Fame of a sort

We are achieving a certain amount of notoriety here.

A very dear friend of mine is an teacher at the English Department in the local University. She was talking to her relatively new students about native English speakers in Tuzla (there aren't many of us). She mentioned that there was an English family with two small boys and a dog in town and asked if anyone knew us.

There was a silence. No one put there hand up. Then one girl ventured: 'we don't actually know them, but we have heard them quite a lot.'

Curse those beautifully behaved Bosnian children who stand silently and watch as my two demolish the window displays in shoe stores. Damn those sensible Bosnian women who sensibly have a big gap between their children so have never had to run the 2 toddler through the market stalls selling toy guns gauntlet. Evil glares to the supermarket who not only insist on having their toy section right at the entrance to the store immediately reducing the visit to 'no you can't have 85 million toys' but who also have trolleys that will tip over if the boys stand on the side and jump, as we have discovered to our detriment - twice. Grrrrr to my boys who insist on going really fast on their scooters, forcing me to run after them, dragging a reluctant dog on the lead, shrieking 'too far! too far! STOP!!!' every time we take them out.

I'm never going to town again.

A new use for the Naughty Step

A new use for the Naughty Step:

1. Loud burp by Mummy.

2. Chorus of 'Mummy! On the Step!' from the boys

3. Mummy retreats onto the step (with a cup of tea) for 10 minutes of peace, quiet and relaxation (sadly the full 37 minutes that my age merits is not an option). The boys sit wide eyed, thrilled with the egalitarian nature of the household where everyone has to go on the step for bad behaviour.

It is what they call a Win Win situation.

A different approach for fussy eaters?

Following on from last weeks post and the comments on fussy eaters (you have to love them or you would end up flinging their rejected macaroni cheese across the room), I've been doing some thinking.

Adam is, indeed, a very fussy eater. When we were in the process of moving to Bosnia I worried about this a lot. Not only would he only eat a very limited range of food, we were moving somewhere where most of that range of food was unavailable. What, I thought, am I going to do without fish fingers, sausages or baked beans? That boy is going to fade away, and there's not much of him at the best of times.

Of course, as it turned out we found other things he would eat and he actually is eating a wider range of foods here than he ever would in the UK. I took a disciplined approach of 'if you eat it, great, if you don't, well fine, but you're not getting anything different for supper' which combined with an absolutely no snacks at all during the afternoon seemed to work. He's better now than he was and I think he will continue to improve.

But in Bosnia I noticed something. They don't seem to have very many fussy eaters here. Almost every child I have come across has eaten a full range of fruit and veg with enthusiasm. They also eat chocolate and sweets with enthusiasm, but (and this is the key here) I've also seen the kids say 'no thanks' to offers of chocolate.

Now, my two, with limited access to chocolate and such delicious banned substances, have never, ever, been known to say no to chocolate. In fact, Adam has on one occasion managed to get his little hands on so much of the stuff that he made himself sick. He gorges on it, absolutely gorges and has no ability to stop eating it.

This has got me thinking. Is it possible that we've got our approach to food all wrong? By banning or limiting some foods do they become all the more enticing and desirable? If we were to allow the kids more access to chocolate and the bad stuff, would they work out for themselves how much was enough? Would giving them this responsibility lead to a more responsible attitude towards food?

I'm not sure I'm prepared to try out this theory. Adam would eat nothing but cake and chocolate for weeks and I would fret fret fret. But, the Bosnian kids here all eat their fruit and veg and all tuck into their food with gusto. I've not seen any really fussy eaters, and given how much the nursery staff fret about Adam's lack of lunch consumption, I don't think they are used to it either. You don't tend to see fat Bosnian kids either, they live active lives running around burning off that calorie intake.

I am however interested to know whether anyone is bucking the 'ban the goodies push the veggies' trend out there and has tried giving their child a more free rein on having whatever they want to eat? Did it actually lead to a child with a healthy attitude towards food, who was able to say no to chocolate if they didn't really fancy it, and who tried out other healthier food? Or is the reason there aren't too many fussy Bosnian children because they are simply not given the opportunity to be difficult over food? Comments welcome!

