Here at Bean Towers, we like to show our guests a good time. Uncle Dave (he’s not Dunka Dave anymore) visited a few weeks ago on his way back from a business trip on the continent. He checked in to our deluxe accommodation (includes fold-out sofa and oscillating fan) on Friday evening.
And the livin’s Evey:
Paddling pool cost £5. Well-spent!
We’ve had nearly two straight weeks of sunshine and high temperatures. (Well– not high if you’re a Texan, but high for Britain– maximum temps in excess of 90°F for the last three days, for instance.) The garden, which was six weeks behind thanks to the long, cold spring, has suddenly exploded into life. People are walking around dazed; none of them quite seem to know what to do.
“It’s nice and lovely to swim. I like swimming.”
Except the Bean. She knows that you strip off and you take the Octonauts into the paddling pool. Or that you just strip off– several times this week I’ve looked over my shoulder into the garden and spotted her streaking out there. I make sure she is at least wearing underpants, but honestly, she struggled so much with taking off her own shirts before that I’m glad she’s getting practice in.
Nursery school is over next week for her (the school year is longer over here), and then it’s six weeks of lazing about, hopefully in more nice sunshine like this, until SCHOOL begins.
I don’t even want to think about SCHOOL yet. I’ll have another salad instead.
I know I haven’t updated in a while, and I’m sorry for that. Stuff’s been going on, it’s summer, it’s nice out. But here is my favorite self-portrait by Eve so far:
The Bean spent the day at Kenilworth Castle, hiking through fields, picking flowers, and handling interesting Elizabethan gravel. Then she “helped” me re-pot some plants, and dug things up with a stick, and by 7 pm she really rather urgently needed a bath.
Eh. It’s a holiday weekend. It’s sunny, I’ve already opened a cider– I prefer to sit in the garden and do nothing for a while. Fortunately, there’s a solution that gets her 75% clean:
Washing up while washing up.
All you have to do is clear the sink of pointy or breakable things, fill it with warm water and a bit of gentle soap, and let her do the rest. For the next hour she’ll happily pour water from container to container, sloshing water on herself and on the floor. Come bedtime, you dry her off, get her to wash her face and brush her teeth, and it’s story time.
As an added bonus, you can then mop the kitchen floor. This parenting thing is a piece of cake.
Gazing over Warwickshire.
“Oh, I’m Bean. I have autism. My fine motor skills are soooooo undeveloped. I don’t like holding a pencil or a pen or anything like that. Sure I write my name’s letters sometimes but I’ll feebly clutch the pen like a dead bird when I do it and I’ll give up halfway through the second E because it’s just all a bit much.
But you know, sometimes, maybe, while you and Dad are watching a baseball game, I’ll just grab a crayon and whip out an entire rabbit person, with irises and pupils and everything, like this:
This is Lau-Lau from Waybuloo. AS IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW.
“Because I’m Bean, and autism or not, I do WHAT I want WHEN I want and HOW I want. Get it through your pointy heads, chromosome donors.”
You guys, she drew a picture! I am so excited.
Note to self: buy snowshoes.
Spring, she has not sprung just yet. I’m sure our relatives and friends in the northern U.S. are faced with similar frustrations at the moment. The longer days and the date on the calendar have you itching to get out the seed catalog or the baseball mitt or the spring coat, but the conditions outside still call for two pairs of socks on your feet and a bag of kitty litter in the trunk of the car. “Man makes plans while God laughs,” someone told me once.
I have this:
Good morning to you, too.