It's been a month? Oops.

Sooo ... quick run down ... the little ginger has done lots of changing and as a result, he's done lots of being awesome, and lots of being absolutely revolting. You've seen no blogging basically because when he's being awesome, we're hanging out and I'm in a semi-collapsed heap breathing a sigh of relief, and when he's being revolting ... well. The revolting-ness seems to be related to teething (we don't like teeth at all in this house. Not even a little bit. He took months to cut through his top molars, and even now they're still working their way out, and now his bottom molars have started. Vile. V-I-L-E. Bad teeth), and new routines related to growing up. The bit that does me in to the core, is trying to work out what the bellowing is all about. We sort of end up working on a cold/warm/hot basis for a couple of weeks till be get there. I know how hot/warm/cold I am based on how loud the bellowing is. If I need ear muffs, I apparently need to pay more attention. If I can flick through a Vogue, but not actually concentrate to read anything, then I'm heading to warm, and if the little ginger appears cheerful, cruises through the morning and succumbs to a nap with ease, nailed it!

Anyway ... the month in pictures.

Perhaps an indication that the child likes Pamol a little bit tooooo much.

Marmitey cruskity goodness.

After a tough morning at the zoo, also apparently under a blue moon.

This one you can't really see too well, but the gist of it is that the kid discovered that post-its stick reeeally well to the border collie, and spent quite some time sticking them on her through the child-gate. I now need to thieve more post-its from the office.

Coolest of duvet covers for when we transition to his big boy room, in about 15 years.

Cuinn loves helping make a 'hot cuppa' (standing on a chair at the bench) and in particular loooooves the coffee machine, so we found this and he's lived happily every after making 'cuppa' after 'cuppa' in the lounge. It even came with a little wooden milk carton and sugar bowl and teaspoon.

Training. And, interestingly (although I don't have photos as yet) after a good 9 years of marriage, I still can't get the husband to put his shoes away, however when I turned my attention to training the kid to put the husband's shoes away by convincing him that putting Dadda's shoes away is the. coolest. thing. ever. I've gotten much further. Go figure.

And did I mention we're doing an embryo transfer next month? More on that later, but in the meantime, I've ordered a nice, docile, non-ginger girl. What d'you think my chances are?

A little bit of all sorts

It's becoming increasingly awesome to hang out with earmuffs on. Don't ask me why, because you'd think if it was important to anyone to be wearing earmuffs with a ginger kid in the house, it'd be important to me. But, there ya go.


He's either giving his Dad a kiss, or attempting to maul him. There was no hollering relating to biting, so I guess it was loves.

More hanging out with earmuffs, this time with a container of frozen peas because apparently they're awesome too.

In which frozen peas escape ... tricky little buggers.

One assumes he had a plan with the flour and the spatula, but I wasn't quite willing to let it play out.

His new backpack. Uber cute.

Our fort. And by our, I mean his. I tried to make it ours, but I got a bit stuck.

And finally, Daddy teaching him some appalling food-time habits.

Awww

It's not often we manage to get these sorts of shots. Melts your heart, don't it?

We're gonna let him play bull rush too

Apparently, when you're a 16 month old ginger kid of a certain genetic combination, the way you open a door is to stand by it and jump into it head first, head-butt styles. It's hilarious apparently. Except when said door is actually closed as opposed to just pulled-to. Then it's an inconvenience as you yell for someone to open it enough that you can head butt it. Awesome. I'm either ordering a girl next time, or an 18-year supply of Ritalin.

* * *

Because being inside in the warm and dry just isn't cool. What he was actually looking a bit displeased about here was his sock was too wet to be able to yank off himself.

The puddle-sitter-inner taking off at full speed as soon as it looked like he was going to be grabbed and taken inside for dry clothing and ... well ... taken inside.

Toys? Who needs toys?

He had me in stitches this morning. He tipped a bag of rolled oats out on the floor ... well, part of a bag - I learned my lesson the other day and as soon as I heard pouring I ran for it and managed to save about 3 rolled oats. Go me! But, he also worked out from the other day that we clean up with the dust pan and shovel, so he worked away, got a whole lot of rolled oats into the pan, and then toddled over to the rubbish bin and pulled it out (we have a drawer bin in our cabinets) ... losing everything except about a dozen rolled oats along the way, and those he lost lifting the pan up to empty into the rubbish bin. He was absolutely determined, so he plonked down, picked up a (yes, single, nevermind the other 10,000) rolled oat, put it back in the pan, stood up and tried again. And again, and again, and again, until there were tears of laughter from me, and his poor rolled oat was no closer to actually making it to the bin than it had been about 10 minutes before. Then I think the cat ran past and it was game over for the rolled oats, and game on for chasing the cat.

He's just absolute magic at the moment.

You know, I just actually don't care

Sometimes, if you can't see the kid, and you hear the sound of something being poured, it's better just to finish your cuppa before you have a look.

I feel as though I should care, and yet I don't. He's playing. It's easily cleaned up. We left the wheat where he could get to it (actually, we left it on the bench top, where it was out of reach a week ago ... our bad. I also left a cake cooling on the bench this afternoon, and came back to find little ginger finger sized holes poked in the side, with a few dents where taste tests had been made). Seriously. Don't. Care. He's not being naughty, he's being curious. I think. Mostly he was just handling the wheat, seeing what it felt like and investigating it.

Anyway, this is what a bag of whole wheat all over the floor looks like ...

And, it turns out, that every now and again it is actually rubbish that he puts in the bin - usually it's all manner of very UN rubbishy things that end up in there. Nothing like having to check the bin every time you walk past it just in case (and having to retrieve things like the cover off his high chair pad, books, shoes, socks ... the list goes oooooon)

And then the husband made the hilarious (to me) error of giving the kid the brush and pan to 'help' clean up after he'd broomed the wheat into a nice wee pile. Heh.

Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork

Just a quick review of Advisory Circular AC66-2.21 in relation to Air Law.

Don't ALL babies do that over lunch?