Nautical Terms

More glorious late summer. Sun warm enough to bake with slanting in through the trees over Skansen Kronan, heat-dazed tourists lining the sides of Haga Nygatan and desperately sucking aid from the expensive boutique ice creams sold there.

There is a lovely corner of Haga, not far from our house, where there's a little triangular flower garden dedicated to the famed Swedish botanist Linneus. F and I were taking in the afternoon sun and admiring numerous examples of A. mellifera and B. terrestris as they went droning about their daily chores. There were lots of them. A full gamut from A to B, in fact.

The garden is also decorated with little concrete sailing boats with triangular metal sails. Not quite sure why, maybe Linneus did a lot of travelling by sail? I thought most of his journeys were on land, but I'm not an expert on his doings. Wikipedia tells me he went round the Gulf of Bothnia as a young man, which I guess is hard to do with dry feet.

Anyway, F was sailing one of these boats (as captain, of course. I was helmsman, Bunbun was AB, just to maintain that line of jokes) perched inside the sail, with a foot either side of the cut-out interior. She was gazing formidably into the middle distance, eyes set on either some disappearing French ship of the line or on the mysterious cities of gold, I forget which. It was a very particular look, anyway, one I have come to recognise with a heavy heart.

"What are you doing, F?"

She gave me a slightly shifty look. "I'm just sorting Bunbun out," she said, bustling abruptly to life.

That there was evasion being practised was discovered by two sets of natural phenomenon. Chanelling Carl's spirit to aid my botanic skills, I noted that

• the smell of privet had been displaced by an altogether earthier smell, as of night soil, and
• the air was suddenly thronged with multiple specimens of C. vomitoria seeking nourishment

Further investigation showed that following this foul wind, the boat now had brown sails.

I took F home (she needed showering), and then like any good citizen, went back out with a roll of Torky and some Ajax to restore the fragrance of the garden. Swabbing the poop deck indeed. Good to have both defaced and defaeced a public monument in one fell afternoon.

Misapprehension

The end of summer has arrived. As the leaves start going yellow and brown, so do the Swedes, lapping up a skinful of sun in advance of the winter. The streets are full of tall, lithe, tanned blondes. It's like walking through streets populated by vanilla ice cream cones.

I knew that using the word 'willy' would come back to haunt me.

Potty training is still hit and miss, but the hits are slowly going up in number. I was only on the receiving end of one number one and two number twos this week (the latter both courtesy of C, of course, and both delivered pre-0600). "I weed on Daddy!" F announced in horror as we relaxed on the balcony last week.

"You did," I said, masking my equal horror with paternal calm. There wasn't much else to be said.

As a result of this, F is frequently found roaming round the house semi-clad. She can take trousers off and on now, a simple step up from knickers, and in the late summer swelter is quite proud of the ability. As all of us are no doubt aware, roaming around a house naked tends to lead to a certain amount of self-inspection. For me, this is a nervous glance at my gradually swelling paunch in the mirror as I hastily pass, anxious not to catch its eye. For F, it's the marvel of her genitals.

"This is my bottom," I heard her announce to V the other morning, somewhat inaccurately referring to the other side of herself. "Daddy doesn't. He has a funny bottom instead."

"Yes, that's right," V told her. "Boys have those."

"He bought it at Willys," F went on, "when he was little."

As a gag, this works best if you're Swedish and understand that Willys is a supermarket chain, so I apologise for botching it for everyone else. I'm very tired, what with rehearsals in a black box theatre all day and then immediately having to hit the dettol and floormop beat the minute I get home. The heat is disagreeing with me, I find myself staring out of the window and into the middle distance for long minutes, only to discover I'm facing the wrong way and gaping moronically at interior walls instead. I believe this is called introspection.

Comparisons

C is about twice as long as when we first met now. Not literally, just, well, I don't know, just that she's been growing a lot. There is a person there in the bouncy chair, rather than a protoplasmic red blob of screams.

