Ugly Duckling

As G has grown up a bit, her TV loyalties have switched from wholesome favourite CBeebies to the slightly brasher fayre of Nick Jr. This is mainly because it's where she can watch Peppa Pig and Thomas the Tank Engine. Those shows are also available on Channel 5's on-demand service, which has led to our family becoming possibly the biggest users of Demand 5 in the country.

But she can still be tempted back to Auntie for the odd programme, in particular the recent Ugly Duckling special with the Northern Ballet. I say 'recent' - it was on at Easter and we must have watched it most evenings since.

G often likes to show off her ballet moves in the living room, but since she discovered the Ugly Duckling this has become an almost nightly ritual. The picture shows her in full swan mode.

On The Merry-go-rounds

Mrs J took a day off work so the three of us could go to a family fun day at Red House Farm, just down the road near Altrincham. There were various attractions including live performances from assorted CBeebies favourites, but G was only really interested in going on the rides. We had the bus first, then inevitably the train:

Then it was the bus again. G went for several goes on the top deck, a seating preference she'll undoubtedly keep throughout her teenage years:

 

There was one of those chair swing rides too. When I first tried to put G in one of them about a year ago, she sat down happily enough then burst into tears just before it started going. No such problems this time though:

It was a good day out, but pretty cold in the relentless wind, especially as G kept insisting on playing outdoors. So by mid-afternoon we were quite keen to get into the warm. But to get G to leave we had to promise that I'd do some baking with her once we got home. Here she is, all set to measure out the flour:

In Praise Of Abney And Teal

G has long been a fan of In The Night Garden, the colourful pre-bedtime programme which soothes toddlers across the nation on CBeebies. But there's no doubt that her favourite thing to watch on TV is now The Adventures of Abney and Teal. It's on just before the CBeebies Bedtime Hour, although since she worked out that On Demand viewing means you can get it anytime, even on your phone, it's almost always the only thing G ever wants to watch.

I can't really complain too much about this. The two eponymous characters are friends who live on an island in the middle of a city, and get up to various mini-adventures often involving discarded bits of rubbish, all fuelled by regular bowls of porridge. Created by illustrator and author Joel Stewart, Abney and Teal has a sort of instant classic feel about it, a bit like the programmes (Bagpuss, Clangers) once made by the late Oliver Postgate. I imagine it's the sort of thing second-rate comedians might well find themselves pretending to remember on a clip show in about 20 years' time.

Apart from looking and sounding great, the thing I like most about it is that the female character, Teal (curiously enough, voiced by the singer from Noisettes), is resourceful and rough-and-tumble, rather than the sort of pink Disney Princess I've been trying to make sure G doesn't turn into.

The picture shows G tackling this month's CBeebies magazine, which is an Abney and Teal special. She was beyond excited when Mrs J came home from the supermarket with it the other day. Not quite excited enough to be interested in having a bowl of healthy porridge for breakfast herself, but there's time to work on that.

Yoga For Toddlers

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.

Blow The House Down

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.

Sore Eyes

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.

Cut Finger

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

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.