Unrequited Toddler Love.

At this age it's all about unrequited love. Kisses are often not returned, hugs are wriggled out of and 'sorry' isn't a familiar word in their vocabulary...it really is all about them, the way people tell you that it will be and you shrug it off thinking, 'that will never be my child!' Eh, well people fail to mention that this is every toddler and yours will be no exception. Just believe me when I say that ;).

Pondering the potty (training)

Today I woke up with something on my mind: pants and potty training. 


It's been on my mind for an unusually long time because I know we're drawing nearer and nearer to the time that is completely nappy-free. Waking thoughts seemed to be consumed with what colour/theme of pants to buy and what size. 18-24 months or 2-3 years?


Then I began to think about the hits and misses we've had so far. The misses are memorable because they don't happen often and the hits are memorable because...well we've been lazy. We haven't been using the potty an awful lot lately. And Roman doesn't really like the big seat on our loo.

Things seemed easier earlier on in the game, at 7 months, when we had that first pee in the potty. He wouldn't put his hands up and exclaim 'Ma, Ma, Ma!' over and over. He would just go. And sometimes he wouldn't. But either way it was simple then.


Now he is more independent, assertive 


...and can run like a bat out of hell. 

North of Scotland: Being there.

So if you haven't already read 'part one' of our little trip then go here to read it.


So...if you've read part one you'll be up to speed that we took our 19/nearly 20 month old on a long journey on public transport and all was well (kind of) by the end of the trip. 


I'm going to admit that I never took a lot of photos while we were away because I was so distracted or busy. But here's what I did get...

So...after our trip we got to my parents lovely house. Where we froze for the night until we figured out the heating. 


I had a few things to take care of while we were up there but once I was done, I spent time with the two of them. We'd huddle around the TV and catch up with Quantum Leap or Raising Hope (two of the best TV shows made, I think.) 

Roman loved the zoo up there. On the first few days the cats were very wary of him, every time he'd shout 'CAT!' and chase after them they were like speeding bullets out a gun. By the fourth day they would let him clap them. He was very careful and gentle with them. Shadow was the opposite. At first she would be okay with him, but then as time wore on her growls got louder. One time she even 'herded' him by butting her head on his side.


This called for splitting the room in two - Fort Roman was made...

More pictures...with a little narration. 

One of the days we went into town. We waited an hour for a bus.

The bus finally showed...

 (1) inside the sweet shop, loads of chocolate-inspired mugs. (2) 1,000 welcomes. (3) Thistle bag.

I really enjoy going to this sweet shop when I'm in Thurso. Pretty much all of their sweets/candy aren't vegan, but it's how I remember sweet shops; hard boiled sweets and other goodies in jars, known as 'quarters.' 

Something Scandinavian about this...

Bryan bought himself some chips...so we gave Roman his first chippy chip. He was a fan so had another. I think, when he's a lot older, we'll have chippies every so often. I hadn't wanted to give Roman any chocolate or junk foods as obesity, heart disease and other problems relating to food are such a huge problem in Scotland but I figure if we are sensible about it and show Roman how to manage his eating then we can't go wrong - that is far healthier than trying to not give him these things ever. 

Could he live without these things? Yes. Of course. But if we, the parents, are going to eat these foods then it would be hypocritical not to allow them. 

And since we're talking about food. This is how vegans cook anything that requires eggs (although, not really, I just use oil when I don't have egg replacer.)

And it comes up looking like wall paper paste. Yummy wall paper paste. Mmm.

{Peanut butter and chocolate button cookies - not a fan of the buttons but there were hardly any in there.}

To finish: some yummy 'cakies' which were meant to be cookies but baked big and cake-like.

And this, my friends, concludes our little holiday up north. Going home was hilarious...but that's another story ;). 

Adventures.

 I'm off on an adventure to the Highlands of Scotland today. Wish me luck as we pack for all kinds of weather that might happen; rain, sun and wind. 


I'm off to look after my parents cats and dog; Shadow. I'm sure I'll inundate you with pictures and Highland tales on my return...I'll just have to get through all the washing first.


This was last night's task: the packing. 

What's in the suitcase? It's his stuff. Not too much, not too little and just enough to cover almost any season. Scotland is like that. Temperamental with it's seasons.

I was going to try and fit everything into this bag, my hospital bag. But I was fooling myself big time.

Wish me luck. We're about to do a 6 hour journey with an almost 20 month old. Hope we end up with passengers similar to ones we got last time; by all accounts I think they were grandparents and they spoiled Roman for two hours with their time and funny faces. 

