Growing into his highchair

Mummy bought Baby Brother a highchair last week. He was going to have used my old one, but the mice in the loft got hungry and ate part of it! I don't think they'll try that with this one though: it's got lions on it!

The eyes have it

Baby brother can't talk with his mouth yet, but his eyes do a pretty good job of saying what needs to be said. Here he is talking to a smile.

Daddy's fan club

No coercion was involved in making baby brother participate - honest!

Summer Holiday

Oh, I did like being by the seaside. So did baby brother ...

... when he wasn't asleep (which he was most of the time we were on the beach - except when he was feeding - which he was most of the time!)

Isn't he lovely?

Wanna-be blogger

Baby Sitter

I’m now a big sister!

I went to the hospital the other day. Guess who I went to see? My new baby brother.

Isn’t he cute!

I was a bit reluctant to hold him at first. The trouble is, you see, that whenever he cries my hands go to my ears, and I turn a bit pink. You can’t hold a baby when your hands are covering your ears.

I explained my strange behaviour to Daddy this morning. Babies can’t talk, so the only way they can tell us things is by crying. But decoding the cry is quite difficult, so I cover my ears up to help me think better. And I turn pink because pink rhymes with think!

More gratuitous cuteness:

Meet the Police Force's newest recruit:

My first job was to put myself under surveillance:


They're not going to lock me up in the back of the van are they?

I'm getting very behind with posting pictures, aren't I? I do apologise. Anyway, here's one of the birthday cake that Mummy made me for my birthday.

And here's me taking part in the May day celebrations:

Speaking ones mind for the good of society

It is the prerogative of every four-year-old girl to voice her thoughts, whatever the subject, in the presence of the subject, without the slightest embarrassment. I try to exercise that prerogative for the good of the whole of society.

On a walk to the park the other day, I saw a man coming towards us, puffing on a cigarette. I waited until he was within earshot, and then said, with as much disdain as I could muster,

“Oh Mummy! Keep away from that man who’s smoking”.

As he passed, and the fumes cleared, I suddenly remembered something Granny had told me the other day, and chuckled. Mummy looked at me quizzically.

“You were a silly girl when you were little, Mummy”, I explained. “You thought that smokesticks were called firesticks!”.

Who’s the cutest?

When, in other words

Yesterday morning I found a sweet lying around in Mummy and Daddy’s bedroom. I concluded it must have escaped from Daddy’s stash, looking for somebody nicer to be eaten by.

“Mummy, can I have this sweet?” I asked, yet without much hope; I could predict the answer.

“Not now – you haven’t had breakfast yet”, replies Mummy, right on cue.

“Then when can I have the sweet, Mummy”, I persist.

“Later, maybe”, she says.

“When later?”

“When I say so”

“But when, Mummy?”

“If you say ‘When, Mummy’ one more time, you won’t be having it all!”. Mummy thinks she’s had the last word.

So I let the matter rest. For, say, thirty seconds.

“At what moment may I have the sweet, Mummy?”

Asda in a van

A man in a van came to our house the other night; I was allowed to wait up to see him. On its side, the van bore the letters “ASDA” in bold green type, letters that I now associate with the tedium of trudging up and down aisles, putting tins and things in trolleys.

The van driver brought a load of boxes to our front door in which were bags of groceries: it was amazing – he seemed to know exactly what was usually on our shopping list. I scurried back and forth along the hall, ferrying loaves of bread and such-like to the kitchen.

“It will be midnight by the time we’ve finished this”, I remarked to Daddy, in great hope.

Sadly I didn’t manage to spin it out for that long, and bed-time was called when the big-hand was only half a circle further round than usual.

But next morning, I was still thinking about the whole affair. “It’s a good idea, a man bringing the shopping to our house”, I told Mummy. “It saves me getting bored going round the shop.”

Then another thought struck me.

“Do they do clothes like that?”

The Chemistry of Kettles

“What happens to water when you put it in the freezer”, Daddy asked me one day.

That was easy.

“It makes ice”, I replied.

“Then what happens to ice when it gets warm?”, Daddy continued.

That was easy too. There was an ice-cream lid in front of me, and on it, white ice crystals were slowly turning into clear droplets – in fact this was what got Daddy started on his impromptu Chemistry lesson.

“It turns into water”, I said, to Daddy’s satisfaction. Then came his final question.

“And what happens to water when you put it in the Kettle?”

Followed by my reply.

“It makes Tea!”

Still feeling Christmassy?

Still have any Christmas spirit left over?

Perhaps these pictures will help you get in the mood for next Christmas (not long now).

My favourite present - as you can see!


My highest tech present.


My audition for Christmas Pudding!