Three Beautiful Things

Word, mild and miniature daffs.

2012-02-24T23:01:00.002Z

1. Alec spits out his last meatball to show he has finished his first course and when I offer him some banana he stands up in his highchair. I tell him: "You're standing up, so I think you've finished and want to get down," and lift him out. He trundles off to put sticky finger prints on the washing. A few moments later I feel a tugging at my dress and hear a shy little voice: "Narna, narna."

2. There is definitely something springlike about the air. It's... warm and mild and kind.

3. I love those miniature daffodils, particularly planted around the roots of trees in the street.

Two sleeps, home early and enhanced.

2012-02-23T22:17:00.001Z

1. Alec takes an afternoon nap as well as his morning nap, and I feel very blessed.

2. Nick apologises for the budget cake. "There wasn't time to go to the usual..." I tell him that it's OK, the important bit was him coming home early.

3. I'm putting together my column for next week. As I explore the subject matter, I relive two happy moments. The links between them enhance the original experience, and the memories seem fresher and brighter for the work.

Early, handprints and identification.

2012-02-22T21:14:00.000Z

1. "I'll come home early tonight," says Nick. "Be brave, and be cheerful." This cold is not as bad as the last one, which was accompanied by a cloud of gloom and despondency. I feel awful, but I don't feel un-cheerful.

2. There are small sooty handprints on the lid of the loo from when the mother took care of the clean-up after Alec got into the fireplace.

3. Alec has taken a liking to Nick's model train magazines, and they flick through Continental Modeller at bedtime. Alec points to pictures of steam engines and says 'Toot'. I'm lying there dozing and waiting to do the go-to-bed feed when Alec remarks "Dad" in a conversational sort of way. I glance up. Nick is looking a bit embarrassed, and Alec is jabbing his finger at a picture of a grandfatherly man with glasses, a bald head and distinguished silver hair. "Dad-dad!" he says again.*

* This afternoon, he identified as 'Dad-dad' a picture of the smooth-headed, bespectacled chef Heston Blumenthal in the FT pages we put down under the high chair.

Teenagers, relief and father-son moment.

2012-02-21T20:46:00.002Z

1. One of the other things I like about swimming -- apart from the pleasure it gives Alec -- is the lunch out afterwards. Instead of rushing to put a meal in front of an impatient and often unappreciative toddler, I get to sit and chat with Alec (and Godfather Timothy if he can make it) while someone else makes lunch for us. Today we were in the pool cafe, which I like because 'all human life is there'. Today there were three enormous teenage boys sitting round the table next to us. Alec stared and stared -- he knows some girls, but not boys, and these gangly, noisy diffident creatures who filled the table and shied away from eye contact fascinated him. I tried not to stare (they were playing a finger hitting game that I'd never seen before, and I do love watching other people watching my baby) but I listened. "He's waving at us. Look, he's waving at us!"

2. Nick comes home and tells me not to do any more housework. "You're not well." It's such a relief.

3. When I get out of my bath and go into the darkened bedroom, I stumble on Nick's slippers. "Shhh!" he is lying in bed with Alec sprawled across him. "We're have a father-son moment."

Round-about, beans and surrender.

2012-02-20T20:46:00.000Z

1. A family is playing on the round-about. They children shriek with laughter as the dad pushes them faster and faster. A pink streak whizzes past in my peripheral vision. One of the little girls has come off, landing about five feet away laughing and surprised. "You really went flying," says her dad amazed and amused. They both get a telling off from the mother.

2. Alec's rejected beans go very well in my ham and pea soup with some pink fragments of meat.

3. To surrender. We are not going to get to watch TV tonight, and it's a relief to admit it.

Vacuum cleaner, ham and night duty.

2012-02-19T21:25:00.001Z

1. We look at the Miele vacuum cleaner he recommended first. And we look at the Dyson, which is £30 more expensive. "I loved our old Dyson," I say. (Our needs had changed and it no longer did what was required, so it had to go). We look at the Miele again. "It's German. We like German," says Nick. I remind him: "Dyson is British." We look back at the Dyson. With its clear tank and its swooping lines it's a lot more... exciting looking than the Miele, which is somewhat boxy and conservative. "They're both good," says the man reassuringly. "Both got five-year warrenty." In the end we take the Dyson. Form (and familiarity) won out, I guess.

2. There is something rather satisfying about a large ham soaking in a pan.

3. "Come on Alec, norgle in," I lift my crumpled and cross manlet out of his cot and bring him into bed for some milk and a cuddle.

Backpack, massage and sleep at last.

2012-02-18T20:47:00.002Z

1. Alec does his usual bucking and back arching when I try to put him in the pushchair. I hate forcing him in -- it just seems impolite, and a mean way to make him co-operate, and I don't like the way it says 'might is right'. I pick him up and start to tell him all the nice things about going in the pushchair, when he points to the backpack. "Do you want to go in the backpack?" I ask him. He hasn't got the hang of yes and no yet, so I try dropping him in, just to see what he does. He slips in beautifully, all smiles now. I get my head patted all the way to nursery. When we get there, Nicky comes to take him through to the baby room and he goes off in her arms without any complaint -- that's never happened before.

2. I use the time to have an aromatherapy massage. My beauty therapist has set the room up with soft pink lights, and it looks very warm and inviting. Her work leaves me feeling incredibly vulnerable. "But you're safe here," she says. "You're safe." And I am. She works on a spiritual level, I think, as well as the physical. It did me a lot of good. On the way home, people keep bumping into me -- all the shieldy, get away from me baggage that I normally carry has fallen away.

3. ...and there's another cough and a little cry from my poor snuffly baby the bedroom. "I give up," I tell Nick. "I'll bake this cake tomorrow." As I put my foot on the bottom stair, the crying stops.

Tea, first things first and chipping.

2012-02-17T22:11:00.002Z

1. The production editor says: "Tea, lass?"

2. Instead of rushing out to collect Alec, I go home first to tidy up the lunch things, which I left scattered around the kitchen in my hurry to get out of the house and off to work, and to draw the curtains and put his night things on the towel warmer. When we come home, the house feels warm and ready.

3. We chip away some more at our backlog of Downton Abbey.

Signed, request and soothing.

2012-02-16T22:12:00.000Z

1. To mark my initials on a page proof.

2. Alec climbs on to my lap with an insistent bu-ba, bu-ba.

3. To rub Alec's back through his clean sleep suit as I feed him off to sleep.

Welcome, at the end of the day and Valentine.

2012-02-15T22:05:00.001Z

1. I come home at lunchtime and when my mother answers the door to let me in, Alec comes round the corner of the sofa with a huge smile for me.

2. At the end of the day I come home from work and settle on the sofa. Alec crawls across me, asking for "bu-ba" and my mother puts a cup of tea on the windowsill. She says that he has been very tinksy today. While she was telling him not to pour any more water on to the floor, he posted one of his milk bottle lids into her mouth.

3. The moment Alec goes back to sleep, Nick and I bundle him back into the cot and jump into our bed for a Valentine's Day snuggle.

Sense of humour, walker and forest.

2012-02-15T21:47:00.001Z

1. Alec farts, giggles and then blows a raspberry to keep the fun going.

2. Instead of loading him into the backpack for the short stroll to the cafe, I offer Alec my finger and we walk along the corridor, one rolling step at a time. Just as we pass through into reception, Godfather Timothy walks through the doors. He stops short, amazed at his walking godson.

3. I love the pages in Where the Wild Things Are where the forest grows in Max's bedroom.

Lull, not the winners and party bag.

2012-02-13T22:22:00.001Z

1. There is a lull in the middle of the morning. Without hesitation, I run myself a bath and add a whole vial of posh bath oil which will, it says, help me breathe. The box was a gift -- "A whole box of baths," said the giver.

2a. The children who don't win sweets in pass-the-parcel scrabble for the packet and vie to be the one who hands it over.

2. As we are leaving the party and strapping a struggling Alec into his pushchair, Susan presses a party bag into our hands.

3. The cakes I made on Friday are even better on the third day after baking.

Malt loaf, fish pie and surrender.

2012-02-12T20:03:00.002Z

1. A slice of home-made malt loaf dotted with tender raisins.

2. To take a mouthful of your own fish pie and feel that the compliments you are receiving are not just polite dinner table talk.

3. Alec is not himself at all and we're not sure what to do. Hold him this way, hold him that way, give him this, give him that. He is all round red mouth and noise, back arched and arms waving. At last I surrender and stay at home with him for the afternoon. We sit on the sofa, playing and cuddling and feeding, and it seems to be all that is needed. Perhaps I'd been thinking too much about my fish pie and not enough about him.

Order, baby and white sauce.