Which was a welcome change to the dirty faces many other passengers pulled when we dared bring a buggy onto public transport. Roman wasn't even making any noise and that's why they call it public transport. I don't always want to travel with smelly rude people but I don't have the luxury of choice if I travel on a train. 


So please, fellow passengers, who're giving me death glares, please keep the assumptions to a minimum. I'm not going to let my child needlessly scream, squeal and if he cries I will try to do all I can to soothe and comfort him. It's not always possible. I, too, get my head done in by the screams of children. It's not as though motherhood has somehow prepared me any better for them. 

A new name. No new photographs. And an old/new blog.

Sorry peeps, no photo's to go with this post...

Okay...unless you like praying babies. I promise he just started doing that all of his own accord and we didn't make him drink any special Kool Aid or use one of our many brainwashing techniques from our arsenal of trickery.

Anyway...blogging. It's a bit of an art form this writing gig, isn't it? I mean sure, any one can have a blog but it takes someone special to enthral an audience, understand who they're speaking too (for me it's going to be Mamas who're anywhere between 20-35 and Grannies who have Grandson's called Roman) and to have fun while they're writing.

A few days ago I decided to delete this blog. But then I realised* (after reading a few crap blogs); "What am I doing?" and retrieved it out of the Blogger recycle bin. Not that they have a recycle bin, but I'm sure you're still with me on this...

My purpose still remains the same. Be as sarcastic as ever, report back on the goings on of my life in the least dull manner I can muster and take plenty of photographs in the process. Oh and also remain weird and fail miserably at being a Molly Mormon. Which suits me just fine as it suits you, my lovely captive audience because you're all a little different in a very good way. In fact I'm sure if we lived closer and I wasn't such a rubbish friend that we'd be the best of friends.

And if you're not the above audience then I can only assume you're reading this because you're nosey and you followed a link or an image from somewhere. That's okay. I'd probably admire your candour in real life and you're welcome to the party, too.

Oh and if you were here previously you'd also realise that the outdated name of "Three Five Six" is gone. To be honest I'm not sure why I had it set as that in the first place... I mean I know this was supposed to be a behind-the-scenes blog following on from my 365 Project but the name just sucks. But it's okay, we live and learn after all. 

I have kept the URL to keep things simple - after all I'd lose my fan club if I wiped this blog, who wants that?  

I've now re-branded and we're now going to be called "Chasing Roman." It's a name that will never go out of date. I will forever be Chasing Roman from his toddler days right through to his teens (and beyond?).

Anyway, enjoy the changes! Enjoy my posts! Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy!

*There also may have been an uprising on Facebook for the return of the blog. Rather than face the wrath of the potential fall out that would be deletion of this blog, I brought it back to life. 

Growing and growing. And growing.

Parenting: going by in a blur. 

I don't know where 18, nearly 19, months have gone. I would have 10 children if they could all be like this. But that's not reality. The reality is that everything is a gamble and that having babies is a gamble. 


For me that gamble is knowing I could make myself more sick, perhaps totally crippled and totally confined to bed/my house forever more. That's a daunting and scary thought. As it stands I will never be that mother who pushes her child in a swing at the park. Meanwhile life moves on for others and Roman gets bigger - and smarter - by the minute.


He is figuring out this World around him without my help, aided completely by his curiosity and helped by my inability to move fast and keep up with every leap, bound and stride he takes.

The mimicking has reached a new height. He copes e v e r y t h i n g I do. He wants to be in my business constantly. And has no regard for doing it to my standards - he just wants to learn, he just wants to be part of all the excitement and be wherever there is something going on.

When my Mum told me that I shouldn't be so quick to have him walking, she was spot on. But of course, as children do, I didn't take it seriously. I was in a flap about him not walking so much that I got over excited when he did start walking...and now...well now I find myself trying to claw back the babyhood a little. Stay a little bit tiny, for now, stay in my arms and on my lap. But he is too quick, too fast and already has me beat on physical strength. 

On top of this, he is asserting his independence on a daily basis by running behind the couch, his new trick of opening the door, brushing his hair and teeth, dressing and undressing himself and sitting on the toilet seat - where did my baby go? And when did the big boy move in?

He doesn't particularly like TV - and, well, we don't own a TV, but he does get to watch some Arthur or Mr Bloom when I'm struggling during the day -, but worships his book collection. He loves to take baths, loves his ducks in the bath and is growing tired of water being dumped on his head and falling into his eyes.

