All I want for Christmas...

is some calpol and a cuddle. Yes our poor little Charles was not too well on Christmas day, and far be it from me to use the term 'man flu' but surfice to say he let us all know about it. He did perk up when Christmas pud made it's arrival, just when most of us are nearing the point of surrender, he bagan tucking in with some enthusiasm whilst the rest of us were vowing to never eat again. Good ole Charles, likes to be different.

Charles the Chocoholic - where's that come from?

Well as we were so timely in our family planning we conveniently had our children born within 4 days of eachother. Clever aren't we? Even more so as both fall within the week before Christmas. Genius. No, not clever and in absolute seriousness do not try this at home.

And so it was that Rosie (now 5) and Charles had their joint party at the chavtastic Wacky Warehouse.

By the time the cake arrived Charles hadn't eater for, oh must have been a good hour and a half, so I had to physically restrain him from going gob first into his gorgeous chocolate cake, lovingly prepared by yours truely. Well by my Mum and Dad as it goes, but still counts.

Charles is two

Well, it's beyond comprehension to me but the baby of our clan of four is now two. My little bundle of scrumptiousness has been in my life two years, the best two years by far.
Now we've all heard the notoriety of two year olds. They're terrible, tantrum throwing, sleep resisting monsters. But not my Charles. Butter would not melt in my little baby boys mouth. And yes he is still a baby.

So here's to me writing about my tantrum-less easy-as-pie year with my good as gold angel child. Yeah, wish me luck!