She is chattier than F, and already much more social. C likes loud noises, like washing machines, hoovers and her older sister. Lucky, that. F used to scream in horror if you tried to clean the flat, or if you woke her up by being noisy. C will occasionally scream with horror if the flat is otherwise too quiet, or if you leave her alone in a room for any length of time.

F did weeing on people, C does her hosepoops. C wants to be wrapped up in blankets even on stifling summer days, F didn't like getting too hot. F was much quieter when she was tiny. C chats nonsense quite a lot already, as well as making an amazing array of alien grunts, hisses and pops. It's like having a talkative snake in the corner of the room.

Can it be that not being the sole focus of your parents' attention is actually good for a baby? C seems very cheerful and calm, less nervy than F. Better at grabbing your attention, perhaps, seeing as she has to compete for it. She smiles a lot, and waves and babbles hellos when she's at the height of her awakeness cycles.

Maybe she just seems cheerful and calm compared to F, who is currently often sulky and argumentative. She threw milk over the kitchen twice last week, because she wanted something else. She's learned to say sorry after such behaviour, but finds it outrageous that you might still get a punishment even after apologising.

They get on very well together, luckily. F was blowing long raspberries at C over breakfast today, something she usually gets reprimanded for (unless they're really funny ones, then it's hard not to join in. Consistency as a parent is a tough line to walk). If C finds it hilarious, who are we to disagree?

V and I are far more tired than we were with just F around. Even if C is up to six or even seven hour blocks of sleep, she has timed her wakening shouts to the deepest parts of my sleep. There's that magnificent feeling at 0230 when you stagger out of bed and into the nearest wall, wondering why you are mobile, what awful catastrophe has triggered your instinctive panic this time.

Then you open the nappy and discover it.

A Light Evening's Entertainment

We are camping for the first time. Because we spent some money puchasing things like bed rolls and mosquito repellant, and because the world is at best a perverse and cruel place to live, this of course means it has rained solidly for a week. It is raining heavily now. It will rain tomorrow, and quite possibly never stop again.

We are on Daftö, an island in the North West of Sweden, sharing a four-man sommarstuga with V's family (a total of ten people). It's an attractive holiday destination, V described it as the Swedish equivalent of Brighton. Yes, if Brighton was in the Outer Hebrides. Or an attractive holiday destination. To help save space in the tiny cottage, F and I are going to sleep in a tent near the door.

F has not slept in a tent before.

F has not slept in the same room as her parents for over a year.

F is quite excited.

