Sebastian, it has to be said, is a bit of a wuss. He freaks out if a train goes off the tracks in an episode of Thomas. He doesn’t like swings, or climbing frames, or slides higher than my waist. For a long time he was petrified of the vacuum cleaner and the electric mixer. He is generally quite a sensitive boy, and that is obviously fine. I don’t buy into the notion little boys have to be ruffians with no sense of fear. But there is some traditional (stereotypical?) boy-ness about him, as demonstrated by the fact that last night he opened the bathroom door by crawling into it head-first. Fortunately the catch on the door is dodgy and he managed to move it without much effort; I dread to think what might have happened had the door resisted his little shaggy-haired noggin. Some kind of repeated head-banging, resulting in a concussion? Sebastian is not a child who typically gives up easily. Or perhaps he would have just done the sensible thing and stood up and opened the door in the conventional manner. I suppose it’s impossible to know. Until, perhaps, next time he encounters a closed door…

On Saturday we all went to my aunt’s for dinner. She had very thoughtfully bought Sebastian and Annabelle some felt tip pens so they could draw* (*scribble) while they were waiting for the food to be ready. They drew (*scribbled) beautifully for about ten minutes before they decided that paper was passé. First they coloured each other in (now I have an idea what they would look like with sleeve tattoos, which is nice) but once they had exhausted the exposed flesh on one another’s limbs they were in need of a new canvas. Sebastian, fortunately, is an ingenious child, and quickly realised that although his older sister’s limbs were concealed by clothing this did not preclude them from becoming a medium for him to express his creativity. So he started to colour her in. Needless to say, she was not hugely impressed and the felt tip pens were packed away pronto. Luckily my aunt is clever as well as kind and bought pens that claim to be ‘super washable’. Tomorrow is laundry day. I’ll keep you posted.

Much excitement for Sebastian last weekend. His highchair has finally been retired (and is getting sold on eBay, if anyone’s interested?) and the Stokke Tripp Trapp toddler chair that used to be Maddy’s has been brought out of storage for him. Which is all fine and dandy, except that he has so much freedom now. Freedom to slide himself off the chair and whack his chin off the table when he’s bored of eating, for example. And freedom to stand up during meals and start dancing and singing the hokey-cokey. Which I suppose is endearing. It is charming, how he bursts into song at the drop of a hat; and he has a very tuneful voice. It’s the waving of the fork laden with peas when he’s putting his “left arm in” that I’m bothered about (I couldn’t even begin to express how bored I am of sweeping up peas these days; four children on a vegetable strike does not make for a tidy kitchen floor). Does anyone know any songs about eating up your greens?

Sebastian loves trains. I always thought the ‘boys and girls are just different’ line was total rubbish. I read Women’s Studies at uni. I know about gender roles and societal norms and parental expectations. I don’t buy gender-specific toys and I try to avoid reinforcing stereotypes. So when Sebastian woke up one morning about 6 months ago totally obsessed with trains, I was flabbergasted.
Nevertheless, here we are. Everything is about trains now. Everything. If you want to get him to co-operate? Ask him if he wants to be a “Really Useful Engine”. Need him to wear a bib to eat soup? Tell him Percy wears a bib. I bought a set of 60 Thomas & Friends books on eBay for a pound; they’re pretty much all that we read. The theme songs for Chuggington and the various Thomas DVDs are my permanent earworm. And every night he wants to take his trains to bed. Maybe Percy or Diesel 10. Maybe Emery. Or maybe Blue Emery (a random train toy he has given the real Emery’s name to). Or maybe Yellow Emery (a Playmobil 1-2-3 train he has given real Emery’s name to). It’s quite sweet, really, and obviously harmless. Except for the fact that he comes into the big bed most nights, and brings them, and they’re really remarkably sore to roll over onto…

The dining area in our kitchen is small, and having two highchairs doesn’t help. I have tried umpteen different layouts but really there is only one workable one. Sadly, this layout leaves me two choices: have Sebastian within arm’s reach of the radiator; or have Sebastian within arm’s reach of Annie’s highchair. Radiator it is then. Sadly this morning Sebastian (somewhat inevitably) found the chink in the kitchen layout’s armour. His plate fits down the back of the radiator. I suppose I should be grateful for the fact the plate was empty when he posted it. And we did manage to rescue it. But I am sensing that he might think this game has legs…

Is there anything more endearing than a 2 year old boy shovelling handfuls of baked beans into his mouth, barely taking a breath in between them? Thought not. Sebastian is perfectly adept at using cutlery but of late has adopted a ‘caveman’ approach to meals. Perhaps he is trying to get in touch with his primitive ancestors; a toddler version of the ‘Paleo’ diet craze? Or maybe he’s just lazy. Either way, I suppose at least he’s eating.

This week it was Annie’s first birthday. And obviously she got presents. But it seems that when you have a Sebastian, they don’t understand about presents being for other people, so he started opening everything. And when we told him to stop? Epic tantrum. He also keeps trying to climb in her doll’s pram, and has commandeered her ride-on (the fact he has his own Lightning McQueen ride-on is by-the-by). This does not bode well for Christmas…

Every time I’ve bought a Billy bookcase from Ikea it’s come with these anchor things to fix it to the wall. And I’ve never used them, because, well, who needs to fix a bookcase to the wall? Well it seems I do. Numerous childcare books and leaflets over the years have warned of the dangers of tall bookcases, but I’ve never really taken them seriously…until now. Two daughters who didn’t climb the furniture lulled me into a false sense of security; Sebastian has changed all that. Looks like when we move those anchors will finally be put into use.

So we went to the Nike store at Orlando Premium Outlets. Sebastian fell in love with some blue and orange high-tops (hi-tops? sportswear is not my area of expertise). He adores them. He had a screaming fit when we suggested other, less garish, shoes – so the blue and orange high-tops were purchased. Except he thinks they’re wellies. He keeps picking them up and saying “welly boots”. We keep telling him that they’re high-tops, but then he thinks we mean hi as in hello. So he says “high-tops” while waving at some imaginary person, presumably called Tops. All this cuteness makes the OTT shoes a bit less annoying.

This is our version of that perennial favourite, ‘Mummy/Daddy is not a climbing frame’. Sebastian – bless – is a very affectionate child. And he loves his sisters, all three of them, even the grumpy teenage one. But he does rather seem to think that one expresses love through using people as obstacles on a Marines-style assault course. He clambers all over the baby. Sits on her. Stands on her. Kicks her in the face while getting off the sofa. Fortunately she is a tough cookie and it doesn’t seem to bother her. But one day soon, once she’s walking too, I suspect she’ll be after some revenge.