think is a good idea.

You can watch the report, singing and all, at the Sky News website here.

As shown by the picture below, G watched herself back later. She started doing the hand actions again during the singing bit, and even played peek-a-boo with herself at the end. Yes, that was as cute as it sounds.

Photoshoot

2011-05-14T17:34:00.007+01:00

Here are the results of a photoshoot we did with G a few weeks ago. Unlike the last time some professional pictures got taken of us, by The Sunday Times, this was arranged a bit more than a couple of hours in advance, so a bit more thought (from Mrs J, obviously) went into G's various outfits and the locations.

We took the pictures during a trip to London, and did them around Ealing where we used to live several years ago. Amazingly, the daffodils came courtesy of Ealing Council, who have certainly spruced up Ealing Common since the last time I was there.

The shoot was bought for us by G's auntie, and was with the same photographer who did her wedding last year, Catherine from Lily and Frank. Huge thanks to both!

Handbag Substitute

2011-05-09T16:38:00.002+01:00

The weather's been getting better lately, so sometimes I take a few of G's toys into the front yard and we sit and play out there for a while.

As proved by her recent bafflement when presented with a dolly by the health visitor, I've done my best to keep G away from too much girly stuff so she doesn't grow up to be, you know, all girly and that. But it doesn't seem to be entirely working. The other day, instead of bashing her toy drum as usual, she decided to pose with it as if she were in a fancy shop and it was a fancy handbag.

This photo isn't really conclusive proof one way or the other. But perhaps some aspects of gender are innate after all.

Sitting Still

2011-05-03T16:52:00.003+01:00

G isn't really old enough to be told to go to the naughty step when she throws a tantrum. But that's not been a problem so far. Not because she never misbehaves, but because she likes to go and sit on the bottom step of her own accord. Whether this is because she thinks it's a grown-up thing to do I'm not sure, but I reckon her ability to sit still is something worth encouraging.

So Mrs J came back from the shops the other day with a little chair for her to sit in. Today she perched herself in it and used the drumstick to bash away at the giant xylophone thing she likes to play with. The photo captures a moment when I interrupted her, and she decided to put the drumstick in her mouth and look straight at the camera. Poser.

Royal Wedding

2011-04-29T14:45:00.002+01:00

Our local primary school was showing today's Royal Wedding on a big screen, so the three of us joined dozens of other local folk in the school hall to see the ceremony.

Lots of families were there so there were plenty of children milling about. The older ones sat down at the front to see the action, but G and a few of the others preferred to toddle about at the back.

I wasn't all that bothered about seeing the whole thing myself, which was just as well because I spent most of the time chasing G around. She didn't even flicker when the image of Kate in her dress appeared on the screen, but briefly settled in to watch when she heard the band strike up. Given other recent evidence, I think I might be raising a dancer, rather than a model.

Drool

2011-04-26T18:42:00.004+01:00

The less like a baby G looks, the more conscious I am of some of the baby things she still does. Chief among these is drooling. Her chin and clothes have been drenched on a daily basis since she first started getting her teeth through at three months old, and even though she's had all her teeth for quite a while now, still the drooling continues.

In truth, it's not as bad as it used to be. As well as now having her teeth through, G has also been using a proper cup to drink from, which has apparently had the welcome side effect of teaching her how to swallow in a tidier fashion. Both these factors mean the amount of drool coming from her mouth has reduced significantly from a torrent to a more occasional trickle.

In an attempt to make G look more like the toddler she is, I've even abandoned the bibs which used to be an absolute necessity. But, as the picture shows, this often only means that her top gets soaked through by the end of the day. The damp patch is a reminder that she's not yet as grown up as she sometimes seems.

Dancing With The Morris Men

2011-04-22T20:28:00.002+01:00

The Saddleworth Morris Men visit a few of our local villages every Good Friday, and do a bit of dancing followed by a bit of drinking. It being such a beautiful day, we put G in her trike and pushed her up the hill into Dobcross Square to see them pass through. She sat quietly and watched as they did their performance, but had obviously been looking more closely than we realised.

Once the dancers had retired to the nearby pub for a swift one before the next village, their accordion player started up again with a bit of music. Hearing this, G toddled over and started doing her own version of morris dancing. This mainly involved waving her arms about, bending her knees and smiling rather than anything you could objectively describe as actual dancing, but, as the photo shows, everyone was very impressed.

G certainly enjoyed being the centre of attention. She can never be a true morris man because, well, let's just say she wasn't born into it. But if they're letting women join by the time she grows up, I'm sure she'll be first to volunteer.

Trike Into Town

2011-04-19T16:57:00.004+01:00

Now that winter has given way to summer, without much of a spring in between, G's usual transport has had to change accordingly. Her bulky off-road pram, useful on muddy paths, is firmly in the shed, and the trike we got her for her first birthday is now the best way to get her around our local area.

