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.
Wednesday, 9 October 2013
Monday, 7 October 2013
School went back
today.
Which meant it was also Miss 5's first tennis lesson today after school. She has been massively excited about starting tennis. Every day when I pick her up from school or after school care (depending on the day) we drive past the tennis courts. And on about the hundredth time she asked if she could learn tennis I figured that it was not just a phase she was going through and she did actually want to play tennis.
You see, with kids you should never, ever say yes on first asking when it involves something such as tennis. Or anything semi-long-term in nature. Because sometimes, just sometimes, Dora the annoying explorer, whose mother doesn't seem to care that she wanders through forests unsupervised and believes that worms talk, has placed an idea into the small ones' heads. Or it could be some fanciful thought that they have dreamed up and are enamoured with. That day.
So yes, always wait. If they keep asking, they they're keen. It's kinda like when I go shopping for clothes. I hate clothes shopping. With a passion. It isn't just the fact that you have to try things on and the mirrors in those change rooms refract the light in such a way as to bounce repeatedly off every bump and ripple on your body and throw the image of those imperfections at the mirror with such force that they bounce right back at you and knock you off your feet. Or maybe that's just me.
Anyway, once again, I digress. With clothes shopping, if I see something I like I say cool, I like that, and will ask them to hold it for me. Sometimes. Sometimes I won't. Sometimes I'll just leave the shop. And it is that nagging feeling. The one that makes you go back and look at it again. Or try it on again. Or try madly to justify in your head why you simply must have that item. THAT is what means you really want it. So I applied that theory to Miss 5.
Well she loved it. She gets her new racquet tomorrow. Today she has a loaner. But she loved it.
That said, I'm not so sure if it loved her. Combine the first day back at school with a 45 minute tennis lesson after school, and then half an hour at after school care before I made it to her after work, and it took all of about 80 seconds until the first meltdown. Why? Because she couldn't put her seatbelt on. And the tears flowed, and she was yanking on the seatbelt harder and harder, and of course the harder she yanked the less success she had because the seatbelt was doing what it is designed to do and 'locking' with the force, and so she was becoming more and more frustrated. And it was then I realised she was trying to do it with her right hand, and she is left-handed (incredibly dominantly) so I suggested she sit on the other side and use that seat, which she did, and, calming down a little, the seatbelt worked. Phew. Relief.
Then we arrived at the daycare to get the other two. And the tears started again. As soon as she got out of the car she said how tired she was. And then I felt like the world's worst parent. Was it too much for her to do a whole day at school and then do tennis? But she so wanted to do it. And sport is great for kids to get involved in. And surely as she gets a little older it will be easier. And maybe it was just because it was the first day back?
Stop. Over. Thinking.
It's one day. One reaction. Calm. Down.
So we got the other two. Their days went well. And we got home to find some wonderful friends had sent us piles of the Woolies animal cards, which the kids adore. So I sorted through to find the ones we were missing from our album (only five more to go!!) and the rest were divided up amongst the kids and they then started a game of something or other playing with the cards and guessing the names of the animals.
I love those cards. Fabulous idea. And brilliant marketing on the part of Woolies. Kudos to you grocery giant. And the kids learn whilst playing! And us mums end up feeling like drug dealers as we swap envelopes with people we barely know, just to get the cards we need......
One thing about having a party and having some cancellations last minute is that you have a lot of food left over. We do. So tonight was leftovers for dinner, with an after dinner snack of leftovers. Tomorrow I'm tipping will be something fairly similar. The kids are loving it. Why? Because I'm used to doing kids parties aren't I. So for dessert I made jelly in shot glasses. And when people asked what was in them I answered "jelly". And they asked "anything else?" And I said "No. It's jelly." And then I realised that at most grown up parties, jelly served in shot glasses usually contains a small modicum of grog.
Oops.
No matter. The kids loved them. AND I used it to bribe Master 3 to not cry when I dropped him off this morning. "If you don't cry when I drop you off you can have TWO shot glass jellies!"
"YAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!"
Yep. Mum. Of. The. Year.
Anyway, it worked.
Good enough for me......
Which meant it was also Miss 5's first tennis lesson today after school. She has been massively excited about starting tennis. Every day when I pick her up from school or after school care (depending on the day) we drive past the tennis courts. And on about the hundredth time she asked if she could learn tennis I figured that it was not just a phase she was going through and she did actually want to play tennis.
You see, with kids you should never, ever say yes on first asking when it involves something such as tennis. Or anything semi-long-term in nature. Because sometimes, just sometimes, Dora the annoying explorer, whose mother doesn't seem to care that she wanders through forests unsupervised and believes that worms talk, has placed an idea into the small ones' heads. Or it could be some fanciful thought that they have dreamed up and are enamoured with. That day.
So yes, always wait. If they keep asking, they they're keen. It's kinda like when I go shopping for clothes. I hate clothes shopping. With a passion. It isn't just the fact that you have to try things on and the mirrors in those change rooms refract the light in such a way as to bounce repeatedly off every bump and ripple on your body and throw the image of those imperfections at the mirror with such force that they bounce right back at you and knock you off your feet. Or maybe that's just me.
Anyway, once again, I digress. With clothes shopping, if I see something I like I say cool, I like that, and will ask them to hold it for me. Sometimes. Sometimes I won't. Sometimes I'll just leave the shop. And it is that nagging feeling. The one that makes you go back and look at it again. Or try it on again. Or try madly to justify in your head why you simply must have that item. THAT is what means you really want it. So I applied that theory to Miss 5.
Well she loved it. She gets her new racquet tomorrow. Today she has a loaner. But she loved it.