2012-02-11T20:03:00.000Z

1. Extra milk on the doorstep: we're expecting guests.

2. Baby Chloe watches and watches us. "Her eyes have changed colour again," says Katie. She says that everyone has commented on how Chloe seems to be scrutinising everything. I remember Katie once told me (we were sitting in a pen of yipping, nipping, roiling, tumbling puppies) that when you choose a puppy, you shouldn't fall for the one that bounds forward, or the one that hangs back, but the one that waits and watches before coming politely up to greet you.

3. To stir a buttery yellow roux into glossy white sauce.

That hungry, exhibition and no snow.

2012-02-10T21:16:00.002Z

1. Alec and I are that hungry -- and in that much of a hurry to get to nursery -- that we don't even bother with plates. I eat my fish and chips off the paper, and he has his off the highchair tray.

2. How much do I appreciate being able to stroll round an art exhibition without worrying about how a small person is feeling and wanting? I recommend the Snowdon exhibit at Tunbridge Wells Art Gallery, by the way -- timeless portraits from the London art world. His shot of the curator Anthony Blunt is strangely prescient. It was taken in the early 60s, well before he was disgraced for spying, and shows him holding a transparency up to the light so that the image is projected back on to his eye. Of course this particular picture could have been selected in retrospect -- but it's still a stiking image.

3. "It's going to snow tonight at 8pm, all night, all tomorrow and all weekend," say the girls at nursery with unholy glee. They are wrong -- which is a pity because on snow days Nick works from home. On balance, though I feel that the snow we had the other day was picturesque, short-lived and quite sufficient, thank you.

PS: Spotted this from Jennifer on Facebook: "How nice to share fish and chips and a nap with the cat on a Friday afternoon..."

Un-alone, riding and finished.

2012-02-09T21:13:00.001Z

1. At 8.30 the doorbell rings. It's my mother. She's come very early because of the bad weather to spend the day with Alec. Nick is working from home, too. I feel very un-alone today.

2. Alec trundling round with his walker, which is full of soft toys (my mother says they are his babies, but perhaps he thinks they are passengers). He pushes it straight across the kitchen into the corner, and then, with a few brmm-brmm noises, reverses out and turns it round to come back again.

3. To finish editing my Courier column down to 300 words, to read it aloud, tweak it again and to send it off.

Cold, hiding and what are you doing.

2012-02-08T09:55:00.000Z

1. Bloody nora, it's cold out. We celebrate getting home with an afternoon nap in bed under the covers.

2. "...Can you see all the people hiding in this picture?" And to my amazement, Alec covers his eyes. I try again: "There's the Wicked Witch HIDING, and there's Tom Thumb HIDING behind the custard." Again the little fists go up.

3. Alec stumbling around the kitchen because he has his hands over his eyes.

Sleeper, the walk and back under.

2012-02-07T22:11:00.000Z

1. Alec is still asleep at lunch time. We decide not to wake him so we can have a romantic lunch together.

2. Alec sets off out of the cafe and into the shop beyond rolling one leg round and then the other. "Come back," I call to him. "You come back." He looks over his shoulder, waves, smiles and keeps walking.

3. Just as I sit down to watch TV, there's a lonely noise from the bedroom. I stuff a chocolate into my mouth and go upstairs to help him back to sleep. It doesn't take long, and after that he sleeps until the small hours.

The reaction, excellent women and the meaning of bayleaves.

2012-02-06T21:53:00.004Z

1. Even Nick gets out of bed to see Alec's reaction as we draw back the curtain on a snowy world. He stares and stares and then points.

1b. Our snowy park walk was just magical (teenage girls were shrieking 'I'm for Aslan' at each other) but now we are so cold. I sit on the sofa and feed Alec. I can feel the warmth coming back into his hands and feet as he takes long sucks.

2. I did another session at the night shelter this weekend. I was on cooking duty. I appreciated more than ever all those capable women who know the church hall kitchen and its quirks.

3. "All the things on your plate, they mean something," he says. "I found a bayleaf -- my girlfriend never put bayleaves in the bolognaise, and you don't find them in Weatherspoons either. A bayleaf means... it means 'welcome'."

4. The visiting GP looks as fragile as the snow on the cherry trees outside. But she listens for an hour to a man in crisis.

Someone else's task, orange zest and snow is coming.

2012-02-06T21:32:00.000Z

1. To half hear, while going back to sleep in the morning, Nick changing Alec's nappy in the bathroom.

2. I can't smell much with this cold, but I can smell the orange zest as I grate it for my cake.

3. Watching the snow reports on Twitter move across a map.

Sit up, the bins and twins.

2012-02-05T23:04:00.003Z

1. Alec wakes me in the small hours, has a quick drink and then goes back to sleep. But I don't. I lie awake. And lie awake. And lie awake. Finally, I sit up, put the light on and read more soothing Sei Shonagon until my eyes grow heavy. It's good to have the time.

2. I loathe doing the bins -- they are all the way down at the end of the terrace, and it's cold out. But I dislike even more putting rubbish into an overflowing container. So I empty them all and take the bags down when I'm going out anyway.

3. A mother herds twin boys down the stairs in front of us. One of them wants to take his gloves off. Alec smiles fatly at me -- he knows that I know that he's going to take his own gloves off the minute I put them on him.

Hot chocolate, evidence and come down.

2012-02-03T21:40:00.002Z

1. Once Alec has gone to nursery, I make myself a hot chocolate -- with more spoonfuls of powder than the tin suggests.

2. Alec's key worker has printed out some photos of him that I admired during parents' afternoon. It means a lot to have images of the times when we are not with him.

3. When I come out of the bathroom, all is _still_ quiet. I retrieve Nick from the attic where he is sleeping tonight and we cuddle and doze until Alec wakes up.

At home, for Alec and two kindnesses.

2012-02-02T21:33:00.000Z

1. Nick is ill now. He works from home, which means he's around to support me when one pair of hands just isn't enough, and when I get demoralised.

2. "What have I got in my bag for you?" She digs in her seagreen bag and pulls out a sparkly pen, which Alec likes holding very much. Next she lets him to examine her purse. He pulls out her cards and offers them to the people at the next table.

3. The dentist has very kindly agreed to look at my sore mouth at short notice. There are five large steps up to his surgery. As I'm about to start bumping the pushchair up them, a lady with torn trousers asks if I want a hand, and helps me out. The dentist examines me and my ulcers and says there's nothing to worry about, and to try salt water. The nurse says: "There's nothing to do at the desk" -- for a moment I'm lost, and then I realise she means the examination was free.

Analgesic, zapper and cake box.

2012-02-01T21:05:00.000Z

1. God bless whoever invented paracetamol.

2. Alec asks for the remote control, which I've put out of reach on the window sill. I point at his red toy remote. "It's much better -- it makes noises," I tell him. He wriggles over to it and picks it up. He seems convinced ... for now.

3. Nick has left two boxes of cake on the table.

Company, relief and 1000 years ago.

2012-01-31T21:20:00.000Z

1. No swimming -- now I'm ill. I put out a cry for company early in the morning: meet us for coffee, please! The call is answered, and Jane braves my cold and joins us for a coffee.

2. Nick comes home early and takes over bath time.

3. I settle into a bath myself -- with the lovely Sei Shōnagon and her pillow book. I float off into a refined world of whispering paper screens and dim light and prescribed colour combinations.

Usual place, out early and turning year.

2012-01-30T20:53:00.000Z

1. Alec wakes up next to me, looks at my face, looks at the other end of the bed where I would normally be sleeping, looks back at my face and then takes himself off up to the head of the bed -- presumably to check that I'm really not there.

2. "It was nice to be out early," says Nick, who believes that nothing worthwhile happens before ten at the weekend. "No-one was around but joggers."

3. It's nearly spring -- Nick is complaining about the lack of American football; and Time Team is back on.

Stick, messy play and a quick recovery.

2012-01-29T19:07:00.001Z

1. There is something very unappealing about a sticky baby, so I wipe Alec's hands and feel happier. I do think he enjoyed squeezing the jam out of his pancake, though.

2. It's Alec's first parents'... well it's not an evening, because our appointment is at 2pm. His keyworker shows us pictures of him playing with flour. He has a flour moustache in one picture, and another shows him throwing handfuls in the air. Apparently shaving foam was less popular. "I can't wait to try him with cornflour gloop," she says. She also has some... well she calls it mark-making, but it looks like scribbling to me, which he did months ago. I only recently thought to put a pen in his hand and let him 'sign' birthday cards.

3. Poor Alec throws up for the first time in ages. I start clearing up the bedroom -- and myself -- while Nick cleans him up in the bathroom. I image him traumatised by the whole horrible experience, but when I open the bathroom door he is chattering and laughing with Nick at their reflection in the mirror.

