Now you see them, now you don't!

Charlotte goes really quite freckly in the summer, especially if we go abroad. When I was playing around with this year's summer photos, I decided to turn a few black and white. I accidentally hit the black and white with red filter button, instead of the normal black and white and suddenly 90% of her freckles disappeared! It was odd to see a summer Charlotte with no freckles for a change. Even she was amazed at the effect.

Family words

It all started when we extended the lawn in the summer. We'd always had way too much mono-blocking and I'd been nagging Thomas to change it when our next door neighbour had his lawn dug up and thrown in a skip outside the house. I noticed as they were about to remove the skip, so 'acquired' it and added a few strips from B&Q to fill in the rest. Feeling smug that we'd managed to double the size of the back garden for less than £100 made us more than happy, especially after our neighbour told us how much he'd paid for his new lawn (which was a third of the size (and more than three times the price)).

On the second morning I noticed the new strips had been turned over at the corners. And on the third whole chunks had been overturned. I was at a loss as to what was causing it. I went through the possibilities - kids, foxes, wind etc and still couldn't work it out until a week in Amaia came running and shaking into the living room and very seriously exclaimed 'Oh, the badness of birds!' I looked outside in time to see a humongous crow picking at the grass, looking for worms. For a week I put heavy objects on all the corners to try to annoy the crows but often Amaia and I would be forced to open the window and shoo them. It became the norm to pass each other in the kitchen, shaking our heads and proclaiming to each other 'oh the badness of birds'. It never occurred to me, however, that Amaia might misconstrue things. After a couple of weeks the crows stopped attacking my lawn and life went back to normal.

Recently the weather has improved again and we've been sitting outside a lot. A couple of days ago a crow landed on the garage. 'Look mummy,' she said, pointing, 'a badness of birds.' I didn't really pay much attention. Today two landed on the lamppost beside the house. 'What's that up there?' I asked, just to check my hunch. 'Two badness of birds.' came the reply. So we have a new family words. Crows will henceforth be know in the Buchanan-Widmann household, not as crows, but as 'badness of birds (n inv)'.

Another good Indy article

I've been reading this. I really agree with her - is this the best such a rich country can provide its kids? No.

I know I'm a bit of a one-track bore at the moment, but this matters to me! So tough!

Amaia

My baby is starting to look much more grown-up suddenly. In this Instragram from today, I can almost imagine her ten years into the future already.

Another nice one

For A'That from Fraser Croall on Vimeo.

I'm Yes because...

Flashmob fun

Well, there we were in Buchanan bus station renewing the kids' school bus passes when we got notice of an imminent flash mob opportunity just the other side of the Royal Opera building - what else could we do but whip out a few flags Thomas had prepared earlier and join in. The atmosphere was electric. You could feel the lurv! ;-)

I think I'd like to work for Ikea!

Granny and her grandchildren

I think we're running out of space on the couch! Here's mum with all her grandchildren: Anna (6), Alasdair (4), Amaia (4), Charlotte (14), Léon (8), Marcel (17), Mum, Catriona (2), Gordon (8).

Humans of New York

I've raved about Humans of New York before. Now he's gone on a UN mission, some of his posts just stop you in your tracks and really humble you. They are well worth a coffee-break, that's for sure.

Italian baby food

I consider myself European, always have, so when everyone was in a tizzy last year about the Tesco horse scandal I did find myself looking on as an alien. To me, if you eat cow, why not eat horse? Anyway, wandering round the Coop in Bibbiena on holiday this year I loved the little jars of horse-flavoured babyfood smiling down at me from the shelf. I wanted to transport them (and the rabbit ones) back to the shelves of my UK supermarket, just for their shock value! Tee hee.

Too wee to remember

I was talking the other week about how the two or three youngest children would have very few memories of Denmark and their grandparents' manse because they came along just as they retired.