This is G in Uppermill today. When I stopped in at the butcher, the woman behind the counter recognised G and said: "Hasn't she grown? Time really does fly." This is true up to a point, in that G certainly has grown. But as this photo demonstrates, not quite enough for her feet to reach the pedals. I'll still be providing all the motive power for a while yet.

Little Madam

2011-04-16T20:11:00.003+01:00

Here's G at today's Marsden Cuckoo Day, a festival held in a village near where we live to mark the beginning of spring. She had lots of fun toddling around amidst all the brass bands and morris dancers, and would have explored a lot more had I not had tight hold of the end of her reins. Keeping her on those is now a necessity when there are lots of people about.

In the past week or so G has also learned the word no. Or, as she often uses it: "NO!" This has coincided with an increase in the number of mini-tantrums she throws, usually complete with crying and whining, although also usually quickly over and forgotten about. But even though it's still fairly easy to distract her from whatever's upsetting her, thereby bringing any minor crying fit to a swift end, I know that isn't going to be the case forever.

"We're going to have to come up with a consistent way of dealing with this," said Mrs J, as G adopted her best little madam position while we were out having lunch earlier. And so we are. Although I imagine keeping her on reins at all times of the day is probably frowned on.

You'll Turn Out Like Your Mother

2011-04-11T20:13:00.003+01:00

G enjoyed getting out and about in the sunshine over the weekend. But all her energetic toddling about left her feeling more tired than normal, so she had a couple of extra-long afternoon naps, one of which you can see in the picture.

The thing to notice about the photo is the position that G is in. Mrs J sleeps in exactly the same way, on her left-hand side with her arms just like that. It's quite common for G to copy what we do, it's how little ones learn things after all. But I'm not sure how she's managed to pick this one up. I just hope she doesn't start snoring as well, although I won't say which one of us she'd be copying if she did!

Slide

2011-04-09T22:01:00.010+01:00

Bringing up a child is full of little landmarks, signs that show how your wee one is growing up, bit by bit. One recent example of this with G was when, after previously having to help her down the slide at the playground in Uppermill, I let her do it herself and stood at the bottom to stop her flying off. It took a couple of goes but she quickly got the hang of it, so today we went with Mrs J so G could demonstrate to her mum.

These photos are pretty self-explanatory. G was too fast for the camera at the end, but Mrs J was there to catch her.

Check Up

2011-04-05T14:30:00.005+01:00

G had her 18-month assessment yesterday. A health visitor came round, ostensibly to check up on G's progress, but presumably to check up on me as well. Thankfully, Mrs J helped me make sure the house was more or less tidy, but to be on the safe side I baked some bread beforehand, in the hope the smell would overpower any doubts about my child-rearing ability.

The health visitor gave G a series of basic tests. She successfully matched a few shapes, and sailed through putting blocks on top of each other. G was also well ahead with drawing, having moved beyond doing dots and straight lines, and onto circles. I looked on smugly as the health visitor filled out a chart showing G's development, with ticks consistently above the average for her age.

But when confronted with a doll and told to brush its hair, G just looked blank, and started playing with some other objects instead. Despite several prompts, she showed no interest in the doll whatsoever. In a sense, this is a vindication of my strict anti-pink policy, which has left G far more likely to play with proper toys like building blocks and books instead of silly girly dolls. I suppose I should let her have a few now I've made my point, although I still live in fear of one day finding myself surrounded by Barbie and My Little Pony, a frightening prospect indeed. Might just keep the boyish lego out for a bit longer.

National Identity

2011-03-31T13:33:00.002+01:00

One of the questions in last weekend's census was about national identity. Specifically, it asked which nationality you would describe yourself as. Even though we've both lived in England for more than a decade, I put Scottish, and Mrs J went for Welsh.

We also had to fill out the form for G. Having been born in England, she's got a reasonable claim to three separate national identities. However, she's not nearly old enough to make a considered judgement about which she prefers, let alone tell us about it. So I just ticked the box marked British.

But then, in the post this morning came a Welsh rugby jersey sent by my mum, and which G has been modelling all day. Although I doubt that simply liking the shirt makes her definitively Welsh. And besides, as someone who was born in Lancashire but who lives in Yorkshire, G's allegiances are even more confusing than at first glance. I think she might find that British remains the best description.

Cold Turkey

2011-03-29T16:38:00.002+01:00

Some people are funny about giving dummies to babies. When G was a few days old and constantly making a sucking motion with her mouth even after being well-breastfed, the visiting midwife was a bit reluctant to tell us to use them. Lacking sleep, we weren't bothered at all, and G has been sleeping happily with the aid of dummies more or less ever since.

But you can't keep giving your baby a dummy forever. I stopped carrying them around ages ago, because I didn't want to keep giving them to G, only to one day send her off to school and realise that she was still sucking away. I don't find much embarrassing as a parent, but that's something that I would very much like to avoid.