Childcare, cuddle break and a good day.

2012-01-28T23:12:00.001Z

1. Nick is at home sick today, so he plays with Alec while I work. I'm re-arranging a sentence for the third time when Alec comes round the kitchen table. I shove the chair back so he can't reach the computer and take him on to my knee for a cuddle and some milk.

2. While Alec is at nursery, I take a quick cuddle break with Nick.

3. I come to the end of the day, and I feel as if somehow I have been a good mother, a good wife and a good writer.

I had a post today on Fiona Robyn's River of Stones -- What My Baby Told Me About Time.

'Sick' baby, books through the door and a muscle.

2012-01-27T21:00:00.000Z

1. Poor quiet baby, poor sick, feverish little boy- right, if you're well enough to scoff down fistfuls of cereal and to giggle at 'Where's The Baby' and to kick me in the face while I'm changing your old bot and to wave at me as you disappear out of the kitchen hand-over-hand around the airer, then you're well enough to go to nursery.

2. Skrith. Thud, thud. Skrith clat. That's the sound of our post -- including two new-to-me paperbacks -- coming through the door.

3. In the days when I was Godfather Timothy's housemate -- I was crippled for weeks by a mysterious pain in my right hip. It made me limp, and that messed up my knee and my other ankle, and I finally got help. The GP sent me to a physio who asked: "Is that your pain? Is that your pain? What about that?" And none of them were, so she gave me a massage and sent me home. It recurs from time to time, and I'm more self-aware these days so I understand that it's caused by a tight muscle in my bottom -- but I'm always too shy to ask a therapist to massage there. The pain came back today (strangely, Alec's nursery is above the physio centre and I'm on the stairs when it stabs me right in the leg). Once the baby is in bed, I tell Nick and with good grace and lots of sympathy he does his husbandly duty.

Easy work, brave and the fever.

2012-01-26T08:04:00.000Z

1. To have a few hours of easy work. I love to write -- but Ernest Hemingway sums it up best: 'There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.' That's what it's like for me, even when I'm drafting a 20-word brief.* Anyway -- the only requirement for this job (apart from 'able to follow the damn instructions') was 'be a native of the United Kingdom'. So I worked and will be paid, but I didn't feel the usual terrors about being good enough.

2. Alec is -- once again -- very brave about his vaccination. The tears are still wet on his face but he is laughing with his granny.

3. After supper, a very sleepy little boy falls asleep in my arms on the sofa. He feels hot and damp and soft and weak when he wakes up, so we give him some Calpol. Then lots of milk while I tell him again about vaccinations and how he's being protected and protecting the poorly children who can't have them.

* Even when I'm writing a postcard. Or indeed a 3BT. It's easier than it once was -- practice practice practice has dulled the pain -- but it's still not what I do for pleasure.

First steps, parcel post and the box of donuts.

2012-01-25T20:53:00.000Z

1. I am drinking coffee with Jane when Alec takes his first steps without holding on to anything. He doesn't seem to think he's done anything special, though -- he's just interested in getting to the miniature piano.

2. After many trials, I get my parcel into the post.

3. I can't remember if I said last month -- but it's so good to have another woman player (apart from Rachel, who is there looking after us, but doesn't play) at games night. Meredith brings a box of donuts, all different. They are like jewels, particularly the one dusted with gold, and the fuchsia-coloured pearlescent one.

Wetsuit, sleeper and nose.

2012-01-24T21:00:00.000Z

1. Photography is not allowed at the pool, but I sneak a picture of Alec in his new blue and gold wetsuit. He started shivering during the last two lessons and has been looking very sorry for himself in the water. So we bought him a wetsuit -- Nick chose the colours because they reminded him of his hero Jacques Cousteau. Alec looks pleased as anything to be wearing it; and is back to his old bold self in the water again.

2. He doesn't wake when our gate clangs shut behind us; and he doesn't wake when I lift him out of the backpack. I put him on the sofa -- packed round with cushions in case of rolling -- and he sleeps on. Once I've unpacked, I join him and enjoy a sleep myself.

3. "...And when I got to the bit where big drops of rain fall on the bear's nose, he pointed to my nose!" says Nick proudly.

Forbidden, shelter and the camera.

2012-01-23T21:32:00.001Z

1. Alec sipping forbidden squash from Godfather Timothy's glass.

2. This was my first evening helping with the cooking at the Tunbridge Wells Winter Shelter. We had five guests come in for a hot meal, a game of Scrabble and a safe, clean bed, and the Samaritans joined us. A police officer dropped by and while she was waiting for her coffee, she said: "I think you're all amazing for doing this." Personally, I think she's amazing for doing a job I couldn't; and it meant a lot that she took the time to drop in.

3. One of the guests played game after game of table tennis, casually trouncing all comers. By 10pm he had been recruited by the church's team.

4. She showed me the pictures on her camera, and said again: "It's my baby." Then "Will you look after it while I play?" and without waiting for an answer crossed the hall to take her turn at table tennis.

Dark skies, Saturday tea and Little Gem.

2012-01-22T20:56:00.000Z

1. We -- that is all the people in the park -- keep glancing at the sky. It's dry slate grey, and growing darker by the minute. The trees in the park are lit up by the long winter sun, and when I'm not watching the sky, I'm marvelling at each twig picked out against the sky.

2. To pick out cakes for Saturday tea at the bakers.

3. To press down a sandwich and feel the Little Gem lettuce crunch inside it.

Tour, in charge and pleased to see me.

2012-01-21T22:15:00.001Z

1. I discover that there are rude things written on the back of the safety curtain at The Assembly Hall. And I get to look in the dressing rooms -- very, very utilitarian, but somehow terribly glamorous in the truest sense of the word. "These are the height of luxury, with air and light, compared to the ones in some of the West End theatres," says the theatre director. "They'd be underground." At the end of the corridor is a view out across the roof of the town hall.

2. "Just going to the loo!" Before I've quite worked out what's going on, Katie has left me in charge of baby Chloe in her pram in the toy department at Fenwicks. I push the pram -- very, very carefully. Chloe looks at me suspiciously and does an experimental fuss. I freeze in front of the pirate Lego. "Shhhh, darling, she's coming back." She senses my fear and ups the volume. "She'll be back any minute." I look around quickly and guiltily and then stick a finger in her mouth -- just like we used to do for Alec. She looks a bit surprised, and then starts sucking.

3. When I go to pick Alec up, he's pleased to see me in the best sort of way -- not in a "Where have you been? I was so worried, I thought you'd never come back. Give me some milk RIGHT NOW" way. It's more: "Mummy! Here you are, and here I am, and we're both here and do you know what I've been doing, look at this, it's got bells and it goes round."

Domestic, list and out of the tool box.

2012-01-20T21:08:00.002Z

1. I keep discovering little things that Nick did yesterday while we were out -- the wipes box is full of chamomile tea (it's good for nappy rash, but I never seem to have time to brew a cup and take it upstairs). The changing basket is full of clean nappies, all neatly stacked. The washing bin is empty, and clean washing is on the airer.

2. I feel as if I haven't done much this afternoon -- so I write a 'having been done' list (it's a to do list, but in the past tense), and it's long.

3. Alec wanted milk and a cuddle -- but he has had a lousy nappy day, and I wanted him to have a bath. I realised, as he howled up at me from the bathroom floor, that there was a middle way. Which is why I'm nursing him in the bath.

Lift, axolotl and ephemera.

2012-01-19T20:39:00.000Z

Alec fans might like this post by my aunt. And Auntarctica fans might like to check out the latest posts on Rosey's blog.

1. Alec and I get a lift to and from the station from Janey one way and Laura the other. As well as appreciating the lift in itself, it's a chance to chat and catch up and get advice.

2. Darwin the axolotl has a mild, wide smile and black pin prick eyes. His coral pink gills are the most beautiful thing about him.

3. To see on a wall of artist's ephemera a card that you sent them.

Hands, pie and found food.

2012-01-18T23:41:00.001Z

1. I call Anna up to clarify a commission she's given me, and she says that I'm a safe pair of hands. "A safe but interesting pair of hands," she adds quickly.

2. The Mississippi mud pie has one slice missing. "That was us," said the server. "We had to try it, and it was delicious."

3. I am sitting in the kitchen chatting to the health visitor when out of the corner of my eye I spot Alec picking up something from under the highchair and putting it in his mouth. I freeze. Do I call him out and risk drawing her attention to it? Or leave it and appear neglectful? She can't not have seen -- he's right at her feet. So I ask him (quite calmly) what he's eating. The health visitor laughs it off: "Something off the floor? Oh lovely."