Tonight Léon was doing his homework and one of the words he had to write a sentence about was 'pray'. He wrote down 'My Danish granny likes to pray because she used to be a minister'. He read it out, and Anna looked completely blank. 'Farmor used to be a minister????' she asked, really surprised. 'I always thought she just wrote dictionaries like everyone else in the family and she just tells us about religion because she likes god!' I guess it is hardly surprising given Anna was last in the manse when she was eleven months old, but it is odd to think she doesn't know that side of her grandmother at all. As we are not religious as a family, that topic rarely comes up. To Anna, Brita is more a lady who lives in the Tuscan hills tending her roses, than a Church of Denmark minister!

US journalist discussing Indyref

How refreshing to final hear it with the UK media bias stripped away.

Science Centre fun

This topsy-turvy room in Glasgow Science Centre definitely offers endless possibilities for the fun photographer!

Hamster wheel

I have a new-found respect for Rosie the hamster. Having watched Thomas, Charlotte and Léon attempt the Glasgow Science Centre hamster wheel at the weekend, I have to say she makes it look so much easier. Yes, the humans can get it going but they have no notion of how to stop it again in anything resembling a dignified manner. They invariably fall on their face, whereas Rosie calmly slows down and happily rocks from side to side smiling out at us!

Charlotte, my millennium baby

I like this photo: Charlotte, a millennial herself (born less than 73 hours into this millennium), as she captures nearly two millennia of history in a way that really represents this decade, and this one alone!

Grammatical slip-ups

They ask you the sweetest questions sometimes:

Léon: Mum, are your earrings venison?
Me: I think you mean Venetian Léon! 
(And yes, they are, well-spotted!)

Isn't it cute trying to form the adjective from Venice and ending up with 'venison'. Though the idea of wandering about with a hunk of meat hanging from my earlobe does not really appeal!

I've got style

I love it when little kids start to experiment with style. Anna is currently going through the 'trying to look like what she imagines a teenager wants to look like stage'. Amaia has sussed that things look good coordinated or contrasted so some days we get a blue t-shirt and skirt, other days we might get a white top with black leggings and today she came down dressed like this, having completely overlooked the colour scheme and announced - 'I chose this because cats (the dress) go with dogs (the leggings)'. It's very cute!

Two videos from this week

Which one can you relate to?



Or maybe?



I may have one kid more and no cats (for now) but I can definitely relate to her as I sit up at 1am working on a translation or some proofreading to pay for their futures. We discuss politics at the table and the teenagers don't even hide in their phones. I don't think the best time of the day is when I get peace - it's when I have a deep conversation with one of my 5 that shows me they are becoming involved and responsible members of society. That beats a cup of tea any day. Even my 8 year old started a playground referendum debate on Tuesday then came home in tears saying his friends' parents wanted to vote no (the downside of living in Newton Mearns) and he couldn't understand why his future in the EU (we're half Danish) and tuition fees etc were not in their minds. I swear he's better informed than them. Even my 4 year old points at every Yes sticker in a window and says that means 'Scotland'. They are never too young to engage.

A Nordic thing

There I was doing gardening when my Finnish friend walked past clutching her bag of goodies from the newly opened 'Home Bargains' store. She called over to me, almost teary-eyed with excitement. 'You have to tell your husband' she said, rifling in her bag. I waited to see what she was going to produce. Out she pulled a bag of salt liquorice and, almost sniffing, announced - 'It's real. It's Finnish! And it's 69p!' The poor woman hasn't been back to Finland much in recent years and it was like she'd discovered a little piece of home in Greenlaw Village shopping precinct. It was a truly moving experience, so I didn't have the heart to tell her my husband is one of only very few Danes I have ever met who doesn't like salt liquorice!

Please read this

Two child families

My three youngest kids were invited to stay at their cousin's house on Saturday night because it was their cousin's birthday. That meant Thomas and I only had two kids for the first time since the older three stopped visiting their father over two years ago. I know most people only have two so would quite like a night off occasionally, but when you have five, having two is almost a night off - well it is as near to it as you're realistically going to get!