So, even though G has only been using dummies during her afternoon nap and at night for a long while, I think it's time to get rid of them altogether. Dummies are for babies after all, and with G 18 months old today and toddling around happily, she's definitely not a baby anymore.

And the early signs are that going cold turkey might just work. G has just had her first dummy-free afternoon snooze and, although it took her a while to drift off, she managed it eventually. Her continuing obsession with shoes might be harder to shift, though.

Haircut

2011-03-24T21:05:00.006Z

G had her first-ever haircut today. For a while her hair's been growing at an alarming rate. Where once there was just a bit of fuzz, now there's a big blonde mop, so much so that the easiest way to pick her out of a room full of little ones is to look for her hair, which is much longer and thicker than everyone else's.

So I took her into the Northern Quarter salon where Mrs J was having hers done this afternoon, and sat with her on my knee as the hairdresser gave G a trim. She sat quietly throughout, and looked more puzzled than anything else. G's reward is that she now has a fringe, which also means her hair isn't constantly in her eyes and I don't have to fidget around with hairclips, so it's good news all round.

Later we went along to Oldham's Twestival, a charity fundraising event with various child-friendly entertainment on offer. G was particularly pleased with the balloon which the clown modelled for her, even though to me the pink "flower" looked decidedly more phallic than anything else.

In fact, G liked it so much she refused to let it go, even when she met a new friend, Oldham Athletic mascot Chaddy The Owl:

The mascot seemed very taken with my little girl. But given Oldham's current form, meeting G may be the first thing Chaddy has had to smile about in quite a while.

Proper Photo

2011-03-21T16:23:00.002Z

I don't really like having my picture taken. This probably offers a clue as to why I've never become a fashion model, although it doesn't explain why G enjoys being in front of the camera so much, something demonstrated by the smiles which are in just about all the pictures on this blog.

One of the businesses at yesterday's shop local festival in Uppermill was a photographer, Jude Gidney. After agreeing to do an interview for the next Saddleworth News TV bulletin, she suggested she'd take a quick snap of me and G in the little portable studio she'd set up in the corner of the Civic Hall. For once I think I look fine in it, although G seems keen to get back to toddling around.

Having avoided doing photoshoots with G up to now, this means I've now ended up doing two in a month, following this one for the Sunday Times. Still not sure I like looking at photos of myself much, but if G grows up to be a bit vain, then at least I'll know where it all started.

In The Crowd

2011-03-20T16:07:00.002Z

There was a festival of local shops and businesses at Uppermill Civic Hall today, so the three of us all went along. There were dozens of stalls packed in, and lots of people milling around, but G wasn't fazed by the crowd, and happily went toddling around.

In fact, she was toddling around a bit too well, and it was difficult to keep track of her at times. She wasn't really in the mood to be carried either, and every time I picked her up she soon started fidgeting until I put her down again.

When I went to the tombola the woman behind the stall gave one of her balloons to G to tie round her arm. This didn't have the effect of slowing her down much, but at least it gave me a better idea of where G was heading whenever she trotted off. I think some kind of permanent contraption to help me keep an eye on her might be needed soon. Preferably one with flashing lights and a siren.

Shoes

2011-03-14T23:02:00.002Z

"Shoes" is one of G's favourite words. Given that it's one of the few words she can say in the right context, it can't really be anything other than one of her favourites. But she certainly seems to enjoy saying it.

G especially enjoys saying "shoes" while putting her feet into a pair of my size 13s, as shown in the picture. She's taken to dragging any shoes she can find into the middle of the living room floor, before trying to put them on.

She even managed to get both of her wellies on just before her bath the other night. It seemed a shame to have to take them off again, especially as she was about to get wet. Clearly that was the logic which was at work in her little mind when she decided to put them on in the first place.

Back To School

2011-03-11T17:31:00.005Z

I was invited to talk to a class of children at one of the local primary schools today about what it's like to be a journalist. I'd actually been to the class once before, during the by-election campaign when the youngsters were visited by all the main candidates. Before getting there today, the teacher told me that the kids remembered me. Well, they remembered G, who had spent much of my previous visit crawling around causing chaos.

The only difference this time was that she can now walk around, which meant she was harder to keep track of than ever as I got ready to give my talk. I decided it would be better to strap G in to a chair and give her some food to keep her quiet as I started speaking. This worked for a while, but when it came to ask the children if there were any questions and some of them started putting their hands up, G copied them. When everyone laughed, G obviously thought this meant she was doing something very clever, and kept giggling and putting her hand up.

And so, not for the first time, she managed to completely upstage me. But given the choice between cooing at a toddler or having to suffer someone chunter on about being a reporter, it's not too difficult to see why.