From the mouths of babes

An exchange earlier following a bout of cheek from my youngest:

Me: You are a cheeky monster!

Luke: You are a cheeky mother!

gales of hysterical laughter from both boys who are very pleased with this retort and repeat it many times to make sure that everyone has heard and understood it.

How on earth does anyone ever manage to keep a straight face?

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Bright Lights, Big City

We've been off on a jaunt. The Brit family packed up and for no reason whatsoever other than we felt like it, took off to Sarajevo for the weekend.

It was marvellous. Sarajevo is a great city and a great city to visit with kids. Being Bosnian, they believe in a long leisurely stroll en famille of an evening, with lashings of quality ice-cream, stopping off for the odd drink here and there. At one point we found ourselves, at gone 9.30pm sitting in an outdoor cafe, supping cocktails with the boys racing around the square and everyone having a fine old time. Normal British routine gone to pot, the boys went to bed with us at midnight and even rewarded us by sleeping until 8 (a first!).

Sarajevo was looking lovely. Much of the centre of town is pedestrianised and there were a number of streets with enormous red and yellow Chinese style lanterns hanging above them. The number of hip cafes has exploded there, during summer it is very easy to relax outside, in a beautiful setting with a restful beverage, even with kids in tow. We even found a pirate cafe which, although intended for grown ups, has many useful things to keep small children amused like skeletons, muskets and pictures of ships on the walls. The Bosnians are a very child friendly culture and in quite a few cafes the waiters got on with the important job of amusing our children so we could engage with the important job of enjoying our cold beer in the evening warmth.

Having felt a bit left out from all the British Mummy Bloggers' get togethers, I decided to arrange one of my own. Well, not a British Mummy Blogger get together in Bosnia as that would be a party of, well, me. No, I arranged to meet a number of people who I have met through this blog which was the closest I could get. First of all we met up with the ever so lovely Brits of Blagai and their irrepressible daughter at the Sarajevo zoo, with its playground, little train and the odd bumper car. The kids hit it off straight away and were off climbing, shouting, laughing, evading their parents and generally loving having another English speaker to create their own toddler world with. The grown ups talked about what annoys us about Bosnia; what we don't get, how can they operate like that and why on earth do they permit... It is not that there is a lot that annoys us, but we don't get much opportunity to offload on other people who understand where we are coming from, so we couldn't resist the opportunity. Barring the odd trip to the Sarajevo hospital A&E (we are told on good authority that it is efficient, works well and you need to a car to get between the different bits of it, but as the whole happy party were reunited in under an hour you have to be impressed at the speed at which they were seen and compare that to some stories we have heard on the NHS) we all had a lovely time that afternoon and are now planning to see if we can get down to the Mostar region for more playtime soon. Sadly for us all, Mostar is a good 6 hour drive away from Tuzla, so we can't just pop in for a cup of (decent) tea.

Next up, I went to meet the other British Bloggers in Bosnia, WeDoAdventure who are also based in Mostar but who had kindly come up to Sarajevo for the afternoon to see me. Dave took care of the kids so we went for a grown up style coffee and gossip. I've been following them since they arrived in Bosnia just after us, it was a treat to meet them in person.

We also managed to squeeze in a coffee with a few other Brits so we could gossip The Ashes, debate whether the Bosnians sell cous cous at all, where we can find English language news for the region and confirm the rumour that Adam peed in the Ambassadors flower pots in the middle of a party. The boys turned their straws into guns and merrily went and found another little boy to create havoc with.

The final stop, in what had already been a real holiday, was to the Baths in Ilidza, on the outskirts of the city. What a find. We hadn't realised it was there, it hadn't been built the last time we went exploring that part of the city. Now there is a whole enormous pool complex, with indoor and outdoor pools, cafes (this is Bosnia, you are never far from a cafe) and, to everyones squeals of excitement including me, water slides! Again, being Bosnia, the old health and safety laws are not so vigorously enforced so 2 small boys are able fling themselves down slides clearly marked age 6 and up. We were there for hours.

