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.

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.

"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…...

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

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…….

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.

I can't sleep.

It used to mean that I was having difficulty in falling asleep. Or I was thinking about things so my brain wouldn't shut off.

As a parent, it is a reality. I can't sleep. Because mini folks are upset, or need me. So I just. Can't. Sleep.

Not I am having trouble sleeping. Not I am thinking so that is holding me back. I simply am unable to sleep because my small ones need me.

They had a fabulous night. Birthday party. Trampolines. Running around.

And when one of the mothers said to me "Oh with all the bouncing they're doing they'll sleep all night!" I just knew it wasn't going to happen.

Dear parents everywhere.

As soon as you say to another parent that their child will sleep all night, said child instantly gets some kind of internal shock which realigns their being such that they will not, in fact, sleep all night.

You jinx them.

Never. Ever. EVER. Say to someone that their child will sleep all night now. Because odds are that is all it will take to make that very thing not happen.

Yes, it may be superstitious of me. I. Don't. Care.

I have been around long enough to know what does and doesn't work or make sense or happen or whatever.

Say it. It won't. In this respect.

I'm tired. I really am. Last night (not this one happening right now, even though technically I could be saying it about the night before this just most recent midnight, which I'm not, I mean the one before) Miss 4 ended up in bed with me again. And then Miss 5 came in at whatever time, asking if she could turn the tv on. I asked her to tell me what time it was. It was civil enough to be awake. Ish. Not really. But not horrific. So I said yes.

Telly went on. Miss 4 leapt out of my bed and into the lounge.

Finally. Peace. A little bit of sleep while they watch some of the idiot box.

Babow.

Wrong mummy. Very very wrong mummy.

My quest to get a half hour sleep in while the kids watched Lazy Town or another of those equally insane shows that makes you want to rip your eyeballs out was not successful, with all manner of child, be they 3, 4 or 5, coming in at varying intervals, on a semi-regular basis, alternating, to ensure that sleep was not something that I achieved.

I really want a sleep in. I really really do. Not a stay in bed while you hear the kids jumping around in the lounge and then have a child crawl over you and onto your head then laugh and say "I love you mummy" (which I actually loved even though it was early and I wanted sleep it was just so bloody cute).

Future parents must be warned about this sleep thing. The current warnings are insufficient.

Future parents beware. These children will steal your sleep. In whatever way they can. They will cry when they are babies. When they are toddlers they will teethe. Then they will get growing pains. All the while they may also get night terrors. Then they may suffer the effects of a parental breakup, which may not manifest til years later, at night. Obviously. They may crawl into your bed. They may punch you in their sleep. They may come into your room at 2am and profess that they wish to go outside and play. They may climb up your legs, rest their hands painfully on your chest and then vomit on you. They may come in to tell you they wet their bed. Or did a 'big poo'. They may decide that their mattress is too soft. They may decide that their sister is sleeping in your bed so they should too, and then the sister wakes up, and fights it out with the other sibling, over the top of your very weary body.

I had a point.

I have no idea what it is.

I should really go to bed.

Waiting……waiting……

Usually when I say that I hear a thud, or a cough, or a something.

Maybe I can go now….. bonus…. not even 1am……

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