When the hell did that happen?? I could have sworn that yesterday I was turning 30.
And what has changed in 10 years? Just a little...
3 kids. 3 magnificently wonderful, beautiful, infuriating, adorable, incessant, amazing little people that I made. All by myself. Well, ok, fine, not all by myself, but I raised them myself :) So I'm paying myself that one :)
A truckload of moves. And I can not stand them. But finally, now, as I hit my 40s, we have found ourself where we belong. And here we will stay. If not in this house, at least in this area. It is our home. Our community.
3 degrees. Well, 2 degrees and a graduate diploma. Close enough for jazz.
Complete change of career. As you do. Classical pianist and accompanist one decade, lawyer the next. Again, as you do.
And I like to think that I have grown. Aside from (mildly) in girth (which I blame upon copious amounts of KFC, bacon, red wine and gin over the decade) I have grown as a human.
I can't blame myself for the failings of others and now do not spend my spare time beating myself up in this regard.
I don't concern myself with what others think of me, except, of course, my babies. They are my compass as to the true state of play in our world, and they are all that matter.
I pretty well do what I want, within reason, because, well, you do only live once. You may as well actually live. What a sad state of affairs to spend all your time working towards the ultimate goal only to find that, 10 or 20 or 30 years down the track the posts have shifted and you have missed the goal, and missed all the experiences and joys along the way.
Life is too short to drink bad wine.
Eat the bacon.
If you feel like singing out loud along with the music in the supermarket, do it. People will look? So what. You never know, you may even just make someone's day by bringing a smile to their face. And on that note, smile at someone. And mean it. Like a yawn, it is contagious. I bet you just yawned....
Today was a special day. It really was. I adore how my kids all made me a special little card. And late this evening, after we had had dinner (KFC of course) and cake, and the kids were watching a bit of Play School, I sat down and sighed. I drew all my babies close to me and said "Thank you guys for making it such a special day."
And it was Miss 4 who spoke next.
"I can't hear the telly."
Love you too babies xx
Monday 30 September 2013
Sunday 29 September 2013
Get out of the dryer.
Yet another of those things that you couldn't possibly foresee ever saying, and yet once you have children becomes one of the trillion or so things that fall onto that list.
That list. The things you never thought you'd ever say. Many of those things fall under the category of "don't eat *insert random object that in no way resembles food nor would it even appear tasty*".
Other things you never thought you'd say, part 1 (I'm tipping there'll be approximately 4677 parts by the time I'm done).
"Don't pull Barbie's head off"
"Please stop sticking your head between my legs"
"Toothbrushes are not weapons" (although, theoretically, I could actually be wrong, if used correctly)
"Please don't run in mummy's shoes"
"No, we cannot go back to the hospital just to get a sticker" (following on from the nose smashing incident of 2012, another story entirely, which, as is evident, resulted in gratuitous giving of stickers to small children)
"That's not a spider it's cotton." "IT'S A BUG!" "It's cotton" (*picks up*) ""But it moved!" "That was because of the breeze." "BUT IT MOOOOOOOVED!" "Ok, I'll put it outside." "Thank you mummy".
Master 3 wanted to watch Bingo today. I got confused. I was wondering why on earth legs 11 was so appealing to him. "Bingo?" "Yes, Bingo". Wracking brain. Bingo?? Seriously?? "Do you mean Dumbo?" "YES!!!!"
He was firing on all cylinders today, Master 3. Not only did I have to tell him to get out of the dryer (it was not on, obviously), but he single handedly nearly gave me a heart attack when he sat on the back of the sofa, facing behind the sofa, then proceeded to just let himself fall back, bounced off his head and completely off the sofa onto the floor. Right beside the edge of the heater. No fear. None. He is the reason behind 90% of my newly acquired grey hairs. "Mum, watch this" strikes fear into my heart. He could be anywhere, doing anything, but odds are that that thing he is doing could, if executed improperly in any way, result in at the least a bruise, and at the worst a break. But some form of injury.
Miss 4 was injured today also, at the hands, or feet I should say, of Miss 5. Miss 5, when questioned about it, turned to Miss 4 and said "Well, why didn't you watch out for me??"
Yep. She could be a lawyer.
We went to the park today. It was a truly stunning day, the sun was shining, there was a lovely breeze (not a spider cotton moving kind of breeze, but a breeze nonetheless). The kids ran around madly, I watched them, and Miss 5, for only the second time ever, managed to do the whole monkey bars without assistance (massive achievement!). Then I cracked out the bubbles. Kids love bubbles. I love bubbles. How can anyone not like bubbles?? And it was windy. Not just breezy. I was mistaken. So bubbles were everywhere.
And after the bubbles were done, Miss 5 says "I have to go to the toilet". This, in a park where no toilets are to be found. Anywhere. So I say "Well you'll just have to wait because there are no toilets here." She pipes up "Well, I can go behind that tree". Sigh. "Ok miss, you can go behind the tree. Let's go."
So we get behind tree, suitably hidden from the other people enjoying the day in the park, and Miss 5 whips down the pants. She squats. And I say "Are you doing wees?" And she looks at me, straight in the eye, and says "I need to do poo."
Oh god. No.
So I say "We're going home right now!!!" and hastily pull her pants up before there is an unfortunate incident, wherein she says, "Oh, it's ok, I can hold on."
Good lord child you are ageing me by the second.
Leaving the park was a less than pleasant experience today too. It commenced before the leaving actually began, when I beckoned to Miss 4 to come with me to get more sunscreen applied (she burns terribly easily), and as she came towards me I yelled out "Don't walk behind the swings". Being Miss 4 she opted not to listen and was promptly cleaned up by Miss 5 on the back swing.
And when I tried to help her I was met with "No!! Don't!! Leave me alone!!!" Because she a) didn't want to admit that she hadn't listened and by her not listening it hadn't ended well and b) she was embarrassed at being cleaned up in public. The c) is because she is a middle child and why the hell not.
We made it out of there alive though. This time. And went home and painted nails. And made home made pizzas on a base of puff pastry. It's a great idea. The kids get involved, making their own pizzas up, and when they are involved in the food preparation 9 times out of 10 it results in them eating more. With puff pastry pizza bases though it also looks as though a puff has been brutally murdered by the end of it. Puff. Crumbs. Everywhere.
I guess at least it makes the vacuuming experience a good one.
That list. The things you never thought you'd ever say. Many of those things fall under the category of "don't eat *insert random object that in no way resembles food nor would it even appear tasty*".
Other things you never thought you'd say, part 1 (I'm tipping there'll be approximately 4677 parts by the time I'm done).
"Don't pull Barbie's head off"
"Please stop sticking your head between my legs"
"Toothbrushes are not weapons" (although, theoretically, I could actually be wrong, if used correctly)
"Please don't run in mummy's shoes"
"No, we cannot go back to the hospital just to get a sticker" (following on from the nose smashing incident of 2012, another story entirely, which, as is evident, resulted in gratuitous giving of stickers to small children)
"That's not a spider it's cotton." "IT'S A BUG!" "It's cotton" (*picks up*) ""But it moved!" "That was because of the breeze." "BUT IT MOOOOOOOVED!" "Ok, I'll put it outside." "Thank you mummy".
Master 3 wanted to watch Bingo today. I got confused. I was wondering why on earth legs 11 was so appealing to him. "Bingo?" "Yes, Bingo". Wracking brain. Bingo?? Seriously?? "Do you mean Dumbo?" "YES!!!!"
He was firing on all cylinders today, Master 3. Not only did I have to tell him to get out of the dryer (it was not on, obviously), but he single handedly nearly gave me a heart attack when he sat on the back of the sofa, facing behind the sofa, then proceeded to just let himself fall back, bounced off his head and completely off the sofa onto the floor. Right beside the edge of the heater. No fear. None. He is the reason behind 90% of my newly acquired grey hairs. "Mum, watch this" strikes fear into my heart. He could be anywhere, doing anything, but odds are that that thing he is doing could, if executed improperly in any way, result in at the least a bruise, and at the worst a break. But some form of injury.
Miss 4 was injured today also, at the hands, or feet I should say, of Miss 5. Miss 5, when questioned about it, turned to Miss 4 and said "Well, why didn't you watch out for me??"
Yep. She could be a lawyer.
We went to the park today. It was a truly stunning day, the sun was shining, there was a lovely breeze (not a spider cotton moving kind of breeze, but a breeze nonetheless). The kids ran around madly, I watched them, and Miss 5, for only the second time ever, managed to do the whole monkey bars without assistance (massive achievement!). Then I cracked out the bubbles. Kids love bubbles. I love bubbles. How can anyone not like bubbles?? And it was windy. Not just breezy. I was mistaken. So bubbles were everywhere.
And after the bubbles were done, Miss 5 says "I have to go to the toilet". This, in a park where no toilets are to be found. Anywhere. So I say "Well you'll just have to wait because there are no toilets here." She pipes up "Well, I can go behind that tree". Sigh. "Ok miss, you can go behind the tree. Let's go."
So we get behind tree, suitably hidden from the other people enjoying the day in the park, and Miss 5 whips down the pants. She squats. And I say "Are you doing wees?" And she looks at me, straight in the eye, and says "I need to do poo."
Oh god. No.
So I say "We're going home right now!!!" and hastily pull her pants up before there is an unfortunate incident, wherein she says, "Oh, it's ok, I can hold on."
Good lord child you are ageing me by the second.
Leaving the park was a less than pleasant experience today too. It commenced before the leaving actually began, when I beckoned to Miss 4 to come with me to get more sunscreen applied (she burns terribly easily), and as she came towards me I yelled out "Don't walk behind the swings". Being Miss 4 she opted not to listen and was promptly cleaned up by Miss 5 on the back swing.
And when I tried to help her I was met with "No!! Don't!! Leave me alone!!!" Because she a) didn't want to admit that she hadn't listened and by her not listening it hadn't ended well and b) she was embarrassed at being cleaned up in public. The c) is because she is a middle child and why the hell not.
We made it out of there alive though. This time. And went home and painted nails. And made home made pizzas on a base of puff pastry. It's a great idea. The kids get involved, making their own pizzas up, and when they are involved in the food preparation 9 times out of 10 it results in them eating more. With puff pastry pizza bases though it also looks as though a puff has been brutally murdered by the end of it. Puff. Crumbs. Everywhere.
I guess at least it makes the vacuuming experience a good one.
Friday 27 September 2013
There are several indications
as to the way in which your children are being raised. I'm not talking the style of parenting, or whether or not you believe in "time out" or anything like that. Oh no. I'm talking about less obvious things - language, expression, empathy. The things that are not taught so much as absorbed by osmosis. The children will take your behaviour as their example.
Now in a language sense I will demonstrate. Master 3 had the option between 2 things. He decided upon one, then changed his mind, saying "Actually, I think I'll have the other one." Fine, that makes perfect sense, and is not an unreasonable thing to say. Slightly cute to hear a 3 year old saying actually.
Today it became obvious that perhaps I say actually a little too much. Miss 4 sitting at the dinner table explaining something to me, which went something like this: "Actually, I don't think that I actually DO want that one, actually."
Hmmm.
I stubbed my toe this evening. It hurt. I literally cried out in pain, then grabbed the door to steady myself. Miss 5 and Master 3 came rushing to me and gave me a cuddle, asking if I was okay and saying "There there baby, it's ok." Why no Miss 4? Well she was sitting on the floor with her jeans around her ankles as she had been unable to pull them up after going to the toilet, and, well, obviously she just gave up.
So there was sympathy, caring, making sure I was okay. It was quite heartwarming.
Fast forward an hour when we are all in the bathroom brushing teeth, and I decide to sit on the edge of the bathtub. I turned a little awkwardly then gasped loudly as I saved myself, last minute, from falling into the bath.
And what do you think the kids did?
Yep. They laughed. Really really loudly. And long. Nice one guys.
We did have a lovely day today - the kids got to see my new work, we visited a few parks, got some takeaway pizza for lunch (which was compensated for by dinner of steak and five different sorts of vegetables), played lots, and just generally had a fabulous time.
