Pummelvision

This is slightly crazy and intense but a lot of fun...watch Max grow up and the seasons change at high speed over the last couple of years..

Things to do on a snowy day...

It has been snowing on and off here for about a month now and I've been out in it every day with my bike, on the bus, with the sledge or just on foot. Today, however, Max has a cold, Marion didn't get in from her office Christmas party until 1 am, and it's bloody freezing outside (around minus 5 during the day and now a couple of degrees less), none of which are conducive to getting me outside the front (or back) door.



So, what do we do when we really don't want to go outside? Well, today we built, baked and broomed (well, swept really but that's no good for the alliteration effect). We're now spotlessly clean and have boxes and boxes of Christmas biscuits to eat and give away.















And Max is STILL in his pyjamas!

Family Holiday in Croatia

It took me long enough to post this entry given that we went to Croatia in September. Problem is that Facebook often rather takes the place of the blog these days and sometimes I wonder how to differentiate one from another. Anyway, a friend told me the other day that her blog is her 'happy place' which is a very refreshing and positive way of looking at things. My blog isn't always a happy place. I often ponder here and offload my worries. But it IS a record of Max's life, my life, our life, and my thoughts about what is happening.

This entry is, however, definitely a happy one. In the last two weeks of September, we spent two wonderful weeks on the island of Korcula in southern Croatia (a ferry ride from Split). We travelled, for the first time, with what the Americans call an RV or recreational vehicle i.e. a great big bus thing which was our home for the fortnight. It was a fabulous experience. We all loved sleeping in the RV (Max slept well as he was happy to be close to us and we were happy to be close to him without having his feet in our face). We stayed in a wonderful spacious campsite shaded by pines with lots of space for Max and his bike and within spitting distance of the beach and sea. We were able to cycle almost everywhere or we caught little taxi boats around or off the island which thrilled Max no end. Max also had a growth spurt whilst we were there making restaurant experiences so much more relaxing and enjoyable as he was starving and keen to try lots of new things. All-in-all an experience I would recommend to any small family.

Event of the Autumn - Max starts Pre-School/Kindergarten!

Max's last day at nursery...



...and first day at Kindergarten




I will freely admit that this was a prospect I was rather worried about. I think I thought I knew it was time for him to move from nursery to pre-school but still wasn't entirely sure he was ready. It was highly likely that I would still have these feelings of unreadiness 3 years hence which does beg the question as to who exactly wasn't ready - me or him. Yet, he was still crying when we left him at nursery - admittedly only briefly but nonetheless heart-breakingly. He had sort of started to play a little with the other children but still wasn't overly sociable. Would he cope with all the bashy, bruisy big kids? He was used to being a big fish in a small sea and suddenly the tables were going to turn...

Well, I really needn't have worried. I could not have hoped for a better transition. The first couple of days I think he was just in shock. He was certainly excited about Kindergarten as a concept but I think hadn't quite twigged we were going to leave him with a room full of complete strangers! He did cry on being left - for the first two days. He then confidently informed us that he wasn't going to cry at Kindergarten never ever ever and has been true to his word ever since...

Here we are 3 months later and I can safely say he is settled and happy. I am not entirely sure what he does whilst I am gone as he and his teachers are both equally unforthcoming but I suppose no news is good news. One things I am certain of - he plays with the other children - quite a lot of rough and tumble and his language is developing in all sorts of directions and is full of colloquialisms both cute and less cute!

Long may his development and independence advance...as long as he doesn't forget about his Mummy!!

It seemed like a good idea at the time...

...but what on earth possessed me to do it?

I am living in a country where the bakers are great, the bread is great, there are great kebab places, you can get yummy fish sandwiches from the fishmongers, freshly grilled sausage sandwiches from the bakers and yet, and yet - I still decided to go to SUBWAY for lunch? And not only did I buy a sandwich from there but I ATE IN too!!