Red Nose Day

2011-03-06T17:34:00.002Z

Now that G's ability to toddle around on her own has increased, so too has the likelihood of her hurting herself. Yesterday, she was wobbling around on some concrete when she lost her balance and fell flat on her face, scraping all the skin off her nose. Once she'd stopped crying and got cleaned up, her nose was bright red against her pale face, making her look a bit like the world's youngest alcoholic.

Mrs J took this picture during G's bath last night. Evidence of why it's a good idea to learn how to break a fall using your hands.

Bunches

2011-03-02T20:38:00.002Z

We haven't got round to giving G a proper haircut yet, so it's actually starting to get quite long. Long enough for Mrs J to try her out with bunches, anyway. I think her hair could do with being a bit longer still before G can really carry this look off, but she certainly seems pleased with it. Maybe it's because it makes her look like a girl. If it can have that effect without her being slathered from head to toe in pink sparkly stuff, then so much the better.

Nursery

2011-02-27T14:10:00.002Z

Here's G enjoying her daily nap on Thursday. She's taken to sleeping with her head down and her bum in the air, for reasons which aren't entirely clear. But she's still able to get in a good couple of hours every afternoon, so as long as that's the case, she can sleep while doing a handstand as far as I'm concerned.

She was blissfully unaware in this picture that, the following day, she'd be left at a nursery for the first time. I was going to Leeds to give a lecture at my old university, and had booked her in for a few hours in the creche.

On the way to drop her off, I was more worried about how I was going to entertain 40 students for two hours, rather than how G was going to deal with this new experience. Sure enough, there weren't any tears from her as I handed her over to the nursery staff. She didn't even bother looking round to wave at me as I walked out of the door. I didn't expect her to show any separation anxiety, but a little bit would have been quite gratifying for my ego as a dad. I imagine I'll have to get used to G doing the opposite of what I want.

Later on as I walked back, I spotted G toddling around happily in the nursery garden. I thought about going round the block and letting her play for a bit longer, especially as I'd already paid for another hour or so, but I managed to convince myself that I'd better pick her up straight away, if only so we could beat the traffic on the way home. I'll leave her for longer next time though.

Half Term Week Is Boring

2011-02-23T15:49:00.002Z

It's half-term. Not only does that mean that the schools are out, but it also means that the usual array of parent-and-baby activities aren't taking place. Which has kind of left me and G at a bit of a loose end.

It's not that I make an extra special effort to get along to the baby and toddler groups in the area. But I usually go to one in the local church on a Wednesday, and then a baby singing group on a Friday. Sometimes I make it to the Sure Start centre for the Tuesday playgroup too. It's not a big deal if we miss one, but I've realised this week quite how important these occasions are in giving me a reason to get up and out of the house of a morning.

Yesterday it was dry so I took G to the swings. But today the weather's been dreadful and by lunchtime, even though G was contentendly playing with her toys on the living room floor, I had got bored with hanging around the house, and decided we were going to walk into Uppermill. Even though it was chucking it down.

After picking up a few groceries which probably weren't all that essential, I decided to treat us to a trip to the cake shop. The picture shows G struggling to hide her disappointment at the realisation she was having to make do with a banana while I tackled a strawberry cake. She did dutifully finish the banana, so I rewarded her with a bit of mine in the end. G turned her nose up at the actual strawberry that came with it though. Even well-behaved toddlers have their limits.

I Want What You're Having

2011-02-21T16:47:00.002Z

Some babies and toddlers are fussy at meal times. They're very particular about what they will and won't eat, and how they'll eat it. G is a bit different. She'll eat just about anything, but only if she can have what you're having first.

Earlier on I got some soup and bread together for my lunch, and cut up an apple for G to snack on. Apples are one of her favourite foods, but she took one look at the fruit, and one look at me shovelling my food into my mouth, and did the thing she does when she wants something. Currently this involves sticking her arm out in the general direction of the required item, a hopeful look on her face, replaced with the beginnings of a tantrum if there's no response.

So I dipped a couple of small pieces of bread into the soup and put them on G's tray. She stopped whining and ate them. Then had the apple as well. Why the apple was suddenly an acceptable food for her wasn't immediately clear, but I'm sure there was some logic to it inside her tiny brain.

As for the soup and the bread, I made them both. The soup was based on the stock from the ham I did yesterday, and I baked the loaf from scratch this afternoon. It's fair to say I never used to have to the time to do that sort of thing before I found myself staying at home with G. I suppose it makes up for all the things I used to do but never do anymore. Like going to the cinema, or drinking in the afternoon.

Mini Tantrums

2011-02-18T14:26:00.002Z

G is nearly 17 months old, which still puts her some way off the terrible twos. But although she hasn't yet thrown a huge crying fit about anything, she's gradually subjecting me to more and more short tantrums, usually when I take a toy away from her, or stop her doing something she shouldn't. Like trying to eat mud from the bottom of a shoe, which was a narrow escape from yesterday.