That said, I'm not so sure if it loved her. Combine the first day back at school with a 45 minute tennis lesson after school, and then half an hour at after school care before I made it to her after work, and it took all of about 80 seconds until the first meltdown. Why? Because she couldn't put her seatbelt on. And the tears flowed, and she was yanking on the seatbelt harder and harder, and of course the harder she yanked the less success she had because the seatbelt was doing what it is designed to do and 'locking' with the force, and so she was becoming more and more frustrated. And it was then I realised she was trying to do it with her right hand, and she is left-handed (incredibly dominantly) so I suggested she sit on the other side and use that seat, which she did, and, calming down a little, the seatbelt worked. Phew. Relief.
Then we arrived at the daycare to get the other two. And the tears started again. As soon as she got out of the car she said how tired she was. And then I felt like the world's worst parent. Was it too much for her to do a whole day at school and then do tennis? But she so wanted to do it. And sport is great for kids to get involved in. And surely as she gets a little older it will be easier. And maybe it was just because it was the first day back?
Stop. Over. Thinking.
It's one day. One reaction. Calm. Down.
So we got the other two. Their days went well. And we got home to find some wonderful friends had sent us piles of the Woolies animal cards, which the kids adore. So I sorted through to find the ones we were missing from our album (only five more to go!!) and the rest were divided up amongst the kids and they then started a game of something or other playing with the cards and guessing the names of the animals.
I love those cards. Fabulous idea. And brilliant marketing on the part of Woolies. Kudos to you grocery giant. And the kids learn whilst playing! And us mums end up feeling like drug dealers as we swap envelopes with people we barely know, just to get the cards we need......
One thing about having a party and having some cancellations last minute is that you have a lot of food left over. We do. So tonight was leftovers for dinner, with an after dinner snack of leftovers. Tomorrow I'm tipping will be something fairly similar. The kids are loving it. Why? Because I'm used to doing kids parties aren't I. So for dessert I made jelly in shot glasses. And when people asked what was in them I answered "jelly". And they asked "anything else?" And I said "No. It's jelly." And then I realised that at most grown up parties, jelly served in shot glasses usually contains a small modicum of grog.
Oops.
No matter. The kids loved them. AND I used it to bribe Master 3 to not cry when I dropped him off this morning. "If you don't cry when I drop you off you can have TWO shot glass jellies!"
"YAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!!!!"
Yep. Mum. Of. The. Year.
Anyway, it worked.
Good enough for me......
Sunday, 6 October 2013
I wasn't going to
blog tonight, being that I had blogged at some stage today already.
But I can't help it.
Why?
Because it is 12.17am (currently) and I cannot keep my eyes closed. Yes. You read correctly. Because of the fact that I spent a large portion of today in bed, I am now hideously and unwaveringly awake.
I also had a lot of coffee today. I daresay that may have contributed to my current state of hyperalertness.
So being that I'm up I may as well have a chat.
I didn't have my kidlets with me this weekend. I had organised well in advance for them to spend the weekend with their father and thankfully that actually did happen. Long story. Not going into it. But it happened.
Most of my days and nights are spent in the company of my mini folk.
But when they are gone, well, yes, it is great to have some "me" time, but I always find, and always as in without fail, that by the end of their time away, when it comes to within a few hours of them being home, I am literally incapable of doing anything. Because I am pacing. Waiting. Anxious. Just massively excited to see my babies again.
I miss them when they aren't with me. Terribly. Although I love the time I have without them, at the same time I am torn because I am not with them. Quite ridiculous I know. But, well, what can you do.
So tonight they arrived home from their weekend away. They had had fun and that is the most important thing.
Miss 5 goes back to school tomorrow. And it is her last term as a grade prep. After that she will be in grade 1.
And she asked me "When do I start grade 1?" And, knowing that I had absolutely no idea when the terms are for next year, I said to her "I'll google it later."
Her comment? "Yes, you should ask the internet 'what day will I start grade 1?'". Super adorable.
I did forget a few things today. The bath for example. It was full of drinks last night, and tonight, well, it was still full of drinks, just a few less. So when Miss 5 went in there to wash her hands, the next thing I heard was "Come here!!!! GUYS!! Come HERE!!!! In the bathroom!!! LOOOOOOOOK!!!!"
Oops.
I'm tipping the weekend was a little tiring for my babies. They tell me they played at the park a lot and had fun, and I think that is fabulous. But it meant that simple little things cause rather out of proportion reactions.
There were paper plates left over from last night that I gave the kids to draw on. They thought that was great. Until Miss 4 came over, put her plate on the bench, and didn't realise she had put it down on another plate that contained cake. With icing on. Very sticky red icing. Which then latched on to her drawing plate.
And then it was on. The drama. The tears. The "oh life is so cruel" dramatics that only a 4 year old (and possibly a 5 year old) can muster.
Bedtime this evening was horrific.
Bloody. Daylight. Savings.
And I walked into the heater. With my knee. One of those oil column heaters. And yes, it hurt. A lot. And no, I did not swear. But yes, I did think those swear words. All of them. Repeatedly.
And I can't bend my knee. And tomorrow it will be purple. And Miss 5 got upset because of my involuntary grunt as my knee crashed against the heater. Because she thought I was yelling at her. She's a little precious. But her preciousness held me away from putting the frozen peas on my knee, so tomorrow when it is all blue and swollen, I'm blaming her. I won't tell her. But I will be... secretly...
Oh yes, I'm awful. Sue me. Tell me you wouldn't do the same!!! She's none the wiser. But I know it's my own fault. Agh. Stupid brain. And no, I won't be blaming her, I know it's my fault.
Okay that's a sign. What's a sign? Me talking to myself almost conversation like in blog form. Sign I should go to bed. Even though I am WIDE awake.
Who knows, I just may sleep. And hopefully have better dreams than last night. Not that they were bad. But freeeeaky. Who'd have thought that copious amounts of red wine and champagne could cause sleep disturbance.....
Night all :)
But I can't help it.
Why?
