It happened again.

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

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.

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…...

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 :)

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.

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.

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……..