For the sake of all the small children in the world who are looking forward to waking on christmas day to a bulgy sack of pressies, I am glad my two boys are not Santas little helpers. They are Mumma's Little Helpers, and aren't they just such a help.
Little Brother has been helping me cook. By licking handfuls of cocoa off the floor. Where it fell while he was raiding the cupboard, perched on tippy toes on the box of beer he'd tipped over, while trying to reach the Milo tin. Who's lid fell off also. He stopped eating cocoa and went for the milo.
Another time he was helping me make my annual white chocolate christmas-only cheese cake for the big X-day.( Its only a yearly occasion cause its so yummy I'd eat so much I could audition for the next Kung Fu Panda movie. Once I'd trained to do Kung Fu.)
So both boys like to operate the kichen whizz, which is typical for them in being intrigued by the toolkit more than the actual cooking. With only 3 buttons on the machine its pretty safe to put them onto ON/OFF duties. Little Brother however, decided to help with the adding ingredients bit, so while I had my back turned popped in to the mixture what he could reach - the foil top from a cream cheese packet, the lid of the machine (upside down). And a teaspoon...which I only discovered after fishing the other objects out, and turning the motor on. CRRuuunnncch.
Big Brother is very helpful. When bribed. Occasionally he goes for gold, like today when he tidied a glass jar off an outdoor table by throwing it onto the concrete. Thanks dear. To be fair he is an ace egg cracker, and even fishes out the pieces of rogue shell.
They are great little helpers and like to help their Mumma. Copying is such a huge method of learning, however it makes me a little nervous when I see my LB at 18 months get a beer out of the fridge, find the right tool out of the draw, and start bashing the bottle top with the opener. When the coast is clear he grabs the BBQ slice and heads out to the patio. And he loves to get a knife from the draw and try and pry open the cupboards (who on earth did he learn that one off?)
I love letting them have a go, and try to be positive about the resulting mess. I can only imagine what carnage it would be to let them loose in Santa's workshop. Lucky you Santa. But believe me, they have been very good (helpful) boys this year.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
Dot Dot
"OOh look boys....whats out there on the lawn????... a series of little brown packages on the lawn/stones/deck!!! ...ohh do you think santa's been past for a quick reccie and the reindeer left us a clue???.."
Ah, sorry, no. Actually it is the gift that keeps on giving this christmas - the 18month old who's decided to toilet train himself.
He's always had a sly fascination of the smallest room in the house and now he' s a big dot-dot (transl. toilet) man.
First thing in the morning...we hear him yell ' DOT DOT' and up we leap to take him for his 'wee' sit. And then everytime he feels like a 'Loll-Loll' (lolly) throughout the day he manages to squeeze one out.
As a cloth warrior mum every nappy I don't have to scrub is a joy (bless his cotton socks) and we are of course very proud of him being so well, darned advanced. But....it's the other presents we find everywhere that are rather trying. Like the 'reindeer' droppings on the lawn. And quite a few other places I won't describe incase our landlord reads this! Subsequently we are spending a lot of time reading stories in the little room, hoping to catch 'it', and train 'it' through masses of praise, silly songs and confectionery. I think at his age the spirit is willing, but his little brain doesn't quite translate the warning signs in time.
(Apologies for the theme tonight, but it is a truth universally acknowledged among those like myself who have worked in care of the elderly, that if the bowels aren't working, then nothing else happens. And on the other end of the scale, just ask any mothers groups what their number 1 topic of conversation is. In the dawn, as well as the twilight of life, we will spend a considerable amount of time discussing 'it'.)
On that note, I'd better go check the premises for any gifts from our delightfully advanced son. I guess when it comes to early indicators of genius there is no guarantee of musical protege.
Ah, sorry, no. Actually it is the gift that keeps on giving this christmas - the 18month old who's decided to toilet train himself.
He's always had a sly fascination of the smallest room in the house and now he' s a big dot-dot (transl. toilet) man.
First thing in the morning...we hear him yell ' DOT DOT' and up we leap to take him for his 'wee' sit. And then everytime he feels like a 'Loll-Loll' (lolly) throughout the day he manages to squeeze one out.
As a cloth warrior mum every nappy I don't have to scrub is a joy (bless his cotton socks) and we are of course very proud of him being so well, darned advanced. But....it's the other presents we find everywhere that are rather trying. Like the 'reindeer' droppings on the lawn. And quite a few other places I won't describe incase our landlord reads this! Subsequently we are spending a lot of time reading stories in the little room, hoping to catch 'it', and train 'it' through masses of praise, silly songs and confectionery. I think at his age the spirit is willing, but his little brain doesn't quite translate the warning signs in time.
(Apologies for the theme tonight, but it is a truth universally acknowledged among those like myself who have worked in care of the elderly, that if the bowels aren't working, then nothing else happens. And on the other end of the scale, just ask any mothers groups what their number 1 topic of conversation is. In the dawn, as well as the twilight of life, we will spend a considerable amount of time discussing 'it'.)
On that note, I'd better go check the premises for any gifts from our delightfully advanced son. I guess when it comes to early indicators of genius there is no guarantee of musical protege.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Early Bird Phone Rates
Hurray I have finally worked out what to do with myself at 5.30am.
Little Brother has taken to waking at this middle of the night hour. We haul him into bed with us and then solidly ignore him for half an hour. He begins loudly announcing his plan for the day : starting with rollcall of 'Mama', and 'Dada', to check we haven't fallen back to sleep followed by breakfast plans ..
'yice?' (ricies)
'beetbix?' (weetbix),
'milt?' (milk)
'yurt?' (yoghurt)
'uuga' (sugar)
Eventually one of us gives in and gets up and produces a huge plateful of a mixture of the above for the little man to attack/spread over the table chairs and floor. This morning he was dressed and had finished breakfast (plus doing wees on the toilet for the first time) by 6.05am.
He merrily starts on his days work beginning by emptying the toy box and having a good brrom of the best cars before his brother gets up. But what am I supposed to do? It is still a good 2 hours away from being physiologically time to wake up.
This morning I hit upon the greatest plan...call my friends in England! It is comforting to know that somewhere in the world adults are up and functioning, albeit walking home from work in the partial darkness.
So early mornings are set to become full of christmas cheer, as I do my UK christmas cards - by phone. And perhaps a bit of early morning blogging too, although I'd better go now, it's 7.15 and Little Brother is ranscking the pantry looking for morning tea... 'Bit-bit??'
Little Brother has taken to waking at this middle of the night hour. We haul him into bed with us and then solidly ignore him for half an hour. He begins loudly announcing his plan for the day : starting with rollcall of 'Mama', and 'Dada', to check we haven't fallen back to sleep followed by breakfast plans ..
'yice?' (ricies)
'beetbix?' (weetbix),
'milt?' (milk)
'yurt?' (yoghurt)
'uuga' (sugar)
Eventually one of us gives in and gets up and produces a huge plateful of a mixture of the above for the little man to attack/spread over the table chairs and floor. This morning he was dressed and had finished breakfast (plus doing wees on the toilet for the first time) by 6.05am.
He merrily starts on his days work beginning by emptying the toy box and having a good brrom of the best cars before his brother gets up. But what am I supposed to do? It is still a good 2 hours away from being physiologically time to wake up.
This morning I hit upon the greatest plan...call my friends in England! It is comforting to know that somewhere in the world adults are up and functioning, albeit walking home from work in the partial darkness.
So early mornings are set to become full of christmas cheer, as I do my UK christmas cards - by phone. And perhaps a bit of early morning blogging too, although I'd better go now, it's 7.15 and Little Brother is ranscking the pantry looking for morning tea... 'Bit-bit??'
Monday, November 17, 2008
Mr and Mr Independence
It's not about what you can do for your country in our house, it is about what you can do for yourself. We are in the age of 'Do it MYSELF!'
Little Brother has to hold the keys when going to the car. It was a great idea to start with, getting him motivated to walk to the car himself. Now he is adamant, he must hold the keys, he must find the right key himself (amazingly he does find the correct key for which ever car we are going to - worked that one out himself the little genius) he has to put it in the door to unlock, then he usually permits me to put him into his seat. I am not given possession of the keys however, until I am in my seat and ready to start the car. I then cry in shock ' But where did I leave my keys?' He giggles and passes them over. Heaven forbid if you happen to be running a little late and mess with the system.
Big Brother being more capable, is even keener to 'DIM'.
Time to get dressed : 'I do it myself'- and off he goes. He went to play centre the other day in a pretend straw skirt festooned with plastic flowers. No undies either. (Mental note to check these things, luckily I had a random pair of shorts in the car. Then there is the terrible disasters of two legs in the same leg of the trousers. We love the independence and of course we encourage it, but...
'I want to get dressed myself' (Great)
'I want to put my own sugar on my weetbix (OK, I guess)
'I want to pour my milk myself' (Mess all over the table)
'I want to wipe my bottom my self' (Mess all over everywhere and he seems to need to use a whole roll of paper each time)
Although I did love it last night when he announced : 'I want to put myself to bed'.
Little Brother has to hold the keys when going to the car. It was a great idea to start with, getting him motivated to walk to the car himself. Now he is adamant, he must hold the keys, he must find the right key himself (amazingly he does find the correct key for which ever car we are going to - worked that one out himself the little genius) he has to put it in the door to unlock, then he usually permits me to put him into his seat. I am not given possession of the keys however, until I am in my seat and ready to start the car. I then cry in shock ' But where did I leave my keys?' He giggles and passes them over. Heaven forbid if you happen to be running a little late and mess with the system.
Big Brother being more capable, is even keener to 'DIM'.
Time to get dressed : 'I do it myself'- and off he goes. He went to play centre the other day in a pretend straw skirt festooned with plastic flowers. No undies either. (Mental note to check these things, luckily I had a random pair of shorts in the car. Then there is the terrible disasters of two legs in the same leg of the trousers. We love the independence and of course we encourage it, but...
'I want to get dressed myself' (Great)
'I want to put my own sugar on my weetbix (OK, I guess)
'I want to pour my milk myself' (Mess all over the table)
'I want to wipe my bottom my self' (Mess all over everywhere and he seems to need to use a whole roll of paper each time)
Although I did love it last night when he announced : 'I want to put myself to bed'.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Rock o Bama
A few months ago Big Brother astonished us one night while sitting watching the news. We often watch it all together, and he knows his weather presenters well. But it was watching a segment on international politics he started repeating what is definitely the coolest name in politics
'Barack Obama'. Or as BB calls him - Rock o Bama.
He has often chanted it as a little song while playing with his cars 'Rock O Bama, Rock O Bama, Rock O Bama'. And it was with great excitement we all chanted it last night as President Elect Obama was announced. Maybe our boy had a feeling this is a name that will always be remembered, a name that for me will always be an inspiration and a name, that hopefully will inspire many people around the world to seek their dreams and believe in change.
We had a bottle of bubbly and listened to President Obamas amazing speech. We toasted the future - everyones, but especially ours. It is a wonderful feeling to be inspired by his infectious hope. Rock on , Rock O Bama.
'Barack Obama'. Or as BB calls him - Rock o Bama.
