Penguins in Trees and Sartorial Cusps

After flicking through The Observer's Free Guide to the Top 50 UK Garden birds, I got momentarily excited when I spotted what I thought must be a rare British breed in the park today. I zoomed in to discover it was a toy penguin - a 'baby' one with fluffy grey plumage. Someone had lodged it on to a branch, as if it were real. There was a lone tea bag and some sawdust on the grass near by.

Hugh slept through our gentle trundle, thus missing the Glasgow landmarks and the dim and pleasant January sun. Earlier I had chatted on the phone to Stuart about the moment that winter turns to spring. Yeah, he said... the cusp. When he was in New York, on such a day, someone shouted at him, 'Hey faggot, take off the jacket!' Today Hugh was still in his cream furry all-in-one suit and a polka-dot bib. Somewhat camp until Spring crawls closer then...

-C

Mousey gets fresh!

-C

Inky Polaroid

Ah, my posting rate has slowed down again. So here is a random snapshot of this moment in time, an 'Inky Polaroid' as someone once called it.

It's raining outside. The windows have misted up on the inside, with baby clothes drying on the radiators. I am typing one-handed with Hugh feeding on my left side. I am wondering if I can get away with machine-washing a coat that says 'Dry Clean Only'.

I ate left-over Quorn chilli for lunch - for the third day in a row, but this I do not mind. I like to see things getting 'used up', as my mother's phrase goes; (she doesn't read the paper, she 'gets the paper read').

Hugh has rolled his sleepy wee head into the crook of my elbow and his mouth is still making tiny fish flutters into the air. It's just gone 3pm and I can hear school kids shouting in the distance. My carbohydrate craving for Earl Grey tea and decent scone-age is upon me. Should I get the wee man into the pram and hit the pavements?

-C

PS The Christmas tree in the flat opposite is now gone. Oh the relief!

Best laid plans...

Hugh had a wakeful night, my car battery went flat and we never got to the mums' group. But more importantly, why won't the people in the flat opposite us take down their Christmas tree? The gold star on the top is tipped at a wonky angle. Come on folks...

-C

New Mum Pals - the dance steps

Ah, motherhood, t'is good. Life is inching towards more of a routine. I try to get out with Hugh most days, and a new phenomenon has arisen - sizing up potential 'mummy' pals.

When I see suitable candidates in the local supermarket or cafes, I have an urge to start baby conversations in the hope that we can become New Mum Pals. (Often I'm timorous - as if I'm back at school and have to choose one of the boys for a country-dance partner). So - attributes of a suitable NMP candidate?

Woman pushing pram. Woman over 30, preferably over 35 (22 year olds need not apply - sorry!) An occasional strand of grey hair that has escaped the hair dye (I'll empathise). Nice coat or clothes I would love to own myself. A sense of humour. Of course, you can only detect humour after you have risked a few opening lines, hence the gambling nature of the situation.

I'm off to a mother and baby group tomorrow. It's in a church hall and they have sofas and rugs like an episode of Friends. There's a kitchen too and local woman run a wee cafe with great-value lunches. I'm so impressed with people who have vocational jobs and provide real community service. The people who make soup and pancakes from the goodness of their hearts, and then tidy the toys away at the end. Quiet heroism, if you ask me.

-C

Thank you letters and Crazy Banana Man

I keep wracking my brain to try and remember everyone who sent Hugh a present and make sure I thank them. I keep thinking I must be forgetting somebody. This was one of his first toys and I can't remember who bought it. I wave it in front of him every morning and sing my own composition entitled Crazy Banana Man. You just repeat the words Crazy Banana Man, preferably in an off-key tone. He loves it - for a few moments - and then he looks away towards the kitchen cupboard door. Well, they say you can have too much of a good thing. But hey, he'll love it tomorrow all over again. Thank you, thank you, oh giver of Crazy Banana Man, whoever you are.

-C