Because it is 12.17am (currently) and I cannot keep my eyes closed. Yes. You read correctly. Because of the fact that I spent a large portion of today in bed, I am now hideously and unwaveringly awake.
I also had a lot of coffee today. I daresay that may have contributed to my current state of hyperalertness.
So being that I'm up I may as well have a chat.
I didn't have my kidlets with me this weekend. I had organised well in advance for them to spend the weekend with their father and thankfully that actually did happen. Long story. Not going into it. But it happened.
Most of my days and nights are spent in the company of my mini folk.
But when they are gone, well, yes, it is great to have some "me" time, but I always find, and always as in without fail, that by the end of their time away, when it comes to within a few hours of them being home, I am literally incapable of doing anything. Because I am pacing. Waiting. Anxious. Just massively excited to see my babies again.
I miss them when they aren't with me. Terribly. Although I love the time I have without them, at the same time I am torn because I am not with them. Quite ridiculous I know. But, well, what can you do.
So tonight they arrived home from their weekend away. They had had fun and that is the most important thing.
Miss 5 goes back to school tomorrow. And it is her last term as a grade prep. After that she will be in grade 1.
And she asked me "When do I start grade 1?" And, knowing that I had absolutely no idea when the terms are for next year, I said to her "I'll google it later."
Her comment? "Yes, you should ask the internet 'what day will I start grade 1?'". Super adorable.
I did forget a few things today. The bath for example. It was full of drinks last night, and tonight, well, it was still full of drinks, just a few less. So when Miss 5 went in there to wash her hands, the next thing I heard was "Come here!!!! GUYS!! Come HERE!!!! In the bathroom!!! LOOOOOOOOK!!!!"
Oops.
I'm tipping the weekend was a little tiring for my babies. They tell me they played at the park a lot and had fun, and I think that is fabulous. But it meant that simple little things cause rather out of proportion reactions.
There were paper plates left over from last night that I gave the kids to draw on. They thought that was great. Until Miss 4 came over, put her plate on the bench, and didn't realise she had put it down on another plate that contained cake. With icing on. Very sticky red icing. Which then latched on to her drawing plate.
And then it was on. The drama. The tears. The "oh life is so cruel" dramatics that only a 4 year old (and possibly a 5 year old) can muster.
Bedtime this evening was horrific.
Bloody. Daylight. Savings.
And I walked into the heater. With my knee. One of those oil column heaters. And yes, it hurt. A lot. And no, I did not swear. But yes, I did think those swear words. All of them. Repeatedly.
And I can't bend my knee. And tomorrow it will be purple. And Miss 5 got upset because of my involuntary grunt as my knee crashed against the heater. Because she thought I was yelling at her. She's a little precious. But her preciousness held me away from putting the frozen peas on my knee, so tomorrow when it is all blue and swollen, I'm blaming her. I won't tell her. But I will be... secretly...
Oh yes, I'm awful. Sue me. Tell me you wouldn't do the same!!! She's none the wiser. But I know it's my own fault. Agh. Stupid brain. And no, I won't be blaming her, I know it's my fault.
Okay that's a sign. What's a sign? Me talking to myself almost conversation like in blog form. Sign I should go to bed. Even though I am WIDE awake.
Who knows, I just may sleep. And hopefully have better dreams than last night. Not that they were bad. But freeeeaky. Who'd have thought that copious amounts of red wine and champagne could cause sleep disturbance.....
Night all :)
Saturday, 5 October 2013
So I had a bit of a do....
last night. I turned 40 just under a week ago and thought I'd best mark the occasion with some form of shindig.
So I did. Theme - Glitter.
I firmly believe there is not enough glitter in this world. It sparkles. It shines. It almost screams joy. So why shouldn't we, as adults, be allowed to gratuitously splash around the sparkle? Well, we can. Just do it. So I did.
After a slower than anticipated start to the preparations courtesy of he with whom I hope karma catches up incredibly soon, the children departed for the weekend at around half 10. And then it was on like Donkey Kong.
For the last month or so I have been adding things to a massive box. I didn't know what was in there, I just knew there was a lot of sparkly stuff. So I opened it. And I looked. And what a sight to see. Sooooo much sparkle. And it was mine. ALL MINE!!!! *insert evil muahahahahaha laugh here and then get a grip and get back to reality*
The first thing I saw was sparkle card. Yes. You heard correctly. Card that is covered in sparkles. Glitter paper. Seriously rocks. So I decided to make some decorations to stick around the room to supplement the disco balls (yes, plural), tinsel (okay so I made the most of the fact that Spotlight already has Christmas decorations in store) and other random sparkly things.
I got my scissors and my black texta and proceeded to draw a 4 on the back of the card. But I had to try to draw it backwards because I would be cutting it out and the other side was the visible side. So then I had mental discussions with myself as to how to do it, which resulted in my literally have to write the number 4 because I had thought about it so much I forgot what a 4 looked like. Then I thought I may have been overthinking things a tad. I was even turning the card around, "turning map" style, as if that would make a difference. Square. Paper. With glitter on. Turning it for better perspective. Yes, I really AM that special.
So I decided I'd just wing it. No drawing of lines, no draft, I just got out the scissors and cut. And a 4 was made. Sensational.
Then the 0. A bit easier, although I had to keep evening it off because it was asymmetrical and consequently it ended up a little smaller in scale than the 4. And yes that bothered me a tad. I don't like things being just a little bit off. I made Miss 4 a glitter t-shirt as you recall and the off-centredness of the heart is still annoying me. So much so that I intend to go to Target, buy another t-shirt and make a rip-off copy of my original t-shirt, but make sure it is centred. That's totally normal. And not at all pedantic. Much.
So there were a few sheets of card left and I opted to cut out little stars. I did the same 'wing it' effort with a star. It ended up looking like a speech bubble drawn on a comic by the work experience kid. Not great. So I drew the stars on the back of the card and cut them out. I didn't follow the lines precisely, because the stars were pretty badly drawn in the first place and, well, I don't know why I didn't, I just didn't.
