This morning. Without warning. I started talking and I got choked up.
For no reason?
No. For reason.
The reason?
Miss 5. No, she didn't do anything. But this evening she graduated. Kinder graduation. And this morning I was talking to Miss 6 about the upcoming evening and found myself choking up. Just. Like. That.
Fast forward to this evening.
Miss 5 had on a little graduation gown (over her sling), as did all her little classmates.
But here's the thing. Miss 5 was a "leader". She was one of two children in her kinder class chosen to stand at the front and do the actions so that everyone could follow her. Only now she had only one arm, so essentially could only do half the actions as one side just didn't work.
But do you know what? She stood up there, at the front of her entire class, and danced and sang her little heart out, even with only one arm working.
And I kid you not, I don't think it is possible for a parent to be more proud than I was at that very point in time.
When the graduation certificates were presented Miss 5 was presented last. She wasn't impatient (unlike her mum) and sat quietly just waiting until her name was called.
With each child that came up, the educator said a few words about said child.
When Miss 5 came up the first thing that was said was that she deserved a round of applause because even though she had an arm injury she still wanted to do the concert.
When the words were spoken about my darling girl I felt as though my heart could just burst.
"[Miss 5] is determined and strong-willed. She persists to learn and excels in her work. She is a leader and she is always there to help and guide her peers and friends."
Proud doesn't even scratch the surface.
Well done baby girl. You're going to love school xx
Thursday 4 December 2014
Tuesday 2 December 2014
I want to go to the moon
An insight into my world. The trip home from the hospital yesterday and
the conversation with Miss 5 went something like this:
“Mum, can we go to the moon?”
“No baby, we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too far.”
“How far is it?”
“A long way.”
Pause.
“I want to go to the moon.”
“We can’t just go to the moon baby. Unless
you are an astronaut.”
“I want to be an astronaut. Then I’ll go to
the moon.”
“Ok baby.”
“Mum?”
“Yes?”
“I want you to come with me.”
“Where?”
“To the moon.”
“Baby I can’t go to the moon.”
“Yes you can, come with me when I’m an
astronaut.”
“Baby, astronauts can’t just bring a friend
along with them when they go to the moon.”
“But you are not a friend, you’re my mum.”
*face palm*
“Ok, so do you think astronauts are all
allowed to bring their mums along?”
“Yes!”
“Is that in case they get scared?”
“Yep.”
“Ok then. So do I have to do any astronaut
training?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure?”
“Actually, yes, you do.”
“When am I going to do that baby? I work
and the rest of the time I spend with you guys.”
“You can work during the day and do
astronaut study at night.”
“Oh can I really? That’s great, thanks for
that. And so when I’m done we can go to the moon together?”
“Yep.”
“You’ve got it all worked out!”
*cheesy grin from Miss 5*
So it appears I may be an astronaut when I
grow up. I’ll wave at you from the moon.
Monday 1 December 2014
Confucius say
that if you make guacamole without the lemon juice, your child will trip and land on the tip of her elbow necessitating a mad rush to the hospital with three children in tow because you, as said child's mother, just know that it is broken. And that you have absolutely no hope of tasting that guacamole.
I'm warning you now, this is going to be a long one.
So that was last Wednesday. My darling Miss 5 has two lovely breaks in the elbow, and today we were to return to the hospital for review and to find out whether or not the insertion of a steel pin was required. Yes. It was a bit serious.
So the day started rather well. That is me being sarcastic. The day started last night as I slept barely a wink, consumed by what might actually occur today, worried for my baby, and also hot as hell because my room has no cooling and it was still 27 degrees at midnight.
So I was up, even at the hideously early time Miss 6 awoke (to do a drawing of course), and as such was able to leisurely stroll to the kitchen to pop the kettle on and make myself a coffee.
I have never met a child so averse to underpants as Master 4. He would go everywhere naked if he could. With braveheart charge sound effects to accompany him. A bundle of energy. If they could harness it there would no longer be a need for the use of any fossil fuels and the world's environmental state would be a lot brighter. Check that out scientists, get your lab coats on and start doing some research into that.
After eventually convincing Master 4 that underpants were not the work of the devil he decided that all other clothes were unsuitable.
"Fine. You can go to school naked."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"
Sigh. Moving on.
Miss 6 was just about jumping out of her skin as the school swimming program started today. So of course she was bouncing all over the place commentating her every thought with exuberant outbursts of sheer jubilation.
Surprisingly we managed to have everyone dressed, AND shoes and socks on (that last part is usually the most part of the getting dressed process), well in time to leave.
Master 4 to school, done.
Miss 6 to her little friend's house whose darling mummy agreed to take her to school with her little one, done.
And off we went. Headed to the hospital. Armed with the information that we may just need surgery.
Now anyone that knows anything about surgical procedures knows that you cannot eat prior to one. So Miss 5 had not had breakfast. Nor anything at all to eat. Keep that in mind.
We were driving down the Western Ring Road in peak hour traffic. I had allowed ample time to get to the hospital. So ample that we were there an hour early. Still, better to be early than late. So we went for a little drive and had a look around. And returned to the hospital so we were only 35 minutes early. Much better.
So we sat. And waited. And then I heard what I had been dreading hearing, and what I knew was bound to come.
"I'm hungry."
Oh dear baby girl I bet you are.
"Not long now sweetie."
Oh how wrong I was. How very very wrong.
To cut a long story short we eventually got in to see the doctor, who explained that the type of break Miss 5 had sustained was one that very often failed to heal (yay. Not.). That is why there was the question of the pin.
First stop was the plaster room, where the backslab was removed and a full plaster was put on. In Miss 5's choice of colour. I'll let you guess what she chose.
Yep. Pink.
So off to x-ray we then went. What we didn't count on was the fact that we were in attendance at a fracture clinic. With a bazillion other people. All of whom required x-rays.
So we waited. Time ticked on. We struck up some conversation with others who had similar shaped casts. Amazing the ways in which people break bones. Trampolines featured quite heavily. Being dropped by a sibling was another. Being jumped on by a sibling yet another. Seems the siblings have a lot to answer for.
They called us through. And guided us to the x-ray room. And then it happened. The x-ray technician asked Miss 5 if she would be ok or if she wanted me to come in too.
She said she would be ok. And then they took my baby, and closed the door.
I will put this into context for you. Miss 5 has broken her left leg, her right arm, and now her left arm. For every x-ray to this day she has wanted me there. Even the one on Wednesday night where I had the two others with me, and had to leave them, alone, in the waiting area for one entire minute while they performed the x-rays, and on the second x-ray as I heard a scream and begged to be let out (they locked the door!!!!) I saw them and we bribed them with stickers to be good, which they were, and when we returned to the outside world Master 4 was starfished on the ground staring at the ceiling. They got stickers. But still, even then, knowing that the kids were out there, Miss 5 wanted me in with her.
Not. Today.
*Sniff*
But I digress.
After x-ray, back to doctor, who ummed and ahhhed for an age before seeking a second opinion from his boss. Their joint opinion was that surgery was not required at this point but they would re x-ray in two weeks and if there had been any movement whatsoever it would be pinned.
Perfect.
So straight to the cafeteria we went, where Miss 5 demolished half a container of fruit salad and a Frozen drink. Not frozen. Frozen. Anna. Elsa. Olaf. Frozen. Cos of course they make drinks.
On the way home Miss 5 decided she wanted some more fruit and vegies, so who was I to argue. So off we went. And then back home.
And do you know what? The day sort of flew but sort of didn't. It was after 12 when we got home from our 9.15 appointment but I was quite exhausted.
And then I saw the back yard. Well, not the back yard specifically, the back fence. Or rather lack thereof. My darling omnivore puppy had attempted, semi successfully, to gain access to the maltese terrier in the yard behind us. Put into perspective, my "puppy" is a 26kg staghound/kelpie cross. Not the most suitable playmate for a maltese terrier.
So we went to Bunnings. And I bought some wood stuff. And some nails. And then I asked the man if these nail things would work with that wood stuff if I nailed it to a fence. Cos I have hammer. I don't think I could have sounded more stupid if I tried. But he understood me, and said it would work, so I asked him where the watering cans were to take the focus off. So I have a new watering can now.
We got home and Miss 5 plonked with some newly purchased berries ($5 for a punnet of blueberries is highway robbery!!!) and the TV while I moseyed on outside with some wood and a pocketful of nails, and armed with a hammer.
I had actually been semi clever in that I had measured the area I needed to cover, so at least I knew I was ok there. But as for actually doing anything like this before, well, I haven't.
So the first nail fell. The second nail fell. The third nail I squeaked with joy when I actually hit it in, then realised the wood was in the wrong spot so had to work out how to move it, which I did, but wasn't too impressed with.
Nailing/hammering/positioning of wood, all good. Before long I had effectively begun repairing the fence. Un. Real. Then I hit my thumb with the hammer. That didn't tickle.
And then I had to do the nails that were lower down. And my darling dog decided it was time to bond with me. She pushed her head against my face, licked my glasses, which I had inadvertently omitted to remove upon returning home, leant up against me, wove underneath my arms and generally tried to be as close to me, and at times the nails, as she could.
But I did it. I fixed the fence. For now anyway.
In between all the events of the day I put on a pork roast because I wanted pork roast because I saw one yesterday and holy moly I wanted it.
I made the apple sauce from scratch in my new Thermomix (Yes, I have a Thermomix!!! And that in itself is an entire other post, but will happen eventually), and so we all sat down together to eat dinner.
"When I'm a grown up you'll be dead."
Cool. Brilliant dinner conversation.
"No I won't"
"You might be"
Ugh. Yes. I might.
"How did we come out? You know, when we were born?"
Good. Lord. Hasn't the day been difficult enough?
Topic. Change. And food eaten.
And once we had finished eating I used the leftover vegies to blitz up into a vegetable soup.
I actually had a point when I started this post. I have no idea what it was.
Oh yes. By the time we got back from the hospital on Wednesday the bowl of guacamole was black. So the lemon (to which I am allergic) obviously does something. In case you wondered.
I have a slight headache. And the desire to become a member of a wine club. Or solicit donations of wine. Purely for medicinal purposes of course.
Wonder what tomorrow will bring…...
I'm warning you now, this is going to be a long one.
So that was last Wednesday. My darling Miss 5 has two lovely breaks in the elbow, and today we were to return to the hospital for review and to find out whether or not the insertion of a steel pin was required. Yes. It was a bit serious.
So the day started rather well. That is me being sarcastic. The day started last night as I slept barely a wink, consumed by what might actually occur today, worried for my baby, and also hot as hell because my room has no cooling and it was still 27 degrees at midnight.
So I was up, even at the hideously early time Miss 6 awoke (to do a drawing of course), and as such was able to leisurely stroll to the kitchen to pop the kettle on and make myself a coffee.
I have never met a child so averse to underpants as Master 4. He would go everywhere naked if he could. With braveheart charge sound effects to accompany him. A bundle of energy. If they could harness it there would no longer be a need for the use of any fossil fuels and the world's environmental state would be a lot brighter. Check that out scientists, get your lab coats on and start doing some research into that.
After eventually convincing Master 4 that underpants were not the work of the devil he decided that all other clothes were unsuitable.
"Fine. You can go to school naked."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"
Sigh. Moving on.
Miss 6 was just about jumping out of her skin as the school swimming program started today. So of course she was bouncing all over the place commentating her every thought with exuberant outbursts of sheer jubilation.
Surprisingly we managed to have everyone dressed, AND shoes and socks on (that last part is usually the most part of the getting dressed process), well in time to leave.
Master 4 to school, done.
Miss 6 to her little friend's house whose darling mummy agreed to take her to school with her little one, done.
And off we went. Headed to the hospital. Armed with the information that we may just need surgery.
Now anyone that knows anything about surgical procedures knows that you cannot eat prior to one. So Miss 5 had not had breakfast. Nor anything at all to eat. Keep that in mind.
We were driving down the Western Ring Road in peak hour traffic. I had allowed ample time to get to the hospital. So ample that we were there an hour early. Still, better to be early than late. So we went for a little drive and had a look around. And returned to the hospital so we were only 35 minutes early. Much better.
So we sat. And waited. And then I heard what I had been dreading hearing, and what I knew was bound to come.
"I'm hungry."
Oh dear baby girl I bet you are.
"Not long now sweetie."
Oh how wrong I was. How very very wrong.
To cut a long story short we eventually got in to see the doctor, who explained that the type of break Miss 5 had sustained was one that very often failed to heal (yay. Not.). That is why there was the question of the pin.
First stop was the plaster room, where the backslab was removed and a full plaster was put on. In Miss 5's choice of colour. I'll let you guess what she chose.
Yep. Pink.
So off to x-ray we then went. What we didn't count on was the fact that we were in attendance at a fracture clinic. With a bazillion other people. All of whom required x-rays.
So we waited. Time ticked on. We struck up some conversation with others who had similar shaped casts. Amazing the ways in which people break bones. Trampolines featured quite heavily. Being dropped by a sibling was another. Being jumped on by a sibling yet another. Seems the siblings have a lot to answer for.
They called us through. And guided us to the x-ray room. And then it happened. The x-ray technician asked Miss 5 if she would be ok or if she wanted me to come in too.
She said she would be ok. And then they took my baby, and closed the door.
I will put this into context for you. Miss 5 has broken her left leg, her right arm, and now her left arm. For every x-ray to this day she has wanted me there. Even the one on Wednesday night where I had the two others with me, and had to leave them, alone, in the waiting area for one entire minute while they performed the x-rays, and on the second x-ray as I heard a scream and begged to be let out (they locked the door!!!!) I saw them and we bribed them with stickers to be good, which they were, and when we returned to the outside world Master 4 was starfished on the ground staring at the ceiling. They got stickers. But still, even then, knowing that the kids were out there, Miss 5 wanted me in with her.
Not. Today.
*Sniff*
But I digress.
After x-ray, back to doctor, who ummed and ahhhed for an age before seeking a second opinion from his boss. Their joint opinion was that surgery was not required at this point but they would re x-ray in two weeks and if there had been any movement whatsoever it would be pinned.
Perfect.
So straight to the cafeteria we went, where Miss 5 demolished half a container of fruit salad and a Frozen drink. Not frozen. Frozen. Anna. Elsa. Olaf. Frozen. Cos of course they make drinks.
On the way home Miss 5 decided she wanted some more fruit and vegies, so who was I to argue. So off we went. And then back home.
And do you know what? The day sort of flew but sort of didn't. It was after 12 when we got home from our 9.15 appointment but I was quite exhausted.
