Sweeney's Mama: G is for ...

Goals
I've just been reading Kimberley's blog, and she says that she doesn't make resolutions, she sets goals, and it got me thinking ...
At the moment of writing, my goals for 2008 are:

pick up a new contract and force myself up and out of the house every day to fulfil it
assume and maintain Treasured Auntie status for Tiny, and not blow it by getting knocked up and breaking off my one day a week that I have my nephew over ... you reading this, Kimberley??
finish the Rabbit jersey for Bela, and at least two of the almost-finished things in my workbox
spend more time in Christchurch, making sure Sweeney and his grandparents spend lots of time enjoying each other and letting me lie in late
work out how Martin's set up the video and DVD player and stereo so that I can actually play something one day
write a story and send it to be published
get the Saab fixed and beautiful again
knit some socks for Martin
persevere with the therapy - it's sometimes boring, frustrating and there are times when I really really hate it, but I know it's made a huge difference. Oh, and the pills, the pills ...

I feel like I should have a goal about Sweeney, but I can't think of anything specific, except to keep him happy and keep him from killing himself with his antics.

Gardening

I like gardening. Someone once told me that they always knew that things were all right for them if they were doing some gardening. I find that the garden is a good place to work out some of the kinks, get the frustrations of the day out of myself. And Sweeney likes to rake leaves and push things around in his wheelbarrow and dig with me while I'm out there.

I'm coercing a little part of the garden into a secret space for him. He's into it - he knows where the entrance is, and he creeps under the beech trees and the wineberry, then he pops back out again. The plan is to set up his Spongebob inflateable bed in the clearing under the beeches and he can camp out when it's not too freaky for him. Currently we can see down into the space from the deck, but eventually it'll be grown over and private for him. Hopefully this won't turn into material for the sequel to The Wasp Factory or anything.

People up the road from Nana years ago gave me the idea. From the path, it looked like a grotto of nikau and beeches, but from within the trees itself, there was a passageway tall enough for us to walk through upright until we were about 10 or 11. Behind the house was a compound of aviaries

Grouchiness

Oooh, the Young Squire has entered a new phase - the tantrum. Nothing too horrific yet. He lost his composure when I insisted he'd played in Toyworld for long enough yesterday. Note to self - never, never take him there again, even when he's perky and full of food. The wailing and squirming continued for the 100m back to the car, then there was a full-body-bracing incident when I tried to strap him into his seat.

He's so easy-going most of the time that we're working on heading off tantrums before they appear. His routine is pretty by-the-clock now, so we plan our days around creche and his nap times, and for the most part, things are pretty smooth. Recognising his routine for melting down when we're out has helped - when he starts making 'the noise' and falling over a bit more than normal, it's time for home.

That said, this morning required three attempts to get his sandals onto him and he hurled a Crown Lynn bowl from his highchair and squealed with rapture when it landed on the deck in three pieces. It wasn't a special bowl or anything, but there was a nutritionally balanced and, I thought, interesting, breakfast inside it, which the cat greatly enjoyed. Grrr. Back to the plastic Spongebob plates and bowls for the meantime.

Guys