He has often chanted it as a little song while playing with his cars 'Rock O Bama, Rock O Bama, Rock O Bama'. And it was with great excitement we all chanted it last night as President Elect Obama was announced. Maybe our boy had a feeling this is a name that will always be remembered, a name that for me will always be an inspiration and a name, that hopefully will inspire many people around the world to seek their dreams and believe in change.
We had a bottle of bubbly and listened to President Obamas amazing speech. We toasted the future - everyones, but especially ours. It is a wonderful feeling to be inspired by his infectious hope. Rock on , Rock O Bama.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Time for a perk up
I'm over being a glum bum. I am looking for the exit sign off this submarine. I have been down and now I want up. And here are some thoughts on how I am hoping to achieve and maintain this:
1. Eyebrows and legs waxed...check. Toes waxed (theres a first time for everything, says mrs hobbit). Booked in for a 'kini but have to give myself 6 weeks to work up the courage. Also planning purchase of cosmetics. All very superficial but very effective.
2. Hand me ups.
Thanks to my darling southern clothes angel fairies I have a new wardrobe and dammit I am going to look good. And, all the point, feel good. When the budget doesnt stretch, there is nothing down about a gift of lovely clothes from a friend (or a bargain at the local oppie). Hand me Hand Me Ups anytime, and see me perk.
3. Inspirational reading
Loved 'A gift from the sea' (Anne Morrow Lindberg) from my lovely mother-in-law. A parcel from my book angel fairy accompanied by a box of homemade chocolate slice (The Guernsey Literary Potato Peel Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer). 'A New Earth', by Eckhart Tolle. Lovely texts and emails from friends.
4. Opting for walks to a friends house for a cuppa rather than folding the washing and picking up the toys. Opting to play with the boys in their hut, or join in the water play rather than bemoaning yet another destroyed room, or another set of wet clothes.
5. Fristas
Enjoying my friends and sisters. By phone or on special days celebrating with a wet lunch - sharing a bottle of bubbly while the kids eat jam sammies.
6. Achieve a long cherished dream.
(I sent my completed childrens book manuscript to a competition. What a blast!)
All I need now is to keep a mental map of how to get my perkiness back should I lose my way ( which is highly likely). Wish me luck!
1. Eyebrows and legs waxed...check. Toes waxed (theres a first time for everything, says mrs hobbit). Booked in for a 'kini but have to give myself 6 weeks to work up the courage. Also planning purchase of cosmetics. All very superficial but very effective.
2. Hand me ups.
Thanks to my darling southern clothes angel fairies I have a new wardrobe and dammit I am going to look good. And, all the point, feel good. When the budget doesnt stretch, there is nothing down about a gift of lovely clothes from a friend (or a bargain at the local oppie). Hand me Hand Me Ups anytime, and see me perk.
3. Inspirational reading
Loved 'A gift from the sea' (Anne Morrow Lindberg) from my lovely mother-in-law. A parcel from my book angel fairy accompanied by a box of homemade chocolate slice (The Guernsey Literary Potato Peel Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer). 'A New Earth', by Eckhart Tolle. Lovely texts and emails from friends.
4. Opting for walks to a friends house for a cuppa rather than folding the washing and picking up the toys. Opting to play with the boys in their hut, or join in the water play rather than bemoaning yet another destroyed room, or another set of wet clothes.
5. Fristas
Enjoying my friends and sisters. By phone or on special days celebrating with a wet lunch - sharing a bottle of bubbly while the kids eat jam sammies.
6. Achieve a long cherished dream.
(I sent my completed childrens book manuscript to a competition. What a blast!)
All I need now is to keep a mental map of how to get my perkiness back should I lose my way ( which is highly likely). Wish me luck!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The meaning of words
I cannot think of a suitable way to tell people that I have had a miscarriage. Lost the baby. Was pregnant but am not anymore. I am not in denial, it is just that I have a problem with the words failing so miserably to convey the way I am feeling.
Firstly 'miscarriage'. It seems to imply that I was, initially, capable of carrying the most precious thing in the world, then I managed through ignorance, stupidity or naivety to mis-carry, let the little dot slip from my grasp. Surely medical terminology can come up with something kinder than that word? - then again, perhaps not, if the medical description of 'not viable', (a term surely coined by a middle aged man with a business degree) is anything to go by.
Then there is 'lost baby'. Like I put it down somewhere in my absentminded-ness and cripes! I just can't think where I jolly well left it!? Lost and gone forever.
But it isnt lost - it's still with me. And I will carry it in my memory, 7 weeks of joy are worth remembering and celebrating. In a similar way the term 'grieving' sits badly. Do I have the right to grieve for 7 weeks of joy? I know this is a light load to carry in comparison with the millstones of many on this planet.
The meaning of the words, and the words are, irrelevant. Its my personal feeling that I am entitled to feel. And if I need someone to know how I am feeling, I need only think of the women who also know this feeling. There are many of us, and somehow, knowing that is soothing.
Firstly 'miscarriage'. It seems to imply that I was, initially, capable of carrying the most precious thing in the world, then I managed through ignorance, stupidity or naivety to mis-carry, let the little dot slip from my grasp. Surely medical terminology can come up with something kinder than that word? - then again, perhaps not, if the medical description of 'not viable', (a term surely coined by a middle aged man with a business degree) is anything to go by.
Then there is 'lost baby'. Like I put it down somewhere in my absentminded-ness and cripes! I just can't think where I jolly well left it!? Lost and gone forever.
But it isnt lost - it's still with me. And I will carry it in my memory, 7 weeks of joy are worth remembering and celebrating. In a similar way the term 'grieving' sits badly. Do I have the right to grieve for 7 weeks of joy? I know this is a light load to carry in comparison with the millstones of many on this planet.
The meaning of the words, and the words are, irrelevant. Its my personal feeling that I am entitled to feel. And if I need someone to know how I am feeling, I need only think of the women who also know this feeling. There are many of us, and somehow, knowing that is soothing.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Beware of the Dog
Little Brother is obsessed with them, and Big Brother has up until now been petrified of man's best furry friend.
I think it started for BB on his first docking expedition, where he experienced firsthand the pandemonium of sheep, dogs, noise, mud and motorbikes. Spot at the Farm books were just no preparation for the real thing. The farm dogs are a long way on the scari-ometer from any miniature rat like poochy he's seen in a handbag in town. And it probably didn't help his slightly older boy cousin is a natural farmer who draughts the pet lambs for fun and was in the docking pen tackling everything that baa'ed. My wee towny child had no idea what was going on, and refused to get off the motorbike. For hours.
But that was a year or so ago. He's made great improvement and will now reach out to pat a friendly pooch. On the tail.
But isn't if just ironic that the first time he decides to 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' he strides bravely up to the fence and reaches out his tender little hand to pat a friendly pit bull terrier!
He also seems drawn to dobermans. All that positive reinforcement of Dogs being Lovely seems to be coming back to bite me. I hope that I am the only one thats ever bitten!
I think it started for BB on his first docking expedition, where he experienced firsthand the pandemonium of sheep, dogs, noise, mud and motorbikes. Spot at the Farm books were just no preparation for the real thing. The farm dogs are a long way on the scari-ometer from any miniature rat like poochy he's seen in a handbag in town. And it probably didn't help his slightly older boy cousin is a natural farmer who draughts the pet lambs for fun and was in the docking pen tackling everything that baa'ed. My wee towny child had no idea what was going on, and refused to get off the motorbike. For hours.
But that was a year or so ago. He's made great improvement and will now reach out to pat a friendly pooch. On the tail.
But isn't if just ironic that the first time he decides to 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' he strides bravely up to the fence and reaches out his tender little hand to pat a friendly pit bull terrier!
He also seems drawn to dobermans. All that positive reinforcement of Dogs being Lovely seems to be coming back to bite me. I hope that I am the only one thats ever bitten!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Promise lost, this time
On Saturday morning I was feeling sorry for myself because I was pregnant. Nauseous, hung over feeling like I'd inhaled a bottle of rum (which I hasten to assure you I hadn't), tired, full bladder, and that was before I'd even got out of bed.
On Sunday morning I was devastated because I'm not pregnant any more. Just as we started yelling from the rooftops news of our wee no.3, our cherry on top, our possibly pink addition, our piece d'resistance, the last of the Mohican's, the end of the line, the littlest pea in the pod, (it even had started a catalogue of pet names e.g. brucetta, aka cheryl moana maree)...the story ended with a few stomach cramps, bleeding, and a rather broken heart.
Only 7 weeks into pregnancy I know the stats, the chances, the possibility of Mother Natures highly efficient selection process deciding this one was not 'viable'. But didn't she know I had already seen a life intimately intertwined with mine, a long life of possibilities and loving and mothering for my little mass of rapidly dividing cells?
I'm not questioning that there is order in your chaos, Ma Nate, I just find it hard to let go of all the promise contained in that beautiful + on the preggy test.
I am so grateful for what I have - my beautiful sons and their wonderful father, my health and my family and friends who rise up so seamlessly to catch you at time like this when you are free falling without even knowing it.
Quotes from W. George, 3 years old man wise:
Overheard from the toilet as he did his independent business..
'That stinks GOOD'
Talking about numbers and ages, he said ' I'm three'
I dumbly asked ' And how old am I?'
Grin. ' You're sixty-two'.
'WHAT?'
Laugh. 'No, you're forty six'.
Hysterical laugh.
Fancy helping to improve third world conditions while sitting on your couch reading a good book?
For this type of VSA (Volunteer Services on your Arse) check out www.goodbooksnz.co.nz - great books great prices and all the profits go to Oxfam. Yah for consumering with a conscience.
On Sunday morning I was devastated because I'm not pregnant any more. Just as we started yelling from the rooftops news of our wee no.3, our cherry on top, our possibly pink addition, our piece d'resistance, the last of the Mohican's, the end of the line, the littlest pea in the pod, (it even had started a catalogue of pet names e.g. brucetta, aka cheryl moana maree)...the story ended with a few stomach cramps, bleeding, and a rather broken heart.
Only 7 weeks into pregnancy I know the stats, the chances, the possibility of Mother Natures highly efficient selection process deciding this one was not 'viable'. But didn't she know I had already seen a life intimately intertwined with mine, a long life of possibilities and loving and mothering for my little mass of rapidly dividing cells?
I'm not questioning that there is order in your chaos, Ma Nate, I just find it hard to let go of all the promise contained in that beautiful + on the preggy test.
I am so grateful for what I have - my beautiful sons and their wonderful father, my health and my family and friends who rise up so seamlessly to catch you at time like this when you are free falling without even knowing it.
Quotes from W. George, 3 years old man wise:
Overheard from the toilet as he did his independent business..
'That stinks GOOD'
Talking about numbers and ages, he said ' I'm three'
I dumbly asked ' And how old am I?'
Grin. ' You're sixty-two'.
'WHAT?'
Laugh. 'No, you're forty six'.
Hysterical laugh.
Fancy helping to improve third world conditions while sitting on your couch reading a good book?