As we drove home from dropping them in town, it already felt weird - the car felt surprisingly spacious for starters. We got in late, 7ish so quickly threw some dinner together. Sitting down at the dining table was odd too, as we only took up half the seats but it was the silence that was most unsettling. Not once did we say 'use your fork', 'sit on your bottom', 'sit down', 'one more potato' 'turn and face the table' etc, etc. Dinner was actually a calm, philosophical discussion rather than a set of commands barked over the general din on dinner. Cooking for four was not something Charlotte was used to either so we ended up with a little too much of everything and when it got to dishes we were surprised to find the dishwasher even had space in it for a second meal! Is this what other people do every day? How very strange! After dinner was back to normal for me unfortunately because of a pressing work deadline but Thomas even got to go out for two hours after dinner instead of reading Danish and giving Léon a violin lesson. Is this what life will be like in ten years once we're down to two?

Finally Marcel remarked. 'This must be what other people live like: kids nearly the same age, quiet adult conversations, no tiny kids around your feet asking silly questions and going on about kiddie nonsense. It just doesn't feel right. It's spookily quiet. It doesn't feel like our family.' He just didn't feel at home without the chaotic lifestyle we call normality!

Did I blink and nearly miss it?

Twelve years ago I walked this little boy to school for the very first time, his two year old sister in tow. We posed for the obligatory first ever 'starting school' photo on the front lawn. It feels like yesterday. I still remember the warmth of the air that day and the anticipation. I remember him waiting in line to go into his class, alone: no parents on the first day. I remember hanging about to pick him up when he came out, proudly having drawn a self portrait entitled 'My first day at school'.

So much time has passed in his life since then, so little in my own. My 'back to school' photos now have a line-up of five, not two and my boy now towers over me by twenty centimetres but it is hard to believe today's was already the last ever full-family 'back to school photo'. They were never all at school at the same time. Amaia could, of course, have started today but partly because she is so small and still too tired for a whole day, and also because I know how quickly this thirteen year period passes, I have deferred her school start till next summer. Marcel won't start uni until around October next year so has promised to come outside next August and stand in the 'back to school' line up wearing his dressing gown and slippers. I hope to convince him by then that wearing his 'Leaver 15' sweatshirt might make for a slightly more presentable picture!

I saw many friends last night on Facebook sharing poems about how hard it is to take them to school that first time and start the process of letting them go. It doesn't get any easier when you know the next step in letting go is watching them leave your house forever, to make their own home, however proud that makes you feel. So I wish him well in his last ever year at school, and await with dread and anticipation when he announces next year, where he is planning to go and study!

A sunny, Mediterranean, Scandinavian place

Thomas and I are slowly coming to the conclusion we had our kids too late... I know I couldn't have had them much earlier, given when we first met and there was the small matter of getting he who shall not be named out of the picture first but in an ideal world it wasn't quite right... It is not that I am one for regrets and I do enjoy our summer trips to the warmth but from a linguistic and cultural point of view, the kids are not getting to know Denmark at all.

Because their farmor retired within months of Anna's birth she lost her big manse and at the same time we lost our base in Denmark and our ties to it. As a family, I am the first to admit we are an overwhelming (if friendly and helpful!) package and therefore can't really impose ourselves on people who are not family, but when Thomas's parents moved to a one bedroom flat, we simply no longer fitted. Of course things were further complicated by their larger, holiday home being in Tuscany. Most kids' school holidays are in the summer and they are always in Italy in summer and that's where there is room for us so Denmark was out. The upshot is that each of the three little ones has only set foot in Denmark one single time since their (respective) 2nd birthdays. So none has a real feel for Denmark as a country and culture. Although they are being brought up speaking Danish, they have almost no contact with Danes and none with Danish children their own age. Of course they are spoken to in Danish in Tuscany (and Scotland) by Thomas and his parents but all around them the conversations in the shops, the parks and the cafés are in Italian. When we are invited to dinner in Tuscany it is either by Italians

or my father-in-law's German relatives

 so instead of sitting for hours at the dinner table taking in at the Danish being spoken, they sit somewhat lost and restless as everyone speaks Italian or German (which  they do not understand). It is a shame because I remember well how much my older two benefited from sitting in the family house(s) in France with everyone inside and out conversing in French and the TV on in the corned of the room also in French.