We never did follow Baby Lead Weaning (smack on the wrist because we started him on food at 4 months when I felt under pressure for him to put on weight and didn't want to move him onto formula) so on Sunday I handed him the spoon and let him get to work on a yoghurt that he made short work of...

I wasn't going to mention this at all but I am getting a new camera. And I am excited. 

I had a plan which involved not mentioning it to anyone and dazzling everyone with the amazing photo's I'm going to take...but the truth is simple and it's this; no matter how great my camera, my lenses, lighting and any other equipment - I need to stay true to that original fire in my belly feeling. I need to keep my passion going and not be trampled down by all these 'rules' that photographers seem to follow. After all a majority of my 365 photos were taken on a mobile phone and I didn't let it stop me back then. 

Ro, why must you grow?

In an effort to get better organised for our move I decided to start somewhere that won't overwhelm me too much; my SD memory card. I came across photographs taken in Feb-March and was taken aback by just how much Roman has changed.

Between being a full time Mum, moving to a new place and everything between I have some time to think. And ponder.


For a start I don't think about things too much any more. If I did I think I would be freaked out that I'm married and not only that, I have a child. I am a mother. I thought it would be this massive deal and although it is; the days merge into one, weeks are a lump sum and suddenly I find myself tallying up months and now we're onto the second year of my son's life. 


How can time move so quickly? 


When I held a newborn in my arms I wanted so much. I pondered a lot; I can't wait until he can speak, walk and eat meals with us.


I wonder now how my parents must feel - to know that those newborn babies grew up and had babies of their own. I want that so much for Roman but at the same time, can I really picture it? Yes, of course, in some far away and distant visual but in reality I can't see it because it feels like a million years away. But it will come. And I'll probably cry tears of mixed emotions.


P.S: when you read this post I will hopefully be in the bosom of my new place! I'm running a few scheduled posts that I've written in advance - isn't technology wonderful?

Walking update.

Image: Days old Ro, hooked on standing up constantly.

I have this neurosis about Ro. And him not walking yet. I never put that onto him or force him to walk; I've always been a relaxed parent and I like to think I have encouraged his development rather than forced it.


After all, he can say coherent words that other people understand, can string together sentences of two to three words so I am pretty happy. And blessed. 


However, he isn't walking.


I know it will be fine. I know everything's well. But he is my first child. Go easy on me in the comments ;). Please don't tell me "not to worry" because I am not worried. I don't think I ever worry unless I have reason to worry...and seriously? Telling a Mama 'not to worry', who are you trying to kid?


I'm more in distress or turmoil over his non-walking state because there are babies months younger than him happily toddling around on two legs meanwhile he's happy to scamp around crawling. Little monkey.


Both me and B were 10 months when we were walking so I am wondering where this rogue non walking gene has come from and have vague recollections of stories about my Mum's Dad (who I never met as he died when she was 12) and the fact he didn't walk until he was around two years old. My Gran also says Ro resembles my Granpa Scott, so there we have it. A rogue gene from a man I only know about from a few photos and a few hundred stories. Case solved, I think.


Ro is happy to toddle around on his knees and I am not going to stop him. I am going to encourage whatever he wants to do and if every other kid in the World is walking, dancing, twirling and running before him, let them. Um...well, you know, if he's not walking before Christmas then I am probably going to be worried, but you know...till then he can keep scamping around the floor, picking up bits of random fluff, offering them up to me and saying; "FANK CHOO!" 


And amongst the viruses we've all had, the recurring night sweats I've had, the meals not consumed and the housework gone eternally undone someone decided they might want to join this two footed World of nonsense after all...

Image: He was constantly sitting down and standing like this for ages.

Thank you for keeping my neurosis under control by standing for me, Ro!

And yes, as you can see, I wasn't joking about that 'housework eternally undone' statement.

Bad Week.

We had to go to the hospital on Wednesday.


I wasn't too scared because the doctor hadn't ordered an ambulance but I was scared at the urgency he wanted us at the Children's Ward. I promised myself that no matter what I would be there through every and any horrible procedure. It wasn't about me, it was about my son and he needed my strength. I haven't always been so stringent about these things as I couldn't be in the room when, at a few days old, he had a heel prick Guthrie test. Stupid, really, after all we'd just been through together with his birth.


B was of course there, along with his parents.


Things moved slowly but quicker than any time I have been to hospital and every time a doctor or nurse came into the room they did a good job at reassuring us.


