Another year begins! A happy 2012 to you all. I can't believe how fast the milestones – birthdays, Christmas, Wimbledon, I'm a Celebrity... – seem to come round. There's a paper snowflake in my window that I put there two Christmases ago – about once a year I notice it and think vaguely, that shouldn't still be there – but by then it's usually nearly Christmas again anyway. I might as well not take down the decorations at all this year, since I'll only be putting them up again in all of five minutes time. It wasn't like this when I was young. A year took a whole year to go by.
Larkin is walking and squawking now (really loudly. We caused people to walk out of Moksha during one recent shouting session). He loves to climb – onto stools, up ladders, anything. Parks suck at this time of the year, and softplay centres, even if they weren't all situated in the industrial back-of-beyond, are basically the seventh realm of hell, so I find myself really wishing someone with a bit more money and business nous than me would open a properly child-centred cafe. It's not a lot to ask and there's a gap in the market the size of the channel tunnel. I can't see how it could possibly fail, when people are prepared to spend £5 or even £10 just to be able to sit and have a coffee and a chat and know their toddler is safe and amused. I take Larkin to Baby Jam primarily because I think he likes the songs, but also, frankly, because it's a big indoor space with nothing dangerous in it, and it's worth the money for that alone.
Speaking of things being worth the money – my friend Kath passed on a genius tip – launderettes! Our local one, Soapbox, is lovely, warm, open late and, most importantly – it has tumble driers. No more house full of washing that never dries. So worth it.
I am off to visit family in South Africa for two weeks this month (watch this space for How It Went and whether J survived lone-parenting, or indeed discovered the secret I've always kept hidden, that in some ways it's actually easier.) I had planned on taking Larkin as my family would love to meet him. But twelve hours in a tin can with a child whose only real sources of entertainment are food, stairs, and shouting, would be hell for me and my fellow passengers. So I'll be holidaying solo. Am I looking forward to it? Yes of course! Will I know what to do with myself? Not even slightly. Will I be able to hold a cogent conversation and not mention my children? What do you think??