Surely I should have been put off from the very outset by all the daft questions they wanted to ask me about my sandwich - so, I want Teriyaki chicken on what sort of bread with what sort of (tasteless) cheese and do I want it toasted or not and what bits of (production line) salad and what sort of (gloopy MSG) sauce (to go with your chicken marinaded in gloopy MSG sauce). I chose the most German bread they had with seeds and rye (so why didn't I go the bakers?) and just kind of said yes to everything and picked out the first in the list of all the other options. It was cheaper to get a 'meal' apparently. So I got a 'meal'. That's 30cm of bread and gunk, a huge paper cup of coke and a packet of crisps. Sitting down to eat at the smeary formica tables scented with eau de dirty dishcloth accompanied by piped supermarket music and surrounded by lovely close-up pictures of tomatoes didn't cost me a cent extra! Wow! Glad I stayed!

The problem with Subway (for me) is that it's neither junk food nor is it healthy so basically it presses no buttons whatsoever and as I was slurping my way through the wet, tasteless sandwich filling I occupied myself by mentally writing this blog of regret. I knew it would come the moment I spilled the first drop of sweet onion gloop onto my trousers. Please, please remind me that I don't like Subway and although I am full, I would really like a proper lunch now please.

The joys of fertility treatment with a toddler in tow

So, to add to the difficulties of somewhat disturbed nights, we have decided to start trying for a brother or sister for little Maximilian.

I have to say that I never remember it being quite this traumatic. The main memories I have of the four and a half years we tried to get pregnant was failure upon failure. From quite early on, you feel as though need to mourn each failed attempt. That's an awful lot of grief. And then, of course, there was the overwhelming joy of it finally working and the resulting rollercoaster of motherhood so far.

This time, however, we haven't been so desperate for a positive result. Hopeful, of course. But not desperate. So, not being so focused on the result has meant that I have really felt the ups and downs of the procedure.

Firstly, there was the logistics of what to do with Max. We didn't want him to spend too much time away from his Mama or his Mummy so he kind of got juggled between the two of us and between England and Germany which he didn't really like too much. And neither did I. Of course we both liked spending time with family and friends but generally Max felt a bit unsettled and now, having spent 10 days away from me, I think we have all had enough! It's definitely time to go home! The one thing Max did enjoy though is trips on the train to our London clinic - he found the whole experience quite exciting and loved the picnics and Regents Park playground visits I treated him to afterwards. Of course he had a couple of lovely daytrips with his beloved Grandma too and since he has gone back to Germany, I have consistently had 8 top quality uninterrupted hours of sleep so it hasn't all been bad!

Secondly, there were all those horrid hormones - not only are they extortionately expensive, making me gulp every time I need to hand over the credit card for another vial of the stuff but my hormone swings made regular PMT seem like a walk in the park. We virtually had to hide the knives and provide anyone who comes into contact with me with a bullet-proof vest!

Finally, there was the worry of some severe abdominal pain after egg collection which had me in tears and got my Mum rushing me to the on-call docs at the hospital for a check-up. It turned out to be enlarged ovaries and some fluid and follicles that really shouldn't have been there given that my eggs had already been collected. The clinic doctor said it was a possible indicator of Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS) which is when the smelly hormones don't stop working even once you've stopped taking them (at least I got my money's worth!) This can be dangerous though so, for a while, they considered not transferring the embryos and scuppering the whole attempt. All the money, effort and upheaval for nothing.

However, the good news was that they did transfer two embryos in the end, and now it's just a case of 'watch this space' for the next two weeks!

Sleep is definitely NOT overrrated!

I guess it's no coincidence that this blog hasn't been updated since April - Max hasn't been sleeing too well. Since April. Just a phase we said....3 months ago. This is the longest phase of disrupted sleeping we have had since he was born and I think we have more or less decided it isn't going to solve itself quickly. So what's happening and what can we do about it?

The Scenario
Max's main aim appears to be to get into the maternal bed but the main problem is a) what happens before he gets there and b) what happens when he gets there. Entry to our room is, for some reason, frequently preceeded by small, medium or whopping great tantrums which appear to spring from nowhere and, ironically, involve, amidst the screaming and shouting, him telling us to "go away / geh weg!" Of course other kids often want to be in bed with their parents too and this is probably a normal phase but the tantrums are beyond the pale. The only thing we appear to be able to do when Max has these little 'fits' is instruct him to tell us when he needs a cuddle i.e. when he has finished. No point in touching him because you just get beaten about the head.