In the evenings we tend to play around a bit, whether that be actual games, or just being a bit silly, or some little assisted tumbles or whatever. Tonight I decided to pretend that Miss 5 was my teddy bear, cuddle her tightly and mock snore. She giggled incessantly and wiggled and screamed "WAKE UP!!!" at me and it was all a bit of a laugh.
Then it was Miss 4's turn. She climbed aboard, I repeated the exercise I had just done with Miss 5, after which Miss 4 looks at me and says "Your teddy bear just farted on you." Charming.
Now I will leave you with a lesson. If you lose something, sometimes it is better to just wait until you have a house with no kids present before looking for said item.
Under no circumstances EVER should you utter the words "Can you please help me look for X?"
Because they will depart, maybe straight away, maybe five minutes later, and then when you realise you haven't heard from them for a while you will go to check on them to find the entire contents of their toy chests strewn all over the floor, with children hanging off various different pieces of furniture like molluscs off a pier. And when you ask them what they are doing they will calmly reply "Helping you look."
And there endeth the lesson.
Now in a language sense I will demonstrate. Master 3 had the option between 2 things. He decided upon one, then changed his mind, saying "Actually, I think I'll have the other one." Fine, that makes perfect sense, and is not an unreasonable thing to say. Slightly cute to hear a 3 year old saying actually.
Today it became obvious that perhaps I say actually a little too much. Miss 4 sitting at the dinner table explaining something to me, which went something like this: "Actually, I don't think that I actually DO want that one, actually."
Hmmm.
I stubbed my toe this evening. It hurt. I literally cried out in pain, then grabbed the door to steady myself. Miss 5 and Master 3 came rushing to me and gave me a cuddle, asking if I was okay and saying "There there baby, it's ok." Why no Miss 4? Well she was sitting on the floor with her jeans around her ankles as she had been unable to pull them up after going to the toilet, and, well, obviously she just gave up.
So there was sympathy, caring, making sure I was okay. It was quite heartwarming.
Fast forward an hour when we are all in the bathroom brushing teeth, and I decide to sit on the edge of the bathtub. I turned a little awkwardly then gasped loudly as I saved myself, last minute, from falling into the bath.
And what do you think the kids did?
Yep. They laughed. Really really loudly. And long. Nice one guys.
We did have a lovely day today - the kids got to see my new work, we visited a few parks, got some takeaway pizza for lunch (which was compensated for by dinner of steak and five different sorts of vegetables), played lots, and just generally had a fabulous time.
In the evenings we tend to play around a bit, whether that be actual games, or just being a bit silly, or some little assisted tumbles or whatever. Tonight I decided to pretend that Miss 5 was my teddy bear, cuddle her tightly and mock snore. She giggled incessantly and wiggled and screamed "WAKE UP!!!" at me and it was all a bit of a laugh.
Then it was Miss 4's turn. She climbed aboard, I repeated the exercise I had just done with Miss 5, after which Miss 4 looks at me and says "Your teddy bear just farted on you." Charming.
Now I will leave you with a lesson. If you lose something, sometimes it is better to just wait until you have a house with no kids present before looking for said item.
Under no circumstances EVER should you utter the words "Can you please help me look for X?"
Because they will depart, maybe straight away, maybe five minutes later, and then when you realise you haven't heard from them for a while you will go to check on them to find the entire contents of their toy chests strewn all over the floor, with children hanging off various different pieces of furniture like molluscs off a pier. And when you ask them what they are doing they will calmly reply "Helping you look."
And there endeth the lesson.
Thursday 26 September 2013
Conflicted
is how many mothers feel at many times of their lives.
As a working single mother, I often wonder whether the choice I made to go back to work was the right one, or whether I should have stayed at home with the kids.
When I was a stay at home mum, I often wondered if I was doing the kids a disservice by denying them the social opportunities they would have had had they attended the local daycare.
It doesn't matter what we do, we will always question whether or not it is the right thing to do.
Human nature.
Mummy nature.
Conflicted. Miss 4 is going off her nut because she wants something, but hasn't said please. I remain stoic and calm repeating "I beg your pardon?" which appears to fan the flames of the mini chick fire even more. Now this could be avoided if I just gave her what she wanted, and she would settle down, and that would be the easy solution. But would it? Or would I be creating a rod for my own back in giving in to her wants? I think the latter. I did, however, strongly consider the former the other night when she chose the bath as the location in which she went off her nut. It was a far from pleasant experience, and would have been even if it had not have occurred in the bath, but just think, every little physical outburst a 4 year old delivers whilst mid-tant, when in the bath creates splashes. These splashes have the ability to enter the eyes of said 4 year old who is mid-tant, thus enraging said 4 year old to the point that you think the water may just boil for the fire within the child.
And yes. I stayed firm. And yes. She said please.
20 minutes later.
I win. Again. I will always win. What she doesn't understand is that I, too, was a middle child. I have played this game a lot longer than she has. I know the tricks. And I know the rules. Every now and then I hide and shudder and think that she may just be better at it than me, and then I go out there, standing firm and tall, and do not give in. Ever.
But I digress. Conflicted.
Take today. I had the day off, no children, as they were in daycare and at the school holiday program. So the day to get things done. I used it well - I was able to take several boxes and a few bags down to the local op shop and clear out some more of the clutter that seems to gather in this house, much like seagulls around a chip. So much clutter.
But I was conflicted. Because by mid afternoon I was missing my babies. It feels odd to be at home and have them not there. And so I have a coffee or three. And that takes a little time. And I try to keep pottering but find myself just going from room to room taking the same thing and putting it on different surfaces repeatedly.
And so I give in to myself and go and get the kids early. And as soon as I pick them up they don't stop talking. At all. And it continues. Master 3 has a habit of commentating his life and everything he sees. "Mum. Mum. Muuuuum. Taxi. Oooooooh look at THAT tree. It has brown and green and red and orange. Mum? What's that? What's that man doing? That boy isn't wearing a helmet he's going to fall off and hurt himself. Mum? You know I got a scratch today at school. And I told the teacher. And I cried. But I was ok. Taxi!" And it is like that pretty well from as soon as he opens his eyes until he closes them at night.
And with the girls, well, let's just say by the time they are teenagers I may need to self-medicate. Drama. Personified.
And everything is the end of the world.
And so, after having picked them all up early, after a few hours I was asking myself whether that really was the wise thing to do. And everyone was sitting drawing happily (I use that term loosely - factoring in "I had that pencil first...muuuuuuum.... she snatched that pencil off me...." "No I didn't" "Yes you did" "No I didn't!! Mum I didn't snatch it she didn't even HAVE it!" "But muuuuum I only put it down for a second!").
So I did the countdown. Five more minutes and it's bedtime. "What can I draw?" "What about the animals you saw at the zoo?"
Insert. Drama. Miss. 5. "But, but, but, I can't REMEMBER which animals I saw at the zoo" (read with that little frog in the throat effect that occurs when one is about to burst into inconsolable sobs for no apparent reason).
"Elephant, lion, kangaroo, frog."
"There are no FROGS at the zoo."
"I beg your pardon miss, but there are."
Fiery stare. Goes back to drawing.
"One more minute guys, you'd better make it count....."
And up pipes Miss 4. "One, two, three, four....."
Give. Me. Strength.
As a working single mother, I often wonder whether the choice I made to go back to work was the right one, or whether I should have stayed at home with the kids.
When I was a stay at home mum, I often wondered if I was doing the kids a disservice by denying them the social opportunities they would have had had they attended the local daycare.
It doesn't matter what we do, we will always question whether or not it is the right thing to do.
Human nature.
Mummy nature.
Conflicted. Miss 4 is going off her nut because she wants something, but hasn't said please. I remain stoic and calm repeating "I beg your pardon?" which appears to fan the flames of the mini chick fire even more. Now this could be avoided if I just gave her what she wanted, and she would settle down, and that would be the easy solution. But would it? Or would I be creating a rod for my own back in giving in to her wants? I think the latter. I did, however, strongly consider the former the other night when she chose the bath as the location in which she went off her nut. It was a far from pleasant experience, and would have been even if it had not have occurred in the bath, but just think, every little physical outburst a 4 year old delivers whilst mid-tant, when in the bath creates splashes. These splashes have the ability to enter the eyes of said 4 year old who is mid-tant, thus enraging said 4 year old to the point that you think the water may just boil for the fire within the child.
And yes. I stayed firm. And yes. She said please.
20 minutes later.
I win. Again. I will always win. What she doesn't understand is that I, too, was a middle child. I have played this game a lot longer than she has. I know the tricks. And I know the rules. Every now and then I hide and shudder and think that she may just be better at it than me, and then I go out there, standing firm and tall, and do not give in. Ever.
But I digress. Conflicted.
Take today. I had the day off, no children, as they were in daycare and at the school holiday program. So the day to get things done. I used it well - I was able to take several boxes and a few bags down to the local op shop and clear out some more of the clutter that seems to gather in this house, much like seagulls around a chip. So much clutter.
But I was conflicted. Because by mid afternoon I was missing my babies. It feels odd to be at home and have them not there. And so I have a coffee or three. And that takes a little time. And I try to keep pottering but find myself just going from room to room taking the same thing and putting it on different surfaces repeatedly.
And so I give in to myself and go and get the kids early. And as soon as I pick them up they don't stop talking. At all. And it continues. Master 3 has a habit of commentating his life and everything he sees. "Mum. Mum. Muuuuum. Taxi. Oooooooh look at THAT tree. It has brown and green and red and orange. Mum? What's that? What's that man doing? That boy isn't wearing a helmet he's going to fall off and hurt himself. Mum? You know I got a scratch today at school. And I told the teacher. And I cried. But I was ok. Taxi!" And it is like that pretty well from as soon as he opens his eyes until he closes them at night.
And with the girls, well, let's just say by the time they are teenagers I may need to self-medicate. Drama. Personified.
And everything is the end of the world.
And so, after having picked them all up early, after a few hours I was asking myself whether that really was the wise thing to do. And everyone was sitting drawing happily (I use that term loosely - factoring in "I had that pencil first...muuuuuuum.... she snatched that pencil off me...." "No I didn't" "Yes you did" "No I didn't!! Mum I didn't snatch it she didn't even HAVE it!" "But muuuuum I only put it down for a second!").
So I did the countdown. Five more minutes and it's bedtime. "What can I draw?" "What about the animals you saw at the zoo?"
Insert. Drama. Miss. 5. "But, but, but, I can't REMEMBER which animals I saw at the zoo" (read with that little frog in the throat effect that occurs when one is about to burst into inconsolable sobs for no apparent reason).
"Elephant, lion, kangaroo, frog."
"There are no FROGS at the zoo."
"I beg your pardon miss, but there are."
Fiery stare. Goes back to drawing.
"One more minute guys, you'd better make it count....."
And up pipes Miss 4. "One, two, three, four....."
Give. Me. Strength.
Monday 23 September 2013
So we decided to go to the zoo.
I had entered a competition in a magazine several weeks earlier and lo and behold, I won a family pass to any of the zoos. The kids chose Melbourne zoo. A great choice I think as it meant the least amount of driving to get there.
So I checked the weather forecast. Showers. Thunderstorms. Clearing in the afternoon.
Hmmm. What to do, what to do.... I had already told the kids we were going, and I couldn't really crush them by doing a 180. So I made the executive decision to still go - rain, hail or shine. We would take our raincoats and umbrellas and the kids could splash in the puddles, and if it got really heavy we could stop in at one of the eateries and have a babycino or something.
So I told the kids about my plans to go, even though it was supposed to rain.
Miss 5 says "Well we can just take our raincoats" and I say "yes, yes we can".
And Miss 4 chimes in and says "If it gets too wet we can just go inside" and I say "yes, that is very true".
And Master 3 pipes up and says "And you can put a bruschetta on my head".
"I beg your pardon?" I say, eyebrows half raised with a look of what can only be described as pure confusement (that emotion when you are confused and amused at the same time).
"You can put a bruschetta on my head" he repeats.
A bruschetta. On his head.
"Yeah, to stop the rain!"
"Oh. An umbrella."
"Yeah!! Umbrella!"