Love, jackdaws and farmyard impressions.

2012-01-17T22:30:00.000Z

1. A pair of teenagers lie wrapped around each other on the birds nest swing on the coldest, clearest day of the year so far.

2. The sound of jackdaws -- chack! chack! chack! -- and lying on my back (with Alec giggling on my chest) to look up at them.

3. I'm making cow noises and chicken noises for Alec. I suddenly realise that the mmm-mmm sound he's making is... mooing!

Bread, across the world and being good.

2012-01-16T22:41:00.003Z

1. Lots of soft white bread to mop up the juices.

2. How lovely to come across an Antarctic colleague of Rosey's at a dinner party in Tunbridge Wells.

3. Louise tells Alec he's been very well behaved during dinner. She says: "You let Mummy relax and enjoy herself." That, to my mind, is an excellent definition of good behaviour.

Washing machine, winter tea and apricots.

2012-01-15T22:34:00.002Z

1. Every time I stuff a load of washing into the machine I think of generations of women with reddened hands, and I'm so grateful for modern appliances.

2. It's a winter tea time -- which means mugs and biscuits in the front room (curtains tightly drawn) and some family TV watching: Timmy Time and The Adventures of Abney and Teal.

3. I love those brownish unsulphured apricots -- they are so caramelly and juicy, like a sweet, rather than a dried fruit.

Baby, boys and the radio.

2012-01-14T21:55:00.001Z

1. Controversially we gave Alec a small baby doll for his birthday. It is very gratifying to see him bounce it on his knee in the same way that we bounce him -- he looks gleeful when I giggle on Baby's behalf. And if you think that's adorable, you should see him snuggle Baby into his shoulder for a cuddle and a back pat.

2. Susan brings her two-year-old for morning coffee. Alec follows Lawrence round the kitchen and he looks like a boy, not a baby. If he could talk, he would be saying: You know Lawrence? Guess what he says?" and "When Lawrence was here..." and "Is Lawrence coming round tomorrow?"

3. I'm telling Alec's key worker about his new trick. "When we mention the radio, he points at it, and not just to the one in the kitchen, but to our radio alarm clocks, too." And right on cue, Alec points to the nursery stereo.

Buy some new ones, chore time and scribble.

2012-01-13T22:57:00.001Z

1. I put another pair of tights in the mending pile, and once again hitch up the pair that I am wearing -- they are too big because I've lost weight since buying them. It strikes me that all the tights in the mending pile are a size too large, and some of them need their mends mending. It's time to throw them out and get new pairs.

2. Rachel comes round to play with Alec for an hour. It's wonderful to whiz through the chores without him clutching my skirt. The best thing of all is that I have time to fold the washing and put the airer away in the cupboard.

3. I go to a coffee shop and do some scribbling in one of my neglected notebooks (the last piece in it is older than Alec).

Angry cat, striped and in the dark.

2012-01-12T22:37:00.001Z

Among my Christmas presents were two books of short stories which I very much enjoyed, so I thought I'd share them with you.

The first is Some New Ambush by Carys Davies, out of the publishing house Salt. It's a strong collection of joyful shorts and short shorts with a fascinating range of voices, faces and places. One of them, Hwang, is near as damnit perfect as short stories go.

The second is Eugie Foster's Returning My Sister's Face, a pleasing book of Far Eastern folk and fairy tales. They are written for a western audience, but the necessary explanations are stitched in so sensitively that the join is invisible. Spirits and humans malicious, mischievous and benign meet and part and meet again. I particularly enjoyed the stories about the snow spirit -- I love to see a writer returning to a theme and giving it a different treatment each time.

1. Alec's current passion is the page in one of his books that shows the shocking sharp toothed face of an angry cat. He keeps flipping back to it and putting his fingers right in its mouth. I think he likes our attempts at the text: "EEEEEOWWWFFTZ!"

2. The striped shadows of railings fall across the path ahead.

3. To doze off in the afternoon and wake up in the dark.

Forget, quiet and bricks.

2012-01-11T22:41:00.003Z

There are some wonderful River of Stones posts over at Writing Our Way Home. My favourites so far are:

Dave Bonta whose Four Things I've Learnt From Writing Small Stones could just as well be applied to beautiful things
Let's Hear What Our Bodies Have To Say by Dave Rowley
Sarah Salway's Putting The Fun Back Into Writing (worth it for the glasses alone)!

1. It's amazing how milk makes Alec forgive and forget. He has a suck, and then he's laughing at me blowing under his chin.

2. It is easier and pleasanter to stay here, warm and quiet, with the baby on my knee.

3. Using Alec's wooden bricks to build a construction, a wall of towers and swaying bridges that snakes along the edge of the rug and under the folding chair. He knocks a little down, and I take the fallen bricks and build them on to the other end. He knocks a little more down. I take the up fallen bricks again. He look at me expectantly.

Nap before swimming, dog walker and ducks for all.

2012-01-10T22:45:00.001Z

1. For the first time ever, Alec goes down for a nap before we leave for swimming. We had to get up at 7am to achieve this, but it was so worth it. I can get ready without small hands clinging to my legs, and when we come to leave we are both relaxed and cheerful and in control.

2. "Look, Alec, dogs," and the lady walking them turns to smile at us.

3. Instead of doling out one duck each, the swimming teacher releases a whole yellow flock into the pool. Alec ends up with three (one for each hand and one to kick).

All alone, noodles and a good sleep.

2012-01-09T22:13:00.002Z

1. Nick is still chuckling about the faces of the people next to us at Wagamama as it dawned on them that they were the only toddler-free group in the restaurant.

2. I love watching Alec eat noodles -- I don't know why I ordered rice for him really, as he was far more interested in raiding our plates.

3. Sarah and Rachel brought round a box of bath oils in tiny bottles last week. They explained that it was a gift of baths for me by myself -- which is a wonderful thing and very much needed! Each bottle has a label like 'relax' and 'deep relax' and 'breathe' and 'de-stress muscles'. I used all of 'deep relax' last night. It worked very well because I slept... well, I might say 'like a baby', but it was better than that (certainly better than Alec).

Petit dej, lie-out and on his own terms.

2012-01-08T21:21:00.000Z

1. To shove frozen pain au chocolat in the oven. Freshly baked and very convenient. Better still, the baby doesn't want any so I don't have to share.

2. After breakfast, nap time comes around. Alec goes to his cot, and I go back to bed where Nick has been enjoying a lie-in.

3. Alec stands with legs wide, clutching his toy remote control. I've got his toy phone just out of reach to tempt him into taking his first unaided step. He stretches, looks at me, shifts his weight, shifts it back again. Then he carefully lowers himself to the floor and leans forward to take his phone.

Strike out, nursery and in our bed.

2012-01-07T22:56:00.002Z

1. I look at my to-do list, and I look at Alec in his cot fast asleep for his morning nap. Then I run myself a bath.

2. I take another step in my mission to make the nursery Alec's own room by sorting out the pile of his outgrown clothes. I can remember him wearing that sleep suit with the bears, that little green and blue shirt, that cardigan... but surely he was never that little.

3. At 10pm, like new lovers we ask each other: "Where are you going to sleep tonight?" The answer is: "In our bed, with you."

Porridge, out of my depth and in the study.

2012-01-06T21:12:00.001Z

1. There is something very satisfying about spooning porridge into a small and eager mouth.

2. I've volunteered to do some shifts at a night shelter this month. I was roped in by a friend, and frankly I feel so far out of my comfort zone that I can't even see it any more. I was glad when Anna asked a question along those lines at the training session. I was even gladder when other volunteers asked questions, too. And when we started to make jokes.

3. "Do you want to sleep in the study?" Nick asks me. I say 'asks', it's more of a telling really. I am so grateful to have an undisturbed night in front of me.

The walk, new view and cafe stop.

2012-01-05T21:12:00.000Z

1. We set off on an epic mission to pick up a Freegle item. It feels good to walk and walk and walk on a clear afternoon, knowing that we don't have to be anywhere until supper at 5.30pm.

2. I hadn't realised that our destination has a view out over town. It's strange to see the other side of familiar landmarks. I like to compare the scene to my map and pick out the re-arranged churches.

3. I've walked for a long time, and Alec has been cooped up in the pushchair all that time. We need a cafe stop. We share a brownie and a hot chocolate, and he works his way round the table and back again to stretch his legs.

Delivery, after the storm and afternoon nap.

2012-01-04T23:05:00.000Z

1. The wind slams rain against the white wall opposite with such force that it flies back as mist. I stare astonished at the delivery driver standing on the doorstep.

