Two splash triumph

A weird one this and non-parents may want to skip it, but here goes.

A couple of months back, when Helen began her maternity leave, we redoubled our efforts on the potty training front hoping to get Dom sorted before the new arrival. Despite everything Helen had ever said about that woman, she bought Gina Ford's 'Potty Training in One Week' and seven days of star charts and perseverance later we were off to a flying start. Or so we thought. Six weeks on, he had a sudden reversal and there were enough 'accidents' to make Michael Buerk dizzy. Advice flowed in - 'It's the change in the weather,' 'They all go backwards before they get it', 'Buy a mop'. Salvation came from the unlikeliest quarter, a video that Aunty Jo found on t'internet of a little Japanese-speaking tiger, his friend the smiley toilet, his supportive singing parents and eventual big-boy starry pants triumph. (And a bizarre advertising coda). We now have nightly requests to see the little tiger on the 'chomputer' and he sits patiently on the toilet, 'just like little tiger, aren't I?' Yay.

The only thing that doesn't bear thinking about is how Jo happened upon this video or the search results she must have waded through to get it. I daren't even click the 'See more like this' button.

Absolutely word-for-word

Having arrived back late for lunch, I was catching up with Dom as he munched his bagel*

I've got something special for you, something that bangs over trees.
(Me) Fireworks?
No, a beaver.

Absolute comic genius! (winks at Webby)

* Partially given to him because we love how he pronounces bagel 'baygulll' in the same way that the care instructions on his clothes and toys are 'laybullls'. Always puts us in mind of Rory Bremner doing a skit about Michael Howard going to the Pope's funeral and seeing all the 'Purpulll Paypulll Peapulll'. Just us? Probably.

In other news, there's no real news. The midwife visited again this afternoon, and the baby wassock is fine but still only four-fifths engaged. Helen has until next weekend or the home birth will be off the agenda and much grumpiness will ensue.

Holy Chameleon

Dominic had nearly finished his dinner

Would you like some special bread and wine, Daddy?
(offering yoghurt on a spoon and a beaker of water)
We're doing chameleon, but first we have to read some prayers from our books.
(clasps his hands together in prayer)
Once upon a time there was a boy called George* and he was swallowed into a big, big dinosaur**

* All made up stories in this house feature George, after a feeble joke about Dom's real name must be George since it's on the label of all his clothes
** Some of the more biblically minded amongst you may have discerned a paleontological spin on the Jonah story here.

Overdue. Fine

So yesterday was the due date, but nothing to report as yet. Dom, while never being anything but positive, hasn't really been mentioning the Impending Arrival very much at all. Or so we thought. At nursery parents evening this week, it transpires that Dom rarely shuts up about his Mum having a baby in her tummy, how he was going to be a big brother and was definitely going to be having a baby sister whose toes he would only tickle when she was awake. In other good news, he seems to be out of the biting phase that he'd been in last time around and is now Panda Bear's answer to the Guardian Angels. We scanned some more photos too.

Helen is very much ready for it all to happen, and has crossed everything off her todo list. Sadly, and entirely expectedly, the last item on her list seems to have been to draw up a list for me. Hmmmm. As a result we spent most of Saturday putting the garden to bed for the winter, with Dominic 'helping' to replant the spring bulbs and raking up the leaves for me. After lots of praise for being such a good boy, we asked him if he knew anyone else that he could help in the garden. He thought, and then asked 'Grandad Baldy-head?'