Hostipapable III

It was a rough weekend for Martin and his family and friends, but he looks better, says he feels better, and he's back in a room with other people so he must be better. Still an odd colour, but he's eating and talking and chipper. Tonight he and Sweeney parked up on his bed for a chat and shared a pear. So nice.

The Rubbish Trolley at the supermarket provided a bag of beautiful ripe pears for just $2.50 today. Both Sweeney and Dad are big fans. Bickering over food is a terribly unpleasant part of my parenting experience, so it's splendid when Sweeney gets his 5+ a day into himself without treating it as torment. He blew people away at Harper's bubbleque by cleaning up nearly a can of beetroot, and his love of broccoli is my handiest weapon at dinnertime.

It comes and goes, the enjoyment of fruit and vege. It's like waves lapping at the shore. He adores corn for three days, won't eat anything else at dinner, so we all give him our cobs. Then he won't touch it, but Grandad's mashed potato is ambrosia. Then he sees me eat a piece of carrot, and he must have a little bag of carrot slices, to eat on the deck.

Grapes, apples and bananas are always welcome. This summer he's been mad for strawberries, kiwifruit, nectarines, plums and pineapple. Watermelon, apricots, peaches - he's ambivalent to all these lovely summer treats.

Speaking of things he's mad for, lately ... these books are current faves.

The Happy Man and His Dump Truck is an old book of mine from when I was wee. Sweeney's got a pile of Golden Books and every now and then a new one or two come to the fore and have to be read several times a day. Awesome story about just having a good time enjoying the simple stuff.

A Squash and a Squeeze is about recognising how good you've got it. Also awesome.

Also of note from yesterday:

• Grandad O'Neill's birthday. Sweeney did a drawing for him and we met up with the O'Neills et al at a bar in Thorndon for a few drinks in the hot sun;
• the Island Bay festival. Sweeney had a ride on a merry-go-round, ate hot chips and went down the enormous slide at Shorland Park. He watched a man fashion elaborate fairy wands and poodles out of balloons, and played in the sand behind the roti stall on The Esplanade. He resolutely ignored the storytelling, but he stopped in his tracks and stared in rapture when someone started playing an accordion in the band rotunda. But all this was nothing when his Grandad bought him an inflatable hammer and he banged it on the ground with every step from that moment until we got back to the car.
• caught up all too briefly with the McMillan/Nairns. The festival was great, but there were too many interesting things to see for both Bela and Sweeney, and trying to co-ordinate two toddlers with strong opinions within an hour of nap time is beyond reason.