But I ended up with quite a few stars, and some diamonds, and other bits and bobs, and by the time I had finished cutting up all these shapes it looked like I'd murdered a fairy in the kitchen. Glitter. Everywhere. That's the way......
Balloons were to be picked up. So off I went to what has become my favourite store; Spotlight. I love it. Love it love it love it. Could stay there for hours on end. (Yes, I know I've said it before. I can't help it. I get excited about stuff. Sue me.) It has everything, not just glitter and balloons. I could do my entire Christmas decoration shop there. I also headed to the dance fabric section and bought 2m of sequin fabric. Instant tablecloth. And when I'm done I'll make the girls some sparkly clothes from it. And every time they wear their little whatever it is I make for them I will remember my party. Fabulous.
So I go to the counter and ask about my order.
"What order?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"We don't have an order."
Insert. Anxiety. Attack. Here.
"But, but, but, she wrote my name in the book!"
And sure enough, when they looked, there it was, my name. And my number. And none of the details of the balloons.....
They couldn't understand it. I think I understood it less. And as the old duck behind the counter placated me with "it's okay love we can get it sorted" my breathing began to return to some semblance of normality. And within 10 minutes I was out the door with some lovely sparkly helium balloons (and no we did not suck the helium out of said balloons at the end of the night, but we did discuss what happens when you do and recalled previous experiences with it.... that's the thing, I'm a grown up now......).
Then I grabbed some ice and headed home. I filled the tub with ice, as I put the drinks in earlier. And then I heard it. The sound of water slowly trickling down the drain. Oh. God. I forgot to put the plug in.
Do you know how difficult it is to move ice, in a bathtub, which is full of soft drinks, beer, champagne and wine, so as to be effective in clearing the drain in order to place the plug in? I'll save you the hassle of performing a re-enactment, because I know you want to. It's hard. Really hard. Incredibly hard. And hellishly cold.
Hellishly cold. Oxymoron. Fabulous. Love a bit of an oxymoron.
I did it though. I'm tenacious.
And people arrived. And we had a fabulous night. A truly happy, sparkly, fun and fabulous night.
The food was amazing, if I do say so myself. I put a lamb roast on at 8 in the morning and at 7.30pm took it out, and it was succulent and juicy and literally just fell off the bone. From 5.2kg of lamb, all that remained was a small take away container of leftovers.
And my folks brought sweets and a fabulous cake, and a friend brought stunning cheeses (and I have just polished off a wedge of said cheese whilst sitting here), and another friend arrived early to help me get organised with the last minute things.
And there was champagne. And wine. And laughing. And speeches.... yes. Which I was not expecting. And I had to give one so it seemed. I think it went ok....
And we drank and laughed on into the night, people came and people went, and the evening wrapped up just before 3am. But technically just before 2am. Then it instantly became 3am. Daylight savings.
What if you were in labour and your baby was born at 3.01am, daylight savings time? Does that technically add an extra hour to your labour? Hmmm. Interesting question.
Anyway, I haven't cleaned up yet. Because I am still mentally celebrating. I have gone back in my head over everything that has happened in the last 40 years. Some good. Some bad. Some abhorrent. Some simply brilliant.
Suffice to say I have done a lot. And right here, right now, well, I have literally never been happier.
From here we move onwards and upwards, and it can only get better.
Cheers.
So I did. Theme - Glitter.
I firmly believe there is not enough glitter in this world. It sparkles. It shines. It almost screams joy. So why shouldn't we, as adults, be allowed to gratuitously splash around the sparkle? Well, we can. Just do it. So I did.
After a slower than anticipated start to the preparations courtesy of he with whom I hope karma catches up incredibly soon, the children departed for the weekend at around half 10. And then it was on like Donkey Kong.
For the last month or so I have been adding things to a massive box. I didn't know what was in there, I just knew there was a lot of sparkly stuff. So I opened it. And I looked. And what a sight to see. Sooooo much sparkle. And it was mine. ALL MINE!!!! *insert evil muahahahahaha laugh here and then get a grip and get back to reality*
The first thing I saw was sparkle card. Yes. You heard correctly. Card that is covered in sparkles. Glitter paper. Seriously rocks. So I decided to make some decorations to stick around the room to supplement the disco balls (yes, plural), tinsel (okay so I made the most of the fact that Spotlight already has Christmas decorations in store) and other random sparkly things.
I got my scissors and my black texta and proceeded to draw a 4 on the back of the card. But I had to try to draw it backwards because I would be cutting it out and the other side was the visible side. So then I had mental discussions with myself as to how to do it, which resulted in my literally have to write the number 4 because I had thought about it so much I forgot what a 4 looked like. Then I thought I may have been overthinking things a tad. I was even turning the card around, "turning map" style, as if that would make a difference. Square. Paper. With glitter on. Turning it for better perspective. Yes, I really AM that special.
So I decided I'd just wing it. No drawing of lines, no draft, I just got out the scissors and cut. And a 4 was made. Sensational.
Then the 0. A bit easier, although I had to keep evening it off because it was asymmetrical and consequently it ended up a little smaller in scale than the 4. And yes that bothered me a tad. I don't like things being just a little bit off. I made Miss 4 a glitter t-shirt as you recall and the off-centredness of the heart is still annoying me. So much so that I intend to go to Target, buy another t-shirt and make a rip-off copy of my original t-shirt, but make sure it is centred. That's totally normal. And not at all pedantic. Much.
So there were a few sheets of card left and I opted to cut out little stars. I did the same 'wing it' effort with a star. It ended up looking like a speech bubble drawn on a comic by the work experience kid. Not great. So I drew the stars on the back of the card and cut them out. I didn't follow the lines precisely, because the stars were pretty badly drawn in the first place and, well, I don't know why I didn't, I just didn't.