Now, back to the same old same old in Tuzla, I'm plotting our next weekend jaunt. As are Adam and Luke, who want to go to Blagai very much indeed and are very taken with this idea of holiday. Ice cream, staying up late, lots of people to play with. Everyones idea of heaven.

Missing some Mummy Friends

Way back when, before we moved to Bosnia, I identified the development of a Mummy Network in Bosnia as pretty vital to how we managed to settle in (and even wrote a post about it: All Hail the Mother's Union). Having friends with similarish age children is such a life saver on those days when nothing is quite going to plan. It also allows everyone the opportunity to get out, behave better and have a change of scene. Before we left I was really really worried about how I would cope without one.

I still haven't developed one. I have many friends here (dear friends, wonderful friends) but they don't have children. I have a few friends with children, but they work full time and aren't around at 3pm on a Tuesday afternoon. The Bosnians, with their much tighter familial network often are able to have their grandmothers help out with childcare. There isn't really any form of toddler group and although I thought long and hard about setting one up, and even spoke to a few people about it, I just don't think it would take off here. Similarly, there aren't any toddler music classes or any of those other types of activities that can bring together Mummys of similarly aged kids. Once the children get to the age of 6 or so the number of available classes takes off, there is tennis, karate, music, swimming, you name it. But they are more of the turn up and drop your children off variety which doesn't help with the trying to make new Mummy friends.

No, those afternoons, once I have picked the boys up from nursery are all mine. Occasionally one of Adam's friends comes over. He is looked after by his 16 year old sister who also comes too. She is lovely, but she is also 16. I'm 2 years younger than her mother. It took us a while, but we are now friends, we've worked out how to while away the afternoon together whilst the boys destroy the house. We have never been invited to their house and I don't want to push it. She has no phone so I have no idea when they are coming, nor can I contact them to say 'hey, I've a great idea, lets go and do xyz this afternoon.'

But on many, many afternoons, we have no company. There is little specific child orientated activity here in Tuzla (the Bosnians being much more about activities that the whole family can be involved in, which is obviously wonderful, but an occasional child focused activity would also be wonderful). I'm left to my own devices with the boys. Boys who, at nursery have been sitting down and colouring in and doing all those industrious, shall we say peaceful activities. Boys who on leaving nursery are like corks coming out of a bottle. They want to run. They want to shout. They want to climb. They want to wave swords around, make guns out of sticks and wrestle.

It is exhausting. They do not want to sit down and colour or glue or make things with Duplo. When I try to do this type of activity it inevitably ends in things being thrown across the room. I've not quite given up, but I do look for activities that can accommodate a good throw or can be done outside where mess doesn't matter quite so much. We do a lot of kicking balls and running races and dragon hunting. I get them on their scooters (what a god send they are) and we scoot and scoot and scoot as I try to burn off some of their energy.

But it can be lonely. So intensely, frustratingly, tear inducing lonely. They are sweet boys, wonderful little lads. But they are toddlers. They fight and have tantrums. They can't quite reason or think ahead. They don't want to let me listen to the radio for 10 minutes. They, or at least one of them, requires attention all the time. And there is nowhere for me to go when it all gets too much.

There have been some long, long afternoons when all my friends are at work and I've had to call Dave and beg him to come back before I totally lose the plot. Or at least come out for a coffee with us so I can have a conversation with someone about something that makes some form of sense.

But a year on, I'm kind of getting used to it. I miss the Mothers Network at home. My goodness me how I miss it. But I'm much better at developing things to do with the boys here than I used to be. I can stretch an activity to last for hours. The boys are older and are much more able to play together than they used to be. But I'm still sitting here, on a Monday morning, with nothing planned for this week, and feeling slightly panicky about it.

Potty Training..it all depends on the definition

So, we are back on the potty training campaign. The current score is 2 attempts to train, 0 successes. Many of the Bosnians look at my youngest's Pampers clad bottom with eyebrows raised. 'Still in nappies?' they say. 'How old is he?'. Usually followed by something along the lines of how their children were trained by 6 weeks and then went on to invent a cure for cancer before they were 3.

