Newspaper Man

This week my little inventor has decided he wants to be a 'newspaper man', a journalist or reporter if you will. And so, that's just what he's been doing ALL week - from straight after breakfast before even getting on clothes, he's out there on the typewriter, clickety-clacking the news away all day long.

We have many editions and issues of The News, and after each one is hot off the press I am asked to read it, as he stands now as Editor assessing the story so far.

When he is happy I am then asked to provide drawings for the stories, and woe betide me if the picture is not good enough....

I love working with this little man. I love being with him, someone who thinks and believes he can do ANYTHING. I wonder when I stopped thinking I could? It's amazing to be swept up in his belief - the belief that anything is possible...



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Starman - The Greatest Show on Earth

The midget is in a new role - astronaut. He still fights darleks and cybermen, but now on behalf of mission control rather than as the Doctor.





From his seat in the shuttle he has constructed an elaborate array of props - a till becomes his computer, an egg box the keyboard and missile launcher buttons, a tube is a gun, a tape recorder with mic becomes his radio communicator, and a picture is a video screen to talk to mission control. He has his doctor's bag in case anyone becomes ill and a pile of scratched CDs to reboot his mainframe in case there is a lockdown.



This play goes on for hours, sometimes the play carries on over to the next few days. Sometimes I am his passenger and sometimes we fight darleks together.

Most of the time I sit keeping him company soaking up his littleness, in awe of an imagination I never had as a child, amazed by his inventiveness and in total love for this little soul who I'm allowed to scrunch into huge big cuddles and kisses all over for as long as I want and be hugged right back. Masha'allah.



I wouldn't miss this show for anything.

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Mr. Maker

Under the table which sees all kinds of work taking place, another type of work goes on, hidden by large sheets from the dressing up box.

In this space the midget has laid a blanket, gotten himself comfortable with huge feather-filled cushions, got his sword, phone, a few lights and a ruler and from this amazing den a world is created. And he is The Doctor. Welcome to his Tardis.









From the inventing box he takes all manner of interesting looking 'junk' and with carefully placed parcel tape he invents all manner of props for his play - guns, tanks, a computer, things which haven't even got a name yet...














And this is his sonic screwdriver. Oh yes.



"Hello - I'm the Doctor"

It is both a privelege and an honour to watch his inventing and his play. It is awe-inspiring to see what worlds can be made out of sticking tape and paperclips. He never fails to surprise, impress and inspire me with his imagination.

And it goes to prove, if any proof were needed, the best toys are in fact free.





But in case you are worried that it is all work, work, work down in the inventing shed, I would like to reassure you that the Doctor knows how to kick back and relax, and in his spare time he does this ::



But I have no idea why.

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Wooden Toys

Ever since my eldest was a tot I formed an opinion that plastic was horrendous, and made a firm resolution to remove it from my house. I hate everything about it - I hate the feel of it, the poisons in it and I hate the cheapness of it. It's ugly, nasty stuff that uglifies everything made from it.

I also hate the way that, because toys are so cheap, we accumulate masses of 'things' in the name of gift-giving and love. Because of this 'easy come, easy go' nature of most toys, children become not only dismissive of gifts, but also highly disrespectful of them too.





The last couple of years I have let the 'less is more' rule in my house slide. Instead of insisting on one or two quality gifts for Eid, I have become lazy and gone for the cheap option, buying masses of plastic to make my boys happy.

And for the first day it did make them happy. But then I began to notice something :: they stopped playing. I mean, they had so much stuff they were literally confused with what to play with. And so they didn't play with anything.



Then if that wasn't bad enough, when they did play they lacked imagination and started to let the toy dictate play, rather than the play dictate what they toy should be. So many closed-end toys which beeped and buzzed and moved, and my children had become demoted to chief button-pusher and nothing else.







The final straw came yesterday morning when I went into the boys' room and was met with a scene from a gas explosion - without the gas explosion. Broken toys, ripped books, disrespectful use and storage, and literally a floor litered with debris and no room to move.

I was ashamed at how I had let things slide, and more importantly I was more than a little cross at how blase my children had become towards their gifts.

I took a roll of binliners and bagged and bagged and bagged - four binliners full of things for the charity shop, and a binliner full of broken toys. A whole BINLINER full of broken toys.

Enough!








I tidied the remaining toys into several baskets, and put out the wooden toys that had been shoved behind the mess into full view. The result?

I am glad to say I had, by the end of the day, two children who appreciated the toys I decided to leave them (knowing full well I could quite easily bag those up too!), and enough space for two happy boys to play like they used to - with imagination.




I hope I never again forget this basic rule of parenting :: less is always more, one quality item outweighs a tonne of rubbish.