Luckily I'd had the foresight to pack an overnight bag - but guess what? We had an awesome doctor (who is the second person to pick up on Ro's Umbilical hernia) who was confident about sending us home, along with the ward telephone number and an absolute assurance from us that we'd call if he got worse - which is a given.


I was beginning to get comfortable living with these two healthy people; happy in the fact that we don't have to rush to hospital, get blood drawn or be scared half to death with the disease of every parent's nightmares. 


I don't think smugness is chastised but I do think that I need to stop getting comfortable in all these temporary situations in life when everything can change in a minute.

Roman's Fathers Day gift.

Yesterday we had a delivery.

 B has been driving me up the wall since last week about his kettlebell. I've had chapter and verse on this little (it's actually quite heavy and bigger than I thought) contraption.

Anyway, I don't care how big it is or that it seems mighty unsteady, I'm just glad it's here.

I have my husband back to some kind of normality and relatively content. 

Which is more than can be said about me after Sunday's hair cutting fiasco. Yeah, as you can tell, we have a Mini G.I Joe in our midst. I'm still coming to terms with his shorn locks - and I don't care if my Dad says it makes him look 'grown up' as he was the one who took my 18 month (or was it 2 year old?) old brother to the barbers and tell them he wanted a number one all over. My Mum didn't even recognise her own son when she saw what my Dad had done. I think I had the same reaction on Sunday only I caught B half way through the hair cut - with lots of shrieking and tears from the Boy - only to realise he'd have to keep going. 

Anyway, his head feels like a jaggy, fuzzy peach. He wasn't a bald baby so I'm not used to it at all; I'm used to wild, free flowing mind-of-it's-own kind of hair. And I've also grown a very thick, almost reptilian, layer of skin when it comes to the personal crap people say to me about my own son. 

"Oh! Are you not giving him a hair cut?" No, we're never cutting it EVER! In fact he's going to be a giant hair monster. Didn't we tell you? Oh yeah, we never, because it's none of your business ;). 

So, hair aside, the kettle bell was Roman's Fathers Day present to B. When I quizzed him about what he'd like some weeks ago he replied; "A really nice knife." Concerned that he was a serial killer while I slept, I gave him The Look and asked why a knife. "I hate our knives, they're crap," he replied. "So I'd really like a nice, good, sharp knife for Father's Day."

I found this really odd because before we were married B made a comment about appliances as presents (he won't remember but I do.) I can't remember our conversation, but it was about rubbish gifts people might buy each other (of which I have never been a recipient I'm glad to say) and B pipes up with; "That's about as clever as getting your wife a hoover (vacuum) for Christmas." That comment made my year because B is like me, he get's the whole gift thing and he, like me, buys very thoughtful and well thought out gifts - and since we've been married it's only got better. 

So I was surprised; surprised he'd asked for a knife and surprised because I thought he'd push his luck into getting something better. I was also surprised when I announced he should get something better than a good knife and told him to buy a kettlebell - and to do it before I changed my mind.

I think I'm a pretty awesome wife as wives go. I'm down with a lot of things B wants to do, I support all his crazy ideas (although, generally, that's me with the crazy ideas) and I get him things he's wanted for years. And he doesn't buy me appliances for birthdays or Christmas - and when he does buy them there is no 'this is for you' feeling about it.

Although, I do get pretty excited about new appliances.

 That's until I have to use them.

Please remember I am doing a wonderful give away! For full details go HERE.

Sweet Like Chocolate.

Saturday was an interesting day. Chocolate bagels for breakfast are always fun - I broke a piece off my bagel for Roman because all hell breaks loose if you don't.

Today I thought a lot about babies and how sweet it would be to have another one; oh how this memory of mine fools me into false senses of security constantly.

I wrote a whole post about baby-dreaming. I wrote about the fact of how sweet another little bundle of squiggly joy would be. Then I reminded myself of something; I am seriously ill, it won't happen. I have gone through my whole life reminding myself of that and somehow we knew to have Roman. We knew we should do it, no matter that the doctors were prodding and poking me from all angles to tie down specifically what my body was putting me through.

So many options were put to me and all I could feel in my mind, burning into every thought was this; HAVE A BABY NOW. I didn't think it would happen, so I went with it, completely trusting this feeling. Knowing all good things led to it. 

So many things happened leading up to the pregnancy and so many things happened as soon as we found out. We were both unemployed within days of each other. We lost a whole lot of money because our Government screwed things up with our unemployment money - which I never claimed in the end. So many people made things difficult for us around me. I was so miserable and so very sick.

But I knew all good things led to this pregnancy. This one burning feeling, this one sure thing I had known throughout. 