I can see very little opportunity in the future either to visit Denmark, especially as my in-laws are imminently moving to Italy for more of the year, so Denmark will become a strange, mythical place to them. I've been to Copenhagen a couple of times and think Marcel would love to study there, at least one year, but he hasn't so it is not on his radar despite his fairly decent passive Danish. I also feel my own Danish has hit a wall I will not get over without ever setting foot in Denmark. I was last there over four years ago. I understand almost all of what is said around me but my grammar and my ability to pronounce the strange sounds of that language drown in the Italian that comes much more naturally to me (I have a degree in Italian). It saddens me so must be soul-destroying for Thomas to know the kids will never really know their background fully. I doubt the little ones will consider Denmark as a destination in the future either as it will not evoke warm childhood memories for them, but strangely neither will Italy because the place they hold dear is a strange sunny, Danish-speaking house lost in the Italian mountains. I don't think they fully grasp what Denmark and Italy are - they are condemned forever to be in a strange cultural and linguistic limbo.

Foreign blood

You can tell my kids aren't fully Scottish when you are in a big city at over 30 degrees and running around madly after pigeons seems far more important than sitting in the shade complaining that it is too hot in the sun! :-)

Robin Williams

It's funny - today so many people are devastated that the comic genius is gone but am I the only one who couldn't watch his comedy? I tried often enough but I always felt like a voyeur watching the most tragic clown on the planet almost self destruct. I found his comedy too painful to watch because it seemed profoundly sad to me - as if he was desperately trying (and for me, failing) to hide his sadness from the world. All his manic movements, his noises and silly faces made me want to scream at the screen - "stop that, calm down, get help."

But I am sad, because for me his drama succeeded where his comedy failed - it seemed real, and so poignant you could watch him, transfixed. He moved me to tears in Dead Poet's Society and Good Will Hunting. I no longer needed to squirm uncomfortably because in drama he was deeply believable.

The clown is finally at peace but the world has lost a dramatist.

More from Amaia

Another quote from our shared bath this evening. Pointing at my boobs:
"Mummy, do you remember when I was little and you used to give me milk from your knuckles?!"

(Tee hee)

Through the eyes of a child

I just had the sweetest conversation with Amaia...

Although it's been months since she last saw Monsters Inc, she suddenly decided to talk about it in the bath. If you haven't seen it, the monster above (Celia) becomes contaminated while out on a date, hence the veterinary cone. When she first meets Mike afterwards (who she'd been on the date with), she is somewhat irate and shouts at him. Amaia had totally misunderstood the cone, given we have no large pets, so she'd taken it to be a megaphone!

"Remember that bit mummy, when Celia is so mad at Mike she puts on that shouty cone so she can shout louder at him?"

How adorable is that?!

Marcel at 17

I was trying to think about what to write about Marcel today. But I think this (doctored to remove candidate numbers) speaks for itself:

Despite having to cope with a fair amount of upheaval in his 17 years - my divorce, the death of his beloved Pumpa over two of the most important years of his schooling, his abandonment by three members of his French family, the complete breakdown of his relationship to his father, who he hasn't seen in over 2 years, our own financial difficulties since the start of the economic downturn and their effect on him - he was one of very few kids in his school who had to work every morning before school since the age of 13 and who now works weekends and evenings in a shop to support himself, he has managed to achieve school results, the likes of which I have never seen. The brightest Scottish kids take 5 Highers in their 5th year and uni entrance is based on these results. Very, very few get 5 As - so few they make the front pages of local newspapers. Marcel decided, completely of his own choosing and determination, that he didn't want to take 5 Highers, but instead to take 6 and also schedule in one Advanced Higher (something you don't sit till a year later). Of course the school timetable only allowed time for classes in five, so he took it upon himself to teach himself both Spanish and Chemistry from a book, with no tutor and no teacher. A few times we asked if he hadn't bitten off more than he could chew, especially given his work commitments and because he's a popular and sociable kid too, who enjoys a great social life but he stuck with it and got not 5 As, which was the best possible result in the country but 5 As including an A in the Spanish he taught himself and a further C in Chemistry (how you can teach yourself that without a science lab is beyond me!) and an A in his Advanced Higher too. Seven exams in one sitting, six at grade A is not something I have ever read about any pupil in Scotland achieving, so what can I say? Proud doesn't come close. 