2. After lunch I open the blinds. The air is still, the sky is blue and the sun has come out.

3. The storm and a bad night have unsettled Alec and he has been sad and clingy all morning. But now he's asleep in his pushchair and I am not needed.

Epic, warming him up and lunch.

2012-01-03T22:51:00.002Z

Over at Writing Our Way Home, Fiona and Kaspa have started their River of Stones, a mindful writing challenge. Fiona's stones are a bit like beautiful things, so go on over and try writing your own. They are also publishing inspirational articles by their favourite writers. I'm booked in for January 21.

1. Alec sees Nick in the spectator gallery and sets off on an epic commando crawl straight across the paddling pool. He refuses to divert his course for anything -- not water jets, not a mother playing with her baby, not a large toddler with a ball.

2. Alec gets chilled while swimming. He's a very sorry little scrap by the time we get to the changing room. Somehow -- I don't know how -- I manage to dress us both while giving him a feed.

3. For our lunch Rachel has set out cakes and sandwiches and a rainbow of raw veggies. It's perfect. Alec helps himself to two gingerbread men, one for each hand.

Highchair, walk after lunch and childcare.

2012-01-02T21:33:00.001Z

1. "We've bought the highchair," says my mother. "I couldn't face the thought of lunch with him sitting on your lap and my lap."

1a. I love fish pie for the treasures of prawns and mussels and scallops.

2. Finally, just before dark, we make a break for it and go walking under umbrellas and the pit-pit-pit of rain.

3. My cousin Laura says: "I'll entertain this end while you change that end." I am awed by her childcare skills -- she helps a family with a disabled child -- and when I tell her she says modestly: "I suppose it's easier when they're bigger because you can ask them to stay still and they do."

4. The Christmas books are stacked in wobbly towers around the living room. "Let's make one evening a week book night," says Nick. "We'll just sit and read."

Open door, sales shoppers and mayonnaise.

2012-01-01T22:21:00.001Z

Happy New Year, everyone. Hope 2012 is a magical cracker for you all.

1. "Well," says one lady in the chemists to another, "This is a first, having the door open on New Year's Eve because it's so mild."

2. The shop girls are laughing at the sales shoppers: "They're like 'but how much are these things? Why aren't they priced?' and I'm like: 'I'm just putting prices on them and setting them out. The sale table is over there.' And they're all like: 'But are these things in the sale? I NEED to KNOW.'"

3. "I love your mayonnaise," says Nick with no little passion.

The long nap, off the floor and husband.

2011-12-31T23:14:00.000Z

1. After breakfast, Alec and I sprawl on the bed and have a very long nap -- so long that lunch is almost late.

2. It is disgusting when your baby picks things up off the floor -- and not even your own floor -- and tries to eat them, but it's rather endearing when he offers such 'found food' to people sitting at the next table.

3. When I go up -- quite late -- I find that Nick is in our bed and not sleeping in his study.

Oil on water, I saw and peppermint creams.

2011-12-30T22:46:00.002Z

1. Lenses of oil on water magnify the bottom of the bread tin.

2. A man and a woman are talking outside the window. Only the child on the man's shoulders sees Alec in his blue cardigan waving and smiling.

3. A box of peppermint creams in opulent red and gold foil printed with moons and suns and stars. They look as if they might have magical properties -- with this one you'll see the future. This one will make you sprout (temporary) wings. That one has a flavour now lost to history. Another will give you visions of paradise.

Birthday boy, ta-da and simple amusements.

2011-12-29T23:02:00.000Z

1. "Happy birthday, manlet." This morning -- it's really stretching the definition of morning, though -- I don't mind helping Alec back to sleep in the small hours.

2. If I have no pocket, I stash my handkerchief down the front of my dress. Alec has a habit of pulling it out. He looks as proud as if he'd produced the flags of all the nations, a bunch of flowers and a live dove.

3. To watch him anticipate. He giggles before a 'boo' or the popping of the weasel. He holds his breath for the turning on (or off, either will do) of the radio. And he flutters his fingers greedily when I offer him milk.

First word, gifts and my time.

2011-12-28T23:01:00.000Z

Alec was one today. He seems big and little at the same time. I'll write more about him tomorrow.

1. Maggie's first words are reported on Facebook. We like and like and like.

2. We open -- it's a slow business, though -- a couple more of Alec's Christmas presents. He takes his time, stripping off tiny pieces of wrapping, tasting them, offering them to us, getting distracted by the contents of the previous parcel. I wish I was more like him.

3. Everyone else is in bed. This is my time in my kitchen.

Snoring, found and in the dark.

2011-12-27T23:03:00.002Z

1. Uncle Rob carries Alec, fast asleep, in the backpack. When asked if he is all right, Robert complains: "He's snoring."

2. To see, in the twilight, away up the road, the missing blue boot.

3. I go to the sitting room, but no-one is there. Black needle shadows. The Christmas tree glows softly in the dark.

Tiny tree, conference call and book.

2011-12-26T23:15:00.000Z

1. Outside our bedroom door is a wooden cart with a baby Christmas tree on it. "For Alec," says my mother. He touches the red baubles with a gentle -- gently, Alec -- finger.

2. Rosey is down at the bottom of the world -- just a conference call away from a family Christmas. She says the weather is good, and she's going skiing later, though there's a chance she might be needed for co-piloting.

3. We'd been told that he would prefer the wrapping paper to everything else. In the end, it's a book with a finger puppet that lights up his world.

Peace, home and he's come.

2011-12-25T23:21:00.000Z

1. Nick needs some peace, so I take the baby in the backpack (there is no room to get the pushchair out because of all the packing) and go to the park. It's quiet and cold, and children keep asking why Alec is not wearing any shoes. "He's growing too fast," I tell them. I wonder what their parents are thinking about my baby standing on the roundabout in his socks? We sit together on the big swings and he dozes against my chest while I sing fragments of songs. Another mother and son are on the other two swings -- but he's about ten times older than Alec.

2. The beams are laced and lanced with holly and ivy, and we are home for Christmas.

3. The sound of the back door and Robert's modest 'Hello?'

New mother, new baby and baby in bed.

2011-12-24T22:16:00.000Z

1. I go round to Katie's to meet the new baby. Chloe is asleep in her pram, and Katie is eating bacon and eggs. We have tea and cake and laugh and cry -- new mothers cry about everything, and I'm just relieved and happy that my friend has come through safely and that the baby is beautiful.

2. She is so still, so gentle. Her movements are like those of a slow, soft creature swaying in a rockpool. She opens her eyes a crack, closes them again. Her tongue tip pokes out, and goes in again.

3. When I go upstairs after clearing away the supper things, Nick and a clean, dry, Alec-in-his-sleeping-bag are playing quietly on the bed. "That was the best bath for a long time," says Nick.

The swing, roundabout and lingering.

2011-12-23T00:17:00.000Z

1. Alec laughs -- and shows all his teeth -- when I push him on the swing.

2. She is small, but she looks kind and sensible, so I put Alec on her empty roundabout and stand back while she pushes him round.

3. Alec's key person comes back from lunch just as we arrive at nursery. It's the first day that I don't have to go to work, so I dawdle in the baby room while she finds her slippers. I like to linger over unbuttoning him, and to watch him take in the changes to the room.

Piggy, mix and affordable.

2011-12-22T00:18:00.000Z

1. I discover that what Alec really likes -- what he really, really likes -- is to have 'This Little Piggy done to his toes'. I think he must have heard it at nursery, because he anticipates the wee-wee-wee part, and I'm sure I've never done it with him before (the reason is that I find the 'I can't find my way home' line a bit upsetting. Even when I change it to 'all the way home', the other version is still lurking).

2. Louise says she likes Carluccio's because it always has a mix of business meetings and children. "It's an odd combination," she says, looking round at the high chairs and the men in shirt sleeves and women with leather notepads.

3. "Crafts should be affordable," she says as we load up with hand-stitched notepads (stamped with 'made in Tunbridge Wells') and ceramic Christmas decorations in petrol blue and scarlet. I'm really drawn to the feather-thin birds, but they are unglazed, which is my own fingernails on a blackboard. She seems surprised when I mention this.

Tickets please, Christmas lights and nap time.

2011-12-21T23:22:00.000Z

One of today's beautiful things reminded me of another sort of journalling that I missed out of the essay. I save my train tickets for bookmarks, and I write notes on them about the journey. Sometimes it's just where I was going, or the purpose of the journey; other times it's a few words to jog my memory about the day ('a row of birds'; 'cable theft in Maidstone'; 'the proud man'). Our train tickets are about the size of a credit card, and have orange stripes on the front and a black magnetic strip on the back. Some of the conductors carry patterned punches -- I've got tickets punched with a dog's paw, a dolphin and a semiquaver.