For this type of VSA (Volunteer Services on your Arse) check out www.goodbooksnz.co.nz - great books great prices and all the profits go to Oxfam. Yah for consumering with a conscience.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thumb sucking skiier
It is incongruous seeing a child so little he is sucking his thumb, while sliding down the learners slope on ski's.
We had our first family day on the snow last week - it was a glorious spring day, frazzling bright sunshine and soft white snow.
We decked out big brother in his thermals, ski suit, hat, goggles, mittens and eventually persuaded him to put on the ski boots. He was right into stomping the snow with his boots so, Dad and son went off to launch his skiing career. Meanwhile, I parked the car and caught the bus back up with Little brother and lunch in tow. Unfortunately because of the 20 mins it took me I did miss most of Big Brother first skiing experience - he was sucking his thumb by the time I arrived, 'I want to go home, now' he said.
But he showed me his new skills - or rather, demonstrated how easy it is to intuitively pick up a skill when you're 3. He enjoyed falling over and wallowing about, sliding down the snow towards Dad, and stringing together turns like it was second nature to have two big planks strapped to his feet.
Definitely lunch time by then - so after a play in the cafe, Dad headed off to get his powder fix, and the boys and I tackled snowman construction. Little Brother was not sure about the whole thing - did not want to keep his goggles on, hated the mittens, then got quite a fright to find the snow was cold. He cheered up after our next activity - eating iceblocks - and we had a great sledding session back down to the carpark.
The ultimate highlight of the day followed - a ride on the free bus that troops up and back to the car parks. The boys got used to their goggles, and enjoyed the novelty of all the white fluffy stuff. Totally exhausted we all headed home. I can start to imagine great family holidays of the future - with 2 snow crazy boys (make that 3) leaving their mother way behind in their tracks, the feeling of exhaustion that comes from a perfect day on the snow, envigorated by that uncomparable mountain air!
Saving the planet today ...one recycled tyre stack aka potato grower at a time! Hurrah for new spuds at Christmas, drooling already.
Hurrah for Get growing with NZ Gardener Email Club - sign up for this weekly inspiring email at getgrowing@nzgardener.co.nz !!!!
We had our first family day on the snow last week - it was a glorious spring day, frazzling bright sunshine and soft white snow.
We decked out big brother in his thermals, ski suit, hat, goggles, mittens and eventually persuaded him to put on the ski boots. He was right into stomping the snow with his boots so, Dad and son went off to launch his skiing career. Meanwhile, I parked the car and caught the bus back up with Little brother and lunch in tow. Unfortunately because of the 20 mins it took me I did miss most of Big Brother first skiing experience - he was sucking his thumb by the time I arrived, 'I want to go home, now' he said.
But he showed me his new skills - or rather, demonstrated how easy it is to intuitively pick up a skill when you're 3. He enjoyed falling over and wallowing about, sliding down the snow towards Dad, and stringing together turns like it was second nature to have two big planks strapped to his feet.
Definitely lunch time by then - so after a play in the cafe, Dad headed off to get his powder fix, and the boys and I tackled snowman construction. Little Brother was not sure about the whole thing - did not want to keep his goggles on, hated the mittens, then got quite a fright to find the snow was cold. He cheered up after our next activity - eating iceblocks - and we had a great sledding session back down to the carpark.
The ultimate highlight of the day followed - a ride on the free bus that troops up and back to the car parks. The boys got used to their goggles, and enjoyed the novelty of all the white fluffy stuff. Totally exhausted we all headed home. I can start to imagine great family holidays of the future - with 2 snow crazy boys (make that 3) leaving their mother way behind in their tracks, the feeling of exhaustion that comes from a perfect day on the snow, envigorated by that uncomparable mountain air!
Saving the planet today ...one recycled tyre stack aka potato grower at a time! Hurrah for new spuds at Christmas, drooling already.
Hurrah for Get growing with NZ Gardener Email Club - sign up for this weekly inspiring email at getgrowing@nzgardener.co.nz !!!!
Friday, September 12, 2008
Rise of the HWAD
Sorry it seems I've lost track of the last 3 weeks - it's been a blur. Someone asked me what we were doing for Christmas the other day. I assume the blank vacant look of reply I gave them convinced them I was in no state to face up to the realities of stampeding time. The conversation fizzled. ( I have barely removed the decorations from last year.)
The pink arm has gone - free at last! - replaced by a puny white weakling with lots of black ingrown hairs. That hurts when I move it. The glass half full view is that it IS improving every day, soon it'll be back to it's rambo-esque physique.
Sadly today is the last day of my ACC provided home help. My house is cleaner and tidier than it has ever been, and I know this because everyone comments. It will relapse shortly I am sure.
Meanwhile the boys are growing up beautiful and happy. Snotty and perversely independent too. I have rechristened Little Brother the Human Weetbix Absorption Device. He has 3-4 in his own plate every day, then tends to polish off Big Brothers remnants of 4. He's also up for a few mouthfuls of porridge from Mum or Dad, and never turns down a piece of toast. By that time he may be ready for morning tea. I am ploughing up the lawn and sowing a few rows of wheat.
The pink arm has gone - free at last! - replaced by a puny white weakling with lots of black ingrown hairs. That hurts when I move it. The glass half full view is that it IS improving every day, soon it'll be back to it's rambo-esque physique.
Sadly today is the last day of my ACC provided home help. My house is cleaner and tidier than it has ever been, and I know this because everyone comments. It will relapse shortly I am sure.
Meanwhile the boys are growing up beautiful and happy. Snotty and perversely independent too. I have rechristened Little Brother the Human Weetbix Absorption Device. He has 3-4 in his own plate every day, then tends to polish off Big Brothers remnants of 4. He's also up for a few mouthfuls of porridge from Mum or Dad, and never turns down a piece of toast. By that time he may be ready for morning tea. I am ploughing up the lawn and sowing a few rows of wheat.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
O O O what did we do before...
the Olympics? Was there life before? Will there be life after? If I feel this exhausted how are the athletes going to survive?
Its been a telly-fest. The boys have loved it.
During the gymnastics Big Brother started launching himself off the back of the couch, twisting his body into spins and flips and landing on his head in the cushions. Not quite a 10 out of 10 routine but his training schedule has been rather neglected.
Then came the swimming and the Ph-(elps)-ish (disguised as a man). I examined the boys feet to see if they were paddle-like or sported any webbing that at any other time would mean a trip to the plastic surgeon, but this week would inspire me to phone a swimming coach. I measured their arms span in relation to their height (Phelps is taller sideways). Bit too cold to throw them in the pool this week.
Then came the Lightning Bolt. We ran and thumped our chests and tried to look like we weren't even puffed.
And the rowing and the shotput (had to send them outside to throw oranges).
After watching the swimming one night I said to BB - 'Do you want to be an Olympic swimmer?'
'No', he said.
'What would you like to do?' I asked
'I need to run' he said, and paused (I visualised the odds of winning gold in the 100m sprint with the genetic disadvantage of me as his mother) but then he continued, ' with a rugby ball'.
Of course there is life after the Olympics...its called rugby.
Its been a telly-fest. The boys have loved it.
During the gymnastics Big Brother started launching himself off the back of the couch, twisting his body into spins and flips and landing on his head in the cushions. Not quite a 10 out of 10 routine but his training schedule has been rather neglected.
Then came the swimming and the Ph-(elps)-ish (disguised as a man). I examined the boys feet to see if they were paddle-like or sported any webbing that at any other time would mean a trip to the plastic surgeon, but this week would inspire me to phone a swimming coach. I measured their arms span in relation to their height (Phelps is taller sideways). Bit too cold to throw them in the pool this week.
Then came the Lightning Bolt. We ran and thumped our chests and tried to look like we weren't even puffed.
And the rowing and the shotput (had to send them outside to throw oranges).
After watching the swimming one night I said to BB - 'Do you want to be an Olympic swimmer?'
'No', he said.
'What would you like to do?' I asked
'I need to run' he said, and paused (I visualised the odds of winning gold in the 100m sprint with the genetic disadvantage of me as his mother) but then he continued, ' with a rugby ball'.
Of course there is life after the Olympics...its called rugby.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Where did he get that from?
For sooo long I've been waiting to get a glimpse of what is going on in Big Brothers head. Now at last his language skills are getting closer to being in sync with his wee whizzing mind.
(I imagine its like a scene in star wars where the little space ship finally docks onto the side of the massive space ship, and suddenly gets thrown into it's over whelming information/gravity field). (Made more sense in my head than on paper, guess that's why i need more practise at this writing lark)
But since he's docked he is coming out with some simply great observations and conversations:
Today: 'I'm not feeling very well'
Concerned Mother: 'What's wrong, dear'
Reply in grave tone: 'I'm a bit big'.
Actually I wasn't that concerned. Ever since he was unwell last week he has used the 'I'm not feeling very well' call as a lead into 'I need to watch a d-v-d-va'. Or 'I need some Pamol'.
A few weeks ago as we hopped into the car : 'I smell horse poo'.
And another example from the where-did-he-get-that-from-basket, I took a crayon out of his mouth and said 'Don't put that in your mouth, dear'.
'But', he yelled ' I'm smoking'.
?????!
(I imagine its like a scene in star wars where the little space ship finally docks onto the side of the massive space ship, and suddenly gets thrown into it's over whelming information/gravity field). (Made more sense in my head than on paper, guess that's why i need more practise at this writing lark)
But since he's docked he is coming out with some simply great observations and conversations:
Today: 'I'm not feeling very well'
Concerned Mother: 'What's wrong, dear'
Reply in grave tone: 'I'm a bit big'.
Actually I wasn't that concerned. Ever since he was unwell last week he has used the 'I'm not feeling very well' call as a lead into 'I need to watch a d-v-d-va'. Or 'I need some Pamol'.
A few weeks ago as we hopped into the car : 'I smell horse poo'.
And another example from the where-did-he-get-that-from-basket, I took a crayon out of his mouth and said 'Don't put that in your mouth, dear'.
'But', he yelled ' I'm smoking'.
?????!
Monday, August 11, 2008
Like all well evolved predators...
..they hunt in packs.
They assess the weaknesses in their prey and adjust tactics accordingly.
And yes I do mean my children.
I am being exploited for my pink disability.
Little brother will not lie still to let me change his bottom. I am just waiting to get a whole heap of smelly stuff down my cast and then have to put up with it for 3 more weeks. He lies still for our lovely home help lady, I notice. And I also notice he tends to drop 'em when I am alone and vulnerable.
Big brother is more subtle. He knows when to ask for some Thomas the tank engine on tv - just after he has stirred us all up into a frenzy.
This morning I had them cleaning their teeth in the bathroom while I showered - I just got myself sorted washing my hair with one hand while holding up the pink arm. It was carefully encased in a rubber glove (they remind me of the ones the Agriculture boys from Massey would wear to the pub when they visited our University).
Showering away.
And then i hear ' I need to do pooos!'.
Like all well evolved predators their timing is perfect.
They assess the weaknesses in their prey and adjust tactics accordingly.
And yes I do mean my children.
I am being exploited for my pink disability.