The things they say. These kids. It took an enormous amount of strength not to laugh when I observed Miss 4 and Miss 5 discussing something and trying to work out who got to go first. In order to decide they played a game of "Rockets, paper, shoe".
So we were heading to the zoo. That morning it was fairly dark, and there was rain coming off the awning. But I was determined to go. Determined. And so we puddled around a bit and took far too long to get ourselves organised and get our little picnic made, so we ended up leaving an hour later than originally intended. By which time the day was, well, it can only be described as glorious. Absolutely amazing.
Great, I thought. Nice day, walk around, relax. Ba bow. We arrive and every man and his dog had had the same thought. And because we were an hour later than intended we had to park literally in another postcode. But at least we found a park. Albeit a bazillion miles away.
I didn't remember how hilly the zoo was. Immensely hilly. And whilst I applauded my ingenuity in packing a massive picnic, complete with full water bottles for all of us, it added to the weight of the pram, so not only were my legs burning from pushing said pram up the hill, by my arms felt the burn too.
We saw a lot of animals. A veritable plethora of animals. But none who lived in darkness, for the shrieks of Miss 4 at any sign of diminishing light precluded us from engaging in such activities.
We did manage to catch the seal show. Along with 1000 others. Probably the highlight of the show was when the seal first jumped off his little rock and into the water, which nobody else found remotely interesting. My three however squealed with delight, so loudly, that the other 1000 people laughed along with their joy. It was quite a special moment actually. After the third or fourth squeal of delight from the kids in a 23 second window I opted to have a quiet word with them and suggest that perhaps they don't need to squeal every time the seal jumped into the water, considering he was probably going to jump in at least several hundred more times.
So we watched the show, and enjoyed it. And moved on in the quest to find the gorillas.
Poor choice it would seem. Because Miss 4 and Miss 5 did not want to see gorillas. Even though Master 3 did. You would think that by the democratic rule I would have said no gorillas. Nope. I threw in my own vote for gorillas so Master 3 could see them. So we walked (treked) the however long it was to see the gorillas, who, ironically, decided to play where's Wally and we didn't get to see them anyway. Fabulous.
On we went, back again to wherever the hell we were and my legs were slowly dying as were my arms, and my ears were starting to cave in with the incessant whinging Miss 4 had turned on since the unfortunate falling off rock episode at the seal arena, about which I have not yet spoken because, well, I must have tried to block it out. The people beside us asked if she was the middle child. "Yes, as a matter of fact she is". And they nodded knowingly, and I could see the pity in their eyes. Gotta love random stranger pity. It rocks.
So next stop was the lions. We had intended to see them earlier but sadly had opted for the path that had the stairs to the walkway and not the ramp, and when I went to turn around the response was far from favourable so we just kept on going. And so it was a few hours in the future from that response that we found ourselves on the walkway looking over at, what, um, nothing. No lions. None. Not one. Where. The hell. Are the bloody lions??
So Miss 5 has scaled the fence saying "where are they?" And Miss 4 is trying to copy Miss 5 and Master 3 is in the pram saying "I want to get OUT". And that's when we see the zookeeper. In the lion enclosure. Some bright spark says "Gee I hope she remembered to put ALL the lions away. What if one's hiding behind a tree?" Yep. She wouldn't have thought to count them would she. I know I would have just herded them willy nilly - one, two, three, ah, whatever, I'm sure they're all there.....
And as zookeeper chick is roaming around whacking slabs of meat against various pieces of wood the sounds start. It was very Jurassic Park actually. Metal crashing against metal as lions restrained begin to smell the meat. Then the roars. Low and slow at first, building, rising to not so much a roar as a bellow, spat out rhythmically, crescendoing to a monumental fortissimo as the zookeeper finally finishes her rounds.
Then out they come. Stealthily, looking, almost creeping, scouring the area for food. And we saw one go up on its hind legs to retrieve the slab of meat from atop a tree, wherein Master 3 yells out "LOOK!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!!!" and watches the lion grab the meat, then drop to eat it, wherein he then says "Oooooh look, he's having a sleep".
And so we move aside to let one of the millions of other people in the viewing area catch a glimpse of the massive beasts feeding.
And I was so hoping the car was nearby, which of course it wasn't. And then "I need to go to the toilet". Of course you do. So we find the toilets. And then we head towards the car and "I'm still hungry". And so we stop and have another little sandwich. And after that my speed increases as we heads towards the gate, such that the girls are performing little skips every now and then, but I have the car in my sights (not physically, it was miles away, but figuratively and metaphorically, man, it was right there), and NOTHING is stopping me. 4 hours of walking. And eating. And falling off rocks. And listening. And looking.
And I forgot to mention, we went into the butterfly enclosure. If you have a fear of moths and butterflies, it doesn't matter how much your kids want to go into the butterfly enclosure, don't do it. Just. Don't. Do. It.
So we escaped the zoo. Made it to the car. Left the carpark and headed towards home.
And it was then that I remembered I still needed to go the shops to buy Miss 5 a helmet for "scooter and bike day" at the school holiday program today.
It's true what they say - it really does never end......
So I checked the weather forecast. Showers. Thunderstorms. Clearing in the afternoon.
Hmmm. What to do, what to do.... I had already told the kids we were going, and I couldn't really crush them by doing a 180. So I made the executive decision to still go - rain, hail or shine. We would take our raincoats and umbrellas and the kids could splash in the puddles, and if it got really heavy we could stop in at one of the eateries and have a babycino or something.
So I told the kids about my plans to go, even though it was supposed to rain.
Miss 5 says "Well we can just take our raincoats" and I say "yes, yes we can".
And Miss 4 chimes in and says "If it gets too wet we can just go inside" and I say "yes, that is very true".
And Master 3 pipes up and says "And you can put a bruschetta on my head".
"I beg your pardon?" I say, eyebrows half raised with a look of what can only be described as pure confusement (that emotion when you are confused and amused at the same time).
"You can put a bruschetta on my head" he repeats.
A bruschetta. On his head.
"Yeah, to stop the rain!"
"Oh. An umbrella."
"Yeah!! Umbrella!"
The things they say. These kids. It took an enormous amount of strength not to laugh when I observed Miss 4 and Miss 5 discussing something and trying to work out who got to go first. In order to decide they played a game of "Rockets, paper, shoe".
So we were heading to the zoo. That morning it was fairly dark, and there was rain coming off the awning. But I was determined to go. Determined. And so we puddled around a bit and took far too long to get ourselves organised and get our little picnic made, so we ended up leaving an hour later than originally intended. By which time the day was, well, it can only be described as glorious. Absolutely amazing.
Great, I thought. Nice day, walk around, relax. Ba bow. We arrive and every man and his dog had had the same thought. And because we were an hour later than intended we had to park literally in another postcode. But at least we found a park. Albeit a bazillion miles away.
I didn't remember how hilly the zoo was. Immensely hilly. And whilst I applauded my ingenuity in packing a massive picnic, complete with full water bottles for all of us, it added to the weight of the pram, so not only were my legs burning from pushing said pram up the hill, by my arms felt the burn too.
We saw a lot of animals. A veritable plethora of animals. But none who lived in darkness, for the shrieks of Miss 4 at any sign of diminishing light precluded us from engaging in such activities.
We did manage to catch the seal show. Along with 1000 others. Probably the highlight of the show was when the seal first jumped off his little rock and into the water, which nobody else found remotely interesting. My three however squealed with delight, so loudly, that the other 1000 people laughed along with their joy. It was quite a special moment actually. After the third or fourth squeal of delight from the kids in a 23 second window I opted to have a quiet word with them and suggest that perhaps they don't need to squeal every time the seal jumped into the water, considering he was probably going to jump in at least several hundred more times.
So we watched the show, and enjoyed it. And moved on in the quest to find the gorillas.
Poor choice it would seem. Because Miss 4 and Miss 5 did not want to see gorillas. Even though Master 3 did. You would think that by the democratic rule I would have said no gorillas. Nope. I threw in my own vote for gorillas so Master 3 could see them. So we walked (treked) the however long it was to see the gorillas, who, ironically, decided to play where's Wally and we didn't get to see them anyway. Fabulous.
On we went, back again to wherever the hell we were and my legs were slowly dying as were my arms, and my ears were starting to cave in with the incessant whinging Miss 4 had turned on since the unfortunate falling off rock episode at the seal arena, about which I have not yet spoken because, well, I must have tried to block it out. The people beside us asked if she was the middle child. "Yes, as a matter of fact she is". And they nodded knowingly, and I could see the pity in their eyes. Gotta love random stranger pity. It rocks.
So next stop was the lions. We had intended to see them earlier but sadly had opted for the path that had the stairs to the walkway and not the ramp, and when I went to turn around the response was far from favourable so we just kept on going. And so it was a few hours in the future from that response that we found ourselves on the walkway looking over at, what, um, nothing. No lions. None. Not one. Where. The hell. Are the bloody lions??
So Miss 5 has scaled the fence saying "where are they?" And Miss 4 is trying to copy Miss 5 and Master 3 is in the pram saying "I want to get OUT". And that's when we see the zookeeper. In the lion enclosure. Some bright spark says "Gee I hope she remembered to put ALL the lions away. What if one's hiding behind a tree?" Yep. She wouldn't have thought to count them would she. I know I would have just herded them willy nilly - one, two, three, ah, whatever, I'm sure they're all there.....
And as zookeeper chick is roaming around whacking slabs of meat against various pieces of wood the sounds start. It was very Jurassic Park actually. Metal crashing against metal as lions restrained begin to smell the meat. Then the roars. Low and slow at first, building, rising to not so much a roar as a bellow, spat out rhythmically, crescendoing to a monumental fortissimo as the zookeeper finally finishes her rounds.
Then out they come. Stealthily, looking, almost creeping, scouring the area for food. And we saw one go up on its hind legs to retrieve the slab of meat from atop a tree, wherein Master 3 yells out "LOOK!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!!!" and watches the lion grab the meat, then drop to eat it, wherein he then says "Oooooh look, he's having a sleep".
And so we move aside to let one of the millions of other people in the viewing area catch a glimpse of the massive beasts feeding.
And I was so hoping the car was nearby, which of course it wasn't. And then "I need to go to the toilet". Of course you do. So we find the toilets. And then we head towards the car and "I'm still hungry". And so we stop and have another little sandwich. And after that my speed increases as we heads towards the gate, such that the girls are performing little skips every now and then, but I have the car in my sights (not physically, it was miles away, but figuratively and metaphorically, man, it was right there), and NOTHING is stopping me. 4 hours of walking. And eating. And falling off rocks. And listening. And looking.
And I forgot to mention, we went into the butterfly enclosure. If you have a fear of moths and butterflies, it doesn't matter how much your kids want to go into the butterfly enclosure, don't do it. Just. Don't. Do. It.
So we escaped the zoo. Made it to the car. Left the carpark and headed towards home.
And it was then that I remembered I still needed to go the shops to buy Miss 5 a helmet for "scooter and bike day" at the school holiday program today.
It's true what they say - it really does never end......
Friday 20 September 2013
Four and a half hours.
That's how long little man was awake throughout the night last night. From 10.30pm until 3am. Well technically that isn't actually true. The first 34 minutes he was having a night terror and was most definitely not awake, although the noise would have fooled anyone inexperienced in the 'joys' of night terrors.
And I stand corrected again because after the night terror there was a period of around 8 or 9 minutes where he slept. And then he woke up.
Me: "Go to sleep baby"
Master 2: "No. I want to be awake."
Oh. God. Help. Me.
And so by 3am, with my eyes hanging out of my head, I caved and put him into bed with me. Which I am trying to not do because it was happening all the time. With all three. But I had to sleep. And so I did. And when I awoke a few hours later he was nowhere to be seen, but Miss 5 was beside me, asleep, and Miss 4 was asking me to pull the covers back so she could hop in.
And in the morning I told Miss 4 that Angus had had a terrible night and was in bed with me. And she said "When we aren't feeling well, we hop into bed with mum and get cuddles and that makes us feel better. But doctors do a better job of that." Yes. They do. I guess. If you want to get all technical.