These mini tantrums only last a few seconds, and G is always easily distracted by something else, so whatever upset her is instantly forgotten. I was talking about this to Mrs J, and she said it was all because G can't tell me what she wants, so gets frustrated easily. I had to point out that I usually know exactly what it is she wants, and know that whatever it is just isn't a very good idea. Basically, the odd bit of crying is the price I'm paying for a daughter that doesn't grow up considering soil an acceptable snack.

Sunday Times Photoshoot

2011-02-14T11:21:00.006Z

This picture of me and G appeared in The Sunday Times yesterday. It was illustrating a story about dads and babies, and appeared on page 4, hilariously pushing the article on the revolution in Egypt down to page 28.

The piece was about recent research in the US which suggested men were becoming increasingly keen to have children, as women focus more on their careers instead. As a stay-at-home dad, the article said that I "typified the new type of family setup." Not my words, but the words of The Sunday Times. And who am I to argue?

A photographer came round on Friday to take the pictures. He took some in our house then a few down by the canal in Dobcross, the village where we live. He then kindly sent me all the ones which weren't chosen for the paper.

This led me to think of a handy tip to help beat the economic downturn. People pay good money to have professional photos taken of their families. Clearly, all you actually have to do is be newsworthy enough to get a paper to do it for free. There's probably a limit to how far you should take that though. I don't think police mugshots are generally of such good quality.

(All pictures: Bob Collier for The Sunday Times)

Taking Things Out Of Things

2011-02-06T14:51:00.002Z

One of G's favourite games is to take things out of things. The other day she was sat quietly on her own in a corner of the living room for a while. I should have realised that this would be cause for concern, because when I eventually went over to see what she'd been doing, I discovered she'd just taken all the wet wipes out of a full packet, one by one, and put them very deliberately in a pile on a nearby chair.

Mrs J, who likes doing little craft projects and has been blogging about her efforts here, came up with a solution. She made a little tissue-sized box out of fabric, and filled it with off-cut bits of material tied together, in the hope this would be an acceptable substitute for G. As the picture shows, it seems to be working, although I think I'm going to be spending large parts of my days putting the material back in the box again.

Stuck Indoors

2011-02-02T17:41:00.003Z

Me and G have been stuck inside for the last couple of days. It's been miserable and wet outdoors, and I've been struggling to shake off another cold. Coughing and spluttering generally goes down badly with the other parents at mums-and-toddlers groups, so we've been hanging around the house instead.

I'm a bit bored, but G is dealing with this a bit better. She's developed a game which involves taking all of her large lego blocks out of their container one by one, then putting them all back in again. She's getting quite literally hours of fun out of it. Watching her do this, I realised she's now perfectly capable of keeping herself entertained without me having to do anything. This is probably a good thing, but if she grows up to have OCD, I'll know exactly when it started.

Burns Night

2011-01-26T14:32:00.002Z

G had her first Burns Supper last night. Even though she was born in England, G has a Welsh mum and Scottish dad, so I suppose it's up to the two of us to make sure she grows up with at least a grasp of some of the traditions and customs of our respective home nations.

Which is why I ended up shovelling a meaty, oaty mulch into her mouth at teatime, as shown in the picture. G has generally got the hang of using her own fork now, but the haggis wasn't sticking to it very well, so she needed a bit of help.

I know some people would consider this child cruelty, but she cleaned her plate. So she can't have minded too much. Just wait until she's old enough to understand what the stuff's actually made of.

Toddler

2011-01-25T16:40:00.004Z

G is not a baby anymore. She's definitely a toddler. Although she's been on her feet for a while, her walking has really improved over the last few days. She can now happily wobble her way from one side of the room to the other and back again without even thinking about crawling. As this photo demonstrates, she's naturally very pleased with herself.

Yesterday I took her into the city as I was giving an interview on Radio Manchester about being a stay-at-home dad, and G's starring role during the recent by-election campaign. I left her outside the studio with one of the producers while I did my bit. Apparently, when she heard my voice, she walked over to the nearest speaker and started shouting "Dada!" Which at least proves her powers of recognition are improving along with her walking ability.

If you want to listen to the interview, you can do so here for the next few days. It begins at about 2:41.

The Pramgate Affair

2011-01-16T18:28:00.008Z

G was at the centre of an actual political scandal this week. You could tell it was an actual political scandal, because it had the word 'gate' at the end of it. Let me tell you about Pramgate.

Nick Clegg made his third visit of the Oldham East and Saddleworth by-election campaign on Tuesday. Me and G went along to cover the event for Saddleworth News. As he knocked on some doors with the Lib Dem candidate, watched by a huge collection of journalists and party workers, I hung around at the back with G in her pram, and thought I'd try to take a few photos when Mr Clegg eventually walked back towards us.