And then I saw the back yard. Well, not the back yard specifically, the back fence. Or rather lack thereof. My darling omnivore puppy had attempted, semi successfully, to gain access to the maltese terrier in the yard behind us. Put into perspective, my "puppy" is a 26kg staghound/kelpie cross. Not the most suitable playmate for a maltese terrier.
So we went to Bunnings. And I bought some wood stuff. And some nails. And then I asked the man if these nail things would work with that wood stuff if I nailed it to a fence. Cos I have hammer. I don't think I could have sounded more stupid if I tried. But he understood me, and said it would work, so I asked him where the watering cans were to take the focus off. So I have a new watering can now.
We got home and Miss 5 plonked with some newly purchased berries ($5 for a punnet of blueberries is highway robbery!!!) and the TV while I moseyed on outside with some wood and a pocketful of nails, and armed with a hammer.
I had actually been semi clever in that I had measured the area I needed to cover, so at least I knew I was ok there. But as for actually doing anything like this before, well, I haven't.
So the first nail fell. The second nail fell. The third nail I squeaked with joy when I actually hit it in, then realised the wood was in the wrong spot so had to work out how to move it, which I did, but wasn't too impressed with.
Nailing/hammering/positioning of wood, all good. Before long I had effectively begun repairing the fence. Un. Real. Then I hit my thumb with the hammer. That didn't tickle.
And then I had to do the nails that were lower down. And my darling dog decided it was time to bond with me. She pushed her head against my face, licked my glasses, which I had inadvertently omitted to remove upon returning home, leant up against me, wove underneath my arms and generally tried to be as close to me, and at times the nails, as she could.
But I did it. I fixed the fence. For now anyway.
In between all the events of the day I put on a pork roast because I wanted pork roast because I saw one yesterday and holy moly I wanted it.
I made the apple sauce from scratch in my new Thermomix (Yes, I have a Thermomix!!! And that in itself is an entire other post, but will happen eventually), and so we all sat down together to eat dinner.
"When I'm a grown up you'll be dead."
Cool. Brilliant dinner conversation.
"No I won't"
"You might be"
Ugh. Yes. I might.
"How did we come out? You know, when we were born?"
Good. Lord. Hasn't the day been difficult enough?
Topic. Change. And food eaten.
And once we had finished eating I used the leftover vegies to blitz up into a vegetable soup.
I actually had a point when I started this post. I have no idea what it was.
Oh yes. By the time we got back from the hospital on Wednesday the bowl of guacamole was black. So the lemon (to which I am allergic) obviously does something. In case you wondered.
I have a slight headache. And the desire to become a member of a wine club. Or solicit donations of wine. Purely for medicinal purposes of course.
Wonder what tomorrow will bring…...
Monday 27 October 2014
It doesn't take long
for things to change.
Since I last graced the blogosphere Master 3 is now Master 4.
Miss 5 has had her first prep orientation session.
And Miss 6 has had her first prima donna epic meltdown.
I had fully intended to return to this little forum, however being that I got myself 'out of the habit' I simply did not take it up.
A brief rundown of life as it stands.
My work is insanely busy, but I am loving it.
Miss 6 is coming to the end of her grade 1 year and is developing more and more of a personality, as the 3 all are, and is becoming over so much more dramatic. But not for no gain. She wants to be on television. Yes. She does. And takes great pleasure in "performing" for anyone who will sit still long enough to listen. Adorable.
Miss 5 is more ready for school than any child I have ever seen. Today she had her first orientation session. Yes. Just today. The day after epic storms saw me outside at 2am consoling our puppy (who is incidentally enormous, but still a puppy nonetheless) and also the day on which Master 4 decided that he could turn off the alarm himself, and didn't need to bother me with it.
At the orientation Miss 5 was in her element. She loved it. And coming home she said "they asked me heaps of questions and I answered them all". I, being interested, asked "what did they ask you?"
I wasn't prepared for the answer.
"They asked me if I knew what magnificent meant."
O. K.
I waited.
"So what did you say baby?"
"I said magnificent means something amazing."
And isn't she magnificent. My baby darling Miss 5.
Master 4 gave himself a blood nose last night. How? He took a hot wheels car to bed. Played with it just a little too vigorously. Dropped said car on his nose and next thing bring on the bloodworms. Fabulous. He was fine. Just a bit bloody.
Anyway, this is me saying I'm not dead. I'm very much alive. And I think I'm just about back in the mindset to come back.
I'll tell you a bit more in the days and weeks to come. For now though, hi again. I've missed you.
And I'm back :)
Since I last graced the blogosphere Master 3 is now Master 4.
Miss 5 has had her first prep orientation session.
And Miss 6 has had her first prima donna epic meltdown.
I had fully intended to return to this little forum, however being that I got myself 'out of the habit' I simply did not take it up.
A brief rundown of life as it stands.
My work is insanely busy, but I am loving it.
Miss 6 is coming to the end of her grade 1 year and is developing more and more of a personality, as the 3 all are, and is becoming over so much more dramatic. But not for no gain. She wants to be on television. Yes. She does. And takes great pleasure in "performing" for anyone who will sit still long enough to listen. Adorable.
Miss 5 is more ready for school than any child I have ever seen. Today she had her first orientation session. Yes. Just today. The day after epic storms saw me outside at 2am consoling our puppy (who is incidentally enormous, but still a puppy nonetheless) and also the day on which Master 4 decided that he could turn off the alarm himself, and didn't need to bother me with it.
At the orientation Miss 5 was in her element. She loved it. And coming home she said "they asked me heaps of questions and I answered them all". I, being interested, asked "what did they ask you?"
I wasn't prepared for the answer.
"They asked me if I knew what magnificent meant."
O. K.
I waited.
"So what did you say baby?"
"I said magnificent means something amazing."
And isn't she magnificent. My baby darling Miss 5.
Master 4 gave himself a blood nose last night. How? He took a hot wheels car to bed. Played with it just a little too vigorously. Dropped said car on his nose and next thing bring on the bloodworms. Fabulous. He was fine. Just a bit bloody.
Anyway, this is me saying I'm not dead. I'm very much alive. And I think I'm just about back in the mindset to come back.
I'll tell you a bit more in the days and weeks to come. For now though, hi again. I've missed you.
And I'm back :)
Thursday 18 September 2014
You would be forgiven
for thinking I was murdering someone this evening. Or at the very least torturing them to within an inch of their life.
Why?
Because he is 3. And I asked him to get out of the bath.
He did not get out of the bath.
I asked him again.
He did not get out of the bath.
And I gave him three……two……one……
And took him out of the bath.
What ensued could be likened to the demonic possession scenes in the Exorcist, minus the projectile vomiting (that was the other day).
At one point I thought his little jugular vein might just explode.
At least he isn't shy about expressing his opinions. Loudly. Incredibly loudly.
The neighbours must think we are feral. Seriously. The tantrums, and the sheer power behind each of my darling child's screams, well, they would shake the most stoic ones, right to the core.
He would have been a rocking town crier.
Anyway, eventually, after what seemed like hours, he did stop. And I put him to bed. And did the standard "Night night, love you, sweet dreams" that I do every night, even on those nights where I am pushed to my very limits… so sometimes the tone may not be exactly "gentle" but still.
Tonight I went back in. I had to. I explained to my nearly 4 year old that I truly hate getting cross at him. I want to cuddle him and laugh with him and give him butterfly kisses on his cheek and listen to him laugh. I don't want to yell at him, and I don't want to say the same things over and over again.
And I suggested that next time, rather than chucking a massive wobbly, perhaps he could try talking to me about what was upsetting him.
I really don't know if he understood what I was saying, but it sure as hell made me feel better anyway.
It isn't wrong that I took a photo of him mid tantrum is it? Reason my child is crying….. I got him out of the bath.
Yep. Kids.
They do say some funny things. And you find yourself saying funny things too.
The other night we were eating dinner, and Master 3 lifted up his cup to the girls and promptly clinked it with Miss 6's glass, declaring loudly "CHEESE!"
Cheese.
"Cheers little man, cheers. Not cheese."
Massive grins, massive giggles, and prompt declaration of "CHEEEEEEEERS!"
I'll leave you with a "thing you never thought you would hear yourself say"….
You don't need goggles for bed.
Night.
Why?
Because he is 3. And I asked him to get out of the bath.
He did not get out of the bath.
I asked him again.
He did not get out of the bath.
And I gave him three……two……one……
And took him out of the bath.
What ensued could be likened to the demonic possession scenes in the Exorcist, minus the projectile vomiting (that was the other day).
At one point I thought his little jugular vein might just explode.
At least he isn't shy about expressing his opinions. Loudly. Incredibly loudly.
The neighbours must think we are feral. Seriously. The tantrums, and the sheer power behind each of my darling child's screams, well, they would shake the most stoic ones, right to the core.
He would have been a rocking town crier.
Anyway, eventually, after what seemed like hours, he did stop. And I put him to bed. And did the standard "Night night, love you, sweet dreams" that I do every night, even on those nights where I am pushed to my very limits… so sometimes the tone may not be exactly "gentle" but still.
Tonight I went back in. I had to. I explained to my nearly 4 year old that I truly hate getting cross at him. I want to cuddle him and laugh with him and give him butterfly kisses on his cheek and listen to him laugh. I don't want to yell at him, and I don't want to say the same things over and over again.
And I suggested that next time, rather than chucking a massive wobbly, perhaps he could try talking to me about what was upsetting him.
I really don't know if he understood what I was saying, but it sure as hell made me feel better anyway.
It isn't wrong that I took a photo of him mid tantrum is it? Reason my child is crying….. I got him out of the bath.
Yep. Kids.
They do say some funny things. And you find yourself saying funny things too.
The other night we were eating dinner, and Master 3 lifted up his cup to the girls and promptly clinked it with Miss 6's glass, declaring loudly "CHEESE!"
Cheese.
"Cheers little man, cheers. Not cheese."
Massive grins, massive giggles, and prompt declaration of "CHEEEEEEEERS!"
I'll leave you with a "thing you never thought you would hear yourself say"….
You don't need goggles for bed.
Night.
Monday 15 September 2014
A reason to be proud.
That is what we are given, as parents, so very many times throughout the lives of our babies.
Miss 6 was moved up to the blue readers today. She was just about beside herself when she told me, and I was proud as punch. I gave her massive cuddles and kisses and shared her obvious excitement, and it was just a beautifully special moment.
Master 3 finally put some pants on, without my asking. This is the child who wakes in the morning, strips off and runs around the house in the all together for as long as is humanly possible before I manage to wrangle underpants on his tiny little patootie. And when he put his pants on by himself this morning, without my asking, well, yes, I was proud. And when he told me about when he went to the circus and there was a man there who was standing on a football, actually, no, a soccer ball, and well, isn't he a bit clever, in the words of Master 3, well, super cute and mega proudness at my little man's ability to express himself.
Miss 5 didn't spill a drop tonight. Not. A. Drop. She managed to get to the bathtub and lean over enough that none of the vomit landed on the floor, or on herself. And by god I was proud of her for that. And my non-vomit-related proudness of my darling Miss 5 is that she is just such a gorgeous soul. Massive perfectionist. Amazing at what she does. Immensely talented at vomit channelling.
You are not warned often enough prior to becoming a parent just how much of the bodily fluids and solids of your child you will be coming into contact with. And not even just the obvious ones. Stuff you never knew existed, except perhaps in horror films.
Ask any parent about a "number 3" and you will see them physically recoil, shudder, dry retch and many times simply just change the topic.
I am not sure how many non-parents have been woken up by another party by virtue of said other party vomiting on their face. That was a night I won't forget in a hurry.
I will also not forget the night I was awoken, quite concerned that there was a leak in the roof. No. There was a child lying beside me. In my bed. Asleep. Leaking. Profusely. Getting peed on is another way in which I really do not love being woken up.
For those who are you yet to have children, I'm going to warn you about a few things for if you do take that incredibly rewarding path. For those who already have children, nod and chuckle as you recognise those which apply to you.
You will be peed on.
You will more than likely be shat on.
You will have boogers wiped on you.
You will be farted on. Your children will hold in their farts until you are changing their nappies then let them rip and laugh. And sometimes they will follow through. And they will laugh even harder.
If you are not directly shat on, it will be on your clothes. And you won't know from where the smell is coming, but you'll smell it everywhere you go.
You will utter the phrase "get your finger out of your nose" at least half a dozen times a day. Multiply this for more children.
You will hear your mother come out of your mouth and you will gasp. And then you will instantly understand. And that is quite cathartic.
You will be "that" mother when your child gets an award at assembly. Because seriously, it is super cool to see them so excited and you get all proud (not in a bodily functions reaching bath kind of way, that is a whole different level of proud).
You will never sleep again. Ok that is a bit dramatic. But seriously. Try setting your alarm to go off each night every 20 minutes for about 4 years. It never gets easier.
You will sound like a broken record on numerous occasions. And you will tell your children you sound like a broken record. And they will ask you what a record is.
You will always feel as though you are stuffing at least some parts up. You aren't. You're being the best mum you can be.
You will cry when your children grow out of shoes you only bought them weeks before. Not because your babies are growing up, but shoes, well, they aren't cheap.
You may never jump on a trampoline again.
Take baby wipes with you wherever you go. No matter what. And use them for everything. Bathroom needs a clean? Baby wipe. Shoes need polishing? Baby wipe. Ceiling fan is dusty? Baby wipe. Quick makeup remover? Baby wipe.
There are lots of things I could say. I won't. Well, I may at another time. I can't actually even remember what my point was.
I didn't get vomited on though. That's a positive for the day.
Miss 6 was moved up to the blue readers today. She was just about beside herself when she told me, and I was proud as punch. I gave her massive cuddles and kisses and shared her obvious excitement, and it was just a beautifully special moment.
Master 3 finally put some pants on, without my asking. This is the child who wakes in the morning, strips off and runs around the house in the all together for as long as is humanly possible before I manage to wrangle underpants on his tiny little patootie. And when he put his pants on by himself this morning, without my asking, well, yes, I was proud. And when he told me about when he went to the circus and there was a man there who was standing on a football, actually, no, a soccer ball, and well, isn't he a bit clever, in the words of Master 3, well, super cute and mega proudness at my little man's ability to express himself.
Miss 5 didn't spill a drop tonight. Not. A. Drop. She managed to get to the bathtub and lean over enough that none of the vomit landed on the floor, or on herself. And by god I was proud of her for that. And my non-vomit-related proudness of my darling Miss 5 is that she is just such a gorgeous soul. Massive perfectionist. Amazing at what she does. Immensely talented at vomit channelling.