But, I have realised it is all in the definition. If you call potty trained wearing pants then ta da - one toddler in pants and one very busy washing machine. If you call potty trained having a toddler that knows when he needs to go, tells you (or even better goes there himself) pulls down his trousers and pants, does the business and washes his hands afterwards and doesn't have an accident not ever then we have a whole different game on our hands.

Although it appears that the Bosnians are all potty trained by 18 months, I've actually realised that most of them are just like me. There is a fairly prolonged period of pants/nappies combo. Unlike me they don't take their kids out much during this period. I don't have a choice as I don't have a local Granny or massive network of willing babysitters to look after the kids. So mine come with me wherever we go. And in the interests of not being a health hazard Luke is sometimes in pants and sometimes in nappies.

I think Luke will reach my version of potty trained (the one that doesn't require the washing machine to do 6 loads a day) at the same time as the Bosnian kids. Now I've finally realised that, I can smile serenely, let the little digs pass over my head and can genuinely say that I'm so very proud of my little boy's progress so far. Yesterday, he managed a standing up wee, next to his brother. 2 little white bottoms peeing down the hill. It is the new state of Nirvana.

snowing again

It's done nothing but snow for the past 4 days. For one brief moment it started raining, but then that water froze into a nice layer of ice which is now underneath a whole lot more snow.

For a Fraught Mummy, this means we are back to the winter routines detailed before (see here) but with an added twist. Yesterday I tried it at nursery.

I pick the boys up at 12. It was 1.30 by the time I managed to leave. There were all the usual scraps and battles about putting on the water proof trousers, socks, boots, a layer underneath the coat, the coats itself, let alone hats, gloves, scarves. But this time it was in front of an audience. Such fun! thought the boys. Look how fast we can run away from Mummy. Watch! we can run into a classroom full of sleeping children screaming at the top of our voices. Can you see? we can find a stash of toy guns and run around loudly shooting everyone. Do you think we can make Mummy really cross, especially if we take off our boots after she has put them on? Ah hah! Mummy is trying not to shout but she isn't going to be able to restrain herself if I run into this office and leave my all my clothes there. Oops, she is really shouting now, she'll be in a good mood for the rest of the afternoon. Let's hide and laugh manically, that'll make it all better! Even better - lets go in different directions and both create carnage. She'll love that best of all!

Are there any other Bosnian children creating such havoc? Er, no. It's been bothering me for a while. Why is it that it is always my children creating such chaos whilst the Bosnian children look on and behave beautifully? Obviously lax parenting, poor discipline and too much sugary food. But, I have a new excuse. I've noticed that the Bosnians are canny. None of them appear to more than one child in tow. Certainly not 2 children with only 18 months between them. I don't know if they just have bigger gaps between their kids, manage to leave one at home with Granny, only have one child or what. But, I'm pretty sure that even I could manage if I only had to get one of them dressed at a time. I'd have a fighting chance of retaining control if I only took one child out. It is trying to get the second variable pointing in the right direction and wearing the right amount of clothes at the same time that causes the majority of my problems.

Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!

important bits of English culture

Before we moved here we did quite a lot of thinking about the ways in which the boys would be exposed to a new culture and how that might affect them. One of the things we hadn't really thought about before we moved to Bosnia was how the boys would be affected in terms of absorbing English culture.

Some things are no different: we have bought/had sent out enough tea bags to sink a Boston tea ship. The number of CBeebies DVDs that we have here would start a library of their own and I don't think they would be watching anything different if we were in the UK. The toy shops in Bosnia sell all the same sort of stuff - we've found great jigsaws, transformers, Thomas the Tank Engine kit, you name it really. I think they'll have enough cultural references with their peers to not make a difference on their return.

But this weekend I started to wonder about how we will build their cultural identity. This weekend was a big rugby weekend in the UK. England were playing Wales, which is an enormous match at the best of times, particular so this year. If we'd been in the UK we would probably have gone round to someones house and watched it on TV - the adults all participating in that time honoured past-time of shouting really loudly at the TV as England promise much and then proceed to throw it all away.