Last night it was a full moon. I think most people have heard the theory that children go that bit madder than usual around this time. I tended to agree. So I downloaded or loaded or whatever you call it to make an app be on your phone, and what I loaded was a phases of the moon app. And any time the kids are going more off their nuts than usual, I check the phase of the moon.
Sure enough, last night, full moon.
I have decidedly less hair this morning than I did last night. It was just constant. And then I started to think maybe he was unwell. He had a sore tummy for about 17 of the minutes he was awake, so he said, so I really can't in all fairness put it down to that....
Suffice to say, this morning I was fairly shattered. Master 2 however was not. Because he was now Master 3. And wasn't he proud.....
So the day was fabulous. We dropped Miss 5 at school, proceeded on to our usual babycino (long black for mum thanks very much - and they're starting to recognise us now......), then to see the helicopters, then to see the really big planes, then a little bit of a drive, supermarket visit, picked up Miss 5 from school (early due to last day of school), went home, did the present thing, did some crafts, played a bit, then out for Chinese, food was brilliant, then the restaurant put on the charm - over the radio system was heard a very joyful rendition of "Happy Birthday", and Mr Chinese Restaurant Man brought out a bowl of ice cream with a candle, and a sparkler, and Master 3 was spellbound. Sparkles. Fire. On a stick. And he held it. And was awestruck. And for the 72 odd seconds that sparkler shone bright absolutely nothing else in the world existed.
Then Mr Chinese Restaurant Man gave the kids a lollipop. There was no English to be seen on this lollipop. And the stick was black. And when I opened the wrapper, the lollipop was black. And when the kids started eating said lollipops their tongues turned black. And, kids being kids, their faces commenced to turn black, and younger kids being younger kids, drips of black saliva started falling on to the white tablecloth. And it looked like they had been inked by a mentally unstable squid. Repeatedly. Thanks for that Mr Chinese Restaurant Man. Really.
And then we came home, did the cake thing, sang some happy birthdayness again, the kids ate even more sugar (just what you want before bed), and then it took me the next 82 minutes or thereabouts to get them to bed, and a further 34 at least until they were all soundly asleep.
Master 3. I'll have to get used to saying that.
And tonight was also a night we have been working towards for about 6 months. Because Master 3 is heavily attached to his bottle, and we have been saying for some time that his 3rd birthday is when they stop. So theoretically no more bottles from here on in.
Now that should be interesting........
And I stand corrected again because after the night terror there was a period of around 8 or 9 minutes where he slept. And then he woke up.
Me: "Go to sleep baby"
Master 2: "No. I want to be awake."
Oh. God. Help. Me.
And so by 3am, with my eyes hanging out of my head, I caved and put him into bed with me. Which I am trying to not do because it was happening all the time. With all three. But I had to sleep. And so I did. And when I awoke a few hours later he was nowhere to be seen, but Miss 5 was beside me, asleep, and Miss 4 was asking me to pull the covers back so she could hop in.
And in the morning I told Miss 4 that Angus had had a terrible night and was in bed with me. And she said "When we aren't feeling well, we hop into bed with mum and get cuddles and that makes us feel better. But doctors do a better job of that." Yes. They do. I guess. If you want to get all technical.
Last night it was a full moon. I think most people have heard the theory that children go that bit madder than usual around this time. I tended to agree. So I downloaded or loaded or whatever you call it to make an app be on your phone, and what I loaded was a phases of the moon app. And any time the kids are going more off their nuts than usual, I check the phase of the moon.
Sure enough, last night, full moon.
I have decidedly less hair this morning than I did last night. It was just constant. And then I started to think maybe he was unwell. He had a sore tummy for about 17 of the minutes he was awake, so he said, so I really can't in all fairness put it down to that....
Suffice to say, this morning I was fairly shattered. Master 2 however was not. Because he was now Master 3. And wasn't he proud.....
So the day was fabulous. We dropped Miss 5 at school, proceeded on to our usual babycino (long black for mum thanks very much - and they're starting to recognise us now......), then to see the helicopters, then to see the really big planes, then a little bit of a drive, supermarket visit, picked up Miss 5 from school (early due to last day of school), went home, did the present thing, did some crafts, played a bit, then out for Chinese, food was brilliant, then the restaurant put on the charm - over the radio system was heard a very joyful rendition of "Happy Birthday", and Mr Chinese Restaurant Man brought out a bowl of ice cream with a candle, and a sparkler, and Master 3 was spellbound. Sparkles. Fire. On a stick. And he held it. And was awestruck. And for the 72 odd seconds that sparkler shone bright absolutely nothing else in the world existed.
Then Mr Chinese Restaurant Man gave the kids a lollipop. There was no English to be seen on this lollipop. And the stick was black. And when I opened the wrapper, the lollipop was black. And when the kids started eating said lollipops their tongues turned black. And, kids being kids, their faces commenced to turn black, and younger kids being younger kids, drips of black saliva started falling on to the white tablecloth. And it looked like they had been inked by a mentally unstable squid. Repeatedly. Thanks for that Mr Chinese Restaurant Man. Really.
And then we came home, did the cake thing, sang some happy birthdayness again, the kids ate even more sugar (just what you want before bed), and then it took me the next 82 minutes or thereabouts to get them to bed, and a further 34 at least until they were all soundly asleep.
Master 3. I'll have to get used to saying that.
And tonight was also a night we have been working towards for about 6 months. Because Master 3 is heavily attached to his bottle, and we have been saying for some time that his 3rd birthday is when they stop. So theoretically no more bottles from here on in.
Now that should be interesting........
Thursday 19 September 2013
Tomorrow
I will have a 3, 4 and 5 year old.
Master 2 turns 3 tomorrow.
I am feeling the way I assume many other mothers feel when their babies have birthdays - a mixture of nostalgic, sad, happy, contemplative, emotional, insert many other feelings here.
My little man tried to arrive at 27 weeks. And 31 weeks. And 32 weeks. And then finally graced us with his presence at 39 weeks.
My little man has no fear and will scale anything and then proceed to jump off it.
My little man tonight decided to bounce his way around the house, Tigger style.
My little man, after the 7th time I went in to answer his queries from bed this evening, as I was leaving his room that 7th time chastised me.... "You didn't tell me to have a good sleep." Even though I had said it the 6 previous times.....
My little man. My little man. Is growing up.
Funny how they do that.
Sigh.
I would write more, but, well, I don't think I will. I think I'll keep reminiscing, and thinking, and smiling, and loving him, but be a bit selfish and just keep that for me.
I'm a mum. I'm allowed.
So tomorrow night we shall celebrate the occasion by going out for dinner at the local Chinese restaurant, where Miss 4 will eat plain rice, Miss 5 will have 4 bowls on the go at once, and Master 3 (by then) will have 4 bowls full of noodles.
And I will watch my babies. And be proud of who they are becoming, of who they have been and of who they are.
I just couldn't imagine loving them any more than I already do.
And on that note, and with a smile on my face, I shall leave it until the next time......
Master 2 turns 3 tomorrow.
I am feeling the way I assume many other mothers feel when their babies have birthdays - a mixture of nostalgic, sad, happy, contemplative, emotional, insert many other feelings here.
My little man tried to arrive at 27 weeks. And 31 weeks. And 32 weeks. And then finally graced us with his presence at 39 weeks.
My little man has no fear and will scale anything and then proceed to jump off it.
My little man tonight decided to bounce his way around the house, Tigger style.
My little man, after the 7th time I went in to answer his queries from bed this evening, as I was leaving his room that 7th time chastised me.... "You didn't tell me to have a good sleep." Even though I had said it the 6 previous times.....
My little man. My little man. Is growing up.
Funny how they do that.
Sigh.
I would write more, but, well, I don't think I will. I think I'll keep reminiscing, and thinking, and smiling, and loving him, but be a bit selfish and just keep that for me.
I'm a mum. I'm allowed.
So tomorrow night we shall celebrate the occasion by going out for dinner at the local Chinese restaurant, where Miss 4 will eat plain rice, Miss 5 will have 4 bowls on the go at once, and Master 3 (by then) will have 4 bowls full of noodles.
And I will watch my babies. And be proud of who they are becoming, of who they have been and of who they are.
I just couldn't imagine loving them any more than I already do.
And on that note, and with a smile on my face, I shall leave it until the next time......
Monday 16 September 2013
I heard a noise
tonight. I wasn't quite sure what it was.
I was in the kitchen, surprisingly doing the dishes. I say surprisingly because, well, it isn't surprising. I seem to spend a great deal of time doing the dishes. Even my quest to reduce the dishes by packing half of the cups and bowls and plates into a box and putting them in the garage failed. All it meant was that instead of going through a dozen cups each a day, the kids started drinking out of Tupperware containers. I'll chalk that up as a big fail in the experimentation stakes.
So I was doing the dishes. Again. And I heard a noise. It sounded not unlike my dog after I have bathed him and put him down on the lino. Almost like a slipping half run kind of thud thud you would imagine a crew of possums would make if they ran over lino.
And so I did what most parents do when there is no scream accompanying said strange sound - I stopped, listened, didn't hear the scream, and kept on about my business.
And it was then that Miss 5 came running in to me - "Mum!! Mum!!! Come here, I have to show you something!!!!"
So I follow her, wherein she takes me to the bathroom.
Penny. Drop. I think I have found the source of the noise.
I was in the kitchen, surprisingly doing the dishes. I say surprisingly because, well, it isn't surprising. I seem to spend a great deal of time doing the dishes. Even my quest to reduce the dishes by packing half of the cups and bowls and plates into a box and putting them in the garage failed. All it meant was that instead of going through a dozen cups each a day, the kids started drinking out of Tupperware containers. I'll chalk that up as a big fail in the experimentation stakes.
So I was doing the dishes. Again. And I heard a noise. It sounded not unlike my dog after I have bathed him and put him down on the lino. Almost like a slipping half run kind of thud thud you would imagine a crew of possums would make if they ran over lino.
And so I did what most parents do when there is no scream accompanying said strange sound - I stopped, listened, didn't hear the scream, and kept on about my business.
And it was then that Miss 5 came running in to me - "Mum!! Mum!!! Come here, I have to show you something!!!!"
So I follow her, wherein she takes me to the bathroom.
Penny. Drop. I think I have found the source of the noise.
And she goes into the bathroom, turns around to face me and says "Watch this!" and proceeds to start flapping her feet and legs around as though she was a squid and someone had hold of her head and was just shaking to billy-o.
And as my smile broadened and I struggled more and more to restrain involuntary snorts of laughter from exploding from my mouth, I asked her what it was she was doing.
"I'm tap dancing!!!"
Of course she was. And so I told her how amazingly clever she was and hugged her so so tightly for a good five minutes, predominantly to stifle the laughter so she wouldn't see.
Such a gorgeous child. So so gorgeous. And openly so. This morning I started a new job. I was nervous, and I dropped her off at her classroom, gave her a kiss and a hug and said I was off to my new job and I would see her at after school care.
And so I started walking across the playground towards the car. Then I hear "MUM!!!! MUM!!!!!!" and of course I turn around, to see her running across the playground after me screaming "I love you so so much mum!!!" whilst blowing me kisses, after which she indicates pushing me away and says "Now go!!! GO!!!!!!" blowing me some more kisses and running off to her classroom.
And I got a tear in my eye. What a truly beautiful little soul she is.... in every way :)
And what a lovely image and feeling to take with me as I walked back to the car.
It's still with me. And I'm still smiling. Both from the beautiful words and actions of my darling Miss 5 this morning... and her tap dancing......
Sunday 15 September 2013
How do I look?
This was the question I asked my children this morning. They were going to spend the day with their father and I was going for a leisurely day in the city.
The answer I received was one that I was not quite expecting. Actually, I would go so far as to say that I don't think any parent ever would have anticipated a response quite like that which I received.
Miss 4 was the one who answered. "You look like a giraffe."
And Miss 5 agreed. "Yes, you do, you look like a giraffe." *smiles and nods between the girls to indicate their agreement with the amazing statement they just made*
And in pipes Master 2. "Mummy, you're a giraffe."