I love my little boy, even though he's now my big boy. I imagine this transcript will open many doors to him at the end of school next year. I hope that whatever he chooses to do with these results will bring him peace and happiness in his life. Well done!

Food for thought

Have a read at this if you're not already a YES. There is no status quo to go back to.

Cute quotes

We've had some fantastic quotes this week from the little people so I thought I'd log them here for posterity.

After Marcel had been missing from the dinner table for several nights, Amaia finally noticed:
Amaia: Where's Marcel gone?
Me: T in the Park
Amaia: I thought he preferred coffee.
(She's obviously imagining her biggest brother serenely sitting on a gingham table cloth, his right pinkie raised, drinking tea from the finest china mug! I have my suspicions that was not what he was up to!)

Then we had Léon on Sunday morning. He comes down dressed in an Argentina football strip and the conversation continues:

Thomas: Are you supporting Argentina tonight then Léon? 
Léon: No, why? (Looking down) Oh! So is it Argentina that Germany's playing?

The boy's on the ball!

Following on from the World Cup theme, we had Thomas, ever the optimist, remarking that Copa Cabana beach was really quite similar to Largs! In your dreams!

And cute little Léon asking innocently if Scotland always used Hampden we we hosted the World Cup... Emmm, that's probably in your dreams too!

And finally Amaia enjoyed the final but was unimpressed with the trophy itself which she thought looked like a 'scrunched-up piece of wrapping paper!'

Through four-year-old eyes

I've just had a very sweet conversation with my youngest:

Amaia: When's Catriona coming to play?
Me: Later
Amaia: Is their whole family coming?
Me: No, just Amanda and the three children.
Amaia: Ahhh - they've got three kids too.
Me: We have five kids, not three kids in our family!
Amaia: No we don't! We have four adults and three kids!

A wee rant about Vote No Borders

This has seriously been pissing me off since I saw it last week, but I haven't had the time to rant!

Even if we ignore the manipulative use of the photo of a sad three year old as the image discussing the views of a child who is supposedly 'ten and a quarter' (I have enough kids of my own to be able to tell the difference...), the opening line sums up everything that is wrong with the far south at the moment for me and indeed the great divide between the UKIP-lovers and the great, warm and accepting Scottish people I am surrounded by. It actually says: "My grandson in England, aged ten and quarter, looks utterly baffled and very sad at thought of  his Grandparents being in danger of becoming foreigners."

Let's analyse that language and its implications - having a foreigner in your family isn't just confusing, it should make you feel extreme sadness and worse still it is a danger! What is wrong with these people? Let me explain to Dr Richard Marsh - my children have foreigners in their family - their grandfather is German, their grandmother is Danish, they have cousins, aunts and uncles in Copenhagen and the East of France. They even have family members who speak no English - shock, horror! Does that make them feel sad, scared, confused or anything else? No, it makes them feel special, happy and thrilled. My six year old daughter proudly takes her Astrid Lindgren book to school to show she can read Danish, my eight year old son volunteers to sing the birthday song in Danish for his friends, my four year old daughter skips into nursery full of excitement announcing she's getting a visit from a cousin or grandparent abroad. She was absolutely overjoyed last year when they did a stamp collecting project to bring in the stamps from her foreign letters to share with her classmates, and her classmates in turn listened, not baffled or scared but actually excited and even a tiny bit jealous. My oldest boy has sat all his French exams early and takes delight in helping the teacher by sharing cultural anecdotes about France. The thing is, having a foreigner in your family, or indeed a dozen foreigners isn't a bad thing, when you have them it is simply normality. They aren't scary, they are family. And you love them just as you would if they lived next door, or for that matter in Australia!