You are not warned often enough prior to becoming a parent just how much of the bodily fluids and solids of your child you will be coming into contact with. And not even just the obvious ones. Stuff you never knew existed, except perhaps in horror films.
Ask any parent about a "number 3" and you will see them physically recoil, shudder, dry retch and many times simply just change the topic.
I am not sure how many non-parents have been woken up by another party by virtue of said other party vomiting on their face. That was a night I won't forget in a hurry.
I will also not forget the night I was awoken, quite concerned that there was a leak in the roof. No. There was a child lying beside me. In my bed. Asleep. Leaking. Profusely. Getting peed on is another way in which I really do not love being woken up.
For those who are you yet to have children, I'm going to warn you about a few things for if you do take that incredibly rewarding path. For those who already have children, nod and chuckle as you recognise those which apply to you.
You will be peed on.
You will more than likely be shat on.
You will have boogers wiped on you.
You will be farted on. Your children will hold in their farts until you are changing their nappies then let them rip and laugh. And sometimes they will follow through. And they will laugh even harder.
If you are not directly shat on, it will be on your clothes. And you won't know from where the smell is coming, but you'll smell it everywhere you go.
You will utter the phrase "get your finger out of your nose" at least half a dozen times a day. Multiply this for more children.
You will hear your mother come out of your mouth and you will gasp. And then you will instantly understand. And that is quite cathartic.
You will be "that" mother when your child gets an award at assembly. Because seriously, it is super cool to see them so excited and you get all proud (not in a bodily functions reaching bath kind of way, that is a whole different level of proud).
You will never sleep again. Ok that is a bit dramatic. But seriously. Try setting your alarm to go off each night every 20 minutes for about 4 years. It never gets easier.
You will sound like a broken record on numerous occasions. And you will tell your children you sound like a broken record. And they will ask you what a record is.
You will always feel as though you are stuffing at least some parts up. You aren't. You're being the best mum you can be.
You will cry when your children grow out of shoes you only bought them weeks before. Not because your babies are growing up, but shoes, well, they aren't cheap.
You may never jump on a trampoline again.
Take baby wipes with you wherever you go. No matter what. And use them for everything. Bathroom needs a clean? Baby wipe. Shoes need polishing? Baby wipe. Ceiling fan is dusty? Baby wipe. Quick makeup remover? Baby wipe.
There are lots of things I could say. I won't. Well, I may at another time. I can't actually even remember what my point was.
I didn't get vomited on though. That's a positive for the day.
Saturday 13 September 2014
Time got away from me.
I'll leave it at that.
But today I knew I was coming back tonight, because of something Master 3 said.
We were driving along the Western Ring Road in Melbourne, having just attended a fabulous birthday party at an indoor trampoline venue, where the kids bounced and bounced and bounced and then ate and ate and ate and left there with rosy cheeks and blue lips from the cupcakes.
And we were chatting about life and things in general, as we tend to do on car trips.
Master 3, quite suddenly, and not prompted by anything in the conversation or otherwise let out "I know why Jake died."
I was, understandably, quite taken aback.
"Do you little man? Why did Jake die?"
I wasn't quite sure what to expect in answer.
"That cloud took him."
Um. What?
"A cloud took him?"
"That cloud, that cloud is the reason he died."
"Which cloud baby?"
"The stripy one, there."
And that's when I saw it.
"You mean the cloud directly over the hospital?"
And he said "Yes. That cloud is the reason Jake died."
And I'm getting goose bumps even recanting the tale.
He was transfixed. And so very sure.
He certainly has an eye. I'll let you decide how to interpret that.
But I just had to share……..
But today I knew I was coming back tonight, because of something Master 3 said.
We were driving along the Western Ring Road in Melbourne, having just attended a fabulous birthday party at an indoor trampoline venue, where the kids bounced and bounced and bounced and then ate and ate and ate and left there with rosy cheeks and blue lips from the cupcakes.
And we were chatting about life and things in general, as we tend to do on car trips.
Master 3, quite suddenly, and not prompted by anything in the conversation or otherwise let out "I know why Jake died."
I was, understandably, quite taken aback.
"Do you little man? Why did Jake die?"
I wasn't quite sure what to expect in answer.
"That cloud took him."
Um. What?
"A cloud took him?"
"That cloud, that cloud is the reason he died."
"Which cloud baby?"
"The stripy one, there."
And that's when I saw it.
"You mean the cloud directly over the hospital?"
And he said "Yes. That cloud is the reason Jake died."
And I'm getting goose bumps even recanting the tale.
He was transfixed. And so very sure.
He certainly has an eye. I'll let you decide how to interpret that.
But I just had to share……..
Tuesday 15 July 2014
Sometimes in your life
you are lucky enough to meet someone special.
Someone who makes you smile simply by seeing them.
Someone who can always make you feel better no matter how crappy a day you have had.
Someone that you could just hug and hug and hug and never want to let go.
Someone who will never judge you.
Someone who will greet you with joy and love whenever they see you, whether it was 5 minutes since they last saw you or 5 hours.
15 years ago I was lucky enough to meet such a special someone. And I welcomed him into my home and he became my first baby.
And a week ago I lost him.
And a part of me died with him.
My heart aches. I feel a sorrow I have never felt before.
I am truly blessed to have had him in my life at all, let alone for so long. I cherish the memories I have of him. And I will love him forever more.
Rest in peace Jakey boy. Mummy loves you xxx
Someone who makes you smile simply by seeing them.
Someone who can always make you feel better no matter how crappy a day you have had.
Someone that you could just hug and hug and hug and never want to let go.
Someone who will never judge you.
Someone who will greet you with joy and love whenever they see you, whether it was 5 minutes since they last saw you or 5 hours.
15 years ago I was lucky enough to meet such a special someone. And I welcomed him into my home and he became my first baby.
And a week ago I lost him.
And a part of me died with him.
My heart aches. I feel a sorrow I have never felt before.
I am truly blessed to have had him in my life at all, let alone for so long. I cherish the memories I have of him. And I will love him forever more.
Rest in peace Jakey boy. Mummy loves you xxx
Tuesday 1 July 2014
What's your favourite number?
I found myself posing this question to the mini ones this evening as we drove away from our third milk bar visit for the evening.
No, we don't adore milk bars, but I was searching for something. Something that you would think would be rather easy to find but, as it turns out, in my particular suburb appears not to be.
Today was Miss 4's transition to being Miss 5. Her birthday.
The day started with her, as per usual, in my bed, terribly comfortable and taking up the majority of the space.
I was quite proud of the fact that I was able to stall her sufficiently to achieve breakfast for all, and all kids dressed before the presents were brought out. She opened them gleefully, was rapt with the contents, and then excited to leave them at home, knowing she was coming back to them, in order to go to "school" and take with her the 27 loot bags I had stayed up a fair thwack of last night putting together.
The things we do.
Anyway, the milk bar. Why milk bars?
Well I asked Miss 5 what she wanted for dinner, half expecting her to say McDonalds, which I was fully prepared for, and willing to provide. I'm not a huge fan, but I know the kids are, and it was Miss 5's birthday and she got to choose.
I'll recap for you. For her 4th birthday she chose to go to the Grand Hyatt for brunch.
Any ideas what she wanted for her 5th birthday?
Anything? Anyone?
I was surprised. I will tell you that much.
The request for dinner? A jam sandwich.
Yes.
A. Jam. Sandwich.
So I went in search of some nice bread that I could whip in and grab without having to wrangle three children through a supermarket.
Milk bar #1. "We don't sell bread." Wow. A milk bar that doesn't sell bread. What is the world coming to?
Milk bar #2. Granted it wasn't their fault. I couldn't get my car into the parking spot. I kinda got halfway before being nearly cleaned up by a bus and figured that was quite possibly a sign so off I went in search of Milk bar #3.
Milk bar #3. Fresh and amazingly soft bread. Score.
So back to what I was saying. What's your favourite number was asked as we were leaving Milk bar #3, as the natives were becoming restless and to be honest I just wanted to distract them.
"10!" screamed Master 3.
"Wow that's a great number" I replied.
"Miss 6, what's YOUR favourite number?"
"90!"
"Really?"
"Yes!!"
"Ok then….. So, birthday girl, what's YOUR favourite number?"
"101."
Fair enough too.
And then Miss 6 took it a little further.
"Do you know which number is my least favourite?? Miss birthday girl, what is YOUR least favourite number? Mine is a trillion."
"A trillion?" I queried.
"Yes, a trillion."
"Ok, so why don't you like a trillion?"
"Because, it's a trillion. How much is a trillion?"
"It's a lot."
Miss 5 decided to put in her 2 cents' worth.
"You know, infinity is the last number."
I had to say something. "Well, technically infinity is not actually a number." Oh god. What am I doing? What am I doing?? WHAT. AM. I. DOING?????
"Yes it is."
"No baby, it isn't."
"What do you mean infinity isn't a number?"
What followed is an example of how the time space continuum can be rattled and shaken to within an inch of its life whilst arguing complex theories of relativity and space and physics and chemistry. In other words, picture a 40 year old woman trying to explain the concept of infinity to a 6, 5 and 3 year old.
I think I got through to Master 3.
"To infinity, and BEYOND!"
"Infinity is my favourite number."
"It isn't a number."
"Yes it is."
"To infinity, and BEYOND!" Master 3. Again.
"To infinity, and BEYOND!" Miss 5.
"STOP. SAYING. THAT." Master 3.
"She only said it once baby."
Ugh. What did I do that for?
So we did finally make it home. Miss 5 had her much wanted jam sandwich, as did Miss 6, and Master 3 had Mi Goreng noodles. Because he didn't want a sandwich. And to be honest, of late, I know which battles to pick with him.
Time got away from us as I heard the theme to Spicks and Specks in the background. Channel 22 had been put on as we arrived home, but little watched as the Barbie lego took front and centre for Miss 5, Miss 6 was of course watching on, and Master 3 was fighting with the mess of Mi Goreng noodles surrounding him. Spicks and Specks follows the children's programming of the day.
I adore Spicks and Specks. Adore it. The kids don't mind a bit of Spicks and Specks action either.
But what was most adorable tonight was Miss 5 talking to Master 3 about it.
"Adam Hills. That's the man's name." she said to Master 3.
"Adam Heels?" he replied.
"No, Adam HILLS. Like *sung* Five little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away. HILLS. Like those hills."
Such an amazing little chickadee.
Happy birthday my wonderful little darling. Love you times infinity…. and beyond…..
No, we don't adore milk bars, but I was searching for something. Something that you would think would be rather easy to find but, as it turns out, in my particular suburb appears not to be.
Today was Miss 4's transition to being Miss 5. Her birthday.
The day started with her, as per usual, in my bed, terribly comfortable and taking up the majority of the space.
I was quite proud of the fact that I was able to stall her sufficiently to achieve breakfast for all, and all kids dressed before the presents were brought out. She opened them gleefully, was rapt with the contents, and then excited to leave them at home, knowing she was coming back to them, in order to go to "school" and take with her the 27 loot bags I had stayed up a fair thwack of last night putting together.
The things we do.
Anyway, the milk bar. Why milk bars?
Well I asked Miss 5 what she wanted for dinner, half expecting her to say McDonalds, which I was fully prepared for, and willing to provide. I'm not a huge fan, but I know the kids are, and it was Miss 5's birthday and she got to choose.
I'll recap for you. For her 4th birthday she chose to go to the Grand Hyatt for brunch.
Any ideas what she wanted for her 5th birthday?
Anything? Anyone?
I was surprised. I will tell you that much.
The request for dinner? A jam sandwich.
Yes.
A. Jam. Sandwich.
So I went in search of some nice bread that I could whip in and grab without having to wrangle three children through a supermarket.
Milk bar #1. "We don't sell bread." Wow. A milk bar that doesn't sell bread. What is the world coming to?
Milk bar #2. Granted it wasn't their fault. I couldn't get my car into the parking spot. I kinda got halfway before being nearly cleaned up by a bus and figured that was quite possibly a sign so off I went in search of Milk bar #3.
Milk bar #3. Fresh and amazingly soft bread. Score.
So back to what I was saying. What's your favourite number was asked as we were leaving Milk bar #3, as the natives were becoming restless and to be honest I just wanted to distract them.
"10!" screamed Master 3.
"Wow that's a great number" I replied.
"Miss 6, what's YOUR favourite number?"
"90!"
"Really?"
"Yes!!"
"Ok then….. So, birthday girl, what's YOUR favourite number?"
"101."
Fair enough too.
And then Miss 6 took it a little further.
"Do you know which number is my least favourite?? Miss birthday girl, what is YOUR least favourite number? Mine is a trillion."
"A trillion?" I queried.
"Yes, a trillion."
"Ok, so why don't you like a trillion?"
"Because, it's a trillion. How much is a trillion?"
"It's a lot."
Miss 5 decided to put in her 2 cents' worth.
"You know, infinity is the last number."
I had to say something. "Well, technically infinity is not actually a number." Oh god. What am I doing? What am I doing?? WHAT. AM. I. DOING?????
"Yes it is."
"No baby, it isn't."
"What do you mean infinity isn't a number?"
What followed is an example of how the time space continuum can be rattled and shaken to within an inch of its life whilst arguing complex theories of relativity and space and physics and chemistry. In other words, picture a 40 year old woman trying to explain the concept of infinity to a 6, 5 and 3 year old.
I think I got through to Master 3.
"To infinity, and BEYOND!"
"Infinity is my favourite number."
"It isn't a number."
"Yes it is."
"To infinity, and BEYOND!" Master 3. Again.
"To infinity, and BEYOND!" Miss 5.
"STOP. SAYING. THAT." Master 3.
"She only said it once baby."
Ugh. What did I do that for?
So we did finally make it home. Miss 5 had her much wanted jam sandwich, as did Miss 6, and Master 3 had Mi Goreng noodles. Because he didn't want a sandwich. And to be honest, of late, I know which battles to pick with him.
Time got away from us as I heard the theme to Spicks and Specks in the background. Channel 22 had been put on as we arrived home, but little watched as the Barbie lego took front and centre for Miss 5, Miss 6 was of course watching on, and Master 3 was fighting with the mess of Mi Goreng noodles surrounding him. Spicks and Specks follows the children's programming of the day.
I adore Spicks and Specks. Adore it. The kids don't mind a bit of Spicks and Specks action either.
But what was most adorable tonight was Miss 5 talking to Master 3 about it.
"Adam Hills. That's the man's name." she said to Master 3.