Then, what happens when Max is actually in the bed with us? Sometimes he sleeps peacefully which is fine but often enough there is a period or two of tossing and turning and feet in the face and diagonal positions and needing the blanket on and the blanket off and the blanket the other way round which leads to a generally disturbed night for everyone.

The Options

We have tried various half-hearted solutions - returning him when he is asleep, taking him back when he is tossing and turning - but nothing very consistent or insistent. Just to make sure things he doesn't make anything too easy for us, Max has also decided he doesn't want to wear a nappy at night and, even if he does have one on, he still wakes to tell us he needs a wee so we are in the process of doing away with nighttime nappies too...too much at once? Probably. End of our teathers? Definitely.

We need to get tough. The soft option of either letting him carry on until he grows out of it or returning him to bed when he falls asleep (which we sometimes do and it usually leads to him returning a couple more times in the night) is, as time goes on, not looking so attractive anymore.

So, it's either quick return (a la Tanya Byron) or a stairgate on his bedroom door. Big question is what happens in between - controlled crying, cold turkey, crying it out? Given that I am in the UK (well rested) and Marion is back in Germany looking after Max and his nighttime escapades alone, we haven't quite developed a plan of action yet. We think we'll try and return him every time he comes but what about the tantrums? And what if he genuinely needs a wee? And what if it doesn't work? And what if one of us has a nervous breakdown first??

As usual, answers on a postcard...

Confessions of a Mum...

I hope and pretty much suspect that I am not the only one who feels like this. But sometimes I really do want to trade my son in for another model.

I do love him with all my heart, more than I have ever loved anyone or anything ever. But sometimes (now) he drives me nuts. On the one hand, he is (generally) handsome and bright and talkative and sensitive and funny and cute and thoughtful. On the other hand, he is (right now) grumpy and over-sensitive and pathetic and clingy and whingeing and fussy. Am glad to see that the positive adjectives outweigh the negative here. That gives me hope. Unfortunately, the negative side is just so draining that I feel as though I could flop into a big jelly-like pile after ten minutes with him at the moment.

OK, I understand he has just been poorly. But, as far as I can see he is now better. And I know he is probably teething and his mouth is a little sore. But I think he is milking that too.

I am a bad nurse. I have very limited patience. I have a vicious temper. How on earth did I become a Mum? Worst possible characteristics for that particular role.

But, did I mention that I love him with all my heart, more than anyone or anything ever? I guess that is, or at least will have to be, enough.

Sunshine on a rainy day...

When Max is feeling a bit grotty or things are a bit tough (right now we have a nice herpes-like virus all over his tongue which makes it very painful for him to eat), I like to remember the nice, cute, funny things my little boy says or does. It makes the whining more bearable. The other day we were talking about the weekend my Mum came to stay. "MY Grandma", said Max (possessively) "Yes, YOUR Grandma", I responded. "No!" retorted Max "I Grandma NOT. I Max!" That one certainly made me laugh out loud! And yesterday, when he pointed at a picture of a pineapple in his book and said "porcupine!" This age can be very tough but there is compensation aplenty with the cuteness of these little people, don't you think?

Switch your brain on before you fly!

At the risk of completely embarrassing my beloved mother and brother, here is a little story.

The pair of them were due to arrive for a weekend visit (my brother's first) on Friday morning. At 6:30 am, I receive a call from my brother. "Is your flight delayed?' I ask. "Kind of" he responds. What transpires is that he had arrived at the airport minus his passport. Not clever. But, not yet an insurmountable problem. He could get on the next flight (for a small donation to Easyjet) and my Mum would still be able to fly to us on the morning flight, right? Sure, in theory. Unfortunately, on checking in, it became clear that my nice but dim mother had booked for them both to fly on 19th February (exactly one month earlier). Thus, no-one was going anywhere on that ticket! An expensive journey into the world of very last minute flight booking later and they were tucked up in bed sleeping off the effects of a disaster, ticket for same flight next day (+ 2 passports) in bag....Oh, but it isn't over yet....