Let's take my daughter's school class - she is six. She is half Scottish, quarter Danish, quarter German. She has friends whose parents are from (amongst others) India, Pakistan, Japan, China, France, Nigeria and Northern Ireland. Are they all scared of each other or offering each other condolences in the playground because of their foreign connections? Or are they simply thrilled to ask what things are like when they visit their grandparents back home, or what they bring when they come for a visit? Take a guess! That is why this ad from No Borders, and presumably the Westminster government, is so wrong. Things will not change while people are being taught to fear instead of embrace others' differences and that is one of the top reasons I want my multicultural family the hell out of the UK long before the in/out referendum of 2017ish.

I won't even bother to analyse the rest of the nonsense in the article, except to say firstly that I'm sick of hearing that it is a one-party push for independence - there are many political, and non-political people voting Yes, not simply Alex Salmond. I've never had any connections to the SNP. I simply know that Westminster is failing my country and we have a way to offer our kids a better future. As for: 'A wonderful country and people in the grip of a narrow, divisive, arrogant, controlling and insular creed called Nationalism.'You can only come out with a line like that if you have never engaged in any conversation with the amazing people at National Collective, Academics for Yes and similar, or if you are deliberately lying. Let's hope it is simply the former (though I suspect not). Never in all my 46 years have I had the privilege to witness the coming together of a less narrow, divisive, arrogant or controlling group of people. My friends in the Yes camp are diverse, multicultural and indeed multinational, (many are even English - they never mention that do they?) They are thoughtful, full of aspiration, forward-looking and not flag-waving nationalists. Whatever your nationality, religion or political leaning you are welcomed with open arms. 

And another thing while I'm on the rant. Since when did my flag become demonized? I seem to remember when the Olympics was in England everything, from your phone case to your pants had to have a Union Jack on it, but if anyone dares to show a Saltire, it is offensive suddenly! Why the double standard?! Maybe we should take a leaf out of Denmark's book. They stick flags in everything just to mean they're happy, not in a nationalistic way. Here's my (Danish) husband's and my birthday cake from this year:

A national Collective video

A powerful speech: and as someone who considers my family to be Scottish, Danish, French, German, European and even a tiny bit English, on my dad's side(!), I can really relate to it. Hear, hear...

Self-portrait

Amaia's done a self-portrait today at nursery. I can't help but wonder if she's imagining herself in middle age when I look at it... Or are those not two saggy boobs popping out the bottom of her t-shirt? ;-)

Auto-correct errors

I'm often amused by my phone's attempts at understanding me. Because I often text in French too, for instance, it likes to auto-correct the word remember to t'émmener, which is a tad bizarre, but nothing beats this week's photo caption...

Amaia was taking photos in the garden and she took this one. I tried to caption it 'A very dignified photo of me blowing bubbles on a space hopper thanks to Amaia.' as I uploaded it to facebook, but had to laugh when it corrected 'blowing bubbles' to 'blessing bibles'! So if you happen to see me in my garden, do check if I'm blessing bibles on a blue space hopper!

Definitely our child

It's been one of those days when you really don't need a DNA test to check you brought the right baby home from the hospital...

Thomas was out in Glasgow so I was doing the bedtime routine. I often sing Léon 'Hush Little Baby' with the obvious alteration of 'Papa' to 'Mummy'. Anna usually prefers other things so hasn't had that one for a while. But tonight she was still awake when I started Léon's song...

Hush, Little Baby

Hush, little baby, don't say a word.
Mummy's gonna buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Mummy's gonna buy you a diamond ring

And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mummy's gonna buy you a looking glass

And if that looking glass gets broke,
Mummy's gonna buy you a billy goat

And if that billy goat won't pull,
Mummy's gonna buy you a cart and bull

And if that cart and bull turn over,
Mummy's gonna buy you a dog named Rover

And if that dog named Rover won't bark
Mummy's gonna buy you a horse and cart

And if that horse and cart fall down,
You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town.

She listened happily right through to the end then said quite matter of fact at the ripe old age of 6 'The tense is wrong you know - it's not 'broke'. Only question is - is she her mother's daughter or her father's?!