We looked around for people to watch it with, but for some extraordinary reason the game was not on Bosnian TV and noone wanted to watch it with us. We managed to access it via the Internet and D and I watched it on the computer, shouting at the screen as England adhered to form; promised much, threw it all away.

Adam was intrigued by this new routine and wanted to watch. But it became very evident that he had no idea what he was looking at. I realised that he didn't know what the English flag looked like, what our national anthem was, what colours the English play in. He doesn't know of our ancient sporting rivalries, the matches that have a little extra needle. As long as we remain here they won't be exposed to the English national games of rugby and cricket. He will see a lot of football, but he'll believe that the team he should support wears blue (although coming from a family of Chelsea supporters this is probably not such a bad step).

This got me thinking. Maybe we would be doing them a favour. Maybe a life spent not being constantly disappointed by the English teams performance (in football, rugby, cricket, insert name of sport here) would be preferable. But hours spent shouting at a TV screen as England collapse yet again is such an integral part of being English we need to ensure they are exposed to this. The next big rugby game is in 2 weekends time and we shall be watching it, teaching the boys to shout 'come on England' and sing the national anthem.

That said, the Bosnian football team are known for promising much only to spectacularly fail to deliver. Not so different really.

starting to talk

Having just written a post about how the boys are adapting to life in a different language (see post here), it is obvious that this week would be one of great change, particularly for Adam. He has now settled into nursery, trots off quite happily when I drop him off and is full of whose hand he held that day when he comes home, Ema and Melissa being the real favourites. But he hadn't really started communicating with anyone in Bosnian. His teachers said that he talks to the other kids in English and they talk to him in Bosnian. The children all seem to be quite happy with this arrangement and appear to understand each other no problem.

But then this week, I suddenly started to hear him saying more Bosnian words. When his friend, Edo, came round to play I heard Adam say Moje (mine), Pazi (careful) and ovdje (here). Then he started to correct our pronunciation (he does have a point there, it is dreadful). Then the teachers said that he was saying some Bosnian words to the other children in his class.

People overestimate the powers of children to pick up new languages. It is difficult for them and it doesn't happen overnight, particularly if the children are shy. Adam has been in nursery every morning now for nearly 5 months and spent the time laying down the foundations for learning a new language, but it is only now that we can see any audible signs that he is learning Bosnian. I'm incredibly proud of him and looking forward to watching his progress over the next few months.

In the meantime I also heard Edo shouting 'come on!' and 'lets go!' so it looks as if Adam's ambition to teach all the children English is also progressing nicely.

becoming bilingual?

I've been meaning to write a post for a while about the boys and how they are coping with learning a second language. It is obviously a gradual process which means that there is not often an event about which I can write here. Now we have been here for 6 months (6 months!) and the boys have been in nursery for 4, I feel that I can sit back and take stock.

Many people, Bosnian and English, said on our arrival that children are like sponges with language and that they would pick it up no problem and even that they'll be fluent by Christmas. Obviously that is not entirely true. Children do have more of an ear for languages, and they will have a far better accent than we will ever manage, but that doesn't necessarily make the process of learning a new language any easier.

With two very different children, at two different levels of speaking ability, we are finding that we are watching two different routes to learning Bosnian.

Luke joined nursery at 20 months with a few words of English, really only intelligible to his adoring parents. He's quite a robust lad, and after a little trouble settling in has totally adapted to nursery life. His English language has improved enormously over the last few months - as you would expect as a toddler approaches 2. This is a relief to us as we did worry that introducing him to another language would affect his ability to learn English. I talked to his teachers yesterday about how much Bosnian he has learnt. They were unsure. They are pretty sure that he understands them and can certainly follow basic commands in Bosnian. But he doesn't really say anything, although he will mimic back to them what they have just said. He's quite happy to give it a go and enjoys the pleasure with which his attempts to talk Bosnian brings.