"Adam Heels?" he replied.
"No, Adam HILLS. Like *sung* Five little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away. HILLS. Like those hills."
Such an amazing little chickadee.
Happy birthday my wonderful little darling. Love you times infinity…. and beyond…..
Monday 30 June 2014
I'll give you the heads up.
If you don't insert the smoke detector battery correctly the smoke detector will let off a series of beeps at intervals of approximately 3.5 to 7 minutes.
It will not do this immediately having been changed. No. That would be far too convenient. It will wait. For hours. Sometimes days. Who knows. Whenever it is, it will make sure that there is nobody tall enough to fix it in the house at the time said beeping commences.
So I heard it go off. And my first instinct was to do what I always do when it goes off, and I grabbed a tea towel, went into the foyer and started fanning it.
And then I realised. There was no smoke.
Fabulous.
And so I did what every short person in the world does. I got a chair and stood on it, reaching madly for the ceiling, knowing full well that last time I did that I couldn't reach it, and then questioning myself as to why I thought that I may have grown an extra 6 inches or so in the last 6 months.
So down I hopped. And looked up. And sighed.
And then I went back into the kitchen, hung up the tea towel, became distracted by goodness knows what and then approximately 4 minutes later it went off again. Two beeps. Enough to make me deer in headlights it. Then it stopped. So I relaxed. And then it beeped again. Three times.
So I did what I usually do, and grabbed the tea towel, hightailed it into the foyer, and started madly waggling the tea towel in the air.
Woah. Déjà vu.
No. Smoke.
So then I said it out loud, as if that would then reaffirm in my mind that there was, in fact, no smoke. Which there wasn't. There was a teeny tiny moth. And I don't like moths at all. But that's another story. But with regards to the smoke, there was, actually, no smoke.
Smoke detector. Go home. You're drunk.
And so I decided I would look at the old battery. The one that had been removed from the smoke detector to be replaced with the new, improved, apparently malfunctioning battery.
It was bent. The little prong things on the battery were bent. My heart just about stopped. What if this meant that the smoke detector was broken. Like on the inside. And what if it meant that even if I DID manage to prise the mongrel battery out of the smoke detector, it STILL went off? I didn't even know if that was possible but I was going through all sorts of scenarios when the smoke detector started beeping again. Wherein I said to it "Stop. Stop doing that." and waggled my arms around like someone who has just walked into a spiderweb.
Seriously. The night was not going well.
So I drew out the big guns. I texted my friend and asked to borrow her husband.
Then I went and got a chair, put it underneath the bastard randomly screaming smoke detector, and stood there looking at it, clutching my phone in one hand and the bent old battery in the other, willing the smoke detector not to go off again, and when it did nearly fell off the chair and recommenced telling the smoke detector to stop it.
When my friend's husband arrived, ladder in hand (and Woolies stickers in his pocket, thanks very much to his gorgeous wife), he was as welcome as a souvlaki after a big night out.
Battery was ill-inserted it would seem. Problem solved. Thanks very much. And I really mean that. I owe you a bottle of wine……
So the air is now quiet. No beeps. No squawks from children (who went to bed nearly 1.5 hours later than usual due to the outing this evening, about which I haven't spoken but I daresay I may at some stage in the very near future).
Calm.
So calm that I am able to become acutely aware of the fact that tomorrow my darling Miss 4 becomes Miss 5.
The time does fly. Except when there is a malfunctioning smoke detector. Then my God does it drag. In case you wondered….
It will not do this immediately having been changed. No. That would be far too convenient. It will wait. For hours. Sometimes days. Who knows. Whenever it is, it will make sure that there is nobody tall enough to fix it in the house at the time said beeping commences.
So I heard it go off. And my first instinct was to do what I always do when it goes off, and I grabbed a tea towel, went into the foyer and started fanning it.
And then I realised. There was no smoke.
Fabulous.
And so I did what every short person in the world does. I got a chair and stood on it, reaching madly for the ceiling, knowing full well that last time I did that I couldn't reach it, and then questioning myself as to why I thought that I may have grown an extra 6 inches or so in the last 6 months.
So down I hopped. And looked up. And sighed.
And then I went back into the kitchen, hung up the tea towel, became distracted by goodness knows what and then approximately 4 minutes later it went off again. Two beeps. Enough to make me deer in headlights it. Then it stopped. So I relaxed. And then it beeped again. Three times.
So I did what I usually do, and grabbed the tea towel, hightailed it into the foyer, and started madly waggling the tea towel in the air.
Woah. Déjà vu.
No. Smoke.
So then I said it out loud, as if that would then reaffirm in my mind that there was, in fact, no smoke. Which there wasn't. There was a teeny tiny moth. And I don't like moths at all. But that's another story. But with regards to the smoke, there was, actually, no smoke.
Smoke detector. Go home. You're drunk.
And so I decided I would look at the old battery. The one that had been removed from the smoke detector to be replaced with the new, improved, apparently malfunctioning battery.
It was bent. The little prong things on the battery were bent. My heart just about stopped. What if this meant that the smoke detector was broken. Like on the inside. And what if it meant that even if I DID manage to prise the mongrel battery out of the smoke detector, it STILL went off? I didn't even know if that was possible but I was going through all sorts of scenarios when the smoke detector started beeping again. Wherein I said to it "Stop. Stop doing that." and waggled my arms around like someone who has just walked into a spiderweb.
Seriously. The night was not going well.
So I drew out the big guns. I texted my friend and asked to borrow her husband.
Then I went and got a chair, put it underneath the bastard randomly screaming smoke detector, and stood there looking at it, clutching my phone in one hand and the bent old battery in the other, willing the smoke detector not to go off again, and when it did nearly fell off the chair and recommenced telling the smoke detector to stop it.
When my friend's husband arrived, ladder in hand (and Woolies stickers in his pocket, thanks very much to his gorgeous wife), he was as welcome as a souvlaki after a big night out.
Battery was ill-inserted it would seem. Problem solved. Thanks very much. And I really mean that. I owe you a bottle of wine……
So the air is now quiet. No beeps. No squawks from children (who went to bed nearly 1.5 hours later than usual due to the outing this evening, about which I haven't spoken but I daresay I may at some stage in the very near future).
Calm.
So calm that I am able to become acutely aware of the fact that tomorrow my darling Miss 4 becomes Miss 5.
The time does fly. Except when there is a malfunctioning smoke detector. Then my God does it drag. In case you wondered….
Saturday 28 June 2014
Did you hear me just whistle?
"No" I replied to Master 3.
"Cos I heard a whistling sound."
This was perhaps the 8 or 9th time he had emerged from his room following being put to bed for the night.
There is always something.
"Mum?"
"Yes darling."
"I have to tell you something."
Which is when I mutter under my breath something unintelligible which even if it was intelligible would not be fit for this merry forum.
And so in I go.
"What is it baby?" smiling sweetly over gritted teeth.
"I…..need……some……water."
"I beg your pardon."
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeease."
This routine could go on in an infinite loop if let go.
Oh yes. Bedtime is fabulous.
The night before last Master 3 came out of his room.
"I heard a tram."
"A tram?"
"Yes. A tram. In my room."
"Darling, I can pretty much guarantee that what you heard in your room was most definitely not a tram."
"Oh. It sounded like a tram."
Go. To. Bed.
If asked to describe the last few months I would say "Challenging" is as good a word as any that doesn't utilise cuss words.
Master 3 has, I believe, received a lovely natural injection of testosterone which has made his usually exuberant personality more akin to what you would imagine would be the effects of injecting a rabbit with ADHD with speed. Or something like that.
He still hasn't stopped talking. If anything he has gotten worse. Because now he is talking to random people. Just for the hell of it. That, my friends, is not a comforting thing at all.
Sitting in the car the other day and I had just put everyone's seat belts on and was just about to close my door when I heard "Hi fella!!!!!" screamed from the back seat.
"Who are you talking to baby?" I asked.
"Him. That bloke over there. I didn't know his name so I just called him fella."
Righto then.
Miss 6 is going on 16. She has now lost 7 teeth. And I do believe she would quite happily rip out every single tooth in her mouth because she loves the tooth fairy. She loves all fairies actually. She recently made a fairy door and stuck it to her wall and then wrote letters to the fairy and left them out for her.
So of course I did the dutiful mum thing and wrote a note in teeny tiny writing in response. What I didn't anticipate was that the time of arising for Miss 6 is anything from 5 to 6 o'clock, and she bounded in, at whatever the hell time it was, to excitedly tell me all about the note she had received from her fairy "Anastasia".
Sometimes I really don't think things through.
Tis hard to believe my eldest baby is halfway through grade one now. The time is flying. She is getting taller by the day. Pretty soon she will pass me and I'll shrink below. I think they will all be taller than me actually.
She is still quite melodramatic and that, too, is increasing as her age and height increases….
"I'm scared of the dark."
"Why are you scared of the dark baby? There's nothing to be afraid of, it's just the same as daytime only darker" (oh yes, way to go mum, convincing argument there. Give me a break I don't sleep much.)
"Well, there are bats out there you know. There are owls out there. There are terrifying creatures out there. It is daaaaaaaangerous."
Sometimes I just have nothing. No words. I just wait to see if there is any more, and if there isn't, I leave a decent enough gap and change the topic.
Miss 4 is now nearly Miss 5. Tuesday is the day. And she has been amazing me constantly for the last few months, and forever really. Well, her forever, since she came into life. I didn't know her before then obviously. Although having gestational diabetes while pregnant with her she really wasn't my most favourite person while she was in utero.
But I digress.
She is still a smart little cookie. Looking at a picture the other day I asked her if it was sunny or if it was raining. Her answer? It is raining. Well, there was a clear picture of a sun and no rain in sight, so I corrected her and said no, it is sunny.
And her next answer? Well there is a rainbow so the rain has obviously only just finished.
Yep.
Her drawing has come in leaps and bounds too. She colours in better than I do, and has a beautiful way of drawing people and things in general. She will adore school and can't wait to go.
In general though, my babies are doing really well, and still saying random hilarious things to cheer me up. They have tried a few new foods "I liked it but can you please never give that to me again." Okay then.
The conversations in the car can range from "I don't remember what I did today" to "Did you know that jellyfish are actually called sea jellies?" to "I've never been inside a killer whale." No. I expect you haven't.
I still adore the lost in translation scenarios too. Many of my friends will know I often call girls "chickadee". I had to laugh when I heard one of the kids call the other "chicken bee".
Master 3 came out loudly declaring that there was a genius in his room and that it was coming for him. Miss 4 followed.
"The geniuses are after us!!!!"
I was enthralled. I had to find out.
"Baby, what's a genius?"
"You know, those big things, and they give you wishes."
"Genie. That's a genie baby."
"Aaaaaaaaagh the genies are coming for us!!!"
Life is never dull.
I have actually appreciated the time away. It did actually make me realise that I kind of enjoy this little blog. But I don't "need" it. And I needed to know that I didn't need it. Which I now do.
I shall leave you with the best thing I heard all day. It was spurred upon by a post I was looking at which read as follows:
"Work like you don't need the money
Love like you've never been hurt
And dance like no one is watching"
Miss 6….. "Work like you don't need the monkeys?? I don't get it."
Gotta love them. And that I do. Immensely.
"Cos I heard a whistling sound."
This was perhaps the 8 or 9th time he had emerged from his room following being put to bed for the night.
There is always something.
"Mum?"
"Yes darling."
"I have to tell you something."
Which is when I mutter under my breath something unintelligible which even if it was intelligible would not be fit for this merry forum.
And so in I go.
"What is it baby?" smiling sweetly over gritted teeth.
"I…..need……some……water."
"I beg your pardon."
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeease."
This routine could go on in an infinite loop if let go.
Oh yes. Bedtime is fabulous.
The night before last Master 3 came out of his room.
"I heard a tram."
"A tram?"
"Yes. A tram. In my room."
"Darling, I can pretty much guarantee that what you heard in your room was most definitely not a tram."
"Oh. It sounded like a tram."
Go. To. Bed.
If asked to describe the last few months I would say "Challenging" is as good a word as any that doesn't utilise cuss words.
Master 3 has, I believe, received a lovely natural injection of testosterone which has made his usually exuberant personality more akin to what you would imagine would be the effects of injecting a rabbit with ADHD with speed. Or something like that.
He still hasn't stopped talking. If anything he has gotten worse. Because now he is talking to random people. Just for the hell of it. That, my friends, is not a comforting thing at all.
Sitting in the car the other day and I had just put everyone's seat belts on and was just about to close my door when I heard "Hi fella!!!!!" screamed from the back seat.
"Who are you talking to baby?" I asked.
"Him. That bloke over there. I didn't know his name so I just called him fella."
Righto then.
Miss 6 is going on 16. She has now lost 7 teeth. And I do believe she would quite happily rip out every single tooth in her mouth because she loves the tooth fairy. She loves all fairies actually. She recently made a fairy door and stuck it to her wall and then wrote letters to the fairy and left them out for her.
So of course I did the dutiful mum thing and wrote a note in teeny tiny writing in response. What I didn't anticipate was that the time of arising for Miss 6 is anything from 5 to 6 o'clock, and she bounded in, at whatever the hell time it was, to excitedly tell me all about the note she had received from her fairy "Anastasia".
Sometimes I really don't think things through.
Tis hard to believe my eldest baby is halfway through grade one now. The time is flying. She is getting taller by the day. Pretty soon she will pass me and I'll shrink below. I think they will all be taller than me actually.
She is still quite melodramatic and that, too, is increasing as her age and height increases….
"I'm scared of the dark."
"Why are you scared of the dark baby? There's nothing to be afraid of, it's just the same as daytime only darker" (oh yes, way to go mum, convincing argument there. Give me a break I don't sleep much.)
"Well, there are bats out there you know. There are owls out there. There are terrifying creatures out there. It is daaaaaaaangerous."
Sometimes I just have nothing. No words. I just wait to see if there is any more, and if there isn't, I leave a decent enough gap and change the topic.
Miss 4 is now nearly Miss 5. Tuesday is the day. And she has been amazing me constantly for the last few months, and forever really. Well, her forever, since she came into life. I didn't know her before then obviously. Although having gestational diabetes while pregnant with her she really wasn't my most favourite person while she was in utero.
But I digress.
She is still a smart little cookie. Looking at a picture the other day I asked her if it was sunny or if it was raining. Her answer? It is raining. Well, there was a clear picture of a sun and no rain in sight, so I corrected her and said no, it is sunny.
And her next answer? Well there is a rainbow so the rain has obviously only just finished.
Yep.