The stack is an inch thick and goes back nine months at the moment -- this depends on how much reading and how much travelling I'm doing. I keep it in a battered green tin painted with a Japaneseish scene of flamingoes. When I need a bookmark, I take out the oldest ticket (it goes back about nine months at the moment). When I finish the book, I leave the ticket in. Where the book goes, the ticket goes.

During my holiday in Africa, one of my travelling companions remarked that a lot of the books in the truck's library had tickets to and from Tunbridge Wells tucked in them. I confessed to my bookmarking habit and he said that he reckoned one day he'd pick up a book in a far flung place and find a Tunbridge Wells train ticket between the pages, and he'd know, he'd just know, that it had passed through my hands.

1. Alec has a passion for train tickets -- we often give him a couple to wave around. He likes it when we say: "Tickets, please. Tickets, please." Today I let him empty my bookmark tin. He lay on his back and dropped handfuls on to his face -- he looked like a caper movie character enjoying his ill-gotten gains. He bashed two together. He concertinaed a couple and pulled them open and shut. Then he dropped them, one by one, on to the floor.

2. To turn on the fairy lights and make Alec smile.

3. Oh blessed, blessed nap time. I sit on the sofa, wrapped in a red fleece blanket and rest.

Eating, TV and the sleigh.

2011-12-20T23:22:00.000Z

1. Alec -- who has not been eating much (apart from raisins and milk, don't ask about the nappies) -- picks up a fragment of my bread and puts it in his mouth. And takes it out. And puts it back in. Chews and swallows. I tear off another (raisin-sized) piece.

2. We've been enjoying Abney and Teal.

3. Tim texts to say that he and Rachel are loading up the sleigh and coming down. Oh my goodness, the boxes for Alec -- I've never seen anything so magical. His Christmas and birthday piles are like something out of a children's story with a very happy ending. Tim says rather sheepishly that he expects Alec will enjoy the packaging more. But he promises that Nick and I will enjoy the contents, too.

Morning baby, the noise and finding a tenner.

2011-12-19T22:17:00.002Z

1. I've had a night -- alone -- in the spare room. When Nick brings Alec up in the morning, I am very pleased to see him with his soft baby hair, plappy hands, four-and-a-half teeth and his skinny legs and big fat nappy bottom.

2. When Alec is happily engaged in something, he often makes a little noise that sounds like "um-hum". It has a resigned cadence similar to "heigh-ho" or "oh well". This morning, he says it as he takes himself off the breast.

"I really like that noise," I tell Nick.

"So do I."

3. At the cake stall: "I've got enough for one cake. Which would you like?" And then: "Ohhh, Nick, I've found a tenner I didn't know I had. You can have as much cake as you like."

Considering, don't care and a night alone.

2011-12-18T22:50:00.002Z

1. There are a lot of things that need doing: a Christmas tree, presents to buy and wrap, washing, cleaning, supper to consider -- but the most important thing is that Alec wants to be close to me. He burrows in, hot and damp. He doesn't want to feed -- he just wants to rest his cheek on the bare skin of my chest.

1b. I bring the Christmas box down, and lay out the Christmas books.

2. When he asks what I want for supper, I tell him that I don't care. "I don't want to think about, and I don't want to deal with the consequences." He says: "Fish and chips."

3. To go to bed in the spare room and know that Nick will deal with whatever the night brings.

Journalling and blank page fright

2011-12-18T22:42:00.000Z

New year, new diary! Is anyone planning to journal more in 2012? The good people at Taschen sent me a Keel’s Simple Diary (volume 2) to try out. It’s a hardback guided journal that comes in six colours. Each page has space for a date (you don't have to work through the book in order) and a set of surreal options to tick. There's a quote, and some brief prompts to fill out -- you can get the idea at the Keel's Simple Diary website. It's a pleasing little book -- but aren't all new diaries? Holding it made me think about my own experience with journalling, and I felt an essay coming on...

I'm not very good with a plain notebook: I suffer terribly from blank page fright -- that's why Three Beautiful Things has a simple but loose instruction. Every time I feel inclined to stop I think “What sort of a loser fails to find three things they like in a day. And what sort of rubbish writer would fail to articulate those things.”

Three Beautiful Things has one serious limitation -- it is not a place to write about the grimy, grotty and depressing (unless the day has been particularly rotten). But Fiona Robyn overcomes this with her Small Stones, "a polished moment of paying proper attention". They can be about anything that catches the eye (or the ear, or the nose. Fiona is running a River of Stones during January to encourage more people to give it a go.

I was doing well with Morning Pages, a habit left over from The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. I filled page after page with early morning chatter and I was certainly writing, but words that I was not going to look at again. I prefer words that continue working after they hit the paper, so I made my own story diary by writing a prompt at the top of each page and... well, just going for it each morning. Plenty of good story seeds resulted, and every time I dig back into the books I find another exciting project to explore.

If the thought of a whole page daunts you, there are other options.

Keri Smith’s works How to be an Explorer of the World and This is Not a Book are both in my library, embarrassingly un-used. I think Explorer's focus on actual collected objects didn't work well for me -- I'm more about words than things. But I would love so much to be the person who accumulates and is inspired by found objects. My ownership of this book says more about the person I want to be than the person I am. Having said that, it's full of ideas that apply to anyone who wants to look more closely at the world, and I've adapted some of the thought experiments and exercises to my own ends. This is Not a Book issues prompts with which to journal, or even just experience.

Follow these links to Amazon if you'd like your own copies of Keel's Simple Diary or How to be an Explorer of the World or This Is Not A Book or The Artist's Way: A Course in Discovering and Recovering Your Creative Self.

Unimpressed, no and finally.

2011-12-17T20:53:00.000Z

1. "Look, Alec, snow!" He looks back at me unimpressed, as if there are so many wonders in his world that no strange behaviour on the part of the sky would surprise him. He's got a filthy cold, though, so may be excused some world weariness.

2. To remember that 'No' is a complete sentence.

3. The supermarket delivered at 10am and the bags are still on the floor after supper. At last we have time to check down the list and put everything away.

Cheesecake, manlet flu and dispatch.

2011-12-16T23:02:00.000Z

1. Strawberry cheesecake with a crumbly topping. Alec doesn't want any, so I eat his share. It is so delicious that I wish I'd bought two slices -- Nick loves cheesecake more than anything.

2. To sit on the sofa and cuddle my poor feverish baby.

3. Late at night, to press send on an email carrying a piece of work.

Best feet, red satin and cold chicken.

2011-12-15T00:32:00.000Z

1. Poor Alec -- another fun thing cancelled because he isn't feeling well. We put our best feet forward, though, and go up town, just to get out of the house really. He has a sleep on the way up the hill, and wakes up refreshed at the library. He shuffles himself around the book boxes while I pick out some books for him. Then we sit and I read him a story. I can feel him getting heavier and softer, and we sit in silence until he falls asleep.

2. It's secret Santa time at the office. I am delighted by mine -- it's a red satin handbag and some pearls and a box of chocolates. I am particularly touched when Mandy says that it came from the delivery driver, who I've never even met before. I'm going to look out for a matching red dress.

3. I do like a cold chicken sandwich with mango chutney and lettuce.

Up first, climber and panto.

2011-12-14T21:49:00.000Z

1. Oh how lovely, it's morning and Alec is asleep. I come down to the kitchen and make Nick's breakfast. While he eats and gets ready for work, I make pancakes for me and Alec later on. Then there is time to put two casseroles in the oven. I miss my mornings.

2. "I don't want you," says my mother as a wet and nappyless Alec climbs out of my arms and on to her. "Get off, I'm cold and I'm covered in zips," she says. He hasn't even given her time to take her coat off.

3. Caroline takes me off to the panto -- it's Sleeping Beauty this year, with a show stealing Derek Moran as Silly Billy. I try to see it though the eyes of future Alec -- I think he would have liked the prince flying through time, and perhaps the dancing toys. He might have got a bit over-excited, and been the child who shouts out just before everyone else. And he'd have been half-scared, half-marvelling at Nanny, who was a very lusty, hale pantomime dame.

Red blanket, earth and just us.

2011-12-13T22:40:00.001Z

1. In BHS there is a gorgeous red fleece blanket with a laser-cut edging. I am consumed by covetousness because it's so nowishly Scandi, and it's just a tenner. But there is only one left, and it's in the display. Then I spot another scrumpled up and tucked away behind the display bed. I ferret it out and bear it in triumph to the till. When Nick comes home, he says that a laser-cut blanket sounds like something out of the future.