Little brother will not lie still to let me change his bottom. I am just waiting to get a whole heap of smelly stuff down my cast and then have to put up with it for 3 more weeks. He lies still for our lovely home help lady, I notice. And I also notice he tends to drop 'em when I am alone and vulnerable.
Big brother is more subtle. He knows when to ask for some Thomas the tank engine on tv - just after he has stirred us all up into a frenzy.
This morning I had them cleaning their teeth in the bathroom while I showered - I just got myself sorted washing my hair with one hand while holding up the pink arm. It was carefully encased in a rubber glove (they remind me of the ones the Agriculture boys from Massey would wear to the pub when they visited our University).
Showering away.
And then i hear ' I need to do pooos!'.
Like all well evolved predators their timing is perfect.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Uh Oh
Uh Oh means a lot of things in our house.
It is infact 97% of Little brothers vocab (accompanied by the universal chubby pointer finger).
Today uh oh meant, among other things:
'turn on this battery operated train, please mummy'
' i just dropped a big smelly one in my pants'
'i can't seem to spear this piece of potato with my fork'
'i dont want anymore carrot so am spitting it out into my hand and throwing it onto the floor - see?'
'the train has just disappeared into the gap beside the freezer'
'oops i kicked the ball under the house. Can you crawl under hat small space and get it out.'
'i can't get these 2 pieces of lego apart/together'
It's communication at it's finest, and he's totally delighted when we Get It.
It is infact 97% of Little brothers vocab (accompanied by the universal chubby pointer finger).
Today uh oh meant, among other things:
'turn on this battery operated train, please mummy'
' i just dropped a big smelly one in my pants'
'i can't seem to spear this piece of potato with my fork'
'i dont want anymore carrot so am spitting it out into my hand and throwing it onto the floor - see?'
'the train has just disappeared into the gap beside the freezer'
'oops i kicked the ball under the house. Can you crawl under hat small space and get it out.'
'i can't get these 2 pieces of lego apart/together'
It's communication at it's finest, and he's totally delighted when we Get It.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Curse of the pink arm
Short entry. Lots of spelling mistakes. Typing with left hand only. Broken right arm. Snowboarding. First run of 2nd day of 2 week holiday. Trying to impress my husband with (obviously lack of) skills. Wanaka beautiful. Nice holiday anyway. Boys happy, didn't get big brother on skis.
Hooray for Dr Simon at Aspiring Med Centre. Best fragment of bone manipulation under local block I've ever had. Gassed up. Also FAB colours for cast - now sporting arm in Big Brothers favourite colour...hot barbie pink.
Saving the planet by buying great value recycled clothing from Wanaka Wastebusters THE ultimate in waste management recycling...every town in New Z should have one.
W. George Quotes of the holiday
"We saw the ceciles! " (Translation : eels)
Hooray for Dr Simon at Aspiring Med Centre. Best fragment of bone manipulation under local block I've ever had. Gassed up. Also FAB colours for cast - now sporting arm in Big Brothers favourite colour...hot barbie pink.
Saving the planet by buying great value recycled clothing from Wanaka Wastebusters THE ultimate in waste management recycling...every town in New Z should have one.
W. George Quotes of the holiday
"We saw the ceciles! " (Translation : eels)
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Fluffy slippers
Well, I managed something I have looked forward to and dreaded for a long time - a weekend away from my children! I know I am a wimp, but the time had more than come, so I packed up my ridiculously small number of items required to keep myself and only myself clothed and fed for two nights.
And off we sped to out annual 'PrimaVera' Girls weekend away - this year at the beautiful coromandel beach of Onemana. We had 6 out of possible 7 girls attending, two babies and one toddler. One meal each to organise. Magazines and movies. Tea bags for the eternal cuppas. Beach walks and chatting took most of the active time with cuddling babies (the give back when they fill their nappies kind) as the relaxing option.
Thanks to my lovely husband who went solo (with help of friends husband and toddler for one night). No sweat for Dad. He was as tired as I was refreshed, and we both happily resumed our more traditional roles.
In a previous life a weekend with the girls would have involved packing some ridiculously painful but sexy pair of foot-hating heels for a big night out. The first thing I packed this trip - my woolly fluffy slippers.
And off we sped to out annual 'PrimaVera' Girls weekend away - this year at the beautiful coromandel beach of Onemana. We had 6 out of possible 7 girls attending, two babies and one toddler. One meal each to organise. Magazines and movies. Tea bags for the eternal cuppas. Beach walks and chatting took most of the active time with cuddling babies (the give back when they fill their nappies kind) as the relaxing option.
Thanks to my lovely husband who went solo (with help of friends husband and toddler for one night). No sweat for Dad. He was as tired as I was refreshed, and we both happily resumed our more traditional roles.
In a previous life a weekend with the girls would have involved packing some ridiculously painful but sexy pair of foot-hating heels for a big night out. The first thing I packed this trip - my woolly fluffy slippers.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Sweet and so soon forgotten
These are the smallest memories I will forget as the boys grow older:
Big brother at nearly 3 and Little brother at just 1, sitting in the trailer with their helmets on, little brother sound asleep after a 10 minute ride, snot pouring over his top lip, helmet fallen to one side and squishing the side of his face. Big brother is sitting beside him, sucking his ever-present thumb, and holding onto his sleeping brothers ear.
Biking along the road I hear Big brother yell indignantly - ' I want to hold (Little Brother's) hand'.
Big brother kneeling on the floor, with his toy cars on the couch, play acting -
'Talk to me Lightning Daqueen'
'No No No, I am Fred'
'Brrummmmm'
'Watch out for the sharks, Arrh Arrh, they biting my foot !!!'
Little Brother's Toy of the Day - yesterday was the wine pump, today an old DVD (the most fascinating part being the little hole in the centre to poke your finger through, which comes standard). Each is transported to a distant region of the house, oohed and aahed over, then dropped and forgotten. And in the case of the little paddlle that goes in the bread maker, never to be seen again.
Big brother at nearly 3 and Little brother at just 1, sitting in the trailer with their helmets on, little brother sound asleep after a 10 minute ride, snot pouring over his top lip, helmet fallen to one side and squishing the side of his face. Big brother is sitting beside him, sucking his ever-present thumb, and holding onto his sleeping brothers ear.
Biking along the road I hear Big brother yell indignantly - ' I want to hold (Little Brother's) hand'.
Big brother kneeling on the floor, with his toy cars on the couch, play acting -
'Talk to me Lightning Daqueen'
'No No No, I am Fred'
'Brrummmmm'
'Watch out for the sharks, Arrh Arrh, they biting my foot !!!'
Little Brother's Toy of the Day - yesterday was the wine pump, today an old DVD (the most fascinating part being the little hole in the centre to poke your finger through, which comes standard). Each is transported to a distant region of the house, oohed and aahed over, then dropped and forgotten. And in the case of the little paddlle that goes in the bread maker, never to be seen again.
Monday, July 7, 2008
A Dentist in the family
After all the extending of our extended family we may have cracked it...a dentist among us.
Little brother has taken to heart the lesson of brushing teeth regularly. It is absolutely his favourite thing to do. So much so that every time the bathroom doors opens he is running down the hallway - pointing a chubby little crooked finger and grunting - 'uh, uh, uh'.
Amazing how much you can communicate with only a grunt and a pointer pointing in the wrong direction.
He is pointing at the toothbrushes and toothpaste, and obviously has a bad case of that furry feeling. But every time I go to the bathroom... here comes the little grunter, and boy do we have a tantrum if we cant keep our (limited number of) pearlers in tip top condition. He mostly chews on the brush, and sticks it under the tap for a rinse cycle.
It doesn't fit with my mental picture of a 'good mother' when I hear myself saying - 'No, dear, we only brush our teeth twice a day'. ' No you CANNOT brush your teeth!'. 'Not again!'.
Hopefully this is the start of a lifelong habit which will translate into free dental care and other perks for his parents. Meanwhile I will keep both the toilet and bathroom door closed at all times, and encourage everything (including personal hygiene) in moderation!
Little brother has taken to heart the lesson of brushing teeth regularly. It is absolutely his favourite thing to do. So much so that every time the bathroom doors opens he is running down the hallway - pointing a chubby little crooked finger and grunting - 'uh, uh, uh'.
Amazing how much you can communicate with only a grunt and a pointer pointing in the wrong direction.
He is pointing at the toothbrushes and toothpaste, and obviously has a bad case of that furry feeling. But every time I go to the bathroom... here comes the little grunter, and boy do we have a tantrum if we cant keep our (limited number of) pearlers in tip top condition. He mostly chews on the brush, and sticks it under the tap for a rinse cycle.
It doesn't fit with my mental picture of a 'good mother' when I hear myself saying - 'No, dear, we only brush our teeth twice a day'. ' No you CANNOT brush your teeth!'. 'Not again!'.
Hopefully this is the start of a lifelong habit which will translate into free dental care and other perks for his parents. Meanwhile I will keep both the toilet and bathroom door closed at all times, and encourage everything (including personal hygiene) in moderation!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Welcome to the family
Little brother was the centre of attention this weekend. We all gathered in the middle of the north island, to celebrate his Baptism. We had a great turn out with 4 grandparents, 10 aunties and uncles and 21 cousins!!
He was a little star - only bolting out the church at a run twice! He didn't cry when Father poured water over his head, and looked appropriately solemn in the solemn bits.
Seeing him being picked up, tickled, fed and put down by a series of cousins (some only barely bigger than him), aunts, uncles, grandparents, was wonderful. He ran amongst the big kids playing soccer, and climbed up onto the knees of the various adults sitting around drinking bubbles and mulled wine.
All this ceremonising and celebrating was totally over his head, but I think he got the message - you are one of us, you belong. We believe in you. You belong to something that is bigger than the sum of all the parts.
He was a little star - only bolting out the church at a run twice! He didn't cry when Father poured water over his head, and looked appropriately solemn in the solemn bits.
Seeing him being picked up, tickled, fed and put down by a series of cousins (some only barely bigger than him), aunts, uncles, grandparents, was wonderful. He ran amongst the big kids playing soccer, and climbed up onto the knees of the various adults sitting around drinking bubbles and mulled wine.
All this ceremonising and celebrating was totally over his head, but I think he got the message - you are one of us, you belong. We believe in you. You belong to something that is bigger than the sum of all the parts.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Drying off the herd
It's well and truly done. Winter is here and the herd has been dried off, put out to pasture for the long cold months.
As you know it had been coming for a while. I was only feeding him once a day - last thing every night - just before bed. Our little cuddle, or Mum's little cuddle as it turned out, he didn't miss a thing once his access was denied. I felt pretty sad, but it helped having my parents here, for moral support ( and knowing my Mum could tell when I was tempted just to give him one more little drinkee).
So he feeds himself now - wielding his spoon and fork with high precision, drinking from his sipper cup, or tipping it out all over the floor when the mood takes him. He totally missed the bottle stage, and won't take it at all, so he's got his little cup and is as happy as a sand boy.
He'll never remember the balmy days of boobville, he will learn about it when he's older and think 'Gross', then later he'll change his mind again. I will always treasure my memories of sustaining him, the amazing antibody properties that kept him healthy, and the joy it bought us both. He has gone forever from being so physically connected to me, it was the halfway measure from being a part of me to now being apart from me.
