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.
Thursday 24 April 2014
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…...
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