Buggy Blogger mum to J (4), B (2) and S (8 months) makes a shopping list or two. (Must remember to add an industrial bottle of Calpol).

‘Tis the season to be inundated with Christmas catalogues. All of which are gleefully ripped open and pored over by my home-grown 4-year-old consumer. Three months ahead of time, he's already got a wish-list for Father Christmas as long as your arm. No idea where he gets that from. Though Santa please note, I’ve a hankering for a pair of bitter chocolate knee-high boots, an angora Pashmina in pale mocha, a Nigella egg whisk, Jamie's latest cookbook, a cuddly toy.

Rather more seasonally, it's just been the school Harvest Festival. Have had my first taste of competitive parenting in the playground. While my son arrived clutching a packet of rice and a can of the Jolly Green Giant's finest, his contemporaries pitched up with more premium range groceries than you can shake a stick at. Goodness only knows what the recipients in the local old folks' homes made of the ensuing mixed-goodies bonanza. (Must make a note to stock up on sun-dried tomatoes, organic polenta and bottles of balsamic vinegar well ahead of next year's HF.)

While his big brother's been ploughing the fields and scattering, B’s been charming the pants off all and sundry. (Though thankfully keeping his pants firmly on given his record with mistiming the potty.) At playgroup he made me a diamond ring. Disgraceful mother at first mistook it for a plaster round his finger before back-pedalling and singing praises of said sticky-tape and plastic-gem combo.

He's also very cutely taken to opening doors with a flourish proclaiming "my being gentleman". Initially wanted to point out that if he wants to be a true gentleman, he needs to consider not pooing his pants so often, but bit my tongue and let it pass for now. However, must remember in due course to ensure he's mastered this element of gentlemanly etiquette before taking his first girlfriend out on a date.

Oh and talking of bitten tongues, S has just cut his first tooth. That's one small step for the little man, one giant shriek in the middle of the night for his parents, his siblings, our neighbours and any unsuspecting passing pedestrians...

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