But I ended up with quite a few stars, and some diamonds, and other bits and bobs, and by the time I had finished cutting up all these shapes it looked like I'd murdered a fairy in the kitchen. Glitter. Everywhere. That's the way......
Balloons were to be picked up. So off I went to what has become my favourite store; Spotlight. I love it. Love it love it love it. Could stay there for hours on end. (Yes, I know I've said it before. I can't help it. I get excited about stuff. Sue me.) It has everything, not just glitter and balloons. I could do my entire Christmas decoration shop there. I also headed to the dance fabric section and bought 2m of sequin fabric. Instant tablecloth. And when I'm done I'll make the girls some sparkly clothes from it. And every time they wear their little whatever it is I make for them I will remember my party. Fabulous.
So I go to the counter and ask about my order.
"What order?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"We don't have an order."
Insert. Anxiety. Attack. Here.
"But, but, but, she wrote my name in the book!"
And sure enough, when they looked, there it was, my name. And my number. And none of the details of the balloons.....
They couldn't understand it. I think I understood it less. And as the old duck behind the counter placated me with "it's okay love we can get it sorted" my breathing began to return to some semblance of normality. And within 10 minutes I was out the door with some lovely sparkly helium balloons (and no we did not suck the helium out of said balloons at the end of the night, but we did discuss what happens when you do and recalled previous experiences with it.... that's the thing, I'm a grown up now......).
Then I grabbed some ice and headed home. I filled the tub with ice, as I put the drinks in earlier. And then I heard it. The sound of water slowly trickling down the drain. Oh. God. I forgot to put the plug in.
Do you know how difficult it is to move ice, in a bathtub, which is full of soft drinks, beer, champagne and wine, so as to be effective in clearing the drain in order to place the plug in? I'll save you the hassle of performing a re-enactment, because I know you want to. It's hard. Really hard. Incredibly hard. And hellishly cold.
Hellishly cold. Oxymoron. Fabulous. Love a bit of an oxymoron.
I did it though. I'm tenacious.
And people arrived. And we had a fabulous night. A truly happy, sparkly, fun and fabulous night.
The food was amazing, if I do say so myself. I put a lamb roast on at 8 in the morning and at 7.30pm took it out, and it was succulent and juicy and literally just fell off the bone. From 5.2kg of lamb, all that remained was a small take away container of leftovers.
And my folks brought sweets and a fabulous cake, and a friend brought stunning cheeses (and I have just polished off a wedge of said cheese whilst sitting here), and another friend arrived early to help me get organised with the last minute things.
And there was champagne. And wine. And laughing. And speeches.... yes. Which I was not expecting. And I had to give one so it seemed. I think it went ok....
And we drank and laughed on into the night, people came and people went, and the evening wrapped up just before 3am. But technically just before 2am. Then it instantly became 3am. Daylight savings.
What if you were in labour and your baby was born at 3.01am, daylight savings time? Does that technically add an extra hour to your labour? Hmmm. Interesting question.
Anyway, I haven't cleaned up yet. Because I am still mentally celebrating. I have gone back in my head over everything that has happened in the last 40 years. Some good. Some bad. Some abhorrent. Some simply brilliant.
Suffice to say I have done a lot. And right here, right now, well, I have literally never been happier.
From here we move onwards and upwards, and it can only get better.
Cheers.
Friday, 4 October 2013
Glitter fabric paint
could quite possibly be the most amazing invention ever. I mean that.
I bought some.
I used it.
I painted hearts on the girls' t-shirts.
And I made my plain black top look as though it is adorned by sparkles all around the neckline.
And this opens up a whole new branch of my life. I can, quite confidently, be glitter craft queen.
And OH. MY. GOD. I am SO bloody excited about that!
I adore glitter. You know that. Everyone knows that. People that don't know me know that. So to discover that for the tiny sum of $5.95 I can go to one of my favourite shops (Spotlight - could spend hours there - and Oh Em Gee for the second time when they have the 40% off sales!!!!) and get these tubes of glittery wonderful fabric painting joy, well, my life is officially fabulous. And sparkly.
So tomorrow night is my 40th "do". I think I have over-catered. I know, hard to believe, but I think I have.
But, at least we will have food left over.
Today kind of amazed me a little bit. Well, not today, but my kids today. The girls in particular. So much so that it resulted in their names being placed on the "good list" which then resulted in that amazing achievement of having been on the "good list" 5 times which meant they get to choose something as a treat. I was preparing for a trip to the shops to get them each a little something. Nope. They wanted something from the "treat box". This box, a Tupperware container actually, is full of those things that I don't really like the kids having all that often, but are a bit of fun and good for a treat. Things like mini packs of maltesers, roll-ups (don't get me started), and other little things like that.
What was the act that got them on the good list?
Well, we are not 'well-off', so I frequent the local op shop when new clothes are needed. $2 a piece. Fabulous. I was lucky enough to find two t-shirts the other day, fairly similar, but not quite. Both black with lots of colours painted on, and both with a bit of sparkle. One had an A shape and one was fitted.
So I gave Miss 5 the fitted one and Miss 4 the A shaped one. Miss 5 saw Miss 4's top and decided she liked that one better and started to get a little upset. And here's where it became amazing. Miss 4 reached out her top to Miss 5 and said "Here you go", and swapped tops.
I could have cried. Miss 4 saw how much Miss 5 wanted that top, and, instead of keeping it for herself, gave it to Miss 5 so she wasn't upset. You can never describe the feeling of pride in your children. Never. Unless you have your own, and have experienced it. I was just so proud of my little Miss 4.
And what happened next?
I told Miss 4 how proud I was of her for being so caring and sharing and I gave her a great big hug.