Off you go into the world, little one. I am always here for you in other ways (out in the back paddock chewing my cud).
As you know it had been coming for a while. I was only feeding him once a day - last thing every night - just before bed. Our little cuddle, or Mum's little cuddle as it turned out, he didn't miss a thing once his access was denied. I felt pretty sad, but it helped having my parents here, for moral support ( and knowing my Mum could tell when I was tempted just to give him one more little drinkee).
So he feeds himself now - wielding his spoon and fork with high precision, drinking from his sipper cup, or tipping it out all over the floor when the mood takes him. He totally missed the bottle stage, and won't take it at all, so he's got his little cup and is as happy as a sand boy.
He'll never remember the balmy days of boobville, he will learn about it when he's older and think 'Gross', then later he'll change his mind again. I will always treasure my memories of sustaining him, the amazing antibody properties that kept him healthy, and the joy it bought us both. He has gone forever from being so physically connected to me, it was the halfway measure from being a part of me to now being apart from me.
Off you go into the world, little one. I am always here for you in other ways (out in the back paddock chewing my cud).
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Movie Reviews
New addition to motheronboard - for those of you who don't have the pleasure of The Informer delivered to your door, I am going to start including my movie reviews. These will be found to rent or buy from your friendly local Video Ezy....Here's the latest couple I've done:
PS I Love You
I admit my end of the couch certainly got misty during this movie, but despite the title this is not a total sodden tissue sop-fest. Holly (Hillary Swank) is a young widow who receives a series of letters from her late husband - letters written by him before his death, as he is not quite ready to say Good bye. Very good movie, funny and poignant and yes a bit welled up in places.
Death at a Funeral
Great British comedy - Daniel is the respectful son who is trying to farewell his father properly, with dignity, the English way. His plan and the funeral deteriorates as the behaviour of collected family and friends spiral out of control. The undertaker makes a mistake, Uncle Alfie is abusive, there is an accidental drug taking. In the middle of it appears a black-mailing dwarf, whom is claiming to be Daniels' fathers' very special friend. If you liked Ned Divine, Saving Grace, and Keeping Mum, rent it - this is the most laughs you'll ever have at a funeral.
PS I Love You
I admit my end of the couch certainly got misty during this movie, but despite the title this is not a total sodden tissue sop-fest. Holly (Hillary Swank) is a young widow who receives a series of letters from her late husband - letters written by him before his death, as he is not quite ready to say Good bye. Very good movie, funny and poignant and yes a bit welled up in places.
Death at a Funeral
Great British comedy - Daniel is the respectful son who is trying to farewell his father properly, with dignity, the English way. His plan and the funeral deteriorates as the behaviour of collected family and friends spiral out of control. The undertaker makes a mistake, Uncle Alfie is abusive, there is an accidental drug taking. In the middle of it appears a black-mailing dwarf, whom is claiming to be Daniels' fathers' very special friend. If you liked Ned Divine, Saving Grace, and Keeping Mum, rent it - this is the most laughs you'll ever have at a funeral.
Hoover
Move over Dyson, little boy is in the highchair.
He's developed a huge appetite, our wee man, not surprisingly requiring vast amounts of fuel to power the motor of his go-go-go-jump-jump-climb attacking style of life.
The other night he had 5 rounds of dinner. I kid you not. We were going out for a potluck with some friends, so I fed him first to keep the grizzlewolf at bay. Dinner number one was rice and mince- he shovelled in with alarming accuracy for one who has one held a spoon for only a fraction of his life. Dinner number two was a helping of Mussel Chowder (including a suck on some garlic bread) sitting up at the table with the adults. Number three was a small piece of fresh snapper, and hot chips and sauce, on high stools up at the bench with the 5 other kids. Followed by a few of Mum's chips and fish back up with the adults again. Round five was a solid exploration of the cheese and grape board - including a few pieces of liquorice.
Two thoughts following that amazing effort - Thanks Goodness he has his fathers metabolismic chicken legs, and dear, we need to start saving for a farm. Where we will plant lots of potatoes. We need chickens and big hairy stuff that he can chase tackle and eat.
W. George's Quote for the Day
Dad - 'What are you doing, boy?'
W.G. - 'Thinking.'
Saving the planet today driving around on an empty car for one more day...
He's developed a huge appetite, our wee man, not surprisingly requiring vast amounts of fuel to power the motor of his go-go-go-jump-jump-climb attacking style of life.
The other night he had 5 rounds of dinner. I kid you not. We were going out for a potluck with some friends, so I fed him first to keep the grizzlewolf at bay. Dinner number one was rice and mince- he shovelled in with alarming accuracy for one who has one held a spoon for only a fraction of his life. Dinner number two was a helping of Mussel Chowder (including a suck on some garlic bread) sitting up at the table with the adults. Number three was a small piece of fresh snapper, and hot chips and sauce, on high stools up at the bench with the 5 other kids. Followed by a few of Mum's chips and fish back up with the adults again. Round five was a solid exploration of the cheese and grape board - including a few pieces of liquorice.
Two thoughts following that amazing effort - Thanks Goodness he has his fathers metabolismic chicken legs, and dear, we need to start saving for a farm. Where we will plant lots of potatoes. We need chickens and big hairy stuff that he can chase tackle and eat.
W. George's Quote for the Day
Dad - 'What are you doing, boy?'
W.G. - 'Thinking.'
Saving the planet today driving around on an empty car for one more day...
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Testoster-zone
My girlee type hormones were completely overpowered today - by a 3year old, a 2year old and a 1 year old boyfest.
Our friend J came around to play, after a week of separation they took no time getting down to business, dividing the coolest cars into mine and yours (the 1 year old missed out completely, but happily was unaware of this great travesty and went back to kicking his ball around the house.) Luckily there are 2 green cars, so we negotiated one each, and off they zoomed.
They drove the cars around the couch, they rode the bikes round the back of the house, they played in the hut constructed of chairs and duvets. They ate afternoon tea, and smashed their food into the window. They wrestled and both gave as good as they got (except for total low point of WG biting J on the hand. It is horrible to realise that my darling child could do such a thing, ok it is within the realms of 'normal bad behaviour', but still.. am busily consulting parenting advice sites and mags - I don't want people to think he's a "biter".)
The thing I really noticed today was they are starting to work as a team. J backed up WG when I accused him of jumping on the couch I had just told them was for sitting on only (Crazy rule perhaps , but I am trying to retain some small household spaces for adult enjoyment).
'He was sitting on it" J said.
They exchanged a look that said ' if we work together we could really get a few past these adults' - they were found hiding around the corner on the deck, scoffing pretzel sticks from a tin that had been sitting on the bench. Looking both guilty and excited about their daring at managing to pull off their first kitchen raid.
Now they are starting to combine their considerable intellects, and appetites of mischief we are all in trouble. They are basically turning into their Dad's. Those predictions their parents had of 'one day you will have a child just like you...' are all coming true.
Our friend J came around to play, after a week of separation they took no time getting down to business, dividing the coolest cars into mine and yours (the 1 year old missed out completely, but happily was unaware of this great travesty and went back to kicking his ball around the house.) Luckily there are 2 green cars, so we negotiated one each, and off they zoomed.
They drove the cars around the couch, they rode the bikes round the back of the house, they played in the hut constructed of chairs and duvets. They ate afternoon tea, and smashed their food into the window. They wrestled and both gave as good as they got (except for total low point of WG biting J on the hand. It is horrible to realise that my darling child could do such a thing, ok it is within the realms of 'normal bad behaviour', but still.. am busily consulting parenting advice sites and mags - I don't want people to think he's a "biter".)
The thing I really noticed today was they are starting to work as a team. J backed up WG when I accused him of jumping on the couch I had just told them was for sitting on only (Crazy rule perhaps , but I am trying to retain some small household spaces for adult enjoyment).
'He was sitting on it" J said.
They exchanged a look that said ' if we work together we could really get a few past these adults' - they were found hiding around the corner on the deck, scoffing pretzel sticks from a tin that had been sitting on the bench. Looking both guilty and excited about their daring at managing to pull off their first kitchen raid.
Now they are starting to combine their considerable intellects, and appetites of mischief we are all in trouble. They are basically turning into their Dad's. Those predictions their parents had of 'one day you will have a child just like you...' are all coming true.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Getting back up again
I've been thinking alot about resilience lately. How do we teach our kids that when the inevitable knocks come knocking - (as much as we would like to buckle them in safely we are all on a collision course of some type) - that the hardest and bravest thing to do is stand themselves up and keep on trucking?
Both boys are quite resilient in some ways, and totally vulnerable in others. As Big Brother rode his bike through the gate today he caught the edge of the wheel. He catapulted off onto the concrete, stood up and yowled. I was putting Little Brother into the car, so ran to pick him up.
'Where did you get hurt?' I asked him, looking for egg heads, or evidence of subdural haematomas.
' On the gate' He cried
'But where did you hit yourself?' I asked.
'On the concrete'
And then as fleeting as a rainbow at end of a sun shower, the trauma was gone. We got in the car, all fine and dandy.
Little Brother is very resilient too at this age, carrying no emotional baggage. Right in the moment of pain, he is inconsolable, then Mum ( or Dad's) cuddle is totally healing. Even if the physical evidence of the bruise or cut is visible for a few days, he has forgotten. He is the 3 second goldfish.
Big Brother is starting to understand the value of holding onto his hurts - demonstrated in his 'running to mum howling' techniques, when one of the other kids swipes or pushes him. Or even more soul destroying, snatches the toy he was playing with. He is learning there is something to gain from holding onto those moments that are not pleasant, they become emotional currency that has worth further than this precise moment.
Thinking about resilience as I've been writing this, I can now see we are already teaching them how to deal with their knocks. And not very well. Perhaps it would be a better idea if we took lessons from them, they seem to know already how to get up, dust off, move on.
Build a bridge and get over it, I heard my cousin Colin say once. Now I understand what he meant.
Both boys are quite resilient in some ways, and totally vulnerable in others. As Big Brother rode his bike through the gate today he caught the edge of the wheel. He catapulted off onto the concrete, stood up and yowled. I was putting Little Brother into the car, so ran to pick him up.
'Where did you get hurt?' I asked him, looking for egg heads, or evidence of subdural haematomas.
' On the gate' He cried
'But where did you hit yourself?' I asked.
'On the concrete'
And then as fleeting as a rainbow at end of a sun shower, the trauma was gone. We got in the car, all fine and dandy.
Little Brother is very resilient too at this age, carrying no emotional baggage. Right in the moment of pain, he is inconsolable, then Mum ( or Dad's) cuddle is totally healing. Even if the physical evidence of the bruise or cut is visible for a few days, he has forgotten. He is the 3 second goldfish.
Big Brother is starting to understand the value of holding onto his hurts - demonstrated in his 'running to mum howling' techniques, when one of the other kids swipes or pushes him. Or even more soul destroying, snatches the toy he was playing with. He is learning there is something to gain from holding onto those moments that are not pleasant, they become emotional currency that has worth further than this precise moment.