2000 - We say a final night night, and sing Little Cat, traditionally our 'close of business' bell toll.
2005 - Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
2015 - We say a final night night, and sing Little Cat, see above.
2030 - There are some flies on the ceiling. Daddy shoos them away.
2035 - 'Flies and Shooing - A Short History'. A fascinating tour of this age-old pastime in which we explain how flies are shooed, why shoes are not the same thing and touch on the mysterious providence of flies in tents.
2045 - 'Flies and Shooing - Continued'. The practical half of this delightful talk, featuring a chance for the audience to shoo flies themselves
2050 - We manage to kill the last of the flies, peace reigns. We say a final night night and sing Little Cat.
2055 - Goldilocks and the Three Bears, second sitting.
2100 - 'On Rain' commences the next in our series of natural history discourses, in which we consider puzzles that have fascinated the curious since antiquity - What noises does it make? Why doesn't it rain inside? Can you see it from here daddy? and Why Rain?
2120 - Goldilocks and the Two Bears, third sitting.
2125 - 'Reflections', where we remember the day that has passed. A meditative talk for those of tranquil and calm mood, focussing on the precious memories the day has brought, like when we nearly went to McDonalds in the shopping centre on the way here and then didn't instead, or the elderly selection of toys discovered in a mouldering paper bag at the summer cottage we're sleeping beside. Sorry, lying inside a tent beside.
2135 - Shirley Hughes' 'When We Went To The Park', a recitation from memory.
2140 - Julia Donaldson's 'The Gruffalo', a recitation from memory.
2145 - Goldilocks and a Bear. There once was a little girl and the baby bear said 'and she's still here!' The End.
2146 - We emphasise that this is night night and sing Little Cat in a cautionary tone.
2150 - 'How Tall is Your Tent?' An all-new interpretive dance piece. You'll be amazed at where the sleeping bags end up!
2155 - This is definitely the last night night and look, daddy is a bit grumpy now but still somehow willing to talk about the health benefits of a good night's sleep in a reasonable tone of voice. Semi-reasonable. Repercussions are explained as a concept, in case they need to be used.
2200 - If you don't go to sleep, we won't sleep in the tent, okay?
2205 - Bunbun is upset about something and cannot sleep.
2210 - Bunbun can't stop crying because Bunbun doesn't like tents and doesn't want to sleep in one any more. The rain outside redoubles.
2215 - I get dressed again, put F inside her sleeping bag and carry her like swag to a nearby caravan, on loan from the cottage's owners. Uncle D and Cousin V are sleeping in here. Like any well-maintained elderly holiday caravan, there is a welcoming atmosphere of humidity and mould that beckons one inside like a decrepit hooker. Nevertheless, F has never slept in a caravan before and is quite excited.
2220 - After running back through the rain to collect my sleeping bag and running back to the caravan to install it, I realise I have left my mobile phone in the goddamn tent. The rain outside redoubles.
2225 - We growl night night and sing Little Cat very quietly because D and V are sleeping just over there and we can't wake them, okay? Now go to sleep.
2235 - There are windows in a caravan, did you know? And you can see out through them. And drum your fingers on them to make a noise like rain. It goes 'pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter', Daddy, did you know? I don't want to sleep, Daddy, I want to play! Play with me, Daddy! I write a new musical called 'Wishing I Was Sisyphus', featuring the number 'I'd Roll That Boulder Over My Balls (Before I'd Have Another Child)'
2240 - We sing Go To Sleep Now Or Else, traditionally our 'Close of Business' bell toll.
2245 - Requests for a final round of Goldilocks are quashed.
2250 - F discovers you can make another kind of pitter-patter noise without drumming your fingers on the windows, because that's been forbidden. You can do it by lying on your side and running your feet up and down the caravan walls.
2255 - Or up and down Daddy's back.
2300 - F starts stroking my face and cooing at me in an attempt to engage a fond paternal reaction and a commitment to more play.
2305 - F takes a firm double hand of beard hair and attempts to tug a fond paternal reaction out of me.
2306 - F strikes me hard in the bridge of the nose with the heel of her hand in a last-ditch to get the old fond paternal reaction thing kickstarted. Repercussions commence.
2310 - D and V are probably not sleeping, although I nevertheless invoke their names as reasons that howling is not acceptable right now. Does Bunbun want to go back to the tent? Because Bunbun is going the right way about it. The rain redoubles.
2315 - Daddy is cross, do you understand? You must go to sleep. Right now.
2320 - You are being naughty, F. You are bad.
2325 - In lashing rain, I carry my screamingly repentant daughter across a pitch-black quagmire to the dubious shelter of our tent before her misery wakes D and V again. In our absence, a deep pool of water has gathered in the outer porch. Fortuitously, my trousers absorb it all before it can do us any harm. I have remembered my mobile phone this time, but still need to go back and get my own sleeping bag. The rain quadruples on the way back.
2340 - F tearfully apologises once more, sings Little Cat in a tiny voice and goes to sleep.
0200 - I wake up, expecting to have to change and feed C, and then lie awake for two hours listening to the rain trying to nail the tent roof to my face, occasionally twitching as mosquitos brush my face.

The lovely irony is, of course, that this is still the best night's sleep I've had in two months.