Miss 5 smiled. And said to Miss 4 "Here you go" and gave the top back, and took her own, original top back, which then made Miss 4 smile, because deep down she really did like that top more.
And these are the moments that nobody can ever tell you about. They just can't. Nobody can tell you that your heart could almost burst watching two of your children care so much about one another that they will do whatever they can to help make the other feel less sad.
It was a truly amazing moment, and still brings tears to my eyes thinking about it.
That said, it isn't always the way. Ask Master 3 who is sporting a massive bruise on the head courtesy of Miss 4 throwing him, quite vigorously, in the direction of a wall, with which he did make contact..... Frozen peas were applied....
Life is never dull. It can go from moments of pure and utter joy - such as this morning where we were all in my bed just laughing and carrying on like idiots - to moments like this afternoon where to be perfectly honest I was hoping a storm would come in so the sky would get dark and I could tell the kids it was bedtime.
I wouldn't have it any other way. Any of it.
I bought some.
I used it.
I painted hearts on the girls' t-shirts.
And I made my plain black top look as though it is adorned by sparkles all around the neckline.
And this opens up a whole new branch of my life. I can, quite confidently, be glitter craft queen.
And OH. MY. GOD. I am SO bloody excited about that!
I adore glitter. You know that. Everyone knows that. People that don't know me know that. So to discover that for the tiny sum of $5.95 I can go to one of my favourite shops (Spotlight - could spend hours there - and Oh Em Gee for the second time when they have the 40% off sales!!!!) and get these tubes of glittery wonderful fabric painting joy, well, my life is officially fabulous. And sparkly.
So tomorrow night is my 40th "do". I think I have over-catered. I know, hard to believe, but I think I have.
But, at least we will have food left over.
Today kind of amazed me a little bit. Well, not today, but my kids today. The girls in particular. So much so that it resulted in their names being placed on the "good list" which then resulted in that amazing achievement of having been on the "good list" 5 times which meant they get to choose something as a treat. I was preparing for a trip to the shops to get them each a little something. Nope. They wanted something from the "treat box". This box, a Tupperware container actually, is full of those things that I don't really like the kids having all that often, but are a bit of fun and good for a treat. Things like mini packs of maltesers, roll-ups (don't get me started), and other little things like that.
What was the act that got them on the good list?
Well, we are not 'well-off', so I frequent the local op shop when new clothes are needed. $2 a piece. Fabulous. I was lucky enough to find two t-shirts the other day, fairly similar, but not quite. Both black with lots of colours painted on, and both with a bit of sparkle. One had an A shape and one was fitted.
So I gave Miss 5 the fitted one and Miss 4 the A shaped one. Miss 5 saw Miss 4's top and decided she liked that one better and started to get a little upset. And here's where it became amazing. Miss 4 reached out her top to Miss 5 and said "Here you go", and swapped tops.
I could have cried. Miss 4 saw how much Miss 5 wanted that top, and, instead of keeping it for herself, gave it to Miss 5 so she wasn't upset. You can never describe the feeling of pride in your children. Never. Unless you have your own, and have experienced it. I was just so proud of my little Miss 4.
And what happened next?
I told Miss 4 how proud I was of her for being so caring and sharing and I gave her a great big hug.
Miss 5 smiled. And said to Miss 4 "Here you go" and gave the top back, and took her own, original top back, which then made Miss 4 smile, because deep down she really did like that top more.
And these are the moments that nobody can ever tell you about. They just can't. Nobody can tell you that your heart could almost burst watching two of your children care so much about one another that they will do whatever they can to help make the other feel less sad.
It was a truly amazing moment, and still brings tears to my eyes thinking about it.
That said, it isn't always the way. Ask Master 3 who is sporting a massive bruise on the head courtesy of Miss 4 throwing him, quite vigorously, in the direction of a wall, with which he did make contact..... Frozen peas were applied....
Life is never dull. It can go from moments of pure and utter joy - such as this morning where we were all in my bed just laughing and carrying on like idiots - to moments like this afternoon where to be perfectly honest I was hoping a storm would come in so the sky would get dark and I could tell the kids it was bedtime.
I wouldn't have it any other way. Any of it.
Thursday, 3 October 2013
I have a bone to pick
with these kids of mine.
I make them food. I put said food on their plates. I put the exact same food on my plate. We sit. They don't want their food, they want mine.
Yes. I know. Mind boggling.
It. Is. The. Same.
Or, if they don't want my food and are happy to eat theirs, they will do so on the proviso that I feed them.
Are. You. Serious?
No. I will not feed you. You are 5. You are 4. You are 3. Eat your food.
What did I do tonight? I fed the 4 and 3 year old. Why? Because my ears were going to bleed if the noise didn't stop.
You gotta pick your battles.
I would have thought that over time the novelty of floor food would have worn off. If you are unfamiliar with floor food it is that food which drops from the plate or bowl, or hand if wandering when one should not be whilst having food in hand, and that ends up, funnily enough, on the floor.
Now there are people in this world who will not eat food once it touches the ground and who will not let their children eat food once it touches the ground. Me, well, once I saw my then 18 month old lick a tree, I figured food that had been resting for only a couple of seconds on freshly vacuumed carpet was most certainly not going to kill her.
But what is most disturbing is when your child comes up to you and produces a morsel of something, and you literally cannot remember the last time you served up that particular food, and you watch, as if in slow motion, as the child puts the piece of random long-time unknown floor food into their mouth, unable to make the distance from where you are to where said child is in time to prevent the ingestion of god only knows what from anyone's guess how long ago.
Utterly. Disgusting.
I'm quite lucky none of my kids were ever random non-food eaters though. By that I mean they didn't attempt to eat envelopes, or bark, or stones or dirt. They have, however, been guilty of theft. Food theft. Hilariously evident food theft. It is very hard for a 2 year old to deny having eaten the 'missing' chocolate when his face has become a deep shade of brown. And yes, he was 2 at that time. I haven't forgotten he turned 3. This time. I have on many occasions UNTIL now. But now is not one of them. But thanks for paying attention.