Now, I do not actually think I did look like a giraffe. My outfit was black with some red on, but the sleeves are a kind of beige with a brownish red, say "rust", colour on them. Apparently this colour combination is what earned me the title of "giraffe".
And so I went and looked at myself in the full-length mirror, assessing the relative giraffity of my outfit, and wondering whether I did, in fact, look, at least in part, like a giraffe.
And I even contemplated changing. Did I look THAT ridiculous? Did I look THAT odd that the closest thing I resembled was a giraffe?
Well, I didn't change. But I daresay that every time I wear that outfit in the future I will think the same thing..... and will be mentally transported to the African savannah....
The answer I received was one that I was not quite expecting. Actually, I would go so far as to say that I don't think any parent ever would have anticipated a response quite like that which I received.
Miss 4 was the one who answered. "You look like a giraffe."
And Miss 5 agreed. "Yes, you do, you look like a giraffe." *smiles and nods between the girls to indicate their agreement with the amazing statement they just made*
And in pipes Master 2. "Mummy, you're a giraffe."
Now, I do not actually think I did look like a giraffe. My outfit was black with some red on, but the sleeves are a kind of beige with a brownish red, say "rust", colour on them. Apparently this colour combination is what earned me the title of "giraffe".
And so I went and looked at myself in the full-length mirror, assessing the relative giraffity of my outfit, and wondering whether I did, in fact, look, at least in part, like a giraffe.
And I even contemplated changing. Did I look THAT ridiculous? Did I look THAT odd that the closest thing I resembled was a giraffe?
Well, I didn't change. But I daresay that every time I wear that outfit in the future I will think the same thing..... and will be mentally transported to the African savannah....
Saturday 14 September 2013
Never assume
anything. Ever. Particularly where there are children involved.
It is dinner time. Everyone is sitting quietly at the table eating all their vegetables and not fidgeting or complaining or kicking each other under the table. What, that isn't how it happens at your place? Nope, not here either. But I digress.... Just because your child's plate is empty, do not assume your child ate all their dinner. No. Whilst sometimes that is the case, and they have in fact cleaned up all that you have provided for them, other times you will find, sometimes days later, that food has been delicately piffed, quite obviously while you weren't looking, underneath lamp tables, or under a pile of papers, or drawings, or simply launched as far as humanly possible while you ventured to the kitchen to get one of the children a drink that if they didn't get they would die. Then and there.
Just because you put the kids to bed 45 minutes ago and there is silence, do not assume they are asleep. For it is when you relax, when you let down the guard, and when you finally allow yourself to slip into 'the kids are asleep' mode, that you will hear it. It will sometimes be soft, almost melodic. Sometimes it will be like the caterwaul of a pair of bobcats. "Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum."
Packing a child's bag for daycare may seem a simple task. Never assume that just because you packed a bag, the contents of the bag will be the same when said bag arrives at daycare with the child for whom the bag was packed. On Thursday I packed Master 2s bag. It contained a spare pair of tracksuit pants, a spare t-shirt, a spare hoodie and a spare pair of socks. When I picked up Master Angus, I was told that he had got wet today following some water play, but there were no clothes in his bag. Interesting. Very interesting. And so when we got home I checked the contents of the bag. They were right. There were no clothes. There was, however, a small yellow tip truck, a miniature soccer ball, two hot wheels cars, a pencil, a minion, and two pieces of his very own artwork. No clothes. Obviously I had not selected those items that were of optimum use to a 2 year old. Silly me.
We went to a birthday party today for one of Miss 5's little school friends. It was a McDonald's party. Fabulous. So I gave in before even putting up a fight and told the younger two that they, too, could have McDonald's. Happy meals all around. Except I got the wrong one for Master 2. So left them at the table eating chips in order to get another Happy Meal, with nuggets (how could I have been so silly?). In this space of approximately 13 seconds where I walked from the table to the counter to order, Master 2 managed to stand up, slip, fall and hit his head on the side of the wall, and cry. Loudly. So I rushed back to him to ensure he was okay, cuddled him lots, told him I was getting the right Happy Meal for him, made sure he was settled and then went back to collect the Happy Meal, and got back to the table to realise that I had ordered the wrong one. Again.
And so back to the counter I went and put on my most pitiful look and said "I got him the wrong one.... he wanted nuggets... please.... please will you change it for me......". My eyebrows have never, ever been higher. And she looked at me and said, head tilted "Ok" and gave me a smile. And I asked if there was any extra charge and she said "Don't worry about it" and I could have hugged her, because I didn't have any money with me anyway, that was back at the table with he of the bumped head.
So we all had a Happy Meal. And I got the one with the burger that I had mistakenly ordered for Master 2, and he got nuggets. And Miss 5, who was in the party room, kept coming out and pinching my chips because they hadn't been fed yet, and heaven forbid if an hour or two goes past and she is punished with being unable to eat.
And they all ate, and played on the playground, and after an hour I was told that they were still hungry. The younger two I mean. And I figured we'd screwed up any kind of nutritious meal today anyway so more chips it was. With sweet and sour sauce of course. And then Miss 5 comes rushing over with all the things she got from the party, and Miss 4's face got lower and lower because she didn't have a bag like Miss 5.
And then the cake came out. In the party room. Which was next to where we were sitting.
Seriously.
And much as the mini two were saddened by the apparent lack of cake in their world (ice cream cake to boot), they did marvellously not to throw a tantrum and I was incredibly relieved.
And then someone brought over a piece for them to share. I moderated. And fed them. And it was ok.
And I'm an idiot because ice cream makes Master 2's eczema worse. Fabulous. Didn't think of that one.
Anyway, long story short, the party ended, we came home.
And then heard it.
"I'm still hungry."
Times 3.
Of course you are. Of course you are.
Never assume that because your children have eaten more than an adult that they won't be hungry again within the hour.
After all, you know what they say about assumptions..... and no, not that saying. The other one. Although you may not know it because I made it up.
All
Situations
Sap
Up
Mental
Energy
Assumptions, in the end, are exhausting. Prepare yourself for the worst, always, and anything better is just a bonus.
Wonder what will happen tomorrow......
Life is never, ever dull.
I think I kinda like it that way.
It is dinner time. Everyone is sitting quietly at the table eating all their vegetables and not fidgeting or complaining or kicking each other under the table. What, that isn't how it happens at your place? Nope, not here either. But I digress.... Just because your child's plate is empty, do not assume your child ate all their dinner. No. Whilst sometimes that is the case, and they have in fact cleaned up all that you have provided for them, other times you will find, sometimes days later, that food has been delicately piffed, quite obviously while you weren't looking, underneath lamp tables, or under a pile of papers, or drawings, or simply launched as far as humanly possible while you ventured to the kitchen to get one of the children a drink that if they didn't get they would die. Then and there.
Just because you put the kids to bed 45 minutes ago and there is silence, do not assume they are asleep. For it is when you relax, when you let down the guard, and when you finally allow yourself to slip into 'the kids are asleep' mode, that you will hear it. It will sometimes be soft, almost melodic. Sometimes it will be like the caterwaul of a pair of bobcats. "Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum."
Packing a child's bag for daycare may seem a simple task. Never assume that just because you packed a bag, the contents of the bag will be the same when said bag arrives at daycare with the child for whom the bag was packed. On Thursday I packed Master 2s bag. It contained a spare pair of tracksuit pants, a spare t-shirt, a spare hoodie and a spare pair of socks. When I picked up Master Angus, I was told that he had got wet today following some water play, but there were no clothes in his bag. Interesting. Very interesting. And so when we got home I checked the contents of the bag. They were right. There were no clothes. There was, however, a small yellow tip truck, a miniature soccer ball, two hot wheels cars, a pencil, a minion, and two pieces of his very own artwork. No clothes. Obviously I had not selected those items that were of optimum use to a 2 year old. Silly me.
We went to a birthday party today for one of Miss 5's little school friends. It was a McDonald's party. Fabulous. So I gave in before even putting up a fight and told the younger two that they, too, could have McDonald's. Happy meals all around. Except I got the wrong one for Master 2. So left them at the table eating chips in order to get another Happy Meal, with nuggets (how could I have been so silly?). In this space of approximately 13 seconds where I walked from the table to the counter to order, Master 2 managed to stand up, slip, fall and hit his head on the side of the wall, and cry. Loudly. So I rushed back to him to ensure he was okay, cuddled him lots, told him I was getting the right Happy Meal for him, made sure he was settled and then went back to collect the Happy Meal, and got back to the table to realise that I had ordered the wrong one. Again.
And so back to the counter I went and put on my most pitiful look and said "I got him the wrong one.... he wanted nuggets... please.... please will you change it for me......". My eyebrows have never, ever been higher. And she looked at me and said, head tilted "Ok" and gave me a smile. And I asked if there was any extra charge and she said "Don't worry about it" and I could have hugged her, because I didn't have any money with me anyway, that was back at the table with he of the bumped head.
So we all had a Happy Meal. And I got the one with the burger that I had mistakenly ordered for Master 2, and he got nuggets. And Miss 5, who was in the party room, kept coming out and pinching my chips because they hadn't been fed yet, and heaven forbid if an hour or two goes past and she is punished with being unable to eat.
And they all ate, and played on the playground, and after an hour I was told that they were still hungry. The younger two I mean. And I figured we'd screwed up any kind of nutritious meal today anyway so more chips it was. With sweet and sour sauce of course. And then Miss 5 comes rushing over with all the things she got from the party, and Miss 4's face got lower and lower because she didn't have a bag like Miss 5.
And then the cake came out. In the party room. Which was next to where we were sitting.
Seriously.
And much as the mini two were saddened by the apparent lack of cake in their world (ice cream cake to boot), they did marvellously not to throw a tantrum and I was incredibly relieved.
And then someone brought over a piece for them to share. I moderated. And fed them. And it was ok.
And I'm an idiot because ice cream makes Master 2's eczema worse. Fabulous. Didn't think of that one.
Anyway, long story short, the party ended, we came home.
And then heard it.
"I'm still hungry."
Times 3.
Of course you are. Of course you are.
Never assume that because your children have eaten more than an adult that they won't be hungry again within the hour.
After all, you know what they say about assumptions..... and no, not that saying. The other one. Although you may not know it because I made it up.
All
Situations
Sap
Up
Mental
Energy
Assumptions, in the end, are exhausting. Prepare yourself for the worst, always, and anything better is just a bonus.
Wonder what will happen tomorrow......
Life is never, ever dull.
I think I kinda like it that way.
Friday 13 September 2013
Three little words.....
That's all it takes. Three little words. Sufficient to express so very much. And I shall give you an example. Actually, no, I think I'll give you several....
"I'm still hungry."
This is the standard call of all three of my children after having eaten the equivalent of one arm of a buffet at Smorgy's. They eat more than I do. Tonight they powered through 2kg of chicken wings, half a cauliflower, half a head of broccoli and four massive carrots. And then wanted more. If they weren't completely off their heads I would be worried they simply couldn't metabolise that much. But, lucky for me, off their heads they are. Completely. Metabolism sorted.
"She hit me."
Just because these words are uttered does not mean that the incident described actually occurred. Case point in question - Master 2 comes running in to me saying "SHE HIT ME!" referring to Miss 4. What he didn't realise was that Miss 4 was, in fact, with me at the time. Ba bow. Not this time little man, not this time.
"It's not fair."
Oh yes. Children do still use that. I recall using that as a child actually. And when these words are uttered, I tend to explain that, contrary to the stated belief, it actually IS fair. And to even use that phrase in said context is technically incorrect, so in that regard, it is a moot point. And THAT always gets a few raised eyebrows.....
"I'm not tired."
Really? So the yawning is purely for show? And the attitude and squawky back answering is your normal personality? Fabulous. Of course you aren't tired. Now go to bed.
"It's my turn."
Said in regard to everything from getting the mail to picking a flower, from turning on the tv to putting on a sock. For some reason children seem to believe that in life, they will always get a turn. For everything. Today the kids took it in turns putting apples into the freezer bag at the supermarket. And when one broke pattern, well, let's just say I heard the words.
"I love you."