2. I get to the cashpoint, and find I've forgotten my purse. I think back to the advice I was given last week about being more grounded. I am so ungrounded these days that I don't even remember how to be grounded. As I turn the pushchair round, I look up at The Common and for a moment I know how it feels to be connected to the earth again. That's something to hold on to.

3. We have the playground almost to ourselves, and we know the other people there.

Bun fairy, gravy and shelf swapping.

2011-12-12T22:31:00.000Z

1. The cinnamon bun fairy leaves a box on our doorstep early in the morning. We have them warm for breakfast.

2. The chicken comes out of the oven sitting in perfect gravy. All I had to do was skim off the fat and serve it. I have no idea how this happened, as normally I make gravy in the pan with some stock. The meat was a touch dry, though very tasty, but I can't work out what I did differently.

3. The spices come down, the cookery books go up and the writing books get moved out all together to make way for toys. It's amazing how swapping the contents of two shelves freshens things up. There's been a lot of shelf swapping round here as we move valuables out of tinksing range. It's like preparing for a flood.

Skaters, the capture and the welcome.

2011-12-11T22:06:00.001Z

1. The sound of ice skating at the temporary rink in Calverley Grounds -- the psh-psh, and the soft clonks of skates hitting the barriers, and voices in the cold night air.

2. There is a hazy ring around the full moon tonight. It's low in the sky as I go up town, and particularly large. A boy and his mother -- she's carrying a camera and tripod -- walk ahead of me. Hunters.

3. As I come out of the dark and into the church hall, the smell of cinnamon buns wafts through the doors -- so I know I've come to the right place for Anna's screening of It's A Wonderful Life.

And now a public service announcement for the people of Tunbridge Wells: Anna organised her wonderful film night partly because she loves a feel-good movie -- but also because she wanted to bring in volunteers for the pop-up ten-bed shelters that will be open at weekends in January and February. You don't need me to tell you how vulnerable rough sleepers are. These shelters will save lives this winter. But if they are to open, more volunteers are needed -- although it's a church initiative, anyone is welcome to pitch in, and it's organised so you can do as much or as little as you want. Here's a link to more information.

Swept, pleased and warm towel.

2011-12-10T22:02:00.001Z

1. Last night's storm has cleared the leaves from the trees and swept away the old year.

2. In Alec's nursery book, his key person has written that "He has been walking with one of the wooden walkers this afternoon and was very pleased with himself." Which sounds a lot like my little boy.

3. To spread a warm towel from the radiator over my legs. Alec knows it's nearly time to get out of the bath.

Home, storm and cellar.

2011-12-09T22:14:00.000Z

1. I bring the pushchair in and shut the door behind us. The heating has been on for half an hour.

2. To go upstairs to the attic and listen to the rain pelting down on the tiles and the water running into the gutters.

3. Our landlord's handbook warns that the cellar floods in bad weather (we're on a hill, so water comes in and then goes out again). Well, the rain hurling itself at the windows is definitely bad weather, and for the first time since we moved here, there is not a sofa on the cellar hatch. I open the door to have a look. Bone dry... and much, much larger than we thought.

Are you happy, movement and advice.

2011-12-08T20:59:00.001Z

1. I tell the health visitor, and she looks straight at me and says: "Are you happy doing those night feeds? Do you mind them?" I think for a moment and I say that mostly I like to feed him when it's still and quiet, but there are nights when I'm so tired I want to curl up and die. She says: "It's never too late to teach them to sleep by themselves, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. There's always something we can try."

2. "He's very..." She looks down at Alec, a blur of excited arms and legs, babbling, pen stealing, thrilling and giggling as he rolls over, eats a sheet of stickers and tears up the paper changing mat. "He's very active."

3. She hands me my tiny bag of treasure and I hang it on the handle of the pushchair... "Oh," she gasps, "don't put it there. It's got glass in it!" She takes it and tucks it into the hood.
I am dazed and apologise for being careless with the beautiful things that she sells. "I'm all over the place at the moment," I confess. "I leave a trail of lost things..."
"Do you?!" she is surprised, it seems to me. "You need grounding," she adds almost dreamily.
I'm so very glad I walked into Blue Moon Gallery on a whim because the baby was asleep. (Go and have a look if you're around -- Iaysha Salih really does have the most fantastic taste.)

Fire warmth, lamb provencal and game on.

2011-12-07T23:19:00.001Z

1. "There's a fire going in the sitting room," says my father. And there is -- warm red light is glowing through the woodburner glass.

2. A deep red pot of my mother's lamb provencal, sour sweet and very savoury. Alec has it blended smooth and does good work with his spoon.

3. The kindness of gamers -- and their wives. We are playing in the dining room, and I can hear Alec chatting to Audrey who is looking after him so Nick and I can both join in. We haven't been to Tim's table since before Alec was born.

Understands, bites and guilty.

2011-12-06T23:26:00.000Z

1. It's amazing how much Alec understands -- I head off a howling melt-down by telling him: "Milk when we are both dry and dressed." He latches on when I bend over to dress him. I disengage him and tell him again: "Milk when we are both dry and dressed." He grins cheekily -- he knows he was pushing his luck.

2. She brings out Alec's toasted sandwich cut into baby-sized bites. The Romanian Hospice Tea Shop volunteers are always so welcoming.

3. The laptop battery runs out, so it's time for bed. Nick is still on his computer when I come out of the bathroom, and I go to the bottom of his stairs and call up (like he does with me): "Not too late, now." His reply is similar to the reply I always give him, and I recognise my own guilty, defensive tone. It makes me smile to know that he is prone to the same faults as me -- even if it is only once in a while.

Time, swap and wreath

2011-12-05T22:28:00.001Z

There's a post about 3BT on fromi2us with some pertinent quotes about gratitude. Do go and have look.

1. We've come all the way to the industrial estate for a small but important errand (getting Alec a car seat). The purchase is the fruit of much worry, and much research, and walking out of the shop with the seat is a bit of an anticlimax. I feel as if we've pushed hard on a door, only to have it glide open easily. There is a bit of time before our train, so we go for coffee in a bland chain cafe. It's actually very pleasant -- bland places often seem more baby friendly than indie places -- and it feels like good family time.

2. Alec reaches for a pain au chocolate at the next table. "Sorry, mate," says the owner. Next time he looks up from his paper, Alec is holding out fragment of muffin in a conciliatory manner.

3. Twining ivy from our garden into a wreath.

Time alone, retire and detail.

2011-12-04T21:26:00.001Z

1. I wake early, but the boys do not, so I go downstairs and sit with a mug of cocoa and a computer game.

2. To retire to bed in the dark middle of the afternoon and read and doze until Nick brings the baby up for a cuddle.

3. "That's what I really like about Downton," says Nick. He is impressed because Lord Grantham stands alone with his arms by his sides in a crowd of saluting soldiers. "He's not wearing a hat," my detail-conscious husband says. "In nine out of ten dramas he would have saluted, but not this one."

Magic bag, brownie and dance.

2011-12-03T22:02:00.001Z

1. Alec gets bored of the toys I've brought for him -- but Katie produces her magic bag and pulls out some trucks for him. She is now past her due date, and into the waiting days. She is much more patient and more graceful about it than I was.

2. A perfect chocolate brownie -- warm and bitter sweet and squashy.

3. ...and everyone got up to dance. A work Christmas party is like Saturnalia, or one of those festivals where everything is turned on its head, and the barriers of rank are washed away. We drink and talk and dance and make fools of ourselves. Bold questions are asked, and flipsides examined. On Monday we'll see each other with clearer, kinder eyes.

The bite, toast and not very good.

2011-12-02T07:48:00.000Z

1. When I pick Alec up from nursery, they tell me that there's been a biting incident. My heart plummets to my boots. Alec bit me badly while feeding a couple of weeks back (it got infected, I had to have antibiotics and now I've got oral thrush which is so painful that I don't want to eat, particularly chocolate). He's been biting when he gets excited, and we've warned the nursery and worked hard to curb this troubling habit. To my relief it turns out that he was bitten by another child -- identified only as 'A' in the write-up. He was putting his finger in their mouth at the time. The treatment was a cold compress and a cuddle, and he seems to have forgotten all about it. Of course I'm very sad and sorry for my poor manlet... but a terrible part of me is thinking: "Now you know how it feels, you little horror."

2. After an afternoon apart, to sit and eat toast together.

3. Catherine rings. "Good time, bad time?" she asks as always. Tonight it is definitely a good time, and we chat on. She says she has had a tough time herding the children into bed tonight. Ellie started making a crown at an awkward time. When challenged she said she needed it for school tomorrow. "What? You need a crown for tomorrow and you tell me now? What's it for?"
It seems it's for a swimming class.
"But you don't learn swimming, Ellie. Go to bed."