Scottish voting in the Euro elections

I don't know about anyone else, but I find this level of apathy in the face of a swing to the right absolutely abhorrent. We hear the UKIP polled 10% but look at this pie - UKIP didn't poll anything like 10%, apathy polled about 65% and that's a whole lot more troubling.

More than ever, yes!

Presumably London isn't following for UKIP because they are less affected by the economic downturn so less in search of a scapegoat. Scotland, however, despite the hardships is the least taken-in in the country. I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want the south east voting in my next government on the basis of this map. At least we have a viable alternative.

Glasgow School of Art fire

It just so happened today that I was in Glasgow with my DSLR when I heard about the GSA fire so I dragged all the four kids I had with me along.

I've always loved the art school - my first trip round it was with my school back around '84 and of course I've had friends study there while I was at Glasgow uni. Most recently Thomas and I first lived together in Rose street and for that reason all of Garenthill feels a bit special to our own story. It was hard not to be moved to tears today watching the windows blow out as the flames took hold of the roof. And everywhere many, many young people were walking around with tears streaming down their faces, their hands clutched to their mouths in shock. Others sat resigned on the pavement in the sunshine drinking beer in complete silence.

It seems 70% of it has been saved which seems beyond belief given what we witnessed first hand. 

Teacher's pet

I know I'm her mother so I'm probably not meant to bitch but Anna is something else at times! Every day in life she comes out with a story of how many 'house points' she's earned for knowing this, that and the next thing, for sitting quietly, for not misbehaving like whoever 'got on amber', or god forbid 'red' today. She would unashamedly take the teachers flowers and an apple every other day to curry favour and likes to make them jewellery when she has the time. Anything that can endear her to Mrs McDougall makes her happy. She even volunteered to sing Danish songs and read Danish books to the class. As a mum, I'm very proud (as a fellow classmate, I'd probably have wanted to trip her up in the playground!)

And so we come to Maths. Anna was working on the above last week when I came in to inconsolable hysterics. Obviously it isn't because it is too hard. It's way too easy now she's 6... But when Charlotte and I finally managed to calm her down enough to get what was wrong out of her, not laughing was a hard task. She was appalled by the messiness of this mathematical technique. The thought of handing in work with things scored out was too much for her to bear! She was trying to insist that once she had filled in all the answers on her worksheet, she should then rub out all the workings. She needed to rid her beautiful jotter of the scorings-out, the rogue little numbers on the sides because otherwise Mrs McDougall might take house points from her for not handing in clean, neat work. Charlotte, who is now going into her third year at high school, mentioned that working was worth 90% of the marks by her age and that erasing it was practically punishable by suspension from school (she likes to exaggerate for effect). At this, Anna dropped to the floor, a blubbering wreck, trying desperately to argue she should at least be allowed to copy it out on a second sheet to prove her ability for neatness to her teacher. Poor wee soul.

Cyclamen

For as long I can remember cyclamen have made me think of my granny. I'm not sure why as I am pretty sure she didn't have any in her garden - it was all rhubarb, peonies and purple alpines with a lilac tree. Did she have them in pots in her house - I can't find any photographic evidence for that... or did she just tell me she liked them, perhaps? It's funny when you have partial memories like that.

Anyway, for what it's worth, I decided back around last November to buy one in B&Q just in her honour and I planted it in the garden, expecting it to last about a week in the Scottish climate but to my surprise it has flowered non-stop over a period of nearly seven months. I know it wasn't the coldest of winters, but it is definitely worth the money. Next winter I'll be supplementing my garden with a few more.

Inside the mind of a 6 year old girl

Inspired by something they found on Youtube, Anna and Amaia have taken recently to using Play-Doh to make outfits, shoes and accessories for their dolls. Given Lots never had a Barbie (she'd threatened anyone who bought her one with a painful death), this whole Barbie role play is a fascinating new experience to me.

I was pottering about the hall and could hear Anna and her friend Emma playing with Barbies in the dining room. I'm not sure what the conversation I overheard says about what kind of teenager Anna is one day going to be!