The traditional three little words. And when they are said to you by your little folks they melt your heart. When accompanied by a beautiful cuddle and kiss, it is enough to bring tears to your eyes. And when they have done something reeeeeally naughty, and you look at them for explanation, and they simply say those three little words, well, you have to give them credit for ingenuity.....
And last, but not least, for now, probably the three words that all parents can understand, and those without children just can't possibly.
I will give you the scenario. This morning, rushing around, trying to find shoes, failing, so settling for other shoes, doing hair, throwing spare clothes in bags, and getting lunches ready and generally rushing and bustling because somehow time got away from us and Miss 5 was all of a sudden in danger of being late for school.
And just as we are walking out the door, Master 2 stops, puts his hands on his knees, looks me in the eye and says "I'm doing poo."
Three. Little. Words.
"I'm still hungry."
This is the standard call of all three of my children after having eaten the equivalent of one arm of a buffet at Smorgy's. They eat more than I do. Tonight they powered through 2kg of chicken wings, half a cauliflower, half a head of broccoli and four massive carrots. And then wanted more. If they weren't completely off their heads I would be worried they simply couldn't metabolise that much. But, lucky for me, off their heads they are. Completely. Metabolism sorted.
"She hit me."
Just because these words are uttered does not mean that the incident described actually occurred. Case point in question - Master 2 comes running in to me saying "SHE HIT ME!" referring to Miss 4. What he didn't realise was that Miss 4 was, in fact, with me at the time. Ba bow. Not this time little man, not this time.
"It's not fair."
Oh yes. Children do still use that. I recall using that as a child actually. And when these words are uttered, I tend to explain that, contrary to the stated belief, it actually IS fair. And to even use that phrase in said context is technically incorrect, so in that regard, it is a moot point. And THAT always gets a few raised eyebrows.....
"I'm not tired."
Really? So the yawning is purely for show? And the attitude and squawky back answering is your normal personality? Fabulous. Of course you aren't tired. Now go to bed.
"It's my turn."
Said in regard to everything from getting the mail to picking a flower, from turning on the tv to putting on a sock. For some reason children seem to believe that in life, they will always get a turn. For everything. Today the kids took it in turns putting apples into the freezer bag at the supermarket. And when one broke pattern, well, let's just say I heard the words.
"I love you."
The traditional three little words. And when they are said to you by your little folks they melt your heart. When accompanied by a beautiful cuddle and kiss, it is enough to bring tears to your eyes. And when they have done something reeeeeally naughty, and you look at them for explanation, and they simply say those three little words, well, you have to give them credit for ingenuity.....
And last, but not least, for now, probably the three words that all parents can understand, and those without children just can't possibly.
I will give you the scenario. This morning, rushing around, trying to find shoes, failing, so settling for other shoes, doing hair, throwing spare clothes in bags, and getting lunches ready and generally rushing and bustling because somehow time got away from us and Miss 5 was all of a sudden in danger of being late for school.
And just as we are walking out the door, Master 2 stops, puts his hands on his knees, looks me in the eye and says "I'm doing poo."
Three. Little. Words.
Wednesday 11 September 2013
Today
I ceased to be a commuter. After 2.5 years of train travel from various locations to the CBD, I finished up working at my job in the city and next Monday I will commence my new role in a small suburban firm, a mere 4km from my home.
And I cannot even begin to express how excited I am about it.
For a start, I no longer will have to wake the kids in the morning to get them ready to go.
The kids can have breakfast at home instead of at daycare or before school care.
I no longer have to drop miss 5 off at before school care. I will be able to drop her at her classroom, every day. Which means I will get more of a chance to mingle with the other mums, and become more a part of the school community.
I no longer have to drive 10 minutes to the train station, see that there are no parkings spots, and then attempt to find a parking spot, do so, sometimes miles away, and then traipse from that parking spot to the train station.
I no longer have to rely upon public transport.
And life will no longer be rushed.
For after we have had a relaxed morning, I will drop the kids at school and daycare then drive the 4km to my new job. Parking is easy. There is a coffee shop nearby. All is good in the world.
I will miss a few things though. That, I think, is a given.
I will miss the people. My friends.
I will miss the huge variety of foodie establishments at which one can tempt the tastebuds at lunchtime.
I will miss the proximity to a zillion shops selling all manner of wares from shoes to books to random figurines and hair care products.
I will miss travelling on trams.
I will miss the random odd things you can only see in the city.
I will miss seeing people who don't know how to do hook turns attempt to do hook turns. And I will miss the mad tinging of the tram driver who attempts to avoid hitting said incompetent hook turner.
But suffice to say there are more pros than cons.
For some, the status is what it's all about. Me? No. I will still be a lawyer. I will still be carrying out the job I trained to do. But I will be doing so knowing that I am giving my family as much of me as I can, whilst allowing me to be me too - I am not solely "mum", but "me" too.
Sometimes you need to look at the big picture. Racing through life trying to get this and that and this and that will only see you flit past those things that mean the most of all.... the little ones are only little for such a short time.... If you aren't careful, you just might miss it......
I don't plan on missing any more than I have to. And now, well, I won't.
I cannot remember the last time I was quite this happy. And that in itself speaks volumes.
And I cannot even begin to express how excited I am about it.
For a start, I no longer will have to wake the kids in the morning to get them ready to go.
The kids can have breakfast at home instead of at daycare or before school care.
I no longer have to drop miss 5 off at before school care. I will be able to drop her at her classroom, every day. Which means I will get more of a chance to mingle with the other mums, and become more a part of the school community.
I no longer have to drive 10 minutes to the train station, see that there are no parkings spots, and then attempt to find a parking spot, do so, sometimes miles away, and then traipse from that parking spot to the train station.
I no longer have to rely upon public transport.
And life will no longer be rushed.
For after we have had a relaxed morning, I will drop the kids at school and daycare then drive the 4km to my new job. Parking is easy. There is a coffee shop nearby. All is good in the world.
I will miss a few things though. That, I think, is a given.
I will miss the people. My friends.
I will miss the huge variety of foodie establishments at which one can tempt the tastebuds at lunchtime.
I will miss the proximity to a zillion shops selling all manner of wares from shoes to books to random figurines and hair care products.
I will miss travelling on trams.
I will miss the random odd things you can only see in the city.
I will miss seeing people who don't know how to do hook turns attempt to do hook turns. And I will miss the mad tinging of the tram driver who attempts to avoid hitting said incompetent hook turner.
But suffice to say there are more pros than cons.
For some, the status is what it's all about. Me? No. I will still be a lawyer. I will still be carrying out the job I trained to do. But I will be doing so knowing that I am giving my family as much of me as I can, whilst allowing me to be me too - I am not solely "mum", but "me" too.
Sometimes you need to look at the big picture. Racing through life trying to get this and that and this and that will only see you flit past those things that mean the most of all.... the little ones are only little for such a short time.... If you aren't careful, you just might miss it......
I don't plan on missing any more than I have to. And now, well, I won't.
I cannot remember the last time I was quite this happy. And that in itself speaks volumes.
Tuesday 10 September 2013
Food
Seems pretty straight forward. You buy it. You cook it. You eat it.
Yes. Easy.
Enter kids, stage left. Your life will never be the same again. Ever. Who could have thought that a simple cheese sandwich could signal the end of the world. Or that giving a child one more carrot stick than the other could prompt a scene worthy of an Oscar.
Conversation before dinner tonight.
Miss 4: "What's for dinner?"
Me: "Scrambled eggs". This could be substituted with anything. It could be spag bol, toasted sandwiches, roast lamb with all the trimmings, chicken vol au vents or peking duck and the response would be the same.
Miss 4: "I don't like that."
Me: "Yes you do."
Miss 4: "No I don't."
Me: "You liked it last week."
Miss 4: "I don't liiiiiiiike it."
Me: "Well that's a shame, because that's what we're having."
Miss 4: *grumble*
Fast forward to the table.
Master 2: "But I wanted the BLUE plate."
Me: "Well you have the green plate. You can have the blue plate tomorrow."
Miss 4: "Why does she get the pink fork? I wanted the pink fork!"
Me: "Well you use the pink fork and I'll give her the green fork."
Miss 4: "But I wanted to sit in that chair."
Me: "Well, it's your turn to pick your seat tomorrow, so if you want to sit there tomorrow you can."
Miss 5: *shovels food into her mouth as though she hasn't been fed for a month*
Me: "Slow down, it isn't a race." (oh good lord that was my mother's voice)
Master 2: "Muuuuuuum, she's eating like an animal."
Me: "Yes, she is isn't she? Use your fork, not your fingers, and try to put less food in your mouth at once. And swallow it before you put more in" *sigh*
Miss 4: "Where's the cauliflower?? That's my favourite."
Me: "Right there, in front of you, it looks like, well, cauliflower."
Miss 4: *laughs* "It's right THERE!! Silly me."
Me: "Yes, silly you!"
Master 2: "Muuuuuum. Can we please have dessert?"
Me: "You haven't even finished your dinner yet."
Miss 4: "Well if we DO finish our dinner can we please have dessert?"
Me: "I'll think about it"
Miss 5: "Yay!!!!!! You're the best mummy in the world!! I love you when you give us dessert."
Master 2: "Feed me."
Me: "You're big enough to feed yourself!"
Master 2: "But I want you to heeeeeelp me."
Me: "No, I'm feeding myself."
Master 2: "But I want you to HEEEEELP me!"
Me: *sigh* "No."
Miss 4: "Muuuuuuum"
Me: "Yes?"
Miss 4: "You're allergic to chocolate aren't you?"
Me: "Yes."
Miss 5: "Do you know, I know how to spell hot. H O T."
Me: "Very good!"
Miss 4: "H O T. Hot."
Me: "Very good!"
Miss 5: "I can spell hot dog too."
Me: "Excellent!"
Master 2: "Muuuuuum? Are we going to school tomorrow?"
And so it continues. On. And on. And on. Sometimes conversations can be solely about the dinner itself. On repeat. Other times we may discuss matters of immense importance and urgency, such as who gets to get out of the bath first. Or who is getting the mail tomorrow. There are simply no limits to our dinner time conversation.
And half an hour later, when the girls have finished, Master 2 is still sitting at the table, savouring every bite. Because he is the slowest eater in the entire world. Why? I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps he is analysing the ingredients, working out how he would have done it differently. I go for another theory. Stalling. So he can stay up later. Which is quite ridiculous as he sits there yawning between bites. But he's 2. That's what they do. They push the boundaries. However possible. And he is very 2. Very 2 indeed. Push push push *laughs hysterically and watches mother rip her hair out* push push push *laughs maniacally as he runs past sisters and pushes them for no reason* push push push *runs into the room and screams for no good reason then laughs and runs out*. Having a 2 year old boy is an experience like no other.
But at least, as a general rule, I have good eaters. There are very few things that my children won't eat. Red capsicum is one. Mushrooms another. Everything else is pretty well good. Except when it isn't. And you just never can tell when that will be.
Funny thing is though, when they realise I'm serious when I say there is no other option, they'll eat it. Heaven forbid they go without one meal....
And they did get dessert. Because they all finished their dinner.
And because of that decision, the table is now covered in a thin film of melted lemonade icypole.
Note to self - when you have three children, never ever say "that table will be fine without a wipe" because inevitably it won't be. And you'll stick to it as soon as you touch it. And yes, I did. And I also realised that one should wipe down the seat before sitting on it if the last occupant of said seat was a 2 year old with a lemonade icypole that he tried to make last as long as humanly possible.
I had a point when I started this. It's gone. That happens quite a lot. You'll get used to it.
What was I saying? Oh, there's the washing machine beeping.
I'm very easily distracted.
Can't imagine why my kids change conversation so much...... I must make lunch for tomorrow..... oh there's the washing machine again.......
Wonder what that point was........?
Yes. Easy.
Enter kids, stage left. Your life will never be the same again. Ever. Who could have thought that a simple cheese sandwich could signal the end of the world. Or that giving a child one more carrot stick than the other could prompt a scene worthy of an Oscar.
Conversation before dinner tonight.
Miss 4: "What's for dinner?"
Me: "Scrambled eggs". This could be substituted with anything. It could be spag bol, toasted sandwiches, roast lamb with all the trimmings, chicken vol au vents or peking duck and the response would be the same.