Things have changed dramatically since that time in our lives. It was a bleak period but we survived it. We needed it and we needed to survive it because now I know how much I can truly endure. Unemployment, sickness, poverty, being a carer. I can do that. I might not be very good at it, but I can do that. Not much can take away from my confidence any more.

So, back to babies. I love my son so much. I guess I'm like a lot of good parents; I want the good things in life for him. I never want his life to end up like ours was for that year and a half, but then I don't want him to be spoiled by never experiencing real life.

Life seems so easy when you have it good and when it's bad you just want it to stop. Or for something to happen to make it all better.

I think the reality is that you have to face the facts of your situation and deal with what you can deal with and forget what you can't.

I shouldn't worry about never having another baby, if it's meant to be it will be. If not, that's okay. I'll be okay with it. And not because I have to be okay with it - but because I trust that feeling, that little prompt, the thoughts that burn through to everything I think and I will know if it's right or not. 

Until then, I'm soaking up everything in life.

Don't forget my give away ends this Tuesday (7th June.) To enter, go HERE.

I'll call this set: Thoughtful Little Man Stares out of Window.

We spent the last week of March at my parents in the Scottish Highlands.

I hadn't been there in over a year. Travelling and ME don't mix at all. 

The scenes that you see up there are utterly breath taking. I have been all over the UK and little impresses me until I head up to the North of Scotland.

It truly is stunning.

I love being there with Roman because my parents have carpets. This is an exciting prospect when you come from a home without carpets, when your home has horrible laminate flooring throughout (I hate laminate flooring; it's cold, requires more upkeep, attracts more hair, dirt, dust etc and Roman can't stand up on the floor.) 

I probably sound utterly Bourgeois, but there you have it. 

I slept and ate well.

The normal pressures were gone. 

The slurping noises of B eating or the way he breathes seemed to matter less. 

But nonetheless, the days slipped by too easily and too quickly.

And then we got back on the train home where we were back to our old ways of me not sleeping till 4am, getting 4 hours of sleep (me) and the breathing and eating noises really annoying me.

Thinking about: My 14 month old doesn't walk. But he sure can talk.

(Excuse the quality of the photo, it was taken on my camera phone.)

10 months ago things were looking good on the physical development front.

I wasn't worried (apart from the time he wasn't sitting up by himself for ages.) He was 4 months and had mastered rolling over.

Also, I want to make it clear that the above photograph was taken when Ro Ro was 10 weeks old. He was determined he was going to walk. Even then.

I thought to myself; "We're going to have a circus act on our hands by the time he's 2 years old." I pictured him lifting cars and wearing his underpants on top of his spandex trousers. Maybe a gold 'R' emblazoned on the chest of his spandex suit.

Not really.

I just imagined that we'd be a lot further on physically right now. I'm not letting it eat me alive - again - but I am starting to think; "why doesn't my 14 month old walk already?"

He gets himself around just fine. He crawls anywhere and everywhere he can get too. Once he's arrived at his destination he'll pick himself up and shuffle along on his feet. Or he'll fall onto his bum and begin the crawl.

And sometimes he nabs things off tables, crawls away with them and lies on his back to enjoy them, happy as a clam.

I need to learn his lesson in calm, in not freaking out. In just going with how he develops. He will do things when he's good and ready. He made sure of that by being born 8 days after the doctor and midwife predicted he'd arrive. He will never be rushed in life and this is one of those things.

It scares me how independent he is at 14 months. He's pulling off clothes, handing them to us and he will dress himself with a little bit of help. 

He has also been brushing (back combing) his hair for months now and is perfecting the use of the comb through his locks. 

He is so thoughtful and considerate. He tears off pieces of food and offers them to us. He offers us toys and clothes. He's sharing and he's caring. 

He kisses photographs of himself. He says soo many words. Dad, Mum, Hiya, Hey You (B's influence...it sounds like bloomin' Rab C Nesbit has moved in with us), Eh-Oh (umm Teletubbies are to blame), Bye Bye, CAT, Amen (at the end of prayers no less), Granny, Granpa, Gog (Dog), Up and 'up above' (he sings 'up above...wurlsoooohii' as in Twinkle Twinkle Little Star) and well if there are any more I am missing I'm sure B will point them out to me!

So I don't give a stuff if he's not walking yet. He'll get there. He's getting around and this obviously suits him. If he was that bothered or taken by walking I'm sure he would be doing it by now.

For now I'm going to take a chill pill and enjoy the chasing after I don't have to do.