Get through, narrative and fennel tea.

2011-12-01T08:17:00.000Z

1. To try ringing again, and to get through.

2. I love my NCT group because it embraces a wide range of parenting philosophies, and because if you ask, you get a set of honest views. I've been struggling with the amount of milk Alec requests. I'm happy to give, but I want to give on my terms now he's almost one. He's still behaving like a newborn though, demanding all the time, but now he's strong enough to climb on me and co-ordinated enough to grab at my top and pat me down. I'm wrung out and I'm losing weight, and he still isn't sleeping through the night. Both my GP and the health visitor suggested I cut back on the feeds by encouraging him to eat more food. But I'm struggling to set the boundaries: He is so grown up in some ways, but he is also still a baby in a loud, bright, confusing world, and milk works for him when it all gets too much. Michelle says: "If he asked for a cigarette when he was 13, would you give it to him? I know it's not the same, but you know what I mean..." And I do. I really do. That tiny story helped me see the situation clearly. Alec will learn other ways of comforting himself -- but only if I push him a little.

3. A mug of fennel tea.

Lilies, mince pie and early.

2011-11-30T20:03:00.001Z

1. My anniversary lilies opened on Sunday. The stigma is coated with velvet the colour of aubergines, and the white petals have a zing of cold lemon yellow up the middle.

2. "I just fancied a mince pie," says the mother. Then she puts the kettle on.

3. Alec goes to bed early -- very early -- at his own request, and Nick comes home to a tidy, quiet house, a plate of sandwiches and a gently steaming cup of tea.

Rejoice, wipe and mountains.

2011-11-29T22:28:00.001Z

1. While we are waiting, I get chatting to a lady on another table. She says a lovely thing about Alec: "He makes me want to sing and dance with happiness."

2. Tim reaching over to wipe Alec's nose during lunch. I get a lot of pleasure from... well from Tim's pleasure in the time he spends with Alec.

3. We go to bed early and do some reading. I pick up one of the graphic novels Nick gave me on our wedding anniversary. It's an adaptation of HP Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness. I first read this novella during the year I was Tim's housemate, on his recommendation; and it was a throw-away Lovecraft reference that helped bring me and Nick together. But anyway, Ian Culbard's illustrations -- they are reminiscent of Tintin -- convey the oddly claustrophobic (given the Antarctic setting) feel of the original. And I think the cover is just perfect.

Water vapour, control and roast dinner.

2011-11-28T20:58:00.001Z

1. A shaft of long low winter sun hits the water vapour in the bathroom, showing how the air currents move and swirl. I stand in my towel fascinated, watching the illuminated specks dancing as I breathe.

2. Alec finally makes himself understood -- he wasn't asking me to change the radio station, or dance with him. He wanted to the remote control.

3. Perfect crackling, and perfect roast parsnips.

A word from Alec, bagels and home farm.

2011-11-27T20:29:00.001Z

1. I wake up super early with a knot in my stomach. Nick is half-awake beside me, and I tell him that I'm feeling anxious. Alec rolls over in his cot and pulls the cord on his music box. "See," says Nick. "Alec doesn't want you to worry either. He wants us to listen to Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

2. There is one step in the recipe that I'm a bit wary of: the poaching. I can't help but imagine my bagels falling apart in the seething water. But they bob around and puff up -- they take on the texture of wobbly thighs, however. They smooth out as they bake, and turn reddish brown and glossy.

3. "Oh, really," I tell the lady on the rapeseed oil stall, "I grew up in Staplehurst."
"Small world," she says.
I tell her which farm.
"That's the one," she says. "The big field behind the white cottages."
Really small world. And I buy a bottle of her oil.

Cake, wonder and early night.

2011-11-26T21:45:00.001Z

1. A little brown cardboard box containing a piece of cake. I'm glad I stood my ground and waited, rather than rushing straight into work.

2. I have been working all afternoon on two separate computers -- an office Mac and my own PC. I've had my Gmail account open on both machines, and I've been using both to send emails and download pictures as the need arises. Sometimes I've had the same email open on both machines. I still can't quite believe it's OK to do that, but I've never yet had a problem.

3. By the time Nick gets in, Alec is asleep. We have a whole, long evening ahead of us -- and then we spoil it by dozing off so Nick's supper is late...

Rigid, planet and found my phone.

2011-11-25T22:43:00.001Z

1. When I try to put Alec in the pushchair he grumbles, arches his back and goes rigid. It's irritating because it's cold and dark and I really want to get us home. But it's funny, too, because my mother recently described me doing exactly this as a baby; and I'm very flattered that he would prefer to be carried in my arms; and it's amazing to see him expressing himself so clearly.

2. The first star is so bright that it must be a planet. It's in the eastern sky and we are walking straight towards it. I can't wait to see Alec find out about space.

3. To see my lost mobile phone glowing down the back of the sofa.

Lunch, climbing and up and down.

2011-11-24T20:57:00.001Z

1. A bacon roll and a cup of tea. Lovely.

2. Alec is climbing up me at the soft play area -- he's got the wrong idea somewhere. I lie back and let him climb along me instead and my back slowly unpings. Last night was tough, and I seem to have picked up a bit of tension. "You look like you could stay there all day, Clare," says Laura. It's tempting... If only bacon rolls and cups of tea were allowed in the ball pit.

3. It didn't even occur to me in planning today that to get home we would have to bump the pushchair up the station footbridge and down the other side. It's just as well , because I would have worried about it, and it wasn't as bad as I imagined.

Thorn tree, voice and wrap up.

2011-11-23T22:16:00.001Z

1. From the train I catch sight of a hawthorn tree glowing red with berries alone in the middle of a misty field. Just that image, before Alec calls me back.

2. Rosey phones in her lunch break. It's strange to think of a person in the Antarctic having a lunch break; and it's strange to think of our voices going back and forth across that distance. She has seen more penguins, and says that later in the year, as the long night approaches, you get round-the-clock sunsets.

3. A shout outside the window interrupts my work. It's my parents and Alec off out for a walk. I send them back inside to get another blanket for him. It's not very cold, they tell me, and Alec is a hot little body. Of course I trust my parents totally where his care is concerned, but there is some pleasure to be had in bossing your own mother and father around.

All right, new sister and anniversary.

2011-11-22T21:17:00.001Z

1. The postman has brought the parcels, the engineer has mended the internet and my work on the magazine is done. All's right with the world.

2. She leaves her mother and her granny and her seven-week-old baby sister to come and stare at Alec. I tell her that he wasn't much fun at first. He was just cross. "That's what she's like," says her mother, pointing to the tiny baby on her chest.

3. Nick and I curl up on the sofa to eat chocolates, drink fizzy wine and enjoy the books he has given me.

Cava, chocolates and fruit.

2011-11-21T21:26:00.001Z

Our internet went down for a few days, hence the interruption. Everything is OK now. It's been pleasant chatting to each other, and wondering about things, rather than rushing to look them up.

Rosey has written a few posts about her new life in Antarctica, or Auntarctica as we call it now. I'm sure she'd be glad of a few comments to say hi! She's very far away.

1. We open a bottle of Cava to drink slowly throughout the day as we celebrate our wedding anniversary.

2. Nick and Alec come home proudly bearing a box of chocolates the size of an occasional table.

3. To cut pieces of fruit and hand them to my boys.

My bath, time and my milk.

2011-11-20T21:25:00.000Z

1. To loll in the bath -- by myself, without someone using me as a step ladder or trying to feed.

2. In Marks and Sparks, I suddenly remember that I'm supposed to be listening for the alarm on my phone, telling me it's time to get home. I pull it out of my pocket just as it goes off.

3. Alec detaches himself and squirms feet first off the sofa. I tell him that if he doesn't want milk, then I'm going to offer it to Blue Lamb. Blue Lamb loves milk. Alec looks horrified and asks to be picked up again.

Pyjamas, meet and early to bed.

2011-11-19T21:24:00.000Z

1. At Alec's nursery, everyone is wearing pyjamas to raise money for Children in Need.

2. If I hadn't stopped to buy a cupcake (only I discovered when I came to pay that I had no money on me) I wouldn't have run into He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, on his way back from buying a dinner jacket.

3. Afternoons at work and nursery have tired us out. By the time Nick gets in we are both asleep.

Mop, progress and phone.

2011-11-18T21:16:00.000Z

1. To clean the high chair area with a wet mop and put down fresh newspaper.

2. "Are we doing all right?" I ask the designer. "Yes," he says. "I think we are."

3. "He was playing with this," she shows me the toy phone. "When I said 'ring ring' he picked it up."