I have learnt a few things over the last couple of days:
- The insecurity of renting a house is brought home when you get a letter from the landlord’s agent
- The difference between the lesser and great spotted woodpecker
- Bonfires and a three year old, who obviously knows better than mummy and daddy, are not a good mix
The letter from the landlord was actually totally innocuous, but as soon as I saw who it was from I thought, “Oh no, we’re being evicted, it’s all over” and my heart sank. Having been a home owner for the last 11 years, it’s pretty difficult to adjust your mindset to the fact that the property isn’t yours, and circumstances that are completely unrelated to yourself could take it away from you. Hopefully not, but they could. Anyway, it was fine, so my panic was short lived.
Over the last couple of days, we’ve been lucky enough to study a greater spotted woodpecker on our feeders, obviously, me being me, I wondered if it was the rarer (as the name suggests) lesser spotted woodpecker, it wasn’t. The most obvious difference between them is the size and the great has a red undertail, the lesser doesn’t. Still, any woodpecker on the feeders is a good woodpecker in my opinion.
And finally, last night we went to the local bonfire and fireworks display with our neighbours and their kids. The night started well, the girl was mesmerized by the fireworks display; her face lit up by the light of the bonfire, her mouth slightly agape in awe of the display (she was also very tired, which I think helped with the hypnosis) – it was one of those lovely magical moments. The boy wasn’t quite as entranced, but he didn’t shield his ears for the whole display, which we took as a good sign. Though it never fails to amaze me the difference between the volume of the shrieks, screams and general nonsense that he can emit, compared to the volume of noises he is willing to endure, without throwing a diva like “My little ears are far TOO precious to cope with this” strop.
I have always quite enjoyed firework displays and so the jollity and awestruck stares weren’t just saved for the kids. Once the fireworks were over, we were allowed closer to bake in the warmth of the fire. There is nothing that says autumn like a roasting hot front half and a freezing cold back, the faces of those around lit up in the glow of the fire. It was lovely.
Then the boy decides to start running about, trying to get closer to the fire. At first I tried to just keep a watchful eye and not become the fishhawkers wife of a mother I instinctively am, screeching “Get back here NOW” at the top of my lungs. When he was heading away from the fire all was well, but anyone with young children knows that their running style is similarly erratic to that of a drunkard, and it didn’t take long for him to veer around and head back towards the fire. Clad in polyester. The headlines flashed through the brain of the worrier in me, and I stomped over – disturbing a couple getting friendly with a grumpily flustered “Oh…sorry” as I passed. Once the boy is caught the shrieking, throwing self to floor and lying prone commences. It’s time to head home…especially as the girl is mewling “I’m tired….I want to go home” whilst clutching her daddy’s leg in a cutely pathetic way.
We head back over the field to the car.
“So did we all have a lovely time?” daddy asks chirpily.
The boy sighs and huffs “No, it was booooring…”