I don't eat sweets. As a general rule. Why? First of all I am allergic to a few things, so that automatically rules them out. Secondly, I just find them too sweet. My achilles heel is salty, fatty, amazingly wonderful fried and gloriously crispy foods.... But I digress. Too sweet. And so when the kids have birthday cake or a lolly or an ice cream, they take great pains to say to me "You don't eat this, because it's too sweet" and to be fair, they aren't wrong.
The funny part comes when Master 3 is sitting at the table and, obviously not wanting to eat any more of what is in front of him, looks at me, big puppy dog eyes and says "Mummy, I can't eat this anymore; it's too sweet." Best part? It's pasta. Or a vegemite sandwich. Or eggs.
Nice try little man, nice try. You need a few more years' experience. Then you'll be able to give Miss 4's reasoning as to why she can't finish her dinner.... "I can't eat any more of this because when I was at school today one of the teachers said that if we have too much *insert name of food on plate in front of her* then it can make us sick, and I don't want to get sick, so I can't have any more."
At least she's creative.
And it isn't like anything goes to waste. Miss 5'll eat the leftovers.....she eats more than a grown man..... Sometimes I feel sorry for our dog.... he doesn't get a lot in that regard.....
And once again I find myself having chatted for some time without actually detailing the point which I had intended to make, and, being that a fair amount of time has passed since I commenced writing, that point is no longer with us.
Ah well. I guess it can't have been that important.
Bit peckish now though.....
I make them food. I put said food on their plates. I put the exact same food on my plate. We sit. They don't want their food, they want mine.
Yes. I know. Mind boggling.
It. Is. The. Same.
Or, if they don't want my food and are happy to eat theirs, they will do so on the proviso that I feed them.
Are. You. Serious?
No. I will not feed you. You are 5. You are 4. You are 3. Eat your food.
What did I do tonight? I fed the 4 and 3 year old. Why? Because my ears were going to bleed if the noise didn't stop.
You gotta pick your battles.
I would have thought that over time the novelty of floor food would have worn off. If you are unfamiliar with floor food it is that food which drops from the plate or bowl, or hand if wandering when one should not be whilst having food in hand, and that ends up, funnily enough, on the floor.
Now there are people in this world who will not eat food once it touches the ground and who will not let their children eat food once it touches the ground. Me, well, once I saw my then 18 month old lick a tree, I figured food that had been resting for only a couple of seconds on freshly vacuumed carpet was most certainly not going to kill her.
But what is most disturbing is when your child comes up to you and produces a morsel of something, and you literally cannot remember the last time you served up that particular food, and you watch, as if in slow motion, as the child puts the piece of random long-time unknown floor food into their mouth, unable to make the distance from where you are to where said child is in time to prevent the ingestion of god only knows what from anyone's guess how long ago.
Utterly. Disgusting.
I'm quite lucky none of my kids were ever random non-food eaters though. By that I mean they didn't attempt to eat envelopes, or bark, or stones or dirt. They have, however, been guilty of theft. Food theft. Hilariously evident food theft. It is very hard for a 2 year old to deny having eaten the 'missing' chocolate when his face has become a deep shade of brown. And yes, he was 2 at that time. I haven't forgotten he turned 3. This time. I have on many occasions UNTIL now. But now is not one of them. But thanks for paying attention.
I don't eat sweets. As a general rule. Why? First of all I am allergic to a few things, so that automatically rules them out. Secondly, I just find them too sweet. My achilles heel is salty, fatty, amazingly wonderful fried and gloriously crispy foods.... But I digress. Too sweet. And so when the kids have birthday cake or a lolly or an ice cream, they take great pains to say to me "You don't eat this, because it's too sweet" and to be fair, they aren't wrong.
The funny part comes when Master 3 is sitting at the table and, obviously not wanting to eat any more of what is in front of him, looks at me, big puppy dog eyes and says "Mummy, I can't eat this anymore; it's too sweet." Best part? It's pasta. Or a vegemite sandwich. Or eggs.
Nice try little man, nice try. You need a few more years' experience. Then you'll be able to give Miss 4's reasoning as to why she can't finish her dinner.... "I can't eat any more of this because when I was at school today one of the teachers said that if we have too much *insert name of food on plate in front of her* then it can make us sick, and I don't want to get sick, so I can't have any more."
At least she's creative.
And it isn't like anything goes to waste. Miss 5'll eat the leftovers.....she eats more than a grown man..... Sometimes I feel sorry for our dog.... he doesn't get a lot in that regard.....
And once again I find myself having chatted for some time without actually detailing the point which I had intended to make, and, being that a fair amount of time has passed since I commenced writing, that point is no longer with us.
Ah well. I guess it can't have been that important.
Bit peckish now though.....
Wednesday, 2 October 2013
They're all so beautiful.
This was the reason it took us 20 minutes longer than usual to leave the house this morning.
Picture Miss 5, seated in front of her set of drawers, the drawers in which her shoes reside.
I had previously asked her to put on her shoes and socks so we could go, whereupon she departed towards her bedroom and was not seen again until I explored, having achieved no response to my repeated cries of her name.
I saw her. Sitting. She turned to me, and with a look of almost confusion in her eyes she said "I just can't decide. They're all so beautiful."
So because my darling daughter has obviously got too many shoes, and beautiful ones at that, it is near impossible for her to actually put any of these shoes on, for she simply cannot decide between them all.
Oh. My. Imagine what she will be like as a teenager.
So we eventually got out of the house. Master 3 was fine until we got to his room at daycare whereupon he did his famous impersonation of a banshee as I rushed the other two out so he didn't have to extend the goodbye any longer than was absolutely necessary. Miss 4 happily skipped off to show the teacher her hair (I had sprayed all their hair with glitter hair spray this morning.... why? Because who doesn't need a bit of sparkle in their life every now and then).
