Patchwork and Pie Dishes

The thing about my mum is that she is just the best at listening to what I want and what I need. The week before P's birthday, when I was laid low with a throat infection, no sooner had I sent a message moaning about how I wished she lived closer than she changed her timetable around and came riding to the rescue, 5 hours up the motorway to mind grandchildren while I slept and grumbled and waited for antibiotics to do their job. That was a big lovely thing she did, as was the job she and my Dad did this weekend hosting M's birthday party. It's the little things as well though, like remembering how I said I wanted to get a proper metal pie dish. Then, the next time she was shopping for kitchen stuff, she bought me one. Just because.
I have to say she's also got me into a rather addictive habit- patchwork. Like I need another craft hobby/drain on scant finances. She's made lovely baby quilts for both the children, and I followed up with a 'Big Boy Bed' quilt for P last year. A dress given to M when she was born got me thinking that I should make all her outgrown frocks into her 'Big Girl Bed' quilt so that's in the pipeline, along with too many other projects. However, we're also working on decorating our bedroom at the moment and I've been thinking that the perfect finish to our shabby chic/country house hotel look would be...a patchwork quilt. As a result, Mum, M and I paid a rather lovely visit to The Patchwork Basket this weekend and I indulged in some retail therapy. Couldn't resist trying them out as soon as I got home either!

Fear

Meet my nemesis. Okay, that's over-egging it a little, but this slide and its brothers and sisters elsewhere do give me more than their fair share of grief. All mummies have their particular fear- their child choking, getting lost, poisoning themselves, cutting themselves etc. etc. Of course I worry about all the aforementioned and more, but my special thing is P falling off tall things. I'm like my own mother in this respect but who knows if it's nature or nurture. All I know is that I end up on the horns of a dilemma. On the one hand I find it nerve-wracking to let my little explorer clamber up ladders, balance on walls, scramble up banks and so on, and it makes me want to stop him or hold his hand all the time. On the other hand I know that the only way he'll learn to negotiate heights safely is to clamber, balance, scramble and yes, even occasionally fall. Also, I don't want to pass my own fear of heights onto him. So most of the time I work really hard on appearing calm, try to keep my steadying hands to myself and let him take (controlled) risks. I've found our recent repeated viewings of 'Finding Nemo' (the only way we could get Baptism preparations completed in time) quite inspiring in this respect. At one point a character points out that if you don't let anything happen to your kids, then nothing ever happens to them. Of course, today, having persuaded myself that maybe I should stand back when he tackled the slide ladder pictured, his foot slipped on the rain-wet second rung and he tumbled straight off. He was fine thank goodness and I managed to be matter of fact and encourage him to climb up straight away again. Of course, he didn't need any persuasion, as he's not scared of heights. No, my little toddler, with a pet chicken at home and Granny with a friendly dog who lives on a farm, who goes on country walks through fields of livestock, has suddenly decided he's scared of...animals! I really hope it's a phase, and a reasonably short one at that.