The next morning at 6am (5am GMT) I receive a call from my Mother. In tears. Distraught. Beside herself. "We have only just woken up", she laments. Now, the flight is at 6 am from an airport which is an hour away. You do the maths. They weren't going to make that flight. Now I was a mixture of disappointed (I really love my family and hate that they are so far away) and furious (how on earth can anyone think their body clocks will wake them at 4 am WITHOUT the help of an alarm clock?!) After realising rather quickly that there was no way I could do anything from here at 6 on a Saturday morning, I told them both to calm down, get back in the car, get to the airport and try to sweet talk the Easyjet staff there. They certainly weren't going to have a problem switching on the waterworks for sympathy! As luck would have it, with another minimal donation, Easyjet was willing to put them on the lunchtime flight (the staff probably just thought it was best to get these fools out of the country otherwise they would still be trying to get their flight to Munich a week later). I told them, on pain of death, not to leave the airport. At any cost. They didn't, and eventually, only 2 days late, they arrived to a very, very happy, bouncy Max on Saturday evening. A wonderful weekend was had by all with zoos and swimming pools, ice-creams and sunshine galore. Thank goodness it all worked out OK in the end!

This is clearly a cautionary tale - switch your brain on before you fly everybody!

Snotty-nosed again..

It's never ending. The snot. Gallons of it. Poor little man (and poor us too). Had to pick him up from nursery again on Monday because he had / has a temperature. It seems like it has been never ending this month. I think he has been cold-free for about a week. He promptly fell asleep on the Fat Boy (yes, in front of the telly).

Felt like an awful Mum this morning dropping him off at nursery all puffy-eyed, snotty-nosed and pale (and that's just me after a month of interrupted nights!) But I just have to work and besides, the distraction should help him forget about his cold shouldn't it? I am a rubbish nurse anyway. Just ask the wife. Do I have to be able to deal with snot to be a good Mum?

Smothering them?

It's a tough old thing being a parent. We want to protect our little 'angels' from all the dangerous and horrid things out there, yet, at the same time, we don't want to smother them. How do we get the balance right? How do we stop ourselves from becoming control freaks disempowering our small fry and preventing them from developing skills on their own?

This central question seems to infiltrate everything I do as a Mother. The most obvious place is at the dinner table. All my issues revolve around the dinner table. That's half the problem, I guess. I want (and need) to let Max feed himself 100% independently but, at the same time, I want (and need) him to eat the right things so that he is fit and healthy and grows and flourishes. I actually wish he would just refuse the spoon when it comes towards his mouth held by me but he is a lazy / insecure little man and doesn't really care that much if he gets to play and read a book whilst I shovel in the meat and vegetables. At the same time, though, I know he needs to practice eating on his own so he knows when to stop, knows what he likes and doesn't like and, last, but by no means least, to save me from having to wash his clothes every time he has eaten a meal and missed his mouth! He needs to want to feed himself and I need to keep my hands tied behind my back or I'll be writing the same blog entry when he is 5!

The same goes for letting him do 'dangerous' and precarious activities. He needs to learn to climb and run and jump but, for the first while, he isn't going to understand his own capabilities properly and, being my son, he probably isn't going to be very coordinated and good at all that physical stuff. I don't want him to break his neck but, he also needs to work out his own boundaries so I shouldn't stop him from teetering on top of a stool or chair or even falling off his balancing bike. Only thing is, I'm not sure how quick my own reactions are and don't know if I would catch him. And and and what if I don't catch him? And he falls and never wants to climb or get on to a bike again? I know, I know - me being scared makes him scared but he still manages to be a whole lot braver than me!

Tough calls, over and over again. Max is still little but he isn't a baby any more and he needs to explore. For quite he while he used to only want to play with me and be where I or his Mama was. It got on my nerves. I was dying for him to be independent and self-sufficient. And now that he is often in another room and I can't always see or hear him, I get the heebie-jeebies about that too! Where are you Max? What are you up to darling? Talk to me! Of course playing quietly is never a good sign either - bound to be up to no good!