Her drawing has come in leaps and bounds too. She colours in better than I do, and has a beautiful way of drawing people and things in general. She will adore school and can't wait to go.
In general though, my babies are doing really well, and still saying random hilarious things to cheer me up. They have tried a few new foods "I liked it but can you please never give that to me again." Okay then.
The conversations in the car can range from "I don't remember what I did today" to "Did you know that jellyfish are actually called sea jellies?" to "I've never been inside a killer whale." No. I expect you haven't.
I still adore the lost in translation scenarios too. Many of my friends will know I often call girls "chickadee". I had to laugh when I heard one of the kids call the other "chicken bee".
Master 3 came out loudly declaring that there was a genius in his room and that it was coming for him. Miss 4 followed.
"The geniuses are after us!!!!"
I was enthralled. I had to find out.
"Baby, what's a genius?"
"You know, those big things, and they give you wishes."
"Genie. That's a genie baby."
"Aaaaaaaaagh the genies are coming for us!!!"
Life is never dull.
I have actually appreciated the time away. It did actually make me realise that I kind of enjoy this little blog. But I don't "need" it. And I needed to know that I didn't need it. Which I now do.
I shall leave you with the best thing I heard all day. It was spurred upon by a post I was looking at which read as follows:
"Work like you don't need the money
Love like you've never been hurt
And dance like no one is watching"
Miss 6….. "Work like you don't need the monkeys?? I don't get it."
Gotta love them. And that I do. Immensely.
Thursday 24 April 2014
Rice.
As Mitch Hedberg once said, it's great if you're really hungry and want to eat two thousand of something.
But with small children, practical it is not.
And it is the second hardest substance on earth, when set. Second only to diamonds. In fact you could probably cut glass with rice that has fallen from a 3 year old's plate onto the edge of the chair, the carpet, or, in some wonderfully random cases, the wall.
Cleaning up is futile. You should probably just move.
What a shame it is cheap and all the kids love it. I have to keep serving it to them. And put up with the aftermath.
Aftermath. Before I had children I would never have thought to use that word in relation to children. But my god it is appropriate, at so many times, in so many ways.
My child ate baked beans. The aftermath was horrific.
My child discovered my makeup. Aftermath.
My children (yes, plural) found where I hid the textas. Aftermath. Devastating.
My children had an entire easter bunny for breakfast on Easter Sunday. Never before has there been such an aftermath as the enormous sugar rush and subsequent come down as followed on from this most unfortunate of events.
Anyway. You get the gist.
You wonder what they are thinking when they play games. Sometimes they are logical games, role plays, going to the shops, or school, or doing a little show.
Sometimes they are more obscure. Miss 4 piped up with "Hey, let's play kick the hand!"
Seriously. Do you really think that is going to end well? For anyone?
The other day I was doing the dishes and heard "I'm going to kill you!" screamed out from the bedroom. Of course I investigated. I was assured that they were just playing. I tried to emphasise that playing "I'm going to kill you" is not the best game as we don't want to kill one another, we love one another.
Miss 4 looked at me stoically. "It's just a game mum."
Yep. I know. But still. Tis just a tad bit terrifying.
We had an interesting conversation in the car the other day.
Master 3. "Mum, one day can we go to the moon?"
"No baby, it's a bit far."
"Maybe we could go in a rocket ship?"
"Actually yes, you could go, if you decide to become an astronaut when you grow up."
"Mum?"
"Yes baby."
"When I grow up I want to be an astronaut."
"Ok baby."
Miss 4 joins in. "I want to be an astronaut too."
"You can be whatever you want. Anything at all. Except a jockey." (long story)
So Master 3 wants to be an astronaut, helicopter pilot and a football player.
Miss 4 currently wants to be a teacher or a doctor.
Miss 5 still maintains she wants to be an artist.
And I do support them, in whatever they want to do (except if they want to be a jockey in which case I will talk them out of it with every inch of my being).
Tomorrow is a special day. Yes, it is Anzac Day. But it is also Miss 5's birthday. She will become Miss 6.
I can't believe it. I just can't. I remember the day she was born, and the Aussie music marathon playing on the radio, and essentially I am there. Now. It has just happened.
And here she is. Nearly 6. In grade 1. And such a beautiful baby with quite possibly the most gentle soul of any child I have ever met.
Everyone we saw today heard. "It's my birthday tomorrow!!!!!!" Even people who weren't in the near vicinity…. "Excuse me…. EXCUSE ME!!!!!!" *waits for them to turn around* "It's my birthday tomorrow!!!!!!" *massive smile*
Adorable.
We are going away tomorrow in celebration of her birthday, and a belated celebration for my 40th. It will be wonderful. But cold. Freezing cold.
And so I have now decided that all our future excursions (save for the one we will take to the snow one day) will be in temperate climates. Seriously. The amount of clothes we are bringing is insane!
So I must away. I have not yet completed the packing and in approximately 12 hours we will be on the road. Miss then 6 (*sniff*) will have been given her presents, which I hope she loves, and we will be on our way to celebrate with family and friends.
And to all those going away, and even if you aren't, stay safe. Don't drink and drive. Don't drive angry (groundhog day flashback) and be good to one another.
Just remember, we're all in this life together. Why make it more difficult than it has to be?
So tomorrow do something for someone. It could be as small as opening a door for them. Or offering a smile to an icy reception. That person may be down on life and your smile may be all it takes for them to see that there is joy in this world.
Be happy. Be kind.
And above all, be true to yourself.
I'll see you when I get back.
But with small children, practical it is not.
And it is the second hardest substance on earth, when set. Second only to diamonds. In fact you could probably cut glass with rice that has fallen from a 3 year old's plate onto the edge of the chair, the carpet, or, in some wonderfully random cases, the wall.
Cleaning up is futile. You should probably just move.
What a shame it is cheap and all the kids love it. I have to keep serving it to them. And put up with the aftermath.
Aftermath. Before I had children I would never have thought to use that word in relation to children. But my god it is appropriate, at so many times, in so many ways.
My child ate baked beans. The aftermath was horrific.
My child discovered my makeup. Aftermath.
My children (yes, plural) found where I hid the textas. Aftermath. Devastating.
My children had an entire easter bunny for breakfast on Easter Sunday. Never before has there been such an aftermath as the enormous sugar rush and subsequent come down as followed on from this most unfortunate of events.
Anyway. You get the gist.
You wonder what they are thinking when they play games. Sometimes they are logical games, role plays, going to the shops, or school, or doing a little show.
Sometimes they are more obscure. Miss 4 piped up with "Hey, let's play kick the hand!"
Seriously. Do you really think that is going to end well? For anyone?
The other day I was doing the dishes and heard "I'm going to kill you!" screamed out from the bedroom. Of course I investigated. I was assured that they were just playing. I tried to emphasise that playing "I'm going to kill you" is not the best game as we don't want to kill one another, we love one another.
Miss 4 looked at me stoically. "It's just a game mum."
Yep. I know. But still. Tis just a tad bit terrifying.
We had an interesting conversation in the car the other day.
Master 3. "Mum, one day can we go to the moon?"
"No baby, it's a bit far."
"Maybe we could go in a rocket ship?"
"Actually yes, you could go, if you decide to become an astronaut when you grow up."
"Mum?"
"Yes baby."
"When I grow up I want to be an astronaut."
"Ok baby."
Miss 4 joins in. "I want to be an astronaut too."
"You can be whatever you want. Anything at all. Except a jockey." (long story)
So Master 3 wants to be an astronaut, helicopter pilot and a football player.
Miss 4 currently wants to be a teacher or a doctor.
Miss 5 still maintains she wants to be an artist.
And I do support them, in whatever they want to do (except if they want to be a jockey in which case I will talk them out of it with every inch of my being).
Tomorrow is a special day. Yes, it is Anzac Day. But it is also Miss 5's birthday. She will become Miss 6.
I can't believe it. I just can't. I remember the day she was born, and the Aussie music marathon playing on the radio, and essentially I am there. Now. It has just happened.
And here she is. Nearly 6. In grade 1. And such a beautiful baby with quite possibly the most gentle soul of any child I have ever met.
Everyone we saw today heard. "It's my birthday tomorrow!!!!!!" Even people who weren't in the near vicinity…. "Excuse me…. EXCUSE ME!!!!!!" *waits for them to turn around* "It's my birthday tomorrow!!!!!!" *massive smile*
Adorable.
We are going away tomorrow in celebration of her birthday, and a belated celebration for my 40th. It will be wonderful. But cold. Freezing cold.
And so I have now decided that all our future excursions (save for the one we will take to the snow one day) will be in temperate climates. Seriously. The amount of clothes we are bringing is insane!
So I must away. I have not yet completed the packing and in approximately 12 hours we will be on the road. Miss then 6 (*sniff*) will have been given her presents, which I hope she loves, and we will be on our way to celebrate with family and friends.
And to all those going away, and even if you aren't, stay safe. Don't drink and drive. Don't drive angry (groundhog day flashback) and be good to one another.
Just remember, we're all in this life together. Why make it more difficult than it has to be?
So tomorrow do something for someone. It could be as small as opening a door for them. Or offering a smile to an icy reception. That person may be down on life and your smile may be all it takes for them to see that there is joy in this world.
Be happy. Be kind.
And above all, be true to yourself.
I'll see you when I get back.
Saturday 19 April 2014
Bribery.
Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.
Before I had children I swore there were a million different things I would never do. Bribery was one of them.
I would like to add at this point that bribery has saved me from institutionalisation. On many an occasion. And do you know what? I don't care. If it works, I'm using it.
That's the thing. Before you have kids you just don't know.
You don't know that the hard part of the day won't be getting Miss 4 to brush her teeth. It will be getting her to agree to wear leggings instead of shorts. On a 14 degree day.
You don't know that the hard part of dinner won't be getting your child to eat. It will be getting them to stop. Granted this is not the same for everyone. I am blessed with good eaters. Who cost me an absolute fortune in (thankfully mainly healthy) food.
Anyway, I could go on. I won't.
So it's Easter. Aside from the true meaning behind Easter, about which people speak very little, the chocolate egg side of things is not really my kind of thing. I don't eat chocolate and I really don't like sweets. But the kids do. And they do. And they are just about busting apart with excitement at what the Easter bunny might bring.
I had the last few nights without them. Thursday night a very dear friend with whom I used to work came over from England for a visit. Well, she didn't just come to see me, but she came to Australia and we made a point of catching up. And catch up we did. In stupendous style. Aboard the Colonial Tramcar Restaurant.
Now I had heard mixed reviews, I must admit. But I tell you this. Having experienced this for myself, I would recommend it to absolutely anyone. Aside from the fact that the ambience is fabulous, the food was amazing, the staff were truly entertaining, and the wine flowed freely. Toss in fabulous company and there is really no better way to spend an evening.
Following on from that we ran (well, ambled at a less than ambling pace) over to Crown. The entertainment destination. Predominantly because we had had many glasses of wine and there are things one must do.
That aside, we had a fabulous time at Crown. This however was largely in part due to my gorgeous friend and her friend, who also came along for the evening. I had never met her before but by a very short time in to the proceedings it was as though we'd known each other for ages. It was just one of those nights. Easy. Fabulous. Fun. And I was home in bed by 12.30am with a massive smile on my face, knowing that whilst I had had an enormously fabulous night, I could also sleep in.
So at 7.05am I woke up. Because that's what you do when you can sleep in.
Ah well. I did manage to lie in bed happy about the fact that I could lie in bed. I didn't sleep though. But I didn't get up. I think that is a fairly important point to make.
I spent the majority of yesterday cleaning. As you do when you have kid-free time.
Last night was the clincher though. I had a kid-free night, again, and what did I do?
Have a guess.
Yes. I spent four hours watching videos and looking at photos of my babies as they were growing up.
My kid-free night was spent marvelling at the wonder that is my children. And it made me appreciate them all the more. I was drawn back to those times. The time Miss 5 was 8 months old and dancing to the music shows on the tv, or crab walking on the front lawn, or learning how to growl like a lion.
Drawn back to Miss 4 who did a striking impersonation of Winston Churchill when she was 6 months old. Or watching her cute little face as she mock shyly danced with her sister.
Watching the interaction between the three growing up is amazing.
They are amazing.
I am just so lucky.
Yes, they can be bloody hard work, and are regularly so.
But my god they are worth it.
And tonight they have all gone to bed, after many hugs and kisses, and the Easter Bunny may just have bounced his way into the house, put some eggs into their various little baskets and bags, eaten a carrot and a leaf of lettuce, and hidden 60 odd mini eggs around the house before bouncing in to see each child then bouncing off to the next household.
And whilst he has left a note on the table for the three, telling them the eggs he has hidden are "colour coded" (so as to ensure there is an even split), mum has also written a note which is blue tacked to the lounge room door.
WAKE MUM FIRST!!!!! :) <3
Tomorrow, on Easter Sunday, may you eat, drink and be merry.
Love your loved ones.
Forgive the family squabbles that will no doubt happen.
Cherish the moments, embrace the spirit, and be happy.
And don't forget to drive safely.
Happy Easter one and all.
Before I had children I swore there were a million different things I would never do. Bribery was one of them.
I would like to add at this point that bribery has saved me from institutionalisation. On many an occasion. And do you know what? I don't care. If it works, I'm using it.
That's the thing. Before you have kids you just don't know.
You don't know that the hard part of the day won't be getting Miss 4 to brush her teeth. It will be getting her to agree to wear leggings instead of shorts. On a 14 degree day.
You don't know that the hard part of dinner won't be getting your child to eat. It will be getting them to stop. Granted this is not the same for everyone. I am blessed with good eaters. Who cost me an absolute fortune in (thankfully mainly healthy) food.
Anyway, I could go on. I won't.
So it's Easter. Aside from the true meaning behind Easter, about which people speak very little, the chocolate egg side of things is not really my kind of thing. I don't eat chocolate and I really don't like sweets. But the kids do. And they do. And they are just about busting apart with excitement at what the Easter bunny might bring.
I had the last few nights without them. Thursday night a very dear friend with whom I used to work came over from England for a visit. Well, she didn't just come to see me, but she came to Australia and we made a point of catching up. And catch up we did. In stupendous style. Aboard the Colonial Tramcar Restaurant.
Now I had heard mixed reviews, I must admit. But I tell you this. Having experienced this for myself, I would recommend it to absolutely anyone. Aside from the fact that the ambience is fabulous, the food was amazing, the staff were truly entertaining, and the wine flowed freely. Toss in fabulous company and there is really no better way to spend an evening.
