while I was still in my pyjamas...

I heard the recycling men come and realised there was still some stuff I hadn't put out, so I rushed out with it, explaining that it wasn't sorted as I didn't want to get any more beer on my pyjamas. I just got I rye smile from the man, who is disturbingly familiar, and knows me by name, although I can't remember who he is. Maybe its the uniform that's throwing me. I wouldn't even think of going out and chatting with the randy postman, who seems to have replaced the old, over friendly postman, but, then there is never the need, except when he bolts up the road with my paper, or having left the neighbour's paper. But he is always much later than that, anyway.
While I was engrossed in blog reading, Allie manged to take all his clothes and nappy off and poo on the carpet, duvet, duvet cover, and several cushions, which are now in the wash. I was informed straght away, so it wasnt too diasterous, in fact the others had been getting him to sit on the potty moments earlier.
After all that was sorted out, baths, etc, and everyone was dressed, they had a game of musical cushions, followed by yar-yar and spelt biscuits.
Actually, I had to come downstairs in my pj's because Allie was so starving and demading "more beed", which means feed. he is getting more demanding in terms of feeding, shoving his hands down my shirt, saying "my, my beed" but my solution is to try and offer him food and drinks instead when I dont want to feed him, which usually works. Once I said to him "where's your hand?" and he took it out, pointed to it with the other hand and said "there", thinking that was really funny. I think "beed" is cross between feed and boob, as it means both things, and is his own special word, which they all seem to have had (noo-noo, num-num, etc). I'm so used to it I have caught myself calling them "my beeds".
His speech is coming on really well, now, having seemed to have grasped the idea of what talking is for before really developing a vocabulary (as John Holt describes in How children learn). As a result of reading this I have become more careful not to correct children's errors in speech, and to let them do it themselves, in their own time. This also applies to the older children. Allie has built up quite a vocabulary now, including "marmite", "juice", meaning any drink, almost indistinguishable from "shoes", which refers to any footwear; "mummy", "daddy": these are sometimes interchangable and sometimes I am called "mummydaddy", or "amummyadaddy", water is "wawer", cake is "nake", "duck" is now pronounced properly, no longer "dut". There are also sentences, like "that's mummy's book". "Don't do that" is copied as "doodat!" and means something else, like "its so funny when you get annoyed". There are also one-off attemps at longer words and phrases, like today's very clear "margarine" , and "somebody's drawn on that"!! (I wonder why he's learned that ;)). Also "my" and "mine" are becoming major words. It's interesting how they learn the words they really need to know. Fug's first word was "cheese" as he deperately wanted some after I had put him on a dairy-free diet. Cruel mummy. It cleared up his excema, though, and Allie's. I try not to "teach" them to talk, as I believe it can only produce unsatisfactory results. I really don't want to go to any more of those health-visitor checks, in case there are any boxes unchecked, as I think it's mostly rubbish. I remember speech therapists being mentioned when Jem was 3, although there were just a few pronunciation inaccuracies, which just wouldnt have showed up in a less vocal child. I wonder if they are compulsary.