And then it was time to drop off Miss 5. No. Incidents. All good.
A visit to pick up a wall organiser (and my won't that be handy), a very relaxing visit with a friend and lovely cup of a coffee to boot, then off to run a few more errands. I stopped in at home briefly, I forget why, but I went inside, then came out again to check the mail, whereupon I stumbled (not literally) across my 83 year old neighbour with a dog walking along beside her. I asked if the dog was hers and she said "No, I thought it may have been yours". "Oh mine is a LOT bigger than that" I said (and immediately thought how ridiculous that sounded).
So we chatted for a bit, small talk about this that and the other, and off I went back inside. And there was the dog. In my house. Fabulous.
It was a nice little dog. No collar sadly, but a friendly little creature. So I shooed him out and said my goodbyes, closed the door and watched him toddle off down the driveway through the window, hoping he would be okay and find his way home.
The rest of the day went along swimmingly, many errands were run, and much was achieved, although there still remained unfinished business by the time it was pick up children o'clock. As is always the way.
So I picked them all up, we came home, and I started getting dinner ready. Chicken, vegies, easy peasy.
Sitting at the table I told Master 3 to stop wriggling around on his chair, had a chat to Miss 4 about nothing in particular, told Master 3 to stop moving around so much on his chair or he would fall, asked Miss 5 about her day, repeated to Master 3 that he would hurt himself if he wasn't careful, got seconds for Miss 4, told Master 3 to sit still and eat his dinner, got seconds for Miss 5, and then watched as Master 3 slipped off his seat, grabbing madly for something to steady him, at which time his head hit the table, around the level of his chin, and slightly to the side.
He became a little upset at this point.
And so I cuddled him. A lot. Because that's what mums do, even when they know that if the child had have simply listened, then this would never have happened.....
So eventually he settled, and sat back down at his seat.
It would have been 6, maybe 7 minutes later when he started wriggling around again, as per prior to the great face smashing incident of earlier.
And so I reminded him that last time he did that he fell off his seat.
Oh no. He didn't. Apparently. "I caught myself" he said. Rightio. Caught himself. With the table. By his head. Whatever floats your boat little man.
And so it is only three more sleeps until I'm having a bit of a do for my 40th. Not a massive do. But a do nonetheless.
And the theme?
Glitter.
Because who doesn't need a bit of sparkle in their life every now and then......
Picture Miss 5, seated in front of her set of drawers, the drawers in which her shoes reside.
I had previously asked her to put on her shoes and socks so we could go, whereupon she departed towards her bedroom and was not seen again until I explored, having achieved no response to my repeated cries of her name.
I saw her. Sitting. She turned to me, and with a look of almost confusion in her eyes she said "I just can't decide. They're all so beautiful."
So because my darling daughter has obviously got too many shoes, and beautiful ones at that, it is near impossible for her to actually put any of these shoes on, for she simply cannot decide between them all.
Oh. My. Imagine what she will be like as a teenager.
So we eventually got out of the house. Master 3 was fine until we got to his room at daycare whereupon he did his famous impersonation of a banshee as I rushed the other two out so he didn't have to extend the goodbye any longer than was absolutely necessary. Miss 4 happily skipped off to show the teacher her hair (I had sprayed all their hair with glitter hair spray this morning.... why? Because who doesn't need a bit of sparkle in their life every now and then).
And then it was time to drop off Miss 5. No. Incidents. All good.
A visit to pick up a wall organiser (and my won't that be handy), a very relaxing visit with a friend and lovely cup of a coffee to boot, then off to run a few more errands. I stopped in at home briefly, I forget why, but I went inside, then came out again to check the mail, whereupon I stumbled (not literally) across my 83 year old neighbour with a dog walking along beside her. I asked if the dog was hers and she said "No, I thought it may have been yours". "Oh mine is a LOT bigger than that" I said (and immediately thought how ridiculous that sounded).
So we chatted for a bit, small talk about this that and the other, and off I went back inside. And there was the dog. In my house. Fabulous.
It was a nice little dog. No collar sadly, but a friendly little creature. So I shooed him out and said my goodbyes, closed the door and watched him toddle off down the driveway through the window, hoping he would be okay and find his way home.
The rest of the day went along swimmingly, many errands were run, and much was achieved, although there still remained unfinished business by the time it was pick up children o'clock. As is always the way.
So I picked them all up, we came home, and I started getting dinner ready. Chicken, vegies, easy peasy.
Sitting at the table I told Master 3 to stop wriggling around on his chair, had a chat to Miss 4 about nothing in particular, told Master 3 to stop moving around so much on his chair or he would fall, asked Miss 5 about her day, repeated to Master 3 that he would hurt himself if he wasn't careful, got seconds for Miss 4, told Master 3 to sit still and eat his dinner, got seconds for Miss 5, and then watched as Master 3 slipped off his seat, grabbing madly for something to steady him, at which time his head hit the table, around the level of his chin, and slightly to the side.
He became a little upset at this point.
And so I cuddled him. A lot. Because that's what mums do, even when they know that if the child had have simply listened, then this would never have happened.....
So eventually he settled, and sat back down at his seat.
It would have been 6, maybe 7 minutes later when he started wriggling around again, as per prior to the great face smashing incident of earlier.
And so I reminded him that last time he did that he fell off his seat.
Oh no. He didn't. Apparently. "I caught myself" he said. Rightio. Caught himself. With the table. By his head. Whatever floats your boat little man.
And so it is only three more sleeps until I'm having a bit of a do for my 40th. Not a massive do. But a do nonetheless.
And the theme?
Glitter.
Because who doesn't need a bit of sparkle in their life every now and then......
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