This week is birthday week in the Haynes-Stansfield household! Which means, present shopping, wrapping and cake ordering – because I don’t bake. My creations don’t even look like cakes once they’ve emerged from my tender-ish care out of the oven, much less taste like one. It’s two cakes this week because somehow I contrived to have two of my children born within four days of each other so this Monday the youngest turned three and this Friday the eldest will turn 24. And then there’s the middle one who will be 19 in March. I’m not giving my age away, I’ve reached the point where each birthday has a layer of dread because it means I’m one year older. When does that start to happen? I’m sure birthdays used to be joyous occasions full of presents and Prosecco. Well, they are still full of presents and Prosecco but rather than books or spa trips I eagerly await my beauty vouchers so I can go and have my lined forehead Botox-ed out.
As far as toddlers go I have to say that I prefer age three to the younger years. All two of them. I like the independence she suddenly has, the fact that she doesn’t randomly run away from me any more in public places. It’s now a source of joy that I can shower after swimming with her AND I get to dry and straighten my hair while she pootles about in the changing room because I know she isn’t going to go anywhere. Quite to the contrary actually, there was a moment in the pool when I almost went away from her and that was when she started pointing and shouting – “Mummy, there’s an OLD LADY over there. OVER THERE OLD LADY.” The lady in question was probably younger than me and certainly didn’t merit the label of old lady. I just dunked my three year old underwater momentarily to switch her focus from old ladies to survival instincts.
She also calls her school teacher ‘Wallace’. Because she hasn’t cottoned on to the fact that ‘Mr’ should come before the name. So she goes about her day in nursery shouting “Wallace!” every time she wants something, which privately makes me laugh and I really don’t want to teach her about ‘Mr’, though I think time may be running out on that one. She is three, after all. A threenager, as my eldest says. Goodness me, I hope not. 24 and 18 are quite challenging enough.
Apart from that it’s just endless manuscript-wrangling for me. I’m struggling with the last third of my current WIP (‘work in progress’, you have to get down with the acronyms when you’re an author) but I’ll get there…….and then when I do maybe I’ll order myself a cake.