So, you are damned if you do and damned if you don't. As I said, tough old job this mothering thing!

My vegetarian son

The thing is, one of my (many) constant worries about Max is that he isn't fond of meat. He loves fish, but doesn't even really like chicken that much which means I am constantly looking for new sources of protein to ensure he has a balanced diet. However, we recently discovered that when he can see the whole chicken/goose/slab of whatever meat, he is much more interested. He was very excited about roast chicken recently, for that very reason. This evening he loved leg of lamb cooked in a whole bottle of red wine and with two heads of garlic (can I get in trouble for that? I am sure the alcohol had burnt off!) and he was especially keen on having a good old chew on the bone after tea! I guess he isn't such a serious vegetarian after all!

More snow...

It snowed all night and this morning, an inch in an hour. We decided to go sledging with Max again. It was still snowing and bitterly cold. He wasn't overly impressed and took a lot of convincing. Half way up the hill, Max on the sledge, Marion and I chatting away, the sledge suddenly felt a bit light and we realised Max had fallen off the back and was laying like an upturned beetle half way down the slope! He was even less impressed with that! He went on one little ride down the hill with his Mama which he he seemed to enjoy but then decided we really ought to tow him back home, thank you very much! My sensitive little mouse.

Hot cocoa and cups of tea all round!

Pink pasta!

Just discovered a really yummy new thing to do with beetroot. Previously, every time they arrived in our veg box, I was rather uninspired and did Russian beef borsht. Yummy though borsht is, when you have done it about a hundred times, it gets a bit boring. Also, I made a New Year's resolution to try and break out of my culinary rut and cook beyond my repertoire at least once a week. Took a quick look in my Abel and Cole cookbook and discovered 'Roasted beetroot penne'. As pink is Max's favourite colour, I figured this would be a winner of a family meal and, indeed it was. Max loved his pink pasta and pink vegetables and so did we. Delicious. Bright and cheery and yet rather sophisticated at the same time.

You need:

About 700g fresh beetroot
A few glugs of olive oil
400g penne or some other chunky pasta
3 crushed garlic cloves
Juice of half a lemon
Half a mug of single cream

To garnish:
Lots of freshly grated parmesan
Finely chopped toasted walnuts
Chopped fresh parsely or basil (parsley is better)

Oil the beetroot, oil a roasting pan and roast the beetroot wrapped in tin foil for about an hour or so (an hour or a half if they are bigger). Let them cool, then chop them into bite sized pieces (or if it's for kids, whatever size they can deal with). Cook your pasta. Fry the beetroot and garlic in oil for about 5-10 minutes (until it's warmed through - medium heat). Turn the heat down and add the cream a bit at a time. The colour is fabulous. You can't fail to be cheered by it. Add the lemon juice. Add the pasta and warm it all through. Serve topped with your toasted walnuts, grated parmesan and chopped parsley. Apart from the roasting of the beetroot, it's quick and definitely easy.

He was supposed to be sleeping!

We put Max down for his lunchtime nap late today as he slept until after 8 (very unusual for him). He seemed to be happily chatting away for ages then went a bit silent and we figured he had dropped off. About 20 minutes later - 'Mama, Mama'. It seems he had found an artistic use for the Sudocrem! He was very proud!

Let it snow...

I just don't get it. BBC news has 'snow' as a major headline and they manage to report on it for at least half of the programme. The trains aren't running, the bins are overflowing, the airports are closed, the streets unnavigable. Why, oh why, can Britain never cope with anything other than extreme dampness?

Here, in Regensburg, we have just as much snow and it has pretty much been coming down constantly since we returned (3 days late due to Gatwick being closed and Easyjet being a bit rubbish). Everyone clears their own front drives and their own path - can you believe there was a news article about this happening in the UK? Here it is a foregone conclusion and, by law, has to be done before 7am. The buses are running, the schools are open, the paths gritted, the roads cleared by about 8 (even the side streets) and life generally goes on as normal. It isn't even a subject of discussion.

Max isn't particularly interested or phased either - thinks it's a bit cold, doesn't want to wear gloves but does rather like to eat snow and ice...watch out for the 'doggy poo' Mummy!