Anna: 'Emma, pretend this Barbie's boyfriend is coming over to visit her. Let's say she's invited him over to have a bath with her! She might not want him to see her privates when she's in the bath, so you make her a bikini, Emma!'

OMG!

One of those conversations

The three smallest kids currently share the biggest bedroom (as the master bedroom has been turned into the home office). As they are getting bigger, they are taking up more space and have more things. The chaos is becoming overwhelming. ( I need to get a DIY book on how to build your own extension!)

They'd been off for two weeks over Easter and every toy each of them possessed was strewn across the floor. Amaia's chest of drawers is in the far corner of the room but I couldn't even see a path to it as I went to put the washing away. I'd had enough. I snapped.

'I want this floor tidied now! I want a pathway cleared from here to the window before anyone goes out to play today!' I stormed out and downstairs to our room. I was sitting on the bed when I heard Thomas (who hadn't overheard our chat) enter their room. I heard him tell them in Danish that their room was a pigsty and that we wouldn't be doing anything fun until there was no longer a single toy on the floor and everything was back in each of their three toy boxes.

Anna then came out with a classic 'Well mummy said we only needed to clear a pathway, not clear the whole floor and since mummy is older than you she must be the boss so I think we only need to clear a path!' I'm not sure that was the best way to endear herself to either of her parents!

If only we were Danish

Years ago I blogged about the odd Danish habit of single duvets. I'm a hugger. I can't think of anything worse than being under a different duvet in the same bed as the partner I am trying to sleep with. For years I have not been able to find a single justification for such an odd cultural trait... that was until I found my dream duvet last week on ebay... They don't make it any size other than single! Arg! That's discrimination - Danish couples can have lovely minion duvets while we Scots are stuck, unable to use them on our marital beds ;-)

Snails, anyone?

We always feed the kids the same food as we eat ourselves. I can't think of any exceptions. From they first taste solids chilis and spices are added to slowly build them up to the same tolerance as the rest of the family - you can't be making seven meals a night, can you? So on Sunday we had decided to start with snails. Marcel and Lots had had them years ago in France but 3, 4 and 5 had never been subjected to them.

Thomas brought them through. Léon and Anna stared at them in with a mix of fear and horror while Amaia laughed and smiled. I was surprised as Amaia, though great with very spicy food, tends to be the hardest when it comes to tasting new things. I told them I wanted them to try one each. Anna just looked disgusted, while Léon clasped his mouth firmly with both hands. Amaia poured the garlic and herb butter onto her plate and immediately started to dip her finger into it, delighted with the flavour. Again I was surprised how easy she was being. Anna eventually gave in and tasted one sliver, deciding they were vaguely similar to mussels, Léon pulled off a chunk with one hand, gagging dramatically as he put it to his mouth. But we got there. I happened at that point to notice Amaia was still only eating the sauce. Absent-mindedly, I pulled her snail out with a cocktail stick as I thought she couldn't manage it. She looked on completely shocked. 'What on earth is that?' she squealed. 'It's the snail! That,' I said, pointing 'is the snail sauce.' Without a single word she jumped in the air, somehow rotated through 180 degrees, landed cross-legged under the table with her arms folded, her nose in the air and her bottom lip sticking out. 'I've eaten the sauce, but there's no way I'm eating that!' 

I guess we're going to have to work on snails...

Lost phone

Thomas lost his phone today. He asked Anna to look around the house to see if she could see it. Eventually she came and asked me if she could phone it with mine to save her looking.
'What's daddy under on your phone mummy? Thomas? Or 'My dear?'
Hahahaha - don't you love kids?

Eye colour

I'm a DSLR man so have never really been a great fan of mobile phone photos but just occasionally I find they capture something completely right. And this is one of these occasions: Amaia's eyes often look monotone brown but in reality they are caramel brown with a fairly large ring of pale green around each iris. I was more than surprised yesterday to see the Samsung had managed to capture all that detail. It gets a thumbs up from me today.