Following on from that we ran (well, ambled at a less than ambling pace) over to Crown. The entertainment destination. Predominantly because we had had many glasses of wine and there are things one must do.
That aside, we had a fabulous time at Crown. This however was largely in part due to my gorgeous friend and her friend, who also came along for the evening. I had never met her before but by a very short time in to the proceedings it was as though we'd known each other for ages. It was just one of those nights. Easy. Fabulous. Fun. And I was home in bed by 12.30am with a massive smile on my face, knowing that whilst I had had an enormously fabulous night, I could also sleep in.
So at 7.05am I woke up. Because that's what you do when you can sleep in.
Ah well. I did manage to lie in bed happy about the fact that I could lie in bed. I didn't sleep though. But I didn't get up. I think that is a fairly important point to make.
I spent the majority of yesterday cleaning. As you do when you have kid-free time.
Last night was the clincher though. I had a kid-free night, again, and what did I do?
Have a guess.
Yes. I spent four hours watching videos and looking at photos of my babies as they were growing up.
My kid-free night was spent marvelling at the wonder that is my children. And it made me appreciate them all the more. I was drawn back to those times. The time Miss 5 was 8 months old and dancing to the music shows on the tv, or crab walking on the front lawn, or learning how to growl like a lion.
Drawn back to Miss 4 who did a striking impersonation of Winston Churchill when she was 6 months old. Or watching her cute little face as she mock shyly danced with her sister.
Watching the interaction between the three growing up is amazing.
They are amazing.
I am just so lucky.
Yes, they can be bloody hard work, and are regularly so.
But my god they are worth it.
And tonight they have all gone to bed, after many hugs and kisses, and the Easter Bunny may just have bounced his way into the house, put some eggs into their various little baskets and bags, eaten a carrot and a leaf of lettuce, and hidden 60 odd mini eggs around the house before bouncing in to see each child then bouncing off to the next household.
And whilst he has left a note on the table for the three, telling them the eggs he has hidden are "colour coded" (so as to ensure there is an even split), mum has also written a note which is blue tacked to the lounge room door.
WAKE MUM FIRST!!!!! :) <3
Tomorrow, on Easter Sunday, may you eat, drink and be merry.
Love your loved ones.
Forgive the family squabbles that will no doubt happen.
Cherish the moments, embrace the spirit, and be happy.
And don't forget to drive safely.
Happy Easter one and all.
Wednesday 16 April 2014
Mummy
The number of times I hear that word in a day is innumerable.
The tones in which that word is delivered - also innumerable.
The physical actions that accompany the delivery of that word, well, at times the mind boggles.
This morning as I lay in bed, attempting to sleep, and failing miserably due to the presence, once again, of Miss 4 beside me, randomly thwacking me in the head with her active left arm, Master 3 came running in. He was saying a word. Can you guess what that word is?
Yes.
"Muuuummmmmyyyyyyy?"
Shoosh. Truly. I have no idea what the hell time it is but my alarm has not yet gone off and even though I am being regularly attacked by 4 year old arm I am taking that over being vertical.
"Yes darling?"
"MY NAPPY IS DRY!!!"
This is damn exciting. This 4 out of the last 5 nights of dry nappy.
And I am excited. But god I am tired.
So I feign excitement (which isn't really feigned because I AM actually excited, albeit tired) and say "Oh well done little man!!! That is fabulous!!!! I'll get you a sticker when I get up to my alarm." (Oh god PLEASE let him understand that that means I am not moving).
Bless you child. He understood.
What I don't understand is how it can be so difficult for a child to get dressed in the morning.
Before I had kids I just assumed that parents would dress children and they could leave the house.
Babow.
No.
Doesn't happen.
Not here anyway.
My kids like to CHOOSE their clothes. Every. Bloody. Day.
So every day we go through the "What temperature is it going to be?" and the rush to my phone to scroll the screen down to see, and then gauge what it is they may be able to wear?
"Can I wear shorts?" asks Miss 4.
"No baby, it's too cold."
Miss 4 would wear shorts every day of her life if she could. She loves them. It is insane. But she also loves the really boho style tops as well. And wears them with her shorts. She's a trendsetter, that's for sure.
Miss 5 went to the holiday program today dressed as the easter bunny. As you do. White leggings with pink leggings on top. Then a white long sleeved top with a pink long sleeved top over it. And a pair of sparkly bunny ears on a headband. And pink socks and white shoes. She actually looked pretty cool.
Master 3 is the worst. I am not allowed to choose his clothing. Ever. Including pyjamas. He must choose. Including which underpants, socks and shoes.
Nobody tells you that. Your children will hold you to ransom because they want to wear a specific item that is at the bottom of the washing machine, unwashed because the machine is either not full, or you stayed up later than anticipated because one or more was sleepwalking/sleeptalking/somethinging, or you were tired, or you just forgot. And then world war III ensues. Because that is all they want.
God. Help. Me.
And I have this times three. And still have to get out of the house by 8.30am. Every morning. Well, most anyway.
I had some stuff I wanted to say. I can't remember it. It is like when you go into a room and you stand there like an idiot thinking why the hell did I come in here? So you stand some more, look around and leave.
I went to the hardware store the other day to buy some weedkiller. I got to the hardware store and just stood there, at the entrance, looking around blankly. I knew I was there for a reason. Buggered if I knew what that reason was. So I wandered around for a while, grabbed a mop, bought that and came home.
And as I drove in the driveway I thought gee those weeds could use poisoning. I should get something for that. And picked up my mop and went inside.
It wasn't until I was walking through the laundry later that night and saw the mop I already had that it twigged. Poison.
That mop needed replacing anyway.
Yes. Of course it did.
The tones in which that word is delivered - also innumerable.
The physical actions that accompany the delivery of that word, well, at times the mind boggles.
This morning as I lay in bed, attempting to sleep, and failing miserably due to the presence, once again, of Miss 4 beside me, randomly thwacking me in the head with her active left arm, Master 3 came running in. He was saying a word. Can you guess what that word is?
Yes.
"Muuuummmmmyyyyyyy?"
Shoosh. Truly. I have no idea what the hell time it is but my alarm has not yet gone off and even though I am being regularly attacked by 4 year old arm I am taking that over being vertical.
"Yes darling?"
"MY NAPPY IS DRY!!!"
This is damn exciting. This 4 out of the last 5 nights of dry nappy.
And I am excited. But god I am tired.
So I feign excitement (which isn't really feigned because I AM actually excited, albeit tired) and say "Oh well done little man!!! That is fabulous!!!! I'll get you a sticker when I get up to my alarm." (Oh god PLEASE let him understand that that means I am not moving).
Bless you child. He understood.
What I don't understand is how it can be so difficult for a child to get dressed in the morning.
Before I had kids I just assumed that parents would dress children and they could leave the house.
Babow.
No.
Doesn't happen.
Not here anyway.
My kids like to CHOOSE their clothes. Every. Bloody. Day.
So every day we go through the "What temperature is it going to be?" and the rush to my phone to scroll the screen down to see, and then gauge what it is they may be able to wear?
"Can I wear shorts?" asks Miss 4.
"No baby, it's too cold."
Miss 4 would wear shorts every day of her life if she could. She loves them. It is insane. But she also loves the really boho style tops as well. And wears them with her shorts. She's a trendsetter, that's for sure.
Miss 5 went to the holiday program today dressed as the easter bunny. As you do. White leggings with pink leggings on top. Then a white long sleeved top with a pink long sleeved top over it. And a pair of sparkly bunny ears on a headband. And pink socks and white shoes. She actually looked pretty cool.
Master 3 is the worst. I am not allowed to choose his clothing. Ever. Including pyjamas. He must choose. Including which underpants, socks and shoes.
Nobody tells you that. Your children will hold you to ransom because they want to wear a specific item that is at the bottom of the washing machine, unwashed because the machine is either not full, or you stayed up later than anticipated because one or more was sleepwalking/sleeptalking/somethinging, or you were tired, or you just forgot. And then world war III ensues. Because that is all they want.
God. Help. Me.
And I have this times three. And still have to get out of the house by 8.30am. Every morning. Well, most anyway.
I had some stuff I wanted to say. I can't remember it. It is like when you go into a room and you stand there like an idiot thinking why the hell did I come in here? So you stand some more, look around and leave.
I went to the hardware store the other day to buy some weedkiller. I got to the hardware store and just stood there, at the entrance, looking around blankly. I knew I was there for a reason. Buggered if I knew what that reason was. So I wandered around for a while, grabbed a mop, bought that and came home.
And as I drove in the driveway I thought gee those weeds could use poisoning. I should get something for that. And picked up my mop and went inside.
It wasn't until I was walking through the laundry later that night and saw the mop I already had that it twigged. Poison.
That mop needed replacing anyway.
Yes. Of course it did.
Sunday 13 April 2014
Has it really been that long
since I posted??
I could have sworn that mere days ago I jotted down the inner ramblings of my addled mind. Apparently not. Apparently my addled mind addled itself further by leading me to believe that I had posted when in fact I had not. What I had done, in fact, was thought. And thus that led me to believe that said thoughts had been transcribed into text and blogged when in fact they hadn't.
So there you go.
Anyway. The week has been a busy one. A good one, but a busy one.
I'm really looking forward to Easter next week. And not for the obvious reasons.
I don't really like Easter. As a general rule. For someone who is allergic to chocolate it really doesn't float my boat. Yes, I realise there is a deeper meaning to Easter, and we as Catholics in this little family unit, respect that. However that opens up a whole other annoyance factor with Easter, that being that during Lent (the lead up to Easter) Catholics do not eat meat on Fridays.
Now I would be quite happy, as a terrible Catholic, to eat meat every Friday except for Good Friday. Even many non-Catholics practise the "don't eat meat on Good Friday" thing, and seafood places are booked out months in advance and the markets sell an entire year's worth of prawns every Good Friday.
But Miss 5 is slightly more hardcore than me.
The first Friday in Lent I sent her to school with a salami sandwich. She was rather unimpressed and proceeded to lecture me about the importance of not eating meat on Fridays in Lent, so much so that we had to write "NO MEAT" on every Friday on the calendar until such time as Easter visits.
Fabulous.
Fridays are hard. Really really hard. Meat is my snack. I never realised quite how much meat I ate until I wasn't allowed to eat it. For just one day. Which reinforces my notion that I could never, ever, be a vegetarian.
The kids did a show for me tonight. They had their little discussions in the foyer, Miss 5 came into the lounge and did the whole "Ladies and gentlemen, we'd like to present for you this our show."
It's funny, kids and shows. We had dancing (attempts at imitating ballet dancers from the television - we are not dancers in this house), singing (I loved the rendition of "I miss you"), cartwheels and all sorts of activities. In show form.
At one point Miss 5 and Miss 4 were preparing to do their ballet dance. I vaguely noted Master 3 standing at the doorway, but didn't give it much thought as I figured he was just watching. Then the lights went out. He was standing on a little step, and as soon as he had turned the lights out he turned a torch on and shone it on the girls "It's a show" he said "Shows do that."
I was speechless.
So the show went on. And on. And on. And on. And anyone with children who are in the show performing age will know that these shows may well go on until such time as the children reach high school. The one show I mean. They just. Go. On.
I have to share with you the lyrics of "I miss you", Miss 5's wonderful first song.
"I miss you, when I go to school, and I don't see you. But I knoooooooow that you will come to pick me up, later, after schooooooooool. And I love you and I miss you…..soooooooo much."
She is adorable. Going through a massively clingy phase. But adorable.
Yesterday was a great day. Not just a good day. Actually not just a great day. It was a fabulous day.
The girls got hair cuts. Nothing monumental? Um, I beg to differ. They both have long hair. Miss 5 has had probably 7 or 8 hair cuts in her life. Miss 4? Um. No. Her hair, which she could sit on, still retained her "baby curls". She had never had it cut. Unless you include the two snips a random hairdresser attempted when Miss 4 was Miss 18 months, and which resulted in a sound not dissimilar from the air raid sirens utilised in World War II.
And in that regard I was surprised. Actually that is not correct. I was gobsmacked. Miss 4 was amazing. Absolutely. Amazing. She sat still for the entire time. She did as she was asked with regard to moving her head in different directions. She didn't cry. She didn't flinch. She was amazing.
And what is more amazing is that my darling Miss 4 wanted to have her hair put in the plait so she could donate it for wigs. How would she know of this?? She had heard me talking to them when I was explaining that I was going to cut my hair really short to donate it. This was, of course, before I realised that if you have more than 5% grey you can't actually donate your hair. My percentage, um, undisclosed, but far more than 5. But I digress. Miss 4 shall be posting off her plait.
And the haircuts on both the girls look just amazing. Adorable. Just. Brilliant. And they are both rapt.
The rest of the day was great too. A visit to Bunnings to get some more plants for our newly created veggie patch (that was a Friday activity courtesy of some amazing friends who gave up their time and physical energy to create this for me, and to whom I am immensely grateful), then planting them, a few more outings and then all kidlets going to bed without incident. Astounding.
Today was less smooth. Random stupid things happened. I cut myself on a knife while doing the dishes. That didn't tickle. More random than that, I went to grab a cake rack from the sink. This cake rack is not the normal across only cake rack. This one is a "check" pattern cake rack. So when it fell, and I went to grab it, one of my fingers inadvertently slipped through one of the holes, and the rack twisted around further as it fell, such that my finger became stuck in the cake rack. Rather painfully I might add. It probably would have been removed quicker if I hadn't stood there saying "are you kidding me?" out loud to the cake rack. So removed it is. Albeit a little larger than the other fingers now.
So I promise I shan't leave as long between posts as I have done this time.
I shall leave you with this thought. Sometimes, kids say things. Sometimes these things can cut deeply. They aren't always true. But they are said, and they can hurt. Other times, kids say things and you just have to look at them. And wonder what the hell they are thinking.
"I love you mummy. You look like an egg. Your head, it's like the top of an egg. I love you so much."
So there you go. I am officially entitled to crack every once in a while. After all. Eggs do that.
I could have sworn that mere days ago I jotted down the inner ramblings of my addled mind. Apparently not. Apparently my addled mind addled itself further by leading me to believe that I had posted when in fact I had not. What I had done, in fact, was thought. And thus that led me to believe that said thoughts had been transcribed into text and blogged when in fact they hadn't.
So there you go.
Anyway. The week has been a busy one. A good one, but a busy one.
I'm really looking forward to Easter next week. And not for the obvious reasons.
