Friday, 21 November 2014
Thursday, 20 November 2014
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
The McBaby's never really had a favourite toy before, but his new-found obsession with elephants and some rare good behaviour meant that I was minded to buy him a nice elephant to cuddle (it might help him go to sleep without having to hold my hand for hours, I reasoned).
It's not as easy as you'd think. We started in M&S, then WHSmith, then Boots. Nothing. Then the Entertainer who had some massive toys but no elephants and then Debenhams where I made the mistake of asking that question which is also answered with "if it's not on the shelf, then we haven't got any". Followed by "have you looked on the internet?"
Another staff member guided me to the computer and typed in elephant. "Perhaps we could have a look under Keel Toys as they have a concession over there?" I proffered.
"K-I-L-L toys?" she barked?
"Er no, K-E-E-L. I don't think "Kill" tested too well with the focus groups."
Then we tried the bank-busting JoJo Maman Bebe. Bingo! An elephant toy for babies on the shelf, complete with bell.
Let's have a look for something for bigger boys, I said, spotting a lovely plush blue elephant standing tall on the shelf, retreating back to our first choice when I saw the £57 price tag.
So we took the elephant home (and no one was around to hear my "shall we put it in the trunk of the car" joke) and the McBaby named it "Yogo" for some reason. A later visit to some friends (who have a daughter called 'Molly' that the McBaby has renamed 'Polly') say it's from the freaky "Waybuloo" programme that messes with my head. Incidentally, Polly had an Elmer Elephant which upstaged Yogo, so I'm not sure the love affair will last long. I'm already on the hunt for an Elmer.
So I put the McBaby to bed with his elephant on the first night and as hoped, he drifted off happily. The woke up seconds later when the elephant moved and the bell tinkled. And then again. And again. Why do I have a feeing Yogo is going to end up in the canal?
Friday, 14 November 2014
Tuesday, 11 November 2014
This time last week, I took the McBaby to get a new pair of shoes. We got his feet measured, he wouldn't sit still and then we left without buying them because the McBaby was messing about and nearly accidentally kicked a little boy. His mother growled at me as if he had kicked him, so we made a swift exit.
I then realised that I could order the shoes online. Then, all I'd have to do would be to run in, collect them and pay for them, meanwhile getting rich via a cashback site (this didn't work in the slightest. I was promised 6% but received 20p. I'm terrible at maths, but 6% of £34 is not 20p, is it?)
Anyway, I think Clark's deserves this money after our two performances.
We returned to the store, and I don't know about where you are, but it's pretty wet today, cue much jumping in puddles. The McBaby also partook of this activity (I'm joking; I didn't) so had wet trousers, wet socks and wet shoes.
The woman in the shop asked if we "wanted any help on kids", and then remarked that she recognised us from our last visit. I bet she did! I told her that we'd come to collect some shoes which she went to get while I wrung out the McBaby's wet clothes. I then realised that the bag containing his spare clothes was in the car. (If you saw me a bit later drying a very small pair of pants, two socks and a pair of trousers in the Dyson hand drier in John Lewis, this is why).
She returned. The McBaby threw a pair of pink girls' shoes at her. This is an insult in some countries, and not particularly pleasant in ours. I asked him to apologise.
"Sorry shoes", he said, the little sod.
She then had to fit his shoes in his bare feet as his socks were so wet. "This isn't normal procedure" she said. "They're fine," I said, embarrassment winning out over the parental responsibility of ensuring your child's shoes fit.
I went to pay for them and the McBaby made a den under a couple of chairs. I paid and thanked my lucky stars that he had only done a couple of embarrassing things when he yelled; "I DONE A WEE". Cue much frantic whispering between the lady and her surly colleague. Probably pointing out that it should be "I DID a wee" not "done".
I sheepishly asked for some kitchen roll and apologised while on my knees cleaning up what was, to be fair, a minimal amount of wee.
"It's fine" she said in that voice that tells you it really, really isn't.
So McBaby, please don't let your feet grow anymore, as we are not returning; I'm too embarrassed and we're probably barred anyway.