The picture above shows one of those photos, and also captures a moment seconds before controversy struck. Newsnight's Michael Crick was doing his usual thing of grabbing a few words with a politician while on the move, and sadly his cameraman (on the left) was going backwards, and wasn't looking where he was going, so bumped into G's pram. I shouted "look out!" and Mr Clegg, who we have met before, leaned over and asked if we were ok, which of course we were.

Later on, he spotted us again and came over for a quick chat. "She really does go everywhere with you, doesn't she?" he said. "Yes, but she just almost got run over by Newsnight, actually," I replied. Mr Clegg then walked on and told Michael Crick off: "You almost just ran over that baby," he tutted. And I thought that was the end of that.

So imagine my surprise as, when I checked my phone later that evening, I had dozens of Twitter messages from people asking me if G was ok. I was quickly able to establish what happened next. BBC North West Tonight had made a light-hearted feature of this whole 'incident' during Clegg's visit, and a left-wing political gossip blog had got the wrong end of the stick, and said it had heard a rumour that Clegg had actually kicked a baby during his trip to Oldham. It seemed that a lot of people already believed this to be true.

Before things got out of hand I issued a statement denying the Deputy Prime Minister had kicked G, which was itself deemed worthy of reporting by the Politics Home website. It described this as "2011's strangest political denial." But the denial didn't have much impact. With folk already describing the 'incident' as Pramgate, the biggest political blog in the country, Guido Fawkes soon decided to stick its oar in as well. "There's definitely some sort of contact," it intoned, after poring over footage broadcast by both North West Tonight and Newsnight.

G was the centre of attention the next day, the last of the campaign. At the Lib Dem event, visitor Chief Secretary to the Treasury Danny Alexander spotted her and asked if this was the baby he'd been hearing so much about. Later, at Labour's last campaign event, several people jokingly asked after G, while one said his main reason for joining Labour instead of the Lib Dems was Labour's firm policy against baby kicking. No matter how much I insisted that Nick Clegg hadn't actually kicked G it didn't matter. History records that he did, and I suppose that's the only thing that counts.

At the count the following night, as it became clear Labour had won a more comfortable victory than expected, their campaign manager said he thought Pramgate had been the crucial moment of the last days of the by-election, which turned things in their favour. I'm fairly sure he was joking. But politics is such a strange business, you can never be sure whether someone's joking or not.

Britain's Most Political Baby

2011-01-07T21:28:00.006Z

The by-election campaign in our area is now at full-tilt, with polling day now less than a week away. Over the last few days it seems like I've been constantly out and about following one politician or another to interview them for Saddleworth News. Since Mrs J went back to work on Tuesday, G has had to come everywhere with me too.

The picture above shows us in the snow in Oldham today, with the Labour candidate Debbie Abrahams and the Shadow Home Secretary, Ed Balls. Before I could ask him any questions, he asked me what it was like being the only dad at parent-and-baby groups. After that discussion, it seemed a bit bizarre to switch to doing an interview about policing and counter-terrorism, but I suppose that's to be expected when you mix babies and politicians.

Mr Balls wasn't actually the most famous politician me and G interviewed this week. Yesterday, we got a quick chat with none other than the Prime Minister himself.

We'd been told he only had a small amount of time for the media, but that didn't stop a horde of journalists and camera crews turning up outside the garage in Oldham that he was visiting. Only some reporters were going to be allowed in, but as the local media outlet doing by far the most in-depth coverage of the campaign, I was on the list. As my name was called I pushed G inside along with several very well-known journalists, who produced a variety of expressions ranging from confusion to amusement.

We had to wait a while for the PM, but even though G was well overdue her afternoon nap, she was beautifully behaved. She even remained in a good mood when ITN's political correspondent mistakenly took her for a boy. Further evidence perhaps that News at Ten's reputation for accuracy isn't what it was.

A few of us local journalists eventually squeezed into a room and waited for Mr Cameron to come in and give us a few minutes of his time. I was in the seat next to the PM with G on my knee, although throughout she seemed more interested in opening and closing a desk drawer which was right in front of her.

At one point, one of the other reporters asked whether the by-election was a referendum on the coalition, at which moment G started giggling at something. The PM said: "You've had your answer here. How old is she? 15 months and already laughing at that idea!" G certainly likes to make everyone know she's there, no matter how important they are.

Sadly only one photographer was allowed on the PM's visit so there aren't any pictures of us meeting him. However, here's one of us in the pub on Tuesday with UKIP's Nigel Farage. A slightly less significant political figure, but a party leader nonetheless.

A very pleasant chap, he advised me that he always took galoshes with him when campaigning to avoid ruining his shoes. I trust he buys British-made ones.

All of this has led to quite a few people suggesting to me that G must now be by far the most political baby in Britain. Not sure if she knows who to support yet though. I have a feeling that whichever party gives her the most brightly-coloured balloons might just sway her.