I don't really like Easter. As a general rule. For someone who is allergic to chocolate it really doesn't float my boat. Yes, I realise there is a deeper meaning to Easter, and we as Catholics in this little family unit, respect that. However that opens up a whole other annoyance factor with Easter, that being that during Lent (the lead up to Easter) Catholics do not eat meat on Fridays.
Now I would be quite happy, as a terrible Catholic, to eat meat every Friday except for Good Friday. Even many non-Catholics practise the "don't eat meat on Good Friday" thing, and seafood places are booked out months in advance and the markets sell an entire year's worth of prawns every Good Friday.
But Miss 5 is slightly more hardcore than me.
The first Friday in Lent I sent her to school with a salami sandwich. She was rather unimpressed and proceeded to lecture me about the importance of not eating meat on Fridays in Lent, so much so that we had to write "NO MEAT" on every Friday on the calendar until such time as Easter visits.
Fabulous.
Fridays are hard. Really really hard. Meat is my snack. I never realised quite how much meat I ate until I wasn't allowed to eat it. For just one day. Which reinforces my notion that I could never, ever, be a vegetarian.
The kids did a show for me tonight. They had their little discussions in the foyer, Miss 5 came into the lounge and did the whole "Ladies and gentlemen, we'd like to present for you this our show."
It's funny, kids and shows. We had dancing (attempts at imitating ballet dancers from the television - we are not dancers in this house), singing (I loved the rendition of "I miss you"), cartwheels and all sorts of activities. In show form.
At one point Miss 5 and Miss 4 were preparing to do their ballet dance. I vaguely noted Master 3 standing at the doorway, but didn't give it much thought as I figured he was just watching. Then the lights went out. He was standing on a little step, and as soon as he had turned the lights out he turned a torch on and shone it on the girls "It's a show" he said "Shows do that."
I was speechless.
So the show went on. And on. And on. And on. And anyone with children who are in the show performing age will know that these shows may well go on until such time as the children reach high school. The one show I mean. They just. Go. On.
I have to share with you the lyrics of "I miss you", Miss 5's wonderful first song.
"I miss you, when I go to school, and I don't see you. But I knoooooooow that you will come to pick me up, later, after schooooooooool. And I love you and I miss you…..soooooooo much."
She is adorable. Going through a massively clingy phase. But adorable.
Yesterday was a great day. Not just a good day. Actually not just a great day. It was a fabulous day.
The girls got hair cuts. Nothing monumental? Um, I beg to differ. They both have long hair. Miss 5 has had probably 7 or 8 hair cuts in her life. Miss 4? Um. No. Her hair, which she could sit on, still retained her "baby curls". She had never had it cut. Unless you include the two snips a random hairdresser attempted when Miss 4 was Miss 18 months, and which resulted in a sound not dissimilar from the air raid sirens utilised in World War II.
And in that regard I was surprised. Actually that is not correct. I was gobsmacked. Miss 4 was amazing. Absolutely. Amazing. She sat still for the entire time. She did as she was asked with regard to moving her head in different directions. She didn't cry. She didn't flinch. She was amazing.
And what is more amazing is that my darling Miss 4 wanted to have her hair put in the plait so she could donate it for wigs. How would she know of this?? She had heard me talking to them when I was explaining that I was going to cut my hair really short to donate it. This was, of course, before I realised that if you have more than 5% grey you can't actually donate your hair. My percentage, um, undisclosed, but far more than 5. But I digress. Miss 4 shall be posting off her plait.
And the haircuts on both the girls look just amazing. Adorable. Just. Brilliant. And they are both rapt.
The rest of the day was great too. A visit to Bunnings to get some more plants for our newly created veggie patch (that was a Friday activity courtesy of some amazing friends who gave up their time and physical energy to create this for me, and to whom I am immensely grateful), then planting them, a few more outings and then all kidlets going to bed without incident. Astounding.
Today was less smooth. Random stupid things happened. I cut myself on a knife while doing the dishes. That didn't tickle. More random than that, I went to grab a cake rack from the sink. This cake rack is not the normal across only cake rack. This one is a "check" pattern cake rack. So when it fell, and I went to grab it, one of my fingers inadvertently slipped through one of the holes, and the rack twisted around further as it fell, such that my finger became stuck in the cake rack. Rather painfully I might add. It probably would have been removed quicker if I hadn't stood there saying "are you kidding me?" out loud to the cake rack. So removed it is. Albeit a little larger than the other fingers now.
So I promise I shan't leave as long between posts as I have done this time.
I shall leave you with this thought. Sometimes, kids say things. Sometimes these things can cut deeply. They aren't always true. But they are said, and they can hurt. Other times, kids say things and you just have to look at them. And wonder what the hell they are thinking.
"I love you mummy. You look like an egg. Your head, it's like the top of an egg. I love you so much."
So there you go. I am officially entitled to crack every once in a while. After all. Eggs do that.
Saturday 5 April 2014
"He's had a nice day"
I hear this quite often when picking up Master 3 from daycare. Or some variation thereof.
"He's had a good day."
"He had a great day today."
"He had a lovely day."
But it isn't the teachers that tell me this. It is Master 3's little friend. This little friend also comes over and holds my hand to tell me, and greets Master 3 in the morning with a squeal of delight and a great big hug.
And together, he and my little man, with 2 other of the little 3 year old boys, are absolute terrors.
Terrors.
But gorgeous at the same time.
I can envisage their classroom teachers in years to come, and can expect to be able to visibly chart the advancement of their greying hairs.
They're gorgeous little boys. Just trouble. With a capital. T.
That said, one of the best sounds of the day is made by said troublemaker of mine. And it happens around 6.30pm each night when I get the kids out of the bath.
It goes something like this.
"Arms up little man."
*giggle*
"Come on, arms up, I need to dry under your arms."
"Noo! You'll tickle me!"
"I need to dry under your arms."
*more giggles*
"Come on, up with the arms."
And up they go, and I dry under his arms, and give them a little tickle, and he just loses it. The most adorable, free, happy and wonderful laughter you have ever heard. I adore it.
Makes me want to bath him three or four times a day.
But no. Oh. No. That would be bad. I bath the kids together. I won't be able to for much longer but for now I do. It is just far easier and quicker. So I do.
But the water aggression is rising. Splashes go higher, and bubbles fly further.
And here I am wishing more of this. Um. No. *slaps self upside the head and begs self to comes to self's senses*
We have recently begun doing a lot more "towel cape" activity after baths. Although tonight ended rather abruptly with a 3 year old's head colliding with a 5 year old's cheek. The 3 year old was quite convinced he could actually fly with the addition of said towel cape. The mark on Miss 5's cheek is testament to the fact that in this instance he was perhaps a tad mistaken.
We were watching the cloud babies the other day. I say we when in fact I mean the kids. I was sitting on the sofa accosting them individually on a fairly regular basis so as to get my daily quota of cuddles. So the cloud babies came on, I was hugging Miss 4 and Master 3 was lying on the arm of the sofa, watching, as he does.
So I asked the question "Which is your favourite?"
The answer surprised me. I didn't know the names of the Cloud Babies. I did know they had different colours. But that was as far as it went.
I certainly didn't expect to hear him, as he jumped off the sofa with enormous energy, scream "JIMMY BARTEL!"
His footy jumper (Cats) has the number 3 on it. There you go.
I have spoken before of the windows. Play School. When the windows come on, screams of "WINDOW TIME!!!!" resonate throughout the house.
Today was no different. And I do love Play School. So much more than so much of the other rubbish on the television that forces me to just turn it off (which in fact is not a bad thing because the kids probably watch too much tv these days anyway so bring on the bad shows).
So the windows came on. I, as per usual, chose arch. Other decisions were made, resulting in one dodgy 'winner' and one very dodgy pseudo winner who thought she said that window but we all know she didn't but couldn't be bothered arguing.
And through the windows was a persian cat. I'm not a cat person but as far as cats go, this one was quite pretty.
Master 3 thought so too. "Awwwwww" he said. "We should get one for Jake."
Our dog.
"Oh yes, he would LOVE that."
You just have to love the innocence of children…...
"He's had a good day."
"He had a great day today."
"He had a lovely day."
But it isn't the teachers that tell me this. It is Master 3's little friend. This little friend also comes over and holds my hand to tell me, and greets Master 3 in the morning with a squeal of delight and a great big hug.
And together, he and my little man, with 2 other of the little 3 year old boys, are absolute terrors.
Terrors.
But gorgeous at the same time.
I can envisage their classroom teachers in years to come, and can expect to be able to visibly chart the advancement of their greying hairs.
They're gorgeous little boys. Just trouble. With a capital. T.
That said, one of the best sounds of the day is made by said troublemaker of mine. And it happens around 6.30pm each night when I get the kids out of the bath.
It goes something like this.
"Arms up little man."
*giggle*
"Come on, arms up, I need to dry under your arms."
"Noo! You'll tickle me!"
"I need to dry under your arms."
*more giggles*
"Come on, up with the arms."
And up they go, and I dry under his arms, and give them a little tickle, and he just loses it. The most adorable, free, happy and wonderful laughter you have ever heard. I adore it.
Makes me want to bath him three or four times a day.
But no. Oh. No. That would be bad. I bath the kids together. I won't be able to for much longer but for now I do. It is just far easier and quicker. So I do.
But the water aggression is rising. Splashes go higher, and bubbles fly further.
And here I am wishing more of this. Um. No. *slaps self upside the head and begs self to comes to self's senses*
We have recently begun doing a lot more "towel cape" activity after baths. Although tonight ended rather abruptly with a 3 year old's head colliding with a 5 year old's cheek. The 3 year old was quite convinced he could actually fly with the addition of said towel cape. The mark on Miss 5's cheek is testament to the fact that in this instance he was perhaps a tad mistaken.
We were watching the cloud babies the other day. I say we when in fact I mean the kids. I was sitting on the sofa accosting them individually on a fairly regular basis so as to get my daily quota of cuddles. So the cloud babies came on, I was hugging Miss 4 and Master 3 was lying on the arm of the sofa, watching, as he does.
So I asked the question "Which is your favourite?"
The answer surprised me. I didn't know the names of the Cloud Babies. I did know they had different colours. But that was as far as it went.
I certainly didn't expect to hear him, as he jumped off the sofa with enormous energy, scream "JIMMY BARTEL!"
His footy jumper (Cats) has the number 3 on it. There you go.
I have spoken before of the windows. Play School. When the windows come on, screams of "WINDOW TIME!!!!" resonate throughout the house.
Today was no different. And I do love Play School. So much more than so much of the other rubbish on the television that forces me to just turn it off (which in fact is not a bad thing because the kids probably watch too much tv these days anyway so bring on the bad shows).
So the windows came on. I, as per usual, chose arch. Other decisions were made, resulting in one dodgy 'winner' and one very dodgy pseudo winner who thought she said that window but we all know she didn't but couldn't be bothered arguing.
And through the windows was a persian cat. I'm not a cat person but as far as cats go, this one was quite pretty.
Master 3 thought so too. "Awwwwww" he said. "We should get one for Jake."
Our dog.
"Oh yes, he would LOVE that."
You just have to love the innocence of children…...
Sunday 30 March 2014
2 years.
It's a long time.
Or a heartbeat.
2 years. That is how long it has been just me and the three. As of yesterday.
2 years can fly. 2 years can drag. 2 years can yield so much. Or so little.
No matter what happens, at the end of 2 years, 2 years will have passed. It is entirely up to you what you do with that period of time.
You could sit, melancholy, depressed, sad, for the entire time. At the end of it, 2 years will have passed.
You could revel in every moment, joyously, and experience things you never thought possible. And 2 years will have passed.
You have control. Not over everything. But over some things. Over many things.
You just need to realise that.
2 years ago I thought that life as I knew it was crashing down around me. It was.
But the funny thing is this.
Today. 2 years later. I have never been happier. My children have never been happier. We are doing well. Things are, in the grand scheme, as they should be.
Other aspects we are working on. But there is only so much you can do where others are involved. You can't control the behaviour of others. You can be disappointed in it. You can be surprised by it. But you can't control it. All you can control is your reaction to it.
I have become rather philosophical these last few years. And I don't think that that is altogether a bad thing.
One thing is for sure though. I am quite possibly the luckiest person in the world to have three beautiful, healthy children who I adore, and who adore me.
Incredibly lucky.
And as I check on them while they are sleeping I stroke their heads and whisper that I love them.
They are my world.
My three.
Tis me. And the three. Forevermore.
<3
Or a heartbeat.
2 years. That is how long it has been just me and the three. As of yesterday.
2 years can fly. 2 years can drag. 2 years can yield so much. Or so little.
No matter what happens, at the end of 2 years, 2 years will have passed. It is entirely up to you what you do with that period of time.
You could sit, melancholy, depressed, sad, for the entire time. At the end of it, 2 years will have passed.
You could revel in every moment, joyously, and experience things you never thought possible. And 2 years will have passed.
You have control. Not over everything. But over some things. Over many things.
You just need to realise that.
2 years ago I thought that life as I knew it was crashing down around me. It was.
But the funny thing is this.
Today. 2 years later. I have never been happier. My children have never been happier. We are doing well. Things are, in the grand scheme, as they should be.
Other aspects we are working on. But there is only so much you can do where others are involved. You can't control the behaviour of others. You can be disappointed in it. You can be surprised by it. But you can't control it. All you can control is your reaction to it.
I have become rather philosophical these last few years. And I don't think that that is altogether a bad thing.
One thing is for sure though. I am quite possibly the luckiest person in the world to have three beautiful, healthy children who I adore, and who adore me.
Incredibly lucky.
And as I check on them while they are sleeping I stroke their heads and whisper that I love them.
They are my world.
My three.
Tis me. And the three. Forevermore.
<3
Wednesday 26 March 2014
I wasn't prepared
when I picked up Miss 5 from after school care yesterday.
And why should I have been? I had no warning. None whatsoever.
Yet when I picked her up there it was. Clear as day. She had lost her front tooth.
I cannot even begin to describe my reaction. I was just so excited for her. And I could see she was excited too. Which made me even more excited.
This is a massive moment in a child's life. Massive. And mum's. Obviously.
It wasn't even wobbly in the morning. Well, it wasn't the most stable of teeth. Miss 5's jaw has been steadily expanding for months such that she now has a rather sizeable gap between one of her front teeth and the tooth beside it. Which is of course fabulous because it means her jaw is making room. But still. It wasn't wobbly wobbly. Just not stable.
So I was not prepared.
And here is what I say to all parents. Make sure that at ALL times you have a $2 coin in the cupboard. Because you never know when a tooth is going to fall out.
