By Isle of Wight Observer
It’s the repetition you notice. Hour after hour, day after day, the same old routine, and there’s no escape. When your children grow up, it’s easy to forget what hard work it all was.
I collected my 22‑month‑old grandson last Friday and brought him to stay on the Island for the weekend. Inevitably, by the time I returned him on Monday, I was completely shattered.
Don’t get me wrong, we had a wonderful time. He’s a gorgeous, adorable little boy, with the looks of a model and a cheeky, irrepressible personality. Mostly, he communicates very well with his parents and me. With other people, not always so much.
Like his father, our number two son, this little guy is a man of few words. The rest of my brood have always been loquacious. Obviously, I’ve no idea where they got that from.
We’d kept the return arrangements fluid when I picked him up, planning to see how it went. If he was happy, I would return him on Monday morning. Had he been less content, particularly overnight, we’d take him home on Sunday – after two wakeful nights.
Even with six children of my own, and a well‑behaved five‑year‑old granddaughter, I seriously underestimated the energy required – small children like things done in a certain way, and at a certain time. Sensible parents get their babies into routines.
Clearing my diary, I first took him to the perfect place for children, Tapnell Farm. Thankfully, he’s out of nappies, but that means constantly asking him if he needs the loo. When he decided the moment had arrived at Tapnell, I rushed him to the nearest spotlessly clean disabled/baby‑care facility. “Not this one,” he said.
Apparently, the ceiling fan was too noisy, so we had to find another. I’ve no idea why, but he’s fascinated with extractor fans. At lunch, he suddenly spotted an air‑conditioning outlet, and that seemed to bother him too.
He’s a bright boy, so I explained that bathroom fans are important for removing unpleasant odours. Those are not the actual words I used, of course, because an almost three‑year‑old wouldn’t have understood. Caring for small children means constantly talking about needing a ‘wee’ or ‘poo poo.’
Aged three or four, his dad used to inform me he needed a ‘whiffy.’ Many years after he no longer wanted me to join him in a WC, I missed him calling out, “Daddy, I need you.” And most people tell you they miss the cuddles.
While visiting bathrooms, my grandson thoughtfully asked me if I needed to go too. Perhaps he’s noticed I have bladder issues? He’s big for his age and heavy; unfortunately, despite being fitter than I am, he prefers to be carried wherever possible. My back is broken.
He wakes in the early hours, dreaming of owls. So the only way to get any sleep yourself is to take him into bed with you. If you’re lucky, he’ll then sleep soundly until 6.30am.
Unfortunately, he snores and wriggles like a hyperactive boa constrictor and likes to be in physical contact, even if it’s just holding hands.
On Saturday morning, we arrived at the Isle of Wight Steam Railway long before opening time. He loves trains, so boy was that a success. I hadn’t been for years and had forgotten it’s a world‑class attraction. Honestly, I’ve never seen a happier child; he enjoyed every bit of it.
The staff, mostly volunteers, of course, were amazing. The train ride is only a part of the fun at Havenstreet. To ensure he left happy, we inevitably visited the gift shop, leaving with some Brio railway buildings.
Honestly, if you haven’t been for a while, you should go – but take a small person with you, as long as you can find the energy.