Adam, is a different soul. At 3 1/2, is a shy lad. He has never been one to put himself forward or rush to join in. He has always been happier on the outskirts of the group until he knows everyone well. In English he has always been able to express himself pretty well, with a pretty wide vocabulary and full sentences. He found nursery far more difficult to adapt to than Luke. He went from being fully understood and a part of a gang of mates at his old nursery to being the outsider, whom noone understands. It has taken a while but I think he is fully settled there now, but I'm not sure how much he actually enjoys it there. His teachers also say that he understands basic commands in Bosnian, but that he doesn't speak it at all. Not a word. He talks to the other children in English and they talk to him in Bosnian, and they all seem quite happy about that. He is not one to give it a go. Won't speak even words that we know he knows. We don't push him, he can speak or not speak as he wants to. He has also developed his own made up language, full of random sounds. Apparently this is a common path to learning a second language, in theory this means he is practising the sounds of the new language in preparation for the next stage of starting to talk it. We shall see.

That said, I do listen to my two talking between themselves and hear the odd Bosnian word creeping in. Most obviously, like all true toddlers Nemoj! Necu! Ne! (Don't, Won't and No). Also I've heard them say polako, ovdje, gore (careful, here, up) and other such words. Research seems to suggest that they won't really start to talk Bosnian until they have been at nursery for about 6 months, possibly longer.

So, they are learning. It isn't easy for them. And I can't imagine what it must be like to spend 3 hours a day in an environment where I don't understand what is going on. But I think, after nearly 4 months at nursery, they have done the hard part.

And just in case I was worrying that Adam doesn't talk to any of the children at nursery, new evidence proves that he does. We went to the smart supermarket the other day, the Waitrose of Tuzla. Halfway down the coffee aisle, he suddenly stopped and shouted really loudly, and in Bosnian, F**K! He didn't learn that from the teachers.

For anyone interested in looking at some research written by people who are far more qualified than me to talk about this type of stuff some good places to start are here and here.

footloose and buggy free

I realised the other day as I was rootling about in the garage, that since we got to Bosnia I have barely used the buggy at all. Not surprising for Adam really, but Luke is still not yet 2, and we go on dog walks of a good hour every day. Admittedly we don't actually go very far and I have to carry him for some of the way, but even so this is a development I was not expecting.

The Bosnians are terrific walkers, and do walk everywhere and they don't tend to use the buggy for children that can walk either. I imagine this has something to do with the lack of pavements and very bumpy roads not being remotely buggy friendly. As I look out onto the snow and ice scene outside the window I can also see that buggies are not really viable for half the year anyway.

There are a few unexpected side effects of this new buggy free status. I do drive more than I did, a quick walk with a buggy becomes an hour of torment as I try to entice both boy to move forward in a direction slightly faster than that of a drunken snail. Fine if I am trying to kill the hours of a long afternoon but not great when trying to get everyone to nursery before it shuts.

Trips to grown up places like the post office or a bank have also become more tense. For as every parent of a toddler knows, buggies are not merely instruments of moving your child from A to B. Oh no, they are the vehicle in which you can neutralise them by strapping them in and they have to stay where they are put. Without a buggy, and with 2 toddlers I find myself spending a lot of time pursuing the boys around and about whilst waiting for a free counter. With the Bosnians not respecting any form of a queuing system at all, I frequently find myself in said bank or post office for hours and usually have to abandon plans to retain some form of self respect and dignity.

Viruses and snow part 2

Kept both boys away from nursery in responsible adult way today. Thought their temps were up and had potential to go higher. Got prepared for day of fevered brow mopping, nursing and medicinal administration.

They are running around like banshees, destroying the house (and each other) and running me ragged. They are so going to nursery tomorrow.

Playground epiphany

The thing I miss more than anything else in Bosnia is playgrounds. Really good, big, safe playgrounds where the boys can burn off huge amounts of energy and I can have a sanity saving conversation with other Mummys. There are playgrounds in Bosnia, and quite a few in Tuzla but they are just not quite the same. They are much smaller, with maybe one slide, a couple of swings and a small climbing frame. They are generally poorly maintained with the result that things can become absolutely lethal.

