13th July...A breakthrough?

Well, who would have adam and eve-d it? (to coin an old cockney phrase.)

It only took 40 minutes to get D to have his nap this morning! 40 minutes! That's nothing! Yes, I know, all you other smug suburban mamas out there whose sproglings simply nod off as soon as you lay them in the cot, yes, I know it's not that great really. But to me it is!

Just to fill you in, the standard practice in this household is that D starts yawning around 8:30, we go upstairs, we have a bit of quiet time, we read a book, we have a cuddle, D lies in his cot...and then the screaming starts. Then I get him up, give him a cuddle, pop him back down...more screaming. You get the picture. And so it continues for at least an hour and a half normally, all the time D still yawning and rubbing his angry eyes furiously, but refusing to give in to it.

So 40 minutes is good! And...I scarcely dare say it, but he's been asleep for 25 minutes now! This must be a record.

However, on a more negative note, 25 minutes has afforded me some dangerous time to make dreadful inroads into the pack of jelly beans that I bought the other day. (I KNEW it was a bad idea at the time, why did I do it?) The green ones are particularly succulent and juicy. Worse still, I've put them right next to the apples, in a bid to force my grabbing little fingers to seize something healthy instead, but no, the fingers creep surreptitiously into the jelly bean bag instead, every time.

We had the architect's drawings come through yesterday. The architect is really very nice, he gets so excited about everything, but he keeps suggesting these whizzy technological things that we really can't afford. Such as:
- Velux windows that open up or close according to temperature. (no.)
- A mirror in the new bathroom that lights up when you wave your hand in front of it. (er..no.)
- An extremely expensive set of bi-fold doors so we are flooded with light. (er...no. Oh, now, hang on, bugger, YES. We said YES to this one. Oh blimey. That's another couple of grand in debt then, whoops!)

He also keeps saying the word 'nibble'. It's almost like a nervous tic. Everything needs 'nibbling'. He's going to 'nibble' the step at the back door. Last week he came round to 'nibble' some exploratory holes in the ceiling. (Yeah, where loads of bloody house flies poured their way through, thanks for that particular nibble!) So we have duly renamed him Nibbler. He even looks a bit like that particular character from Futurama, so it suits him well. I like him all the more for being a Nibbler.

We have a terrible habit of nicknaming people. The plumber has been nicknamed Pippin the Second. Not even the original Pippin, poor bloke! Basically, anyone young, rosy cheeked and earnest gets called Pippin by myself and hubby. We are quite strange, aren't we.

So, what with Pippin the Second and Nibbler on the case with our house, its getting more and more like an Enid Blyton book every day. I shall start drinking Fizzy Pop and 'having larks' soon, just to fit in.

I've not done a recipe for a while, so here is a simple one that I am going to make in the near future to test it out on the supremely fussy D.

Meatballsss

You need: -

Mince (go on, make it vegetarian, you know you want to join the good guys...)
An egg of magnificent proportions.
An onion, finely finely chopped, or better still, grated within an inch of it's life.

Mix em all up.
Roll them into little ping pong balls of loveliness.
Whack em in a pre heated oven (200c) for about 20 mins.

Voila! How simple is that! And rustle up with a tomato or bolognaise sauce and you've got a winner with the little 'uns. Having said that, I bet D still spurns them and sends them imperiously to the floor, as he so often does to my lovely home cooked food. Hmmph.