(pictures: Stuart Coleman Photography)

Bouncing Into 2011

2011-01-01T20:02:00.003Z

Here's G playing with one of her new toys. We had some friends over for Hogmanay last night, and one brought a trampoline for G. As you can see, she's very taken with it.

G's confidence on the bouncy trampoline has coincided with a much greater steadiness on her feet. She's now happily toddling around the living room, a few steps at a time, rather than always getting back on her hands and knees to crawl.

Both the extra walking and last night's bouncing may have combined to tire G right out, so she didn't wake up until 10am this morning. Given that both me and Mrs J were feeling a bit rough after the night before, that was just as well.

Christmas Day

2010-12-26T16:25:00.008Z

This was G's second Christmas. She's grown up a lot since last year, and was able to investigate her sack of presents for herself. She's also got the hang of the idea of taking the paper off her presents, but still needed a bit of help from me to fully get at all of her new toys.

In fact, because she still doesn't have much idea of what Christmas is and why it's incredibly exciting, G actually let me and Mrs J have a lie-in until 9am. That's something that I can't imagine we'll be able to do on Christmas Day for an awfully long time to come.

G also didn't complain as we soon dragged her away from her presents to go into our local village of Dobcross at lunchtime to check out the brass band's carol concert. As it has been for most of the last month, it was well below freezing even in the middle of the day. But under all her winter clothes, G didn't seem to mind too much.

There were quite a lot of families with young kids at the band club, many of them clutching various gadgets and other things they'd clearly unwrapped that morning. G was in the mood for showing off, and crawled all over the room smiling and gurgling. She even bumped into some of her little friends from one of the parent and baby groups I take her to. There was still no proper walking from her though.

G started to get tired so we took her back home for a nap while Mrs J cooked up Christmas dinner. Once G got up later we all sat down to eat. G had a bit of everything on her plate, and happily munched through just about all of it.

The only exception, predictably enough, were the sprouts. As soon as she put one of the little green things in her mouth she made a disgusted face and spat it out. Seeing as me and Mrs J both quite like sprouts, her dislike of them can't be genetic. Maybe we'll try them out on her again next year.

She Agrees With Nick

2010-12-22T23:29:00.005Z

Today, an important political figure at the centre of intense media scrutiny met... the Deputy Prime Minister. Nick Clegg was in our area to campaign in the by-election, and I was granted an interview for Saddleworth News. Of course, G came along too.

Mr Clegg looks happy and relaxed in the photos, and he certainly seemed it in the flesh too, despite the headlines of the last couple of days. I suspect there were three reasons for this. First, unlike everyone else he met today, I didn't ask him about Vince Cable's unguarded remarks, the current strife affecting the government not having all that much to do directly with Saddleworth.

Then there's the fact that Mr Clegg has three young children of his own, the littlest not much older than G. He was clearly at ease around her, and told me he'd spent some time at home himself looking after his eldest child, adding that the experience has had a long-lasting effect on him.

If that all sounds a bit grown up, the final factor contributing to Mr Clegg's good mood was definitely G herself. She'd been a bit miserable earlier in the afternoon as I pushed her around Oldham in the cold for an interview with the Conservative Chairman (yes, G racked up two Cabinet ministers in one day). But back in the warmth she was on top form as she smiled, gurgled and pointed at the visiting dignitary, then, as the pictures show, looked expectantly at a sandwich he was eating until she got one herself.

After that it was almost a shame to actually have to do an interview. It crossed my mind that, given the impending rise in tuition fees, the man sitting next to me was as responsible as anyone for adding several thousand pounds to the cost of G's future education. But G isn't old enough to mind about that yet. And besides, he gave her one of his sandwiches, so fair's fair I suppose.

Looking at the photos later, it occurred to me that Mr Clegg might simply have been so pleased to see us because he'd seen the drool G had left on my shoulder. If he spotted it, he didn't say anything. I'm sure that's the sort of discretion he'll be urging some of his colleagues to show in future.

It'll Make Your Hair Curl

2010-12-16T21:09:00.004Z

I took G to my mum's in the north east yesterday to drop off Christmas presents and show my little girl off a bit more. Sadly, her walking still hasn't improved much, so the main thing she ended up showing off was her incredible appetite.

This photo demonstrates G having breakfast. She'd already had her morning Weetabix (other cereals are available) and was agitating for a bit more, so I cut off a bit of toast for her and went back into the kitchen for a few seconds. When I returned I found that G had left the cut-off bits and just gone for the rest of the slice. She finished it all too.

As G chomped her way through the crusts, my mum said: "It'll make your hair curl." Somehow I don't think it's likely though. Her blonde hair is still as straight as can be, but then she's clearly stubborn like that.