Miss 4: "I don't like that."
Me: "Yes you do."
Miss 4: "No I don't."
Me: "You liked it last week."
Miss 4: "I don't liiiiiiiike it."
Me: "Well that's a shame, because that's what we're having."
Miss 4: *grumble*
Fast forward to the table.
Master 2: "But I wanted the BLUE plate."
Me: "Well you have the green plate. You can have the blue plate tomorrow."
Miss 4: "Why does she get the pink fork? I wanted the pink fork!"
Me: "Well you use the pink fork and I'll give her the green fork."
Miss 4: "But I wanted to sit in that chair."
Me: "Well, it's your turn to pick your seat tomorrow, so if you want to sit there tomorrow you can."
Miss 5: *shovels food into her mouth as though she hasn't been fed for a month*
Me: "Slow down, it isn't a race." (oh good lord that was my mother's voice)
Master 2: "Muuuuuuum, she's eating like an animal."
Me: "Yes, she is isn't she? Use your fork, not your fingers, and try to put less food in your mouth at once. And swallow it before you put more in" *sigh*
Miss 4: "Where's the cauliflower?? That's my favourite."
Me: "Right there, in front of you, it looks like, well, cauliflower."
Miss 4: *laughs* "It's right THERE!! Silly me."
Me: "Yes, silly you!"
Master 2: "Muuuuuum. Can we please have dessert?"
Me: "You haven't even finished your dinner yet."
Miss 4: "Well if we DO finish our dinner can we please have dessert?"
Me: "I'll think about it"
Miss 5: "Yay!!!!!! You're the best mummy in the world!! I love you when you give us dessert."
Master 2: "Feed me."
Me: "You're big enough to feed yourself!"
Master 2: "But I want you to heeeeeelp me."
Me: "No, I'm feeding myself."
Master 2: "But I want you to HEEEEELP me!"
Me: *sigh* "No."
Miss 4: "Muuuuuuum"
Me: "Yes?"
Miss 4: "You're allergic to chocolate aren't you?"
Me: "Yes."
Miss 5: "Do you know, I know how to spell hot. H O T."
Me: "Very good!"
Miss 4: "H O T. Hot."
Me: "Very good!"
Miss 5: "I can spell hot dog too."
Me: "Excellent!"
Master 2: "Muuuuuum? Are we going to school tomorrow?"
And so it continues. On. And on. And on. Sometimes conversations can be solely about the dinner itself. On repeat. Other times we may discuss matters of immense importance and urgency, such as who gets to get out of the bath first. Or who is getting the mail tomorrow. There are simply no limits to our dinner time conversation.
And half an hour later, when the girls have finished, Master 2 is still sitting at the table, savouring every bite. Because he is the slowest eater in the entire world. Why? I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps he is analysing the ingredients, working out how he would have done it differently. I go for another theory. Stalling. So he can stay up later. Which is quite ridiculous as he sits there yawning between bites. But he's 2. That's what they do. They push the boundaries. However possible. And he is very 2. Very 2 indeed. Push push push *laughs hysterically and watches mother rip her hair out* push push push *laughs maniacally as he runs past sisters and pushes them for no reason* push push push *runs into the room and screams for no good reason then laughs and runs out*. Having a 2 year old boy is an experience like no other.
But at least, as a general rule, I have good eaters. There are very few things that my children won't eat. Red capsicum is one. Mushrooms another. Everything else is pretty well good. Except when it isn't. And you just never can tell when that will be.
Funny thing is though, when they realise I'm serious when I say there is no other option, they'll eat it. Heaven forbid they go without one meal....
And they did get dessert. Because they all finished their dinner.
And because of that decision, the table is now covered in a thin film of melted lemonade icypole.
Note to self - when you have three children, never ever say "that table will be fine without a wipe" because inevitably it won't be. And you'll stick to it as soon as you touch it. And yes, I did. And I also realised that one should wipe down the seat before sitting on it if the last occupant of said seat was a 2 year old with a lemonade icypole that he tried to make last as long as humanly possible.
I had a point when I started this. It's gone. That happens quite a lot. You'll get used to it.
What was I saying? Oh, there's the washing machine beeping.
I'm very easily distracted.
Can't imagine why my kids change conversation so much...... I must make lunch for tomorrow..... oh there's the washing machine again.......
Wonder what that point was........?
Monday 9 September 2013
Language
is a powerful tool.
I have made a point, ever since my mini ones were tiny, of talking to them as people, not as babies.
So from the outset my children knew sentence construction as they heard it regularly, they knew the correct terms and names for various different things, and when they did start to speak, they spoke, predominantly, very well.
And there is another element to language that I think we, as parents, take for granted. And that is the fact that by utilizing language, and by teaching our children, we can actually give ourselves, as parents, a great deal of entertainment in the process.
I shall give you an example. Yesterday I taught master 2 how to say defenestrate. For those who are unfamiliar with this word it means 'to throw through or out the window'. Random? Yes, quite possibly. But it is seriously adorable to hear a 2 year old say "defenestrate" correctly. And then be able to use it in context. True, it is probably not ideal for a 2 year old to say to his 4 year old sister that he will defenestrate her, but my word it is entertaining for the parent to hear......
And those phrases that we use, innocently, perhaps a little too often, those little ears they hear... they hear it all.....
We drive together quite often, just me and the three, and it is 'interesting' when someone walks across the road in front of the car..... as I hear "Just walk in front of the car, thanks love" softly said from the back row of the car.... Ah yes, passive aggression being passed down from generation to generation...
Hearing your 4 year old say to your 5 year old "It's not rocket science you know" makes you think that perhaps you should just tone down those little 'sayings' a tad.....
I adore my babies. I love how 'absorbent' they are of the world. I love that they each have such hugely strong personalities. And I love how they use the language skills that I am passing down to them (some of them slightly dodgier than others, although I am vehemently against cussing in front of children, and will chastise friends who do so!), and to be honest I truly can't wait to see what happens next... and hear what they say next....
In the meantime though, I'll be content in the knowledge that when I ask my 3 year old why she slept in my bed instead of hers and her reply is "because I wanted to give you cuddles" and when my 2 year old crawls into bed with me, puts his arm around me and says "I love you so much mummy", and when I cut myself, or stub my toe, and fall down in a small heap and my 5 year old comes up to me and says "It's ok baby, I'll look after you" and I just melt that little bit more.....well, I know my babies are doing just fine. And I love their non-kiddy talk.
That whole my bed their bed thing, yes, well, story for another time.....
I have made a point, ever since my mini ones were tiny, of talking to them as people, not as babies.
So from the outset my children knew sentence construction as they heard it regularly, they knew the correct terms and names for various different things, and when they did start to speak, they spoke, predominantly, very well.
And there is another element to language that I think we, as parents, take for granted. And that is the fact that by utilizing language, and by teaching our children, we can actually give ourselves, as parents, a great deal of entertainment in the process.
I shall give you an example. Yesterday I taught master 2 how to say defenestrate. For those who are unfamiliar with this word it means 'to throw through or out the window'. Random? Yes, quite possibly. But it is seriously adorable to hear a 2 year old say "defenestrate" correctly. And then be able to use it in context. True, it is probably not ideal for a 2 year old to say to his 4 year old sister that he will defenestrate her, but my word it is entertaining for the parent to hear......
And those phrases that we use, innocently, perhaps a little too often, those little ears they hear... they hear it all.....
We drive together quite often, just me and the three, and it is 'interesting' when someone walks across the road in front of the car..... as I hear "Just walk in front of the car, thanks love" softly said from the back row of the car.... Ah yes, passive aggression being passed down from generation to generation...
Hearing your 4 year old say to your 5 year old "It's not rocket science you know" makes you think that perhaps you should just tone down those little 'sayings' a tad.....
I adore my babies. I love how 'absorbent' they are of the world. I love that they each have such hugely strong personalities. And I love how they use the language skills that I am passing down to them (some of them slightly dodgier than others, although I am vehemently against cussing in front of children, and will chastise friends who do so!), and to be honest I truly can't wait to see what happens next... and hear what they say next....
In the meantime though, I'll be content in the knowledge that when I ask my 3 year old why she slept in my bed instead of hers and her reply is "because I wanted to give you cuddles" and when my 2 year old crawls into bed with me, puts his arm around me and says "I love you so much mummy", and when I cut myself, or stub my toe, and fall down in a small heap and my 5 year old comes up to me and says "It's ok baby, I'll look after you" and I just melt that little bit more.....well, I know my babies are doing just fine. And I love their non-kiddy talk.
That whole my bed their bed thing, yes, well, story for another time.....
Sunday 8 September 2013
I used to wonder....
why parents didn't just take their kids to the park all the time. I mean, it's free, it gets the kids to run around and get exercise and fresh air, and socialise with other kids, and build up the immunity when they lick trees and all that jazz.
That was before I had kids.
I love the park. I do. I love it when the kids and I find a fabulous park with heaps of climbing equipment and grass and shade and sunlight and benches on which to sit and have a snack and not too many cars whizzing past at breakneck speed.
However. The park is not such a relaxing experience. Oooooh no. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
Most parks have 2 swings. I have 3 children.
Even if there were 3 swings, 1 of my children is unable to self propel.
Climbing equipment is fabulous. But it is also able to be fallen off in the blink of an eye.
There could be 1000 pieces of equipment and I could put money on the fact that 2 or 3 of the kids will want to play on or with the exact same piece of equipment at the exact same time.
I have lost count of the number of times I have seen running, laughing, happy children not watching where they are going proceed to collide with one another and literally smash the happiness out of one another. It's as though it happens in slow motion too - it is a physical impossibility for me to get from where I am, or even thrust my voice that far that effectively, to prevent the clash of heads/shoulders/hips/any other relevant body part that serves to brutally remove the joyous sounds of laughter to be replaced by squealing. Or worse. Silence. And the longer it is silent the worse the scream will be when it eventually erupts.
We have had injuries from a slide that was just that little bit slipperier than normal, thus propelling master 2 several metres off the end and into a small protrusion in the ground.
We have had injuries from a child who, thrilled at the sensation of making the swing go by herself, forget that both hands are required and free one hand to wave..... that didn't end so well.
We have had situations where sheer joy turns to unabated terror when the spinning ride goes from being a "fun" speed to being an "oh my god I think I'm going to die if you don't get me off this right this instant" speed.
And then there is when you have to leave. Countdowns sometimes work. Giving fair warning, explaining what will happen next etc etc.
Sometimes they don't.
Sometimes you are there, a lone parent, with a 5 year old, a 4 year old and a nearly 3 year old each screaming in different octaves and attaching themselves in whatever way possible to a different item of play equipment, refusing to move and most definitely not leaving. And convincing everyone in the neighbourhood with their screams that you must be intending to kill them immediately they let go of said piece of equipment.
And it's even better when the park is surrounded by houses. Because then, not only do the playground visitors receive prime seats, but every house and family in said square is able to hear, and see out their windows no doubt. And they would witness me, 2 year old in football hold, 4 year old being half-dragged across the grass, screaming that I have forgotten the 5 year old who stands stoic in the playground screaming "NOOOOOOOOO" as I "gently place" the other 2 in the car and close the door in order to go and retrieve the final child.
I think of it as my helping in a way. For that moment, every other family, every other parent, is thinking "wow, my day really isn't going that badly at all."
And so next time you see kids going off their nut at the park, or the supermarket, or in a car park, or near a shop, or anywhere, just think. Their parents may have asked them to do something so hideously unreasonable as to get into the car. Or say please. Or they may have simply breathed in a way which disturbed the little person at that particular time.
And don't get me started on what happens if you dare give a child the wrong colour bowl at breakfast.......
That was before I had kids.
I love the park. I do. I love it when the kids and I find a fabulous park with heaps of climbing equipment and grass and shade and sunlight and benches on which to sit and have a snack and not too many cars whizzing past at breakneck speed.
However. The park is not such a relaxing experience. Oooooh no. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
Most parks have 2 swings. I have 3 children.
Even if there were 3 swings, 1 of my children is unable to self propel.