Thinking about resilience as I've been writing this, I can now see we are already teaching them how to deal with their knocks. And not very well. Perhaps it would be a better idea if we took lessons from them, they seem to know already how to get up, dust off, move on.
Build a bridge and get over it, I heard my cousin Colin say once. Now I understand what he meant.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Pucker up
Since I last blogged out my wee baby has learnt to do real kisses. It's so sweet, with his mouth wide open, drooling dinner and a raisin he found on the floor, he leans forward to deliver the smooch bang on your lips, or eyebrow or nose or whatever he hits. And then he pulls away looking like a man who's just worked out the secret to life.
His personality is really coming out now - he is his own pint sized man. He's firmly in the peace keeping force of newly one year, still a long way from the self-centred war zone of the two year old. He's quite happy to go along with the flow, doing what I suggest as if it were the coolest idea in the world. These days are certainly numbered, but they are a pleasure.
'Time for a bath' - I say, and he wheels around and trots off down the hallway, looking for any items to hurl into the bubbles ( cell phones, shoes, toy trains).
'Time for afternoon tea' - I say, and he's there beside the high chair, trying to clamber up.
'Lets go for a walk in the buggy' - and he's over to the door, looking for shoes (any size does) to pull onto his little feet.
Despite this he is no angel, the concept of doing something that is naughty is already in his temperament. He pushes the pegs down through the slots in the deck and looks up at me, a little awed at his daring. He runs up to his brother and grabs him from behind, trying to instigate a wrestle. If I (or any of the Mum's at Play centre) are kneeling on the floor he runs up behind and tries to climb up. While giggling. He has a wicked giggle.
But those kisses could melt a polar ice cap. I'm tempted to ask him for them all the time, but what if he only has a finite number - the more I have now, the less he'll have left when he's thirteen? Sigh. Even if he does have some left when he is a teenager I am not likely to be the lucky recipient, so I'm going for my quota today and now. They are love at it's purest and my antidote of choice for anything the world may throw me.
Quotes from W.George
'Its a beautiful day today, Mummy' (as we run to the car in the rain, cold and driving wind).
His personality is really coming out now - he is his own pint sized man. He's firmly in the peace keeping force of newly one year, still a long way from the self-centred war zone of the two year old. He's quite happy to go along with the flow, doing what I suggest as if it were the coolest idea in the world. These days are certainly numbered, but they are a pleasure.
'Time for a bath' - I say, and he wheels around and trots off down the hallway, looking for any items to hurl into the bubbles ( cell phones, shoes, toy trains).
'Time for afternoon tea' - I say, and he's there beside the high chair, trying to clamber up.
'Lets go for a walk in the buggy' - and he's over to the door, looking for shoes (any size does) to pull onto his little feet.
Despite this he is no angel, the concept of doing something that is naughty is already in his temperament. He pushes the pegs down through the slots in the deck and looks up at me, a little awed at his daring. He runs up to his brother and grabs him from behind, trying to instigate a wrestle. If I (or any of the Mum's at Play centre) are kneeling on the floor he runs up behind and tries to climb up. While giggling. He has a wicked giggle.
But those kisses could melt a polar ice cap. I'm tempted to ask him for them all the time, but what if he only has a finite number - the more I have now, the less he'll have left when he's thirteen? Sigh. Even if he does have some left when he is a teenager I am not likely to be the lucky recipient, so I'm going for my quota today and now. They are love at it's purest and my antidote of choice for anything the world may throw me.
Quotes from W.George
'Its a beautiful day today, Mummy' (as we run to the car in the rain, cold and driving wind).
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Victory for Little Brother
This morning we had another example of how the smallest person in the house rules the roost. He has always been great sleeper, so we never really had to train him to self soothe, or do any controlled crying. He just naturally started sleeping through the night, hoorah, hoorah, until he just naturally stopped. Ooh. He also never took the bottle but I thought - Great ! - don't need to bother with all that 'I am cow, hear me express' drama. So now he is waking in the night, not taking a bottle, and at 12 months old way too smart - he knows his rights when it comes to boobitary access. He doesn't wake every night, but he sure lets us know when he does.
Big Brother discovered his thumb very early on - before he was born I would say, and he has had a committed monogamous relationship with it ever since. And it has been wonderful, where ever he goes he has his inbuilt comforter literally at arm's length. No pieces of cloth or increasingly dogged eared sacred bunnies to be prised off him and washed repeatedly until they are a mere memory of lint on the dryer's filter.
No such luck again for Little Brother. He is a pure-ist, and likes to go the the purest source of all - Mother as Nature intended. Never mind she is out of the new baby sleep deprivation zone, never mind its freezing the in middle of the night, its the boob or nothing for this wee nocturnal possum.
This morning Little Brother woke at 1 am, and I fed him. As usual. And he woke at 4.30am. Same again. I am waiting for the 'strength to wean him' to shower on me from above one day while hanging out the washing. Or for my Mum to come visit and take him out to the sleep-out and wean him for me. Whichever happens first I don't mind but this morning was not the day. Trouble is he wouldn't settle even after getting the good stuff at 4.30, so he was replaced in bed with a firm instruction ' Its night time still darling, go back to sleep'.
And he did not take it kindly. He roared, roared, sobbed and yelled all manner of baby obscenity. Eventually we gave in and his darling daddy went and got him. He might be teething, we successfully fooled ourselves into reasoning.
He latched on, sucked a bit and fell asleep. Victorious again, I could imagine him thinking, and they call me the sucker!
Big Brother discovered his thumb very early on - before he was born I would say, and he has had a committed monogamous relationship with it ever since. And it has been wonderful, where ever he goes he has his inbuilt comforter literally at arm's length. No pieces of cloth or increasingly dogged eared sacred bunnies to be prised off him and washed repeatedly until they are a mere memory of lint on the dryer's filter.
No such luck again for Little Brother. He is a pure-ist, and likes to go the the purest source of all - Mother as Nature intended. Never mind she is out of the new baby sleep deprivation zone, never mind its freezing the in middle of the night, its the boob or nothing for this wee nocturnal possum.
This morning Little Brother woke at 1 am, and I fed him. As usual. And he woke at 4.30am. Same again. I am waiting for the 'strength to wean him' to shower on me from above one day while hanging out the washing. Or for my Mum to come visit and take him out to the sleep-out and wean him for me. Whichever happens first I don't mind but this morning was not the day. Trouble is he wouldn't settle even after getting the good stuff at 4.30, so he was replaced in bed with a firm instruction ' Its night time still darling, go back to sleep'.
And he did not take it kindly. He roared, roared, sobbed and yelled all manner of baby obscenity. Eventually we gave in and his darling daddy went and got him. He might be teething, we successfully fooled ourselves into reasoning.
He latched on, sucked a bit and fell asleep. Victorious again, I could imagine him thinking, and they call me the sucker!
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Toys are Us
I was the classic consumer the other day at the supermarket. They were having a 'special' on toys - a huge pile of fire trucks and dolls and all sorts of bits and plastics, and all $3.99 each. Yippee, I thought, Cheap as ! - and found BB a great little plastic tool belt.
Bob the Builder has been hot recently. Big Brother has found a hero, and is hoping to play Bob in the yet to be released Disney Movie. For now he is getting into character by singing the theme song lots, at high volume, and thankfully he has recently picked up more lyrics than 'BOB DA BUILDER'. He occasionally adds in 'Can he fix it?'. So I thought a few props would help his characterisation, and how could I go wrong, at that price?
We got home, removed the plastic wrapping, put it around his excited wee body. He whipped out the hammer, ran over to the shed wall - BANG - the head of the hammer fell off.
My friend Shelley would be horrified - she who taught me the truth about shopping. Her mantra is - You buy cheap, you buy twice. Sorry, Guru, I slipped from the true path, temptation is a many headed toy sale.
BB hasn't picked up any of the many pieces that the builders belt has disintegrated into since. He is back to playing with his sturdy Die-cast Cars toys, and looking out for the racing segment on the nightly news for tips.
Meanwhile Little Brother is most fascinated with an empty vegemite jar that he has found. It has the most amazing attachment - a lid- that comes on and off. He is experimenting with putting things in, shaking it, making music, then taking the things out.
I mean, the toys they have are great and they get huge enjoyment from them. But I'm going to try for quality, not quantity. Watching them find enjoyment just by exploring what is already here, I am going to close up my ever-searching-for-a bargain wallet, and open my cupboards and drawers. Go for it boys - oh, hang on, let me just remove those really sharp knives...
HOORAY FOR The Toy Library. We can try out toys, and get a feel for what the boys really are going to play with. It's really reasonable, and for the eco minded, it's reusing stuff. We have also recently borrowed toys from friends, to mix things up. Occasionally I put a few things away in the cupboard for a while. Its fever pitch excitement when they are brought out and rediscovered.
Bob the Builder has been hot recently. Big Brother has found a hero, and is hoping to play Bob in the yet to be released Disney Movie. For now he is getting into character by singing the theme song lots, at high volume, and thankfully he has recently picked up more lyrics than 'BOB DA BUILDER'. He occasionally adds in 'Can he fix it?'. So I thought a few props would help his characterisation, and how could I go wrong, at that price?
We got home, removed the plastic wrapping, put it around his excited wee body. He whipped out the hammer, ran over to the shed wall - BANG - the head of the hammer fell off.
My friend Shelley would be horrified - she who taught me the truth about shopping. Her mantra is - You buy cheap, you buy twice. Sorry, Guru, I slipped from the true path, temptation is a many headed toy sale.
BB hasn't picked up any of the many pieces that the builders belt has disintegrated into since. He is back to playing with his sturdy Die-cast Cars toys, and looking out for the racing segment on the nightly news for tips.
Meanwhile Little Brother is most fascinated with an empty vegemite jar that he has found. It has the most amazing attachment - a lid- that comes on and off. He is experimenting with putting things in, shaking it, making music, then taking the things out.
I mean, the toys they have are great and they get huge enjoyment from them. But I'm going to try for quality, not quantity. Watching them find enjoyment just by exploring what is already here, I am going to close up my ever-searching-for-a bargain wallet, and open my cupboards and drawers. Go for it boys - oh, hang on, let me just remove those really sharp knives...
HOORAY FOR The Toy Library. We can try out toys, and get a feel for what the boys really are going to play with. It's really reasonable, and for the eco minded, it's reusing stuff. We have also recently borrowed toys from friends, to mix things up. Occasionally I put a few things away in the cupboard for a while. Its fever pitch excitement when they are brought out and rediscovered.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Right back at you, Mummy
As Big Brother's language skills develop I am constantly entertained and amazed by his memory, and ability to recall and accurately use something I said ages ago. Under my breath.
Yesterday in the supermarket, as we passed the packets and packets of chips BB predictably asked 'Have some chippies Mummy?'. I predictably replied 'No!'.
'Don't say No to me, Mummy' he came out with, 'I'll put you in time out'.
There you have it, then. Daddy has been put in Time Out. He gets a bit boisterous while wrestling with his boys and gives them a little bite. He gets in big trouble from Mummy who is working hard to enforce the no-bite household rule, but in even bigger trouble from Big Brother. Off to Time Out Daddy goes. Its a long time to sit under the kitchen bench and think about what you've done wrong, for 38 minutes.