Her extra-large breakfast probably contributed to what happened later in day. Back at home and back on the by-election campaign trail, I found myself interviewing Labour leader Ed Miliband for Saddleworth News. I managed it while holding G in one arm with my dictaphone in the other. Mr Miliband, who has a couple of children himself, seemed rather more interested in discussing G than talking about whether he would apologise for the campaign conduct of ex-local MP Phil Woolas, but then I don't suppose you can blame him for that.

As she usually does, G gurgled winningly throughout the interview. But then filled her nappy ten minutes later. She's clearly still an undecided voter.

On The Television, Again

2010-12-10T14:00:00.005Z

Going on TV is becoming a bit of a habit for G. After popping up in the background of news reports about the Phil Woolas case both last month and last week, she finally got a starring role in last night's Party People political programme on Granada. I was being asked about what I thought regarding the forthcoming by-election, and G's role was to sit in my arms and look cute throughout, something she's normally fairly good at.

Unsurprisingly, she got a bit bored while I was droning on, and decided to give a gurgle or two. She then tried to grab my mouth. Presumably she wanted me to shut up. I can only hope the viewers at home weren't thinking something similar.

The show was broadcast on ITV straight after the first repeat of the Coronation Street live episode. So within minutes of all those dramatic deaths, viewers in the Granada region were being treated to the sight of me and G standing around in the cold. I think I know which was more exciting.

On The Television

2010-12-07T20:13:00.005Z

Imagine my surprise last Friday when, during the lead story about the Phil Woolas judicial review on the local ITV Granada news, a familiar looking man-with-baby popped up in the background. The footage was actually taken a couple of weeks ago in Uppermill during a visit to the area by a leading politician, one of many we're going to experience in the coming weeks as a by-election looms.

Given how long broadcasters usually hang on to archive pictures for, I might find that me and G are illustrating political stories on Granada for some time to come. After all, the same poor woman's suffered years of breast cancer screening on the BBC, and I remember during my days working at Sky when someone phoned up to explain that an elderly person who featured in a report on pensioners had long since died. But that's just the magic of television, I suppose.

A Granada crew came back to film us today, only this time to do an interview for a story on the by-election to be shown on Thursday. The reporter was keen for me to give my opinion while holding G, clearly in the knowledge that would add considerable credibility to what I had to say. Unfortunately, G drooled all the way through the first take, so I had to do it again. She must have either been doing a bit more teething, or expressing her general distaste for all politicians. Sadly she didn't elaborate on which it was.

Through The Windowpane

2010-12-01T14:51:00.006Z

It's been snowing a lot here in Saddleworth over the last couple of days. It's meant that me and G have been more or less stuck indoors, watching the landscape around gradually becoming whiter and whiter from the snug safety of our living room.

I couldn't resist taking her for a quick walk yesterday afternoon though. I went to the shed to get our off-road pram out, and got back to the front door to find G with her nose pressed against the glass, presumably wondering what I was doing. She seemed happy enough, but that was probably because she had no idea what I had in store for her:

When it snowed last winter and G was still a tiny baby, it was easy enough to cram her into a snowsuit and off we went. Now she's a lot bigger, and lot more fidgety, so making sure she's wrapped up as she should be is considerably trickier. Don't even ask about trying to get the wellies to stay on.

But eventually we made it out into the cold, and my off-road machine did us proud as I pushed G through the snow and down onto the canal towpath for a walk to Uppermill. She seemed happy enough although her face quickly started to glow red. Also glowing was the light of lamps from the odd house, and soon that was just about all that was visible in the murk as the daylight faded:

I imagine that scene hasn't changed all that much since the canal was built more than two centuries ago. In fact, with all the gloom and snow I thought it was all a bit Dickensian, like something out of A Christmas Carol. Although given how her parents and the rest of her family dote on her, I imagine G will have rather more stuff to enjoy this Christmas than poor old Tiny Tim did.

Wikipedia (and who could doubt the veracity of the information contained on that sage website) actually claims that the Tiny Tim character was based on the invalid son of a mill owner that Dickens knew in Manchester of all places. It's probably just a coincidence, but if I start seeing ghosts as we get closer to Christmas, I'll let you know.

First Steps

2010-11-28T14:23:00.002Z

G finally took her first steps last night. At nearly 14 months she's a bit later than most babies in learning how to put one foot in front of the other. I think it's partly because she has got so good at crawling. She first managed to do that a full six months ago, so by now she's able to zip around the floor quite quickly on all fours. I suppose the desire to walk takes a little longer to kick in when you're already quite mobile.

I wasn't able to catch the actual moment of her first steps for posterity. But at least for me, grabbing a camera isn't the first thing I tend to think of when something magical like that happens. I did get the camera a bit later, but by then G had done enough walking for one day. In this picture she seems to be pondering what to do next. Maybe it'll be running. Or, if I'm really lucky, shovelling the snow off the drive. That's the kind of skill she really needs to learn.