Climbing equipment is fabulous. But it is also able to be fallen off in the blink of an eye.
There could be 1000 pieces of equipment and I could put money on the fact that 2 or 3 of the kids will want to play on or with the exact same piece of equipment at the exact same time.
I have lost count of the number of times I have seen running, laughing, happy children not watching where they are going proceed to collide with one another and literally smash the happiness out of one another. It's as though it happens in slow motion too - it is a physical impossibility for me to get from where I am, or even thrust my voice that far that effectively, to prevent the clash of heads/shoulders/hips/any other relevant body part that serves to brutally remove the joyous sounds of laughter to be replaced by squealing. Or worse. Silence. And the longer it is silent the worse the scream will be when it eventually erupts.
We have had injuries from a slide that was just that little bit slipperier than normal, thus propelling master 2 several metres off the end and into a small protrusion in the ground.
We have had injuries from a child who, thrilled at the sensation of making the swing go by herself, forget that both hands are required and free one hand to wave..... that didn't end so well.
We have had situations where sheer joy turns to unabated terror when the spinning ride goes from being a "fun" speed to being an "oh my god I think I'm going to die if you don't get me off this right this instant" speed.
And then there is when you have to leave. Countdowns sometimes work. Giving fair warning, explaining what will happen next etc etc.
Sometimes they don't.
Sometimes you are there, a lone parent, with a 5 year old, a 4 year old and a nearly 3 year old each screaming in different octaves and attaching themselves in whatever way possible to a different item of play equipment, refusing to move and most definitely not leaving. And convincing everyone in the neighbourhood with their screams that you must be intending to kill them immediately they let go of said piece of equipment.
And it's even better when the park is surrounded by houses. Because then, not only do the playground visitors receive prime seats, but every house and family in said square is able to hear, and see out their windows no doubt. And they would witness me, 2 year old in football hold, 4 year old being half-dragged across the grass, screaming that I have forgotten the 5 year old who stands stoic in the playground screaming "NOOOOOOOOO" as I "gently place" the other 2 in the car and close the door in order to go and retrieve the final child.
I think of it as my helping in a way. For that moment, every other family, every other parent, is thinking "wow, my day really isn't going that badly at all."
And so next time you see kids going off their nut at the park, or the supermarket, or in a car park, or near a shop, or anywhere, just think. Their parents may have asked them to do something so hideously unreasonable as to get into the car. Or say please. Or they may have simply breathed in a way which disturbed the little person at that particular time.
And don't get me started on what happens if you dare give a child the wrong colour bowl at breakfast.......
Friday 6 September 2013
Sometimes I laugh at my kids.....
I do. And let's be honest, who doesn't, at some point in time, laugh at their child for something they may say or do.
I'll give you an example. Little Mr Nearly 3 likes the independence of getting himself undressed at the end of the day. He grunts and groans and contorts his body in every attempt to remove an arm from the vice-like grip of the sleeve of his t-shirt. Once one arm is free the other follows without too much difficulty.
The neck, however, is a different story. At times I have been witness to the sight of a t-shirt wedged firmly with the neck of the shirt locked underneath little man's nose, one of his ears protruding from one side of the neck of the shirt, the other brutally squashed as he yanks, to no avail, upon the shirt, aiming to rip it over the top of his head but succeeding only in pulling himself backwards and off balance. And when I finally step in to assist after he gets to the point of frustration and screams "I'M STUCK!", the shirt pops off with all the force of a champagne cork escaping the neck of a bottle. Although rarely is such a smiling face seen once the cork is removed.
Without a doubt, however, the best act of self-harm I have been fortunate enough to witness was my son removing his socks. And yes. I laughed. I am a bad mother. But seriously, it was inadvertent. It was like when someone tells you a joke that is just SO funny you snort laugh. There is no holding back. It is instinctive. It is unintended. It is hilarious.
So as he sat on the ground, refusing any help I offered, I sat back and watched. His socks had been on his little feet all day, trapped inside the runners that ran more than any child's shoes should have to run. He doesn't stop. From the moment his feet hit the ground until they are back in their bed, it's on. Like Donkey Kong. Thus, the socks were, how shall I say, moist. Ish. And thus they stuck to his feet just a tad.
So when he opted to remove the socks by holding the toes and pulling, well, I was a little concerned. There was resistance. Said sock did not wish to be removed from said foot in this manner. However my little tenacious boy kept at it, pulling, and yanking, and in doing so literally rolling himself all over the floor repeatedly, the sock staying put.
It was when it started to budge that things got really interesting. You see, he did not change the force with which he was pulling when the sock began to give, so when it finally allowed itself to be freed from his foot, my darling little boy proceeded to punch himself in the nose, freed sock in hand.
And I laughed. Really loudly. Like a guffaw.
And my little man looked at me. Stunned. As if he had just been punched in the face. Which, of course, he had.
But looking back, I think my maniacal and completely unstoppable laughter actually helped in the circumstances. Cos it wouldn't have tickled.....And yet he didn't cry. After watching me get to the point of hysterical tears he actually cracked a little smile.
And so he asked me to take the other sock off for him. Which I did. And then I got him some frozen peas to put on his schnoz. And so he did. And yes, the nose swelled a little and was a bit red and tender, but at least it didn't end as badly as it could have.... and my gosh it was hilarious.
One of those mental pictures that will stay with me for an eternity. My son, punching himself in the face with a sock.
Ah kids. A constant source of entertainment.
I'll give you an example. Little Mr Nearly 3 likes the independence of getting himself undressed at the end of the day. He grunts and groans and contorts his body in every attempt to remove an arm from the vice-like grip of the sleeve of his t-shirt. Once one arm is free the other follows without too much difficulty.
The neck, however, is a different story. At times I have been witness to the sight of a t-shirt wedged firmly with the neck of the shirt locked underneath little man's nose, one of his ears protruding from one side of the neck of the shirt, the other brutally squashed as he yanks, to no avail, upon the shirt, aiming to rip it over the top of his head but succeeding only in pulling himself backwards and off balance. And when I finally step in to assist after he gets to the point of frustration and screams "I'M STUCK!", the shirt pops off with all the force of a champagne cork escaping the neck of a bottle. Although rarely is such a smiling face seen once the cork is removed.
Without a doubt, however, the best act of self-harm I have been fortunate enough to witness was my son removing his socks. And yes. I laughed. I am a bad mother. But seriously, it was inadvertent. It was like when someone tells you a joke that is just SO funny you snort laugh. There is no holding back. It is instinctive. It is unintended. It is hilarious.
So as he sat on the ground, refusing any help I offered, I sat back and watched. His socks had been on his little feet all day, trapped inside the runners that ran more than any child's shoes should have to run. He doesn't stop. From the moment his feet hit the ground until they are back in their bed, it's on. Like Donkey Kong. Thus, the socks were, how shall I say, moist. Ish. And thus they stuck to his feet just a tad.
So when he opted to remove the socks by holding the toes and pulling, well, I was a little concerned. There was resistance. Said sock did not wish to be removed from said foot in this manner. However my little tenacious boy kept at it, pulling, and yanking, and in doing so literally rolling himself all over the floor repeatedly, the sock staying put.
It was when it started to budge that things got really interesting. You see, he did not change the force with which he was pulling when the sock began to give, so when it finally allowed itself to be freed from his foot, my darling little boy proceeded to punch himself in the nose, freed sock in hand.
And I laughed. Really loudly. Like a guffaw.
And my little man looked at me. Stunned. As if he had just been punched in the face. Which, of course, he had.
But looking back, I think my maniacal and completely unstoppable laughter actually helped in the circumstances. Cos it wouldn't have tickled.....And yet he didn't cry. After watching me get to the point of hysterical tears he actually cracked a little smile.
And so he asked me to take the other sock off for him. Which I did. And then I got him some frozen peas to put on his schnoz. And so he did. And yes, the nose swelled a little and was a bit red and tender, but at least it didn't end as badly as it could have.... and my gosh it was hilarious.
One of those mental pictures that will stay with me for an eternity. My son, punching himself in the face with a sock.
Ah kids. A constant source of entertainment.
Thursday 5 September 2013
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum.....?"
The number of times I have heard this call? Countless.
The number of times this call is repeated? Countless.
The number of times this call is followed by a question? Countless.
The number of times this call is followed by nothing? COUNTLESS.
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum......?"
"Yes darling?"
Nothing.
Silence.
"Did you actually want anything?"
"What?"
"You called me."
"Oh"
So I go. Back to washing dishes, or making beds, or folding washing, or something.
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum.......??"
"Yes darling."
Silence.
Nothing.
"Do you actually NEED anything??"
Silence.
Good. Lord. Seriously.
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum..........??"
"WHAT?????!!"
"I love you."
Bash. Head. Against. Wall. Now.
"I love you too baby." Then hug small child. And smile. And go into another room.
Wait for it.....
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum........??"
Breathe.
"Yes darling?"
Silence.
Ah kids. Nobody tells you these bits.
The number of times this call is repeated? Countless.
The number of times this call is followed by a question? Countless.
The number of times this call is followed by nothing? COUNTLESS.
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum......?"
"Yes darling?"
Nothing.
Silence.
"Did you actually want anything?"
"What?"
"You called me."
"Oh"
So I go. Back to washing dishes, or making beds, or folding washing, or something.
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum.......??"
"Yes darling."
Silence.
Nothing.
"Do you actually NEED anything??"
Silence.
Good. Lord. Seriously.
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum..........??"
"WHAT?????!!"
"I love you."
Bash. Head. Against. Wall. Now.
"I love you too baby." Then hug small child. And smile. And go into another room.
Wait for it.....
"Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum........??"
Breathe.
"Yes darling?"
Silence.
Ah kids. Nobody tells you these bits.
Wednesday 4 September 2013
And another thing....
I was meaning to say..... There are literally trillions of things in life for which we can never ever be prepared.
Yes, yes, death, illness, ra ra ra.
I'm talking more the Nutri-Grain in a shoe. The plastic button in the oven. The speed with which the toy from a McDonalds happy meal can fly through the air at the hands of a two year old, and the percentage of times that there will be the head of a 4 or 5 year old in the path of said flying toy.
We can never be prepared for the feelings that well up when one of our own children looks at us, deeply and almost knowingly in the eyes, takes our cheeks in their tiny little hands and says, with complete conviction "You're really old".
We can never be prepared for anything that involves expulsion of something or other from a small child's body, in whatever way, shape or form.
And we can never be prepared to have our hearts ripped from our chest as we watch one of our little ones suffer through illness, knowing that there is not a force in this world powerful enough to prise us from holding and comforting that little human.
And so here I am. I be blogging.
And this blog, it be about me and the three. Tis just us (and our bazillion year old dog). And I will share with you things my three may do, or say, and sometimes I will just share with you the nothing, something and everything that often times finds itself resident in this mind of mine...
So join me. If you please. Would love to have you along for the ride. I can promise it'll be bumpy. But never, ever dull......
Oh, and just call me Christobelle. Everyone does......
Toodles for now.
Yes, yes, death, illness, ra ra ra.
I'm talking more the Nutri-Grain in a shoe. The plastic button in the oven. The speed with which the toy from a McDonalds happy meal can fly through the air at the hands of a two year old, and the percentage of times that there will be the head of a 4 or 5 year old in the path of said flying toy.
We can never be prepared for the feelings that well up when one of our own children looks at us, deeply and almost knowingly in the eyes, takes our cheeks in their tiny little hands and says, with complete conviction "You're really old".
We can never be prepared for anything that involves expulsion of something or other from a small child's body, in whatever way, shape or form.
And we can never be prepared to have our hearts ripped from our chest as we watch one of our little ones suffer through illness, knowing that there is not a force in this world powerful enough to prise us from holding and comforting that little human.
And so here I am. I be blogging.
And this blog, it be about me and the three. Tis just us (and our bazillion year old dog). And I will share with you things my three may do, or say, and sometimes I will just share with you the nothing, something and everything that often times finds itself resident in this mind of mine...
So join me. If you please. Would love to have you along for the ride. I can promise it'll be bumpy. But never, ever dull......
Oh, and just call me Christobelle. Everyone does......
Toodles for now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)