I am trying to watch what I say, and I wish I could go back in time and correct a few gaffs from the past. Driving down the waterfront a while ago BB exclaimed '(F-word) - a boat !'. I cringed and didn't react by swerving off the road into the sea wall. Hopefully he will forget that one. I am only human, and when things go wrong can string a reel of nasty-isms up there with the most profane (not in front of my children 99% of the time). Growing up on a sheep farm we had different rules for language acceptable inside the garden gate, compared to outside the gate on the farm working the useless bleep bleep bleep sheep dogs.
I am also trying to be aware of the tone of my voice. When stressed it's easy to get harsh, demanding and bolshy. Finger waggling is actually, when you think about it, quite intimidating, and so easy to do in the heat of the moment. I am reminded of this when I hear BB speaking to his brother, or growling to his toys as he disciplines them - 'Stay in Time Out, 2 minutes, NAUGHTY' .
It's all a bit hard really. But I try to congratulate myself on the successes - him saying 'Tankoo' without prompting, when he says 'Sorry' when he burps, or accidentally spills his milk at the table. I know that I have done OK when I hear him say 'Gosh!' and 'Shivers!'. What you put out there, certainly comes back.
Yesterday in the supermarket, as we passed the packets and packets of chips BB predictably asked 'Have some chippies Mummy?'. I predictably replied 'No!'.
'Don't say No to me, Mummy' he came out with, 'I'll put you in time out'.
There you have it, then. Daddy has been put in Time Out. He gets a bit boisterous while wrestling with his boys and gives them a little bite. He gets in big trouble from Mummy who is working hard to enforce the no-bite household rule, but in even bigger trouble from Big Brother. Off to Time Out Daddy goes. Its a long time to sit under the kitchen bench and think about what you've done wrong, for 38 minutes.
I am trying to watch what I say, and I wish I could go back in time and correct a few gaffs from the past. Driving down the waterfront a while ago BB exclaimed '(F-word) - a boat !'. I cringed and didn't react by swerving off the road into the sea wall. Hopefully he will forget that one. I am only human, and when things go wrong can string a reel of nasty-isms up there with the most profane (not in front of my children 99% of the time). Growing up on a sheep farm we had different rules for language acceptable inside the garden gate, compared to outside the gate on the farm working the useless bleep bleep bleep sheep dogs.
I am also trying to be aware of the tone of my voice. When stressed it's easy to get harsh, demanding and bolshy. Finger waggling is actually, when you think about it, quite intimidating, and so easy to do in the heat of the moment. I am reminded of this when I hear BB speaking to his brother, or growling to his toys as he disciplines them - 'Stay in Time Out, 2 minutes, NAUGHTY' .
It's all a bit hard really. But I try to congratulate myself on the successes - him saying 'Tankoo' without prompting, when he says 'Sorry' when he burps, or accidentally spills his milk at the table. I know that I have done OK when I hear him say 'Gosh!' and 'Shivers!'. What you put out there, certainly comes back.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Wonderful Creatures
Older boy cousins are wonderful creatures. So are all cousins. These boys are not short of cousins - in total they have 30 !! They have older girl cousins that dote on the babies, younger girl cousins to be dressed up and bossed around by, teenage boy cousins that make incredible train tracks. Unfortunately none of them live close by, but visits are treasured adventures into the land of extended family frolics. Cousins seem to stimulate production of a particular gene or pheromone that allows our brains to interpret and process them as 'like a brother/sister, but more fun and not as threatening to our status in the pecking order'.
Also, when cousins come to visit they are on 'good behaviour' and tend to be kinder than immediate siblings. Big brother has had a good of dose of the cousin magic this weekend. The big boys were good to him - but didn't let him get away everything. They expected him to play to their rules, share, and looked with mild disgust when he ran crying to Mummy.They rode the bikes round and round, kicked balls round and round and ran round and round. I hardly saw him for two days.
They have another ardent fan in Little Brother - and having a younger sister at home they kept an eye on him as he tried valiantly to keep up with the big boys.
All weekend, Big Brother had only one topic of conversation -
'Where the guys Mummy?'
'Are the guys coming?'
And when they went home - ' What to do now?'
However, he has bounced back into life as kingpin and ruler of the toy box. He's totally immersed back into little brother baiting, breastfeeding his fluffy lamb, and recreating the Cars movie using his collection of model cars. There is a running commentary that includes lots of 'waaah' and 'boomf' and 'watchout!'. And the occasional 'Oh, gosh'.
As life returns to normal we wait and hope for a another visit soon by more wonderful cousinly creatures.
Also, when cousins come to visit they are on 'good behaviour' and tend to be kinder than immediate siblings. Big brother has had a good of dose of the cousin magic this weekend. The big boys were good to him - but didn't let him get away everything. They expected him to play to their rules, share, and looked with mild disgust when he ran crying to Mummy.They rode the bikes round and round, kicked balls round and round and ran round and round. I hardly saw him for two days.
They have another ardent fan in Little Brother - and having a younger sister at home they kept an eye on him as he tried valiantly to keep up with the big boys.
All weekend, Big Brother had only one topic of conversation -
'Where the guys Mummy?'
'Are the guys coming?'
And when they went home - ' What to do now?'
However, he has bounced back into life as kingpin and ruler of the toy box. He's totally immersed back into little brother baiting, breastfeeding his fluffy lamb, and recreating the Cars movie using his collection of model cars. There is a running commentary that includes lots of 'waaah' and 'boomf' and 'watchout!'. And the occasional 'Oh, gosh'.
As life returns to normal we wait and hope for a another visit soon by more wonderful cousinly creatures.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Antidote
It is amazing how a night in the wild can make all your worries fade away into fresh air and bird sounds, smashed to a million grains of sand by a crashing ocean. We have just had a lovely night away in one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. We slept in a hut perched on a ridge high above a pohutukawa framed beach.
I have invented a new term called life-fever. It's like cabin fever except it encompasses all the trappings and reasons to stress that we modern-livers carry. It's like an ezcema from too much indoors, too much screen time (guilty as written), too much thinking of what will I do tomorrow and what I did yesterday. An irritation that gets under the skin and niggles until you scratch it unconsciously.
Our cure was to jump in the car with the boys, their cousins and uncle, fill a few packs with yummy food, and chocolatey snacks. One change of clothes each, sleeping bags, and one emergency bottle of wine. We tramped out over the boulders, and up into the crisply wet greenery. Big brother jumped in every rock pool he could find, then when we got to the beach ran in and out of the waves, soaking wet, naked, cold and in perfect bliss.
No bath, no routine, late to bed, eating sausages under the stars, playing frisbee until it was dark.
Little brother was not the best hut-companion, being he wanted to sit up and play in the bunk we were sharing. He discovered torches, and worked out that he would be rewarded with a breast every time he squawked throughout the night. So it wasn't the best night's sleep, but it was the best antidote to life-fever. And a great wee medicinal dose of perspective.
W. George Quotes:
Driving through the bush - 'Mummy, I can hear the trees'
Counting the stars.. 'one, two, three, eleven'
I have invented a new term called life-fever. It's like cabin fever except it encompasses all the trappings and reasons to stress that we modern-livers carry. It's like an ezcema from too much indoors, too much screen time (guilty as written), too much thinking of what will I do tomorrow and what I did yesterday. An irritation that gets under the skin and niggles until you scratch it unconsciously.
Our cure was to jump in the car with the boys, their cousins and uncle, fill a few packs with yummy food, and chocolatey snacks. One change of clothes each, sleeping bags, and one emergency bottle of wine. We tramped out over the boulders, and up into the crisply wet greenery. Big brother jumped in every rock pool he could find, then when we got to the beach ran in and out of the waves, soaking wet, naked, cold and in perfect bliss.
No bath, no routine, late to bed, eating sausages under the stars, playing frisbee until it was dark.
Little brother was not the best hut-companion, being he wanted to sit up and play in the bunk we were sharing. He discovered torches, and worked out that he would be rewarded with a breast every time he squawked throughout the night. So it wasn't the best night's sleep, but it was the best antidote to life-fever. And a great wee medicinal dose of perspective.
W. George Quotes:
Driving through the bush - 'Mummy, I can hear the trees'
Counting the stars.. 'one, two, three, eleven'
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Happy Birthday to Me! And Me!
Happy Birthday Little Brother. He was unaware of the fuss that awaited him, squawking for his weetbix and milk, chowing it down as fast as I could deliver it. I told Big Brother that it was LB's birthday, and predictably he said "Me too!'.
Oh, dear. I tried to explain that he had a birthday last, and now it was LB's turn. He's starting to get the concept of turns, but it's heavily weighted in his favor - three for me and then one short one for brother. Big tears - 'MY birthday'.
So I said - Remember? - you had a cake with Thomas (the tank engine) on it. Shall we look at the pictures on the computer?'. Not that many people ate that delicious chocolate mud cake concoction - they all saw how much spit landed on it as the 2 year old tried to blow out the candles!
But there is no reasoning with samesaid 2 year old - just more tears and despair, wailing and sulking - 'I don't wanna birthday. I wanna my birthday'.
LB was still unaware of his rite of passage, though he grinned as though he realised something was up when both sets of grandparents rang and sang him a catchy little tune over the phone. And then there was a big parcel. 'For ME!' yelled BB.
I kind of gave in at that point and let him take over the unwrapping, while LB was distracted by the open/close mechanics of the card. The pressie emerged - a set of soccer goals - mini pop up ones, that can be thrown in the shed when rugby is cooler and I have given up trying to talk them out of heavy contact sport. With a goal set up at each end of the lounge, they had a great time, kicking throwing and wrestling the Mitre 10 mega beach ball in for the points. A big tick for a present to encourage them to play together - outside - (while Mum talks on the phone and drinks tea).
The day faded into the normal routine - big morning sleep, then Dad cooked scrambled eggs for lunch. We had a low key party at the park planned (Mum made 5 dozen mini cup cakes, yet to be iced in blue and green, and topped with the piece de resistance - a pastel coloured marshmallow). But it was wet on and off all afternoon, so Mum did the unthinkable - and postponed the party! The day was saved by a couple of lovely friends dropping by - and LB happily played with his new drum and Thomas puzzle - when BB would let him. Fish and chips for dinner. 'I love sauce' chimes in BB, blissfully.
So, despite thinking - Who's birthday was it anyway? LB is now happily in bed, hopefully dreaming of soccer trophies. Tomorrow I will get up early and ice the slightly hard cupcakes (it's not like the small fry will eat the cake anyway) and dig out one sweet solitary candle. I will put off weaning him a bit longer, and will keep referring to him as 'my baby'. Maybe next year we'll have a cake with Thomas on it, and he might be allowed to open his own present. But to be honest, we don't want him growing up any faster.
HOORAY FOR Trademe and the Soccer shop. Great present for the boyos.
SAVING THE PLANET one meal eaten off recycled newspaper at a time (this broad sweeping statement not taking into account the quagmire of the inefficiencies and waste in paper processing, let alone the state of the planet's oceans.) But I say "Take the night off, dishwasher!' and am referring to both machine, and human. I am having a wine for getting a child to a year old sans major incident.
