So I get a call from daycare

yesterday afternoon.

Again.

I answer the phone and say "Hello?" and the first words that are uttered are "He's ok".

Yep.

I have filled in a lot of incident reports.

When I had three kids in daycare, there were at least that many incident reports. Every week. At least one per child. And often many times more.

My darling Miss 5 earlier this year decided to fall out of a tree and land quite spectacularly on her head. The day before her very first school photos. At least it'll be a story to tell down the track....

Within 2 days of being at her new school after we moved early in term 2, bang. Incident report.

And why do they injure themselves so much?

I think I may have mentioned before. My kids are off their heads. If anyone worked out a way to harness that energy then fossil fuel debate be gone.

Yesterday, my lil mini dude Master 3 decided to play on some bars, and promptly fell off. He has a black eye.

The other night, same mini dude was standing beside the drawer in the kitchen. And sneezed. And headbutted the drawer.

Yep.

Special.

I can't comment though. I distinctly recall looking out a window one day, a closed window, and trying to reach just that bit further. And head butting it. At work. Yes. There were witnesses.

Yesterday was busy at work. And fabulous. I am one of those lucky ones who loves their job. Tis challenging, but fabulous.

I think with all jobs, paid and unpaid, there are bits you love and bits you hate. And bits that, well, you just do. I think with parenting, it is a bit of a strange job in that regard. Because there are lots of bits you love (some so small as a child blowing you a kiss across the playground or so enormous as watching your child take their first steps), some bits you hate (and if anyone says they don't hate cleaning up vomit and poo then they are lying), and a lot that you just do because you do (and let's face it, they just keep eating, and making mess, and soooo much more). Tis just par for the course.

I'm about to have an aneurysm with the number of times these children have said mummy today. And the number of times they have come out from their beds, if I had a dollar as the saying goes......

Master 3 sounds like an exhausted sheep, bleating "mummmmyyyyyy" repeatedly. I'm hoping he will tire himself out from it. Any time I ask what it is he wants, I get "ummmmm, ummmmmmm." Which, ironically, sounds quite like "muuuuuuum, muuuuuum." Way to get a break from the monotony.

He has nothing to say. He needs nothing. He is simply making noise. Because that is one of the reasons he was put on this earth. Noisemaker. I'm sure of it.

And this is why, after they have gone to bed, my three, I very rarely watch tv or listen to music. Because that silence is just amazing. To be able to hear the gentle hum of the fridge, or the sounds of a distant car or plane is welcome. On many occasions, three voices fill every possible void in the sound sphere and my brain may explode. Occasionally.

And I just went back in to the girls. Because, once again, the summonsing continued. And so I get there. And Miss 5 says "Mummmmmmy?"

"Yes baby"

"I'm really tired."

Sigh.

"Nigh night baby."

Master 5, some minutes after. "Mummy....?"

So I went in.

"I've got a gooby for you." *hands me a substantial sized booger*

"Thank you baby. Nigh night."

And so another hug and kiss (number 14 or 15 for the evening) and let us just hope that the noise will morph into the steady rhythmical breathing of slumber. Times 3.

Fingers. Crossed.