And guess what? I did. Because the second tooth that fell out (a week after the first) I was not prepared for. And spent much of the evening ripping the house apart trying to find a $2 coin. As I recall. One was found. But still. Nobody needs that sort of stress.
She looks so cute. Absolutely adorable. But so much older now.
And it made me think. The things that kids adore are the things that would mortify adults.
Kids have a tooth fall out and they are rapt. Adults have a tooth fall out and they don't want to go out in public.
Kids have a cold and they quite gladly share stories, and tissue viewings, of how much snot they are removing from their noses on a regular basis. Adults just want to curl up in a ball away from everyone in the entire world.
Drop-off today didn't go brilliantly for the mini ones. Sometimes that happens. And I hate it. I hate the last thing I see being my little ones crying or upset. Breaks my heart.
And then when I go to pick them up, Master 3 runs to me with force and throws himself at me. Miss 4, well, that depends upon how she feels. Often times I will be met with a great big hug. Other times, such as today, she will look at me, say "noooo" and I'll know that we have a most interesting evening ahead.
Ugh. 4 years old can truly suck. Just so you know.
They say terrible 2s are bad.
Yeah. Nah.
I'll trade you a 2 for a 3. Then raise you a 4.
So we're in the car about to head home and Master 3 pipes up. "Seth threw bark all over me today."
"Did he baby? Oh no."
"Yes, he did."
"Did you tell the teacher?"
"No."
"How come?"
"Well, we were busy."
Okey doke.
Work went well. I adore the coffee shop next door and could quite happily continue drinking coffee in there all day long. Today was a bit of a strange one though. Inadvertently bumped into someone with whom I used to work. Fabulous! What a brilliant coincidence. First, that she was at the store next to my work, and secondly that I happened to go in there just at the time she was also there!
So a future catchup is on the cards.
Right now I'm doing an experiment. Yes. I know. It is 9.15pm.
But it is a good one. And the house smells fabulous.
I'm cooking bacon in the oven. I stumbled across this "perfect" way to cook bacon and of course had to try it. It has, according to perfect recipe, 3 minutes left.
I haven't touched it. I haven't opened the door. I haven't turned it.
I cannot believe I am going to have to wait for it to cool down before eating it though.
And yes, I know, dodgy late night snack. Sue me. There was bacon in the fridge. Google made me find that bacon recipe. I don't care. I love it. (did you sing just then?? I did…..)
Ok 2 minutes and counting. I'm sorry but I have to go. I have to prepare…..
Oh please let this be as good as it smells…….
And why should I have been? I had no warning. None whatsoever.
Yet when I picked her up there it was. Clear as day. She had lost her front tooth.
I cannot even begin to describe my reaction. I was just so excited for her. And I could see she was excited too. Which made me even more excited.
This is a massive moment in a child's life. Massive. And mum's. Obviously.
It wasn't even wobbly in the morning. Well, it wasn't the most stable of teeth. Miss 5's jaw has been steadily expanding for months such that she now has a rather sizeable gap between one of her front teeth and the tooth beside it. Which is of course fabulous because it means her jaw is making room. But still. It wasn't wobbly wobbly. Just not stable.
So I was not prepared.
And here is what I say to all parents. Make sure that at ALL times you have a $2 coin in the cupboard. Because you never know when a tooth is going to fall out.
And guess what? I did. Because the second tooth that fell out (a week after the first) I was not prepared for. And spent much of the evening ripping the house apart trying to find a $2 coin. As I recall. One was found. But still. Nobody needs that sort of stress.
She looks so cute. Absolutely adorable. But so much older now.
And it made me think. The things that kids adore are the things that would mortify adults.
Kids have a tooth fall out and they are rapt. Adults have a tooth fall out and they don't want to go out in public.
Kids have a cold and they quite gladly share stories, and tissue viewings, of how much snot they are removing from their noses on a regular basis. Adults just want to curl up in a ball away from everyone in the entire world.
Drop-off today didn't go brilliantly for the mini ones. Sometimes that happens. And I hate it. I hate the last thing I see being my little ones crying or upset. Breaks my heart.
And then when I go to pick them up, Master 3 runs to me with force and throws himself at me. Miss 4, well, that depends upon how she feels. Often times I will be met with a great big hug. Other times, such as today, she will look at me, say "noooo" and I'll know that we have a most interesting evening ahead.
Ugh. 4 years old can truly suck. Just so you know.
They say terrible 2s are bad.
Yeah. Nah.
I'll trade you a 2 for a 3. Then raise you a 4.
So we're in the car about to head home and Master 3 pipes up. "Seth threw bark all over me today."
"Did he baby? Oh no."
"Yes, he did."
"Did you tell the teacher?"
"No."
"How come?"
"Well, we were busy."
Okey doke.
Work went well. I adore the coffee shop next door and could quite happily continue drinking coffee in there all day long. Today was a bit of a strange one though. Inadvertently bumped into someone with whom I used to work. Fabulous! What a brilliant coincidence. First, that she was at the store next to my work, and secondly that I happened to go in there just at the time she was also there!
So a future catchup is on the cards.
Right now I'm doing an experiment. Yes. I know. It is 9.15pm.
But it is a good one. And the house smells fabulous.
I'm cooking bacon in the oven. I stumbled across this "perfect" way to cook bacon and of course had to try it. It has, according to perfect recipe, 3 minutes left.
I haven't touched it. I haven't opened the door. I haven't turned it.
I cannot believe I am going to have to wait for it to cool down before eating it though.
And yes, I know, dodgy late night snack. Sue me. There was bacon in the fridge. Google made me find that bacon recipe. I don't care. I love it. (did you sing just then?? I did…..)
Ok 2 minutes and counting. I'm sorry but I have to go. I have to prepare…..
Oh please let this be as good as it smells…….
Sunday 23 March 2014
Where's the tambourine?
Where's the trampoline?
We don't realise, as parents, that sometimes what we say is not heard as we say it.
There are many reasons for this.
It could be due to ear issues. Now my kids have their fair share of these such issues, meaning that sometimes they just don't hear so well. Selective deafness might be the culprit, but in fact it is not that at all. It goes deeper, and is incredibly frustrating, particularly when a parent actually forgets this, chastises a child for not listening, then they look at you quite forlorn and say "but I didn't hear you!".
Bad. Mummy. Moment.
It could be that they don't actually 'know' the word you are saying. It may be a word they have never heard before. It may be something that sounds Greek to them.
And today I think it was a combination of many things.
We had a relaxed day. I had one child in bed with me by 4am, then another rock in shortly after, which set off my "go to your own beds" alarm, which they did, thankfully.
The morning ballet commenced as per usual with the request to turn on the tv to which I agreed and prayed that they would be engaged enough by the idiot box to let me sleep just a tiny bit longer.
I don't even know why I hope these things. They are never going to happen. There will always be a "but I was sitting there" or an "I can't SEEEEEEEEE" or a "I was playing with that" or a "Muuuuuuuuuuum". There were several. Many in fact. I gave up and got up and put the kettle on. Then went back to bed, and each of the kids took turns coming in to give me cuddles, which I loved.
After lunch we decided to play some board games.
The first one was a take off of the old Hungry Hippos.
Never. Again.
Ever.
Ever.
I don't want to talk about it.
Suffice to say it did not end well.
Then my personal fave. Mr Bacon's Big Adventure.
Now we hadn't played this one before. It was a gem of a find off freecycle, the pick up of which allowed me to catch up with a dear friend who lived not far from the passer onner of the bacon game in question.
Anyway, the game. It involves squares that are not numbered, but which are coloured in by 'picture' colouring. i.e. there is a picture instead of a colour.
The pictures? Beef jerky, olive loaf, corn dog and pepperoni. Although vegan alley has tofu and a few other horrid non-meaty things.
The game itself was fun to play. Sliding down the bacon "slide" just made me salivate.
But what I find brilliant are the suggestions of how to play to involve meat. Gold. Sheer gold. We didn't do that today. Another day perhaps…..
And then I opted to take the easy dinner and take the kids to McDonalds. We haven't been in I seriously can't remember how long. That in itself was a decent enough reason to persuade me to forgo cooking to take them there.
They were great. Fabulous in fact. Ate their little happy meals, played with the toy and then went and frolicked in the brilliant play area.
I took that time to ask one of the staff members about parties, as Miss 5 is nearly Miss 6 and I haven't organised a thing. Nor have we ever had a Macca's party so it would be a bit of a novelty.
So I had a chat to the manager who said they didn't know if they would be holding parties there but would get back to me in the next few days, but had I tried the store at Tullamarine.
I said no I hadn't but I would check it out, gave her my details etc, and watched the kids play for a bit longer before we headed back to the car.
As we all belted in I said to them I might take a bit of a detour to see the McDonalds at Tullamarine, because I hadn't been there before and wasn't sure of the facilities. They thought that was a bit cool (extended trip out) and off we went.
I have no sense of direction.
We got lost.
We turned the wrong way.
And yes, I did have the map on. I still got lost.
So we ended up the wrong way and I told them we were going home.
"Noooooo…. we want to seeeeeeeeeeee."
Fine. Ok. Sucked it up and tried again.
And this time we made it there. We got there. I have no idea how. But we did.
And when we got there Master 3 said it. "Where's the tambourine?"
"What tambourine?" I asked.
"The tambourine. You said we were going to see the McDonald's tambourine."
"What do you mean a tambourine?"
Then Miss 4 joined in.
*sigh* "The musical instrument. A tambourine."
"A tambourine?"
(both) "YES!"
"I don't understand." I said. "There is no tambourine."
Then Miss 4 got it.
"No, not a tambourine, silly, a trampoline. So where is the trampoline mum??"
Oh. Kay.
"What???"
"THE TAMBOURINE!!!!" Master 3 yelled.
"THE TRAMPOLINE!!!!" Miss 4 screamed.
Penny dropped.
"Babies, we are at McDonalds in TULLAMARINE. It is a suburb. Like Essendon. And Melbourne. There's no tambourine. And no trampoline."
And I was having a teeny tiny chuckle. Like a lot.
The version above is an abbreviated version of what I was actually involved in. And I kid you not, it could quite possibly have been the best five minutes of my life. Best. Conversation. Ever.
I love my kids. So. Much.
We don't realise, as parents, that sometimes what we say is not heard as we say it.
There are many reasons for this.
It could be due to ear issues. Now my kids have their fair share of these such issues, meaning that sometimes they just don't hear so well. Selective deafness might be the culprit, but in fact it is not that at all. It goes deeper, and is incredibly frustrating, particularly when a parent actually forgets this, chastises a child for not listening, then they look at you quite forlorn and say "but I didn't hear you!".
Bad. Mummy. Moment.
It could be that they don't actually 'know' the word you are saying. It may be a word they have never heard before. It may be something that sounds Greek to them.
And today I think it was a combination of many things.
We had a relaxed day. I had one child in bed with me by 4am, then another rock in shortly after, which set off my "go to your own beds" alarm, which they did, thankfully.
The morning ballet commenced as per usual with the request to turn on the tv to which I agreed and prayed that they would be engaged enough by the idiot box to let me sleep just a tiny bit longer.
I don't even know why I hope these things. They are never going to happen. There will always be a "but I was sitting there" or an "I can't SEEEEEEEEE" or a "I was playing with that" or a "Muuuuuuuuuuum". There were several. Many in fact. I gave up and got up and put the kettle on. Then went back to bed, and each of the kids took turns coming in to give me cuddles, which I loved.
After lunch we decided to play some board games.
The first one was a take off of the old Hungry Hippos.
Never. Again.
Ever.
Ever.
I don't want to talk about it.
Suffice to say it did not end well.
Then my personal fave. Mr Bacon's Big Adventure.
Now we hadn't played this one before. It was a gem of a find off freecycle, the pick up of which allowed me to catch up with a dear friend who lived not far from the passer onner of the bacon game in question.
Anyway, the game. It involves squares that are not numbered, but which are coloured in by 'picture' colouring. i.e. there is a picture instead of a colour.
The pictures? Beef jerky, olive loaf, corn dog and pepperoni. Although vegan alley has tofu and a few other horrid non-meaty things.
The game itself was fun to play. Sliding down the bacon "slide" just made me salivate.
But what I find brilliant are the suggestions of how to play to involve meat. Gold. Sheer gold. We didn't do that today. Another day perhaps…..
And then I opted to take the easy dinner and take the kids to McDonalds. We haven't been in I seriously can't remember how long. That in itself was a decent enough reason to persuade me to forgo cooking to take them there.
They were great. Fabulous in fact. Ate their little happy meals, played with the toy and then went and frolicked in the brilliant play area.
I took that time to ask one of the staff members about parties, as Miss 5 is nearly Miss 6 and I haven't organised a thing. Nor have we ever had a Macca's party so it would be a bit of a novelty.
So I had a chat to the manager who said they didn't know if they would be holding parties there but would get back to me in the next few days, but had I tried the store at Tullamarine.
I said no I hadn't but I would check it out, gave her my details etc, and watched the kids play for a bit longer before we headed back to the car.
As we all belted in I said to them I might take a bit of a detour to see the McDonalds at Tullamarine, because I hadn't been there before and wasn't sure of the facilities. They thought that was a bit cool (extended trip out) and off we went.
I have no sense of direction.
We got lost.
We turned the wrong way.
And yes, I did have the map on. I still got lost.
So we ended up the wrong way and I told them we were going home.
"Noooooo…. we want to seeeeeeeeeeee."
Fine. Ok. Sucked it up and tried again.
And this time we made it there. We got there. I have no idea how. But we did.
And when we got there Master 3 said it. "Where's the tambourine?"
"What tambourine?" I asked.
"The tambourine. You said we were going to see the McDonald's tambourine."
"What do you mean a tambourine?"
Then Miss 4 joined in.
*sigh* "The musical instrument. A tambourine."
"A tambourine?"
(both) "YES!"
"I don't understand." I said. "There is no tambourine."
Then Miss 4 got it.
"No, not a tambourine, silly, a trampoline. So where is the trampoline mum??"
Oh. Kay.
"What???"
"THE TAMBOURINE!!!!" Master 3 yelled.
"THE TRAMPOLINE!!!!" Miss 4 screamed.
Penny dropped.
"Babies, we are at McDonalds in TULLAMARINE. It is a suburb. Like Essendon. And Melbourne. There's no tambourine. And no trampoline."
And I was having a teeny tiny chuckle. Like a lot.
The version above is an abbreviated version of what I was actually involved in. And I kid you not, it could quite possibly have been the best five minutes of my life. Best. Conversation. Ever.
I love my kids. So. Much.
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