Obviously we still go to the playgrounds. Toddlerhood wouldn't be the same without one, and I don't have enough else to do with the boys to get by without going. But I do have to be very vigilant to ensure they don't hurt themselves any more than they would normally.

Hunting down playgrounds has become a bit of an obsession. I got excited about one in Mostar, but on closer inspection it had a lot of broken bits of swing to get impaled on, unbalanced see-saws to smack an unsuspecting chin and the highest slide I have ever seen. It goes without saying that the boys loved it, but I aged about 15 years in an afternoon.

But, just back from Sarajevo, and I can type that we have found THE playground in Bosnia, probably the best we have ever been to anywhere. It has angels singing over it, celestial lighting and hula dancers showing the way. It even serves beer and gives foot massages for tired parents. OK, I might have made the whole of that last bit up. But, it did have 4 (that is FOUR) really cool climbing frames. It had swings for small toddlers which stop them from falling out. It has a lot of spring based see-saws. Everything is made out of wood and plastic and there weren't any sharp bits anywhere. Most of all it was really well maintained. Oh, we had such a blissfully happy afternoon.

Hmmmm

Adam came back from nursery the other day with a spring in his step.

"Mummy," he said, "I'm going to be really good at nursery."

"That's a good idea" says I, feeling pleased that he seems to be feeling more comfortable there. I can see that he is starting to make friends and he even told me proudly that he held Ema's hand yesterday.

Before I could say anything else he continued:

"but I'm going to be really naughty at home".

Looking forward to this one...

One of those days

Big grump and bah humbug from this particular Brit. Just had one of those days where nothing goes right (well almost nothing). The role of mother was reduced to that of a boxing referee. The house is both a pigsty and a perennial black hole which sucks in useful things and puts them somewhere were no sane person would ever think to look. Actually that might not be the house's fault, there may be some toddler interference somewhere. Lots of people were out picnicking in the unseasonal sunshine, which makes walking a food obsessed dog stressful. Said food obsessed dog then careered down a hill and strained a paw leading to a trip to the vet. Nothing wrong with the paw said the vet (yay!) but she needs some nails clipped as they are bothering her (not so good). Nails were clipped a little too close for comfort leading to a small blood bath in the back of the car. Now call me old fashioned but surely a trip to the vet shouldn't end up with me wiping blood off the floors and bandaging up the hound? Then, just as we were settling down for dinner an enormous explosion rocked the house. Turns out that someone had let off a grenade at a bakery down the road - apparently the police have arrested the people involved, all to do with an argument that got out of hand. Actually, this last one didn't bother me that much, having lived in Brixton and witnessed the aftermath of a shooting just outside my front door this one was sufficiently far away to be of interest rather than a worry and the telling of the story makes it sound worse that it is.

Yes, it was one of the days where everything was irritating me. We don't have enough workspace in our kitchen to make cooking an enjoyable activity. The washing doesn't dry fast enough so there are clothes hanging up (and falling down) everywhere. The Estate Agents who are renting our house in the UK are being incompetent. My work is on a pause whilst I try and organise the next assault. We need to get cash for all the bills that are due and no one takes cards or accepts payment over the Internet. A big bah humbug and mega grump.

There was however a ray of light in the quagmire of grumpy mummydom. For the first time ever, Luke did a wee in his potty. Those of you who have not been through the hell that is potty training may not appreciate the excitement of this fact. It makes up for all of the above!

ain't no sunshine when it rains...

Moving somewhere new does not necessarily mean that you get to start a whole new life. The old one does tend to follow you. So, although we are living somewhere completely different with lots of new sights and experiences, many of my day to day trials remain unchanged. I still need to think about what I am going to feed the boys. I still need to work out what to do with them for the whole day. Luke still needs to nap for long enough that he doesn't become the worlds largest nightmare (current banking crisis/credit crunch included) by the end of the day. The dog still needs to be walked. In many ways my life is not very much different to how it was in the UK, except there I can speak the language and have a whole network of toddlers I can inflict mine upon in hours of deep distress.

