The weather outside is frightful.

There is a gale blowing outside, it is pouring with rain again, so we (Me and the littlest) decided it would be a good idea to get a large bowl of water and wash all his horsies.  He has a rather large collection, which grew from watching 'Spirit-Stallion of the Cimarron' and has now become somewhat of an obsession.  It is impossible to have a conversation with him without talking about horsies, even if we are discussing what to have for tea, or bedtime, horsies manage to creep in there somewhere, although disturbingly they are starting to be dead horsies we are talking about, but perhaps that is what comes from having two older brothers.
The thing I have discovered is that a two year old should never, under any circumstances, be left alone with that large bowl of water, as they then decide it is time for their bath too.  The kitchen floor is now awash with water, there is a soaking towel attempting, not very successfully to catch it all, all the toys have had a wash, and the washing up liquid and shampoo are depleted.  But for half an hour's entertainment, while the worst the British weather has got to throw at us is battering the windows, I could think of far worse things to be doing, than sitting in our kitchen and watching Leo have a really good time.

 Now I can open the door to the dogs and see if they want a wash too.

Oh it's a ninth birthday!

Feeling very emotional and unsettled today as J turns 9, and looks rather large.  I have just completed a lovely gluten free birthday cake for him, with obligatory cool graffiti type writing and a stunt scooter on it.  These may sound rather impressive, but I cheated by using a food printer to print out the writing and the picture.  I have found a toy skateboard to lean against it, so I count that as suitable creative input.  I am now battling with a football table, that started to be built on boxing day, so I think it needs to be finished now, especially as we have five other boys to try and entertain this evening for two and a half hours which seems rather a stretch.  I guess I should get back to it.  I am arming myself with a cup of tea and paracetamol for my dodgy arm, which seems to be a definite sign of middle age creeping up on me, not really sure how that happened, but my nine year old big boy should give me a clue.

I am considering starting a support group for mothers of just boys, although it may have to run every night and supply members with copious amounts of wine and girls clothes to stroke.  As my friend says :My midwife told me there is a special place in heaven for the mother of three boys.'  I will keep holding on to that.