I very much could have done with a couple of toddler cups of tea today. Miserable weather with a drizzle that would do an English February afternoon proud, so not many of the obvious outdoor activities available. Tuzla is not a city for tourists and doesn't really have much in the way of museums etc. suitable for children. We don't really know people yet we can just drop in on. I try not to let the boys watch too much tv which leaves a lot of the rest of the day unfilled. Many people are deeply talented in finding creative and fun things to do with toddlers, I'm not one of them. At least I am not one of them when it is the fifth day in a row that I've had to do it.

the holiday is now, most definitely, over

After a week or so of living the uncomplicated childfree life, I popped back to the UK (for literally one day) and picked up the boys. The three of us flew to Sarajevo, 2 1/2 hours of purgatory. Flying with toddlers is hard work, flying with 2 is harder work. Suffice to say I earned my Mummy money and nearly wept on landing. After a quick trip to the lovely parks and tree lined avenues in Illidza to try and run the boys around enough to take away some of their excess energy it was a further 3 hour drive through the mountainous roads to Tuzla. Overall they were pretty good especially bearing in mind the very early start and epic amounts of travelling in one day, but home was still a very sweet sight.

Today was the first toddler filled day in Tuzla and it was exhausting. A is behaving appallingly. Refusing to let a chance to torment his younger brother go by, he has also developed a complete inability to hear what his mother is saying and, on being chastised, is combining it with an Oscar winners instinct for melodrama. I'm not sure if it is the change of scene, months of imminent change and now the actual move, an opportunity to get back at his parents for deserting him for 10 days or a heady dose of toddler hormones, but whatever it is we all hope it is going to be temporary. I'm a firm believer that it is change that is stressful and until we all get used to the new environment I doubt we'll be having those movie moment days when everyone is enthusiastically engaged in paper mache.

In the meantime we have appointments to look round 3 nurseries tomorrow.

poo poo face

A has been having a marvellous time recently hanging out with some slightly older children. He is enthralled by them all and has enthusiastically joined in the craze for calling everything poo poo face which he obviously finds absolutely hilarious. L (already one of Trouble's closest friends) also finds it hilarious and is desperately trying to copy his big brother. I'm not all that thrilled - L only has a total vocabulary of about 15 words, and I really am quite keen for 'Mummy' to be added to this list before 'poo poo face'.

There are a number of upsides though - for once it wasn't my boys teaching other toddlers new tricks (a fellow mothers union member is still trying to persuade her daughter not to pull her nappy down in the middle of the road for a quick standing up wee).

Slightly more worryingly, once we get to Bosnia the boys will pick up the language far faster than we will, and I'm going to be completely unaware of what delightful things I am being called whilst in 'mean mummy' mode. On balance, probably a good thing.

All hail the Mothers' Union

Of all the things that are worrying me about moving to Bosnia there is one that stands out above all others. Here, in the UK, I have quite a well developed network of friends with children who can be relied upon to swoop to the rescue on those days when the toys are literally being thrown out of the pram. Today was one such day. A put on his best 3 year old I am atrocious face and was full of whinge and whine from the word go. Nothing was right, he didn't want to do anything, but also didn't want to do nothing. Battering his brother and hording every toy was leading to on-going screaming from both parties. D and I, already grumpy from packing, were not responding well.

This was a job for the Mothers Union. A few phone calls later and the boys and I were out in the woods with other toddlers and other adults and everyone was enjoying themselves. Admittedly the adult enjoyment was enhanced by the appearance of coffee and croissants from an enlightened Mummy, whilst the toddlers seemed to be happy to have other toddlers with whom to make mud pies. The day was rescued, sanity saved and everyone reached the end of the day tired, but happy.

The prospect of not having this network in Bosnia is simply terrifying. Furthermore, my Bosnian is pretty sketchy so not only do I need to find people with appropriately aged children who I like, but I have to find people with appropriately aged children who I like AND who speak English. I suspect it is going to take me a while. In the meantime, I'm fully expecting us to endure some dreadful days. I suspect it is the development of this network which will decide whether our time in Bosnia is a success or not.