Oh, dear. I tried to explain that he had a birthday last, and now it was LB's turn. He's starting to get the concept of turns, but it's heavily weighted in his favor - three for me and then one short one for brother. Big tears - 'MY birthday'.
So I said - Remember? - you had a cake with Thomas (the tank engine) on it. Shall we look at the pictures on the computer?'. Not that many people ate that delicious chocolate mud cake concoction - they all saw how much spit landed on it as the 2 year old tried to blow out the candles!
But there is no reasoning with samesaid 2 year old - just more tears and despair, wailing and sulking - 'I don't wanna birthday. I wanna my birthday'.
LB was still unaware of his rite of passage, though he grinned as though he realised something was up when both sets of grandparents rang and sang him a catchy little tune over the phone. And then there was a big parcel. 'For ME!' yelled BB.
I kind of gave in at that point and let him take over the unwrapping, while LB was distracted by the open/close mechanics of the card. The pressie emerged - a set of soccer goals - mini pop up ones, that can be thrown in the shed when rugby is cooler and I have given up trying to talk them out of heavy contact sport. With a goal set up at each end of the lounge, they had a great time, kicking throwing and wrestling the Mitre 10 mega beach ball in for the points. A big tick for a present to encourage them to play together - outside - (while Mum talks on the phone and drinks tea).
The day faded into the normal routine - big morning sleep, then Dad cooked scrambled eggs for lunch. We had a low key party at the park planned (Mum made 5 dozen mini cup cakes, yet to be iced in blue and green, and topped with the piece de resistance - a pastel coloured marshmallow). But it was wet on and off all afternoon, so Mum did the unthinkable - and postponed the party! The day was saved by a couple of lovely friends dropping by - and LB happily played with his new drum and Thomas puzzle - when BB would let him. Fish and chips for dinner. 'I love sauce' chimes in BB, blissfully.
So, despite thinking - Who's birthday was it anyway? LB is now happily in bed, hopefully dreaming of soccer trophies. Tomorrow I will get up early and ice the slightly hard cupcakes (it's not like the small fry will eat the cake anyway) and dig out one sweet solitary candle. I will put off weaning him a bit longer, and will keep referring to him as 'my baby'. Maybe next year we'll have a cake with Thomas on it, and he might be allowed to open his own present. But to be honest, we don't want him growing up any faster.
HOORAY FOR Trademe and the Soccer shop. Great present for the boyos.
SAVING THE PLANET one meal eaten off recycled newspaper at a time (this broad sweeping statement not taking into account the quagmire of the inefficiencies and waste in paper processing, let alone the state of the planet's oceans.) But I say "Take the night off, dishwasher!' and am referring to both machine, and human. I am having a wine for getting a child to a year old sans major incident.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Get ready to rumble
The tide is turning. The hierarchy is about to be dismantled. Big Brother is going to be beaten up by Little Brother.
It's been coming, this dawning of a new day, for a while. LB started with hair pulling as his only form of retribution, but he did it with zest and relish - big handfuls of blond hair strewn on the carpet. BB was very tolerant, and would say 'Gentle, gentle' as I had taught him. At that stage the pendulum was far in BB's favour and he could always make the pecking order clear with a good swipe, a push as he ran past, a swift wrench of whatever LB was playing with.
But now LB is mobile, stronger, clever. He has sat on the edges, watching and waiting. This morning he found a sheet of thickish plastic and hit BB over the head with it, purely to start some interaction. It was boy-talk for 'Wanna play bro?'.
As BB was happily and quietly playing on the couch, I took the plastic away from LB. He grabbed BB's hair, and hung on. I removed his hands from BB's hair (luckily, before he had lost too many follicles. Apart from my Dad, our gene pool for hair loss does not need any assistance in asserting it's dominance).
So LB jumped on BB's back and bit him.
Don't get me wrong, he is a loving and sweet child. So where does the mini-Rambo come from?
I know that the tide is turning, but I didn't think it would start this early - LB is not even a year old. You'd think the fact he is still being breastfed would impart some hippy/loving/peace and goodwill vibes into the little mite. Although the breastfeeding is being coming more and more like a few rounds in a WWF ring.
Ahh, well. I guess that's what brothers are for - give what you get and get what you give. The competition that starts with who can pull hair the hardest, will grow into who can punch the hardest when Mum's not looking, who can ski the fastest when Mum's not looking, and who can drink the most when Mum's not looking. Now that they are physically on a more even playing field I guess I better start practising not looking.
HOORAY for Parenting Inc Weekly Hot Tips. You can sign up for these emails, which are great bits of practical advice. Sure, they talk about older children and teenagers too, but I feel like I'm getting a head start on 'em. Reading them reminds me I'm one of many parents on a big cruise liner sailing across the ocean, rather than stuck in a dinghy alone trying to row, navigate, entertain and keep the kids from falling over the side.
It's been coming, this dawning of a new day, for a while. LB started with hair pulling as his only form of retribution, but he did it with zest and relish - big handfuls of blond hair strewn on the carpet. BB was very tolerant, and would say 'Gentle, gentle' as I had taught him. At that stage the pendulum was far in BB's favour and he could always make the pecking order clear with a good swipe, a push as he ran past, a swift wrench of whatever LB was playing with.
But now LB is mobile, stronger, clever. He has sat on the edges, watching and waiting. This morning he found a sheet of thickish plastic and hit BB over the head with it, purely to start some interaction. It was boy-talk for 'Wanna play bro?'.
As BB was happily and quietly playing on the couch, I took the plastic away from LB. He grabbed BB's hair, and hung on. I removed his hands from BB's hair (luckily, before he had lost too many follicles. Apart from my Dad, our gene pool for hair loss does not need any assistance in asserting it's dominance).
So LB jumped on BB's back and bit him.
Don't get me wrong, he is a loving and sweet child. So where does the mini-Rambo come from?
I know that the tide is turning, but I didn't think it would start this early - LB is not even a year old. You'd think the fact he is still being breastfed would impart some hippy/loving/peace and goodwill vibes into the little mite. Although the breastfeeding is being coming more and more like a few rounds in a WWF ring.
Ahh, well. I guess that's what brothers are for - give what you get and get what you give. The competition that starts with who can pull hair the hardest, will grow into who can punch the hardest when Mum's not looking, who can ski the fastest when Mum's not looking, and who can drink the most when Mum's not looking. Now that they are physically on a more even playing field I guess I better start practising not looking.
HOORAY for Parenting Inc Weekly Hot Tips. You can sign up for these emails, which are great bits of practical advice. Sure, they talk about older children and teenagers too, but I feel like I'm getting a head start on 'em. Reading them reminds me I'm one of many parents on a big cruise liner sailing across the ocean, rather than stuck in a dinghy alone trying to row, navigate, entertain and keep the kids from falling over the side.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Littlest room in the house
Little brother is puzzled as to what goes on the in littlest room in the house. He knows it's something exciting. Mum and Big Brother are forever racing off there, BB gets to sit on the big white chair, there's miles of paper to pull on that just keeps coming and coming. Then they sing songs, there's a great whooshy watery sound like the bath, and then Big Brother gets a small bright coloured thing to eat out of the pantry. Little Brother never gets one of these small bright coloured things, no matter how much he grizzles. Its a conspiracy against people still in nappies.
Poor little guy, he is so keen to understand whats happening. I try and keep the toilet door closed or he will be found there, decorating the place with streamers, or banging the toilet seat on the bowl. The banging gets faster and faster as he hears me coming down the hallway, calling - 'NO - hey - rascal - out of there'. He has a wicked chuckle.
I think some of our toilet training protocols must be setting Big Brother up for a life time of toilet humour. We sing 'For he's a jolly good fellow' after the event, we bribe with jelly beans, we teach him how to say .. ' was a melly and dinky one, Mummy'. He tells Dad if it was a 'clean break'.
A few months ago I was seriously worried he would be traumatised for life. He had developed his own method of climbing onto the baby seat onto his hands and feet, bending his knees and taking aim from there. He slipped, and fell in (bruised forehead and wet arm, but no lasting white chair phobia).
Apart from the collections of knickers found all over the garden and house - he still not great at getting dressed again - it is fantastic that he is toilet trained. My handbag is so roomy with only one nappy in it. And there's one less batch of nappies to scrub. Hopefully the Little guy picks up the idea from his reconnaissance trips to the smallest room in the house and trains himself!
HOORAY for kiddies toilet training pants and those squidgy seats for them to sit on. They're actually quite comfy!
W.George Quote of the Day : After finding him batting his brother around the head with a soft toy snake he was told off, sent to time out, then told to apologise, because we don't hit our brothers.
' Sorry' he said.
'Now, say : I won't do it again' I added.
He thought for a while and said 'I might do it again'.
Poor little guy, he is so keen to understand whats happening. I try and keep the toilet door closed or he will be found there, decorating the place with streamers, or banging the toilet seat on the bowl. The banging gets faster and faster as he hears me coming down the hallway, calling - 'NO - hey - rascal - out of there'. He has a wicked chuckle.
I think some of our toilet training protocols must be setting Big Brother up for a life time of toilet humour. We sing 'For he's a jolly good fellow' after the event, we bribe with jelly beans, we teach him how to say .. ' was a melly and dinky one, Mummy'. He tells Dad if it was a 'clean break'.
A few months ago I was seriously worried he would be traumatised for life. He had developed his own method of climbing onto the baby seat onto his hands and feet, bending his knees and taking aim from there. He slipped, and fell in (bruised forehead and wet arm, but no lasting white chair phobia).
Apart from the collections of knickers found all over the garden and house - he still not great at getting dressed again - it is fantastic that he is toilet trained. My handbag is so roomy with only one nappy in it. And there's one less batch of nappies to scrub. Hopefully the Little guy picks up the idea from his reconnaissance trips to the smallest room in the house and trains himself!
HOORAY for kiddies toilet training pants and those squidgy seats for them to sit on. They're actually quite comfy!
W.George Quote of the Day : After finding him batting his brother around the head with a soft toy snake he was told off, sent to time out, then told to apologise, because we don't hit our brothers.
' Sorry' he said.
'Now, say : I won't do it again' I added.
He thought for a while and said 'I might do it again'.
Meat 3 Vege
At times I am my own worst enemy. For example, dinner time last night. We are so lucky to have great eaters, these boys, they are M3V boys - love a bit of meat and sauce, the old spud will never die out while they are on the planet. And even the V - they will attack peas one by one, stuff a whole head of broccoli and suck it, they love carrots - cooked.
I am trying to introduce them to raw veges - the best I can do so far is slyly grate raw zucchini and carrot into food. If I give them the old carrot before dinner they tend to chew it then leave little piles of carrot pebbles around the carpet.
I am sure they will get there - Will used to do the same with apple peel - ask anyone who we've visited and they will agree they have seen me wandering around picking up bits of apple skin left behind.
But last night. I admit I am often a bit ambitious in the menu planning department. I have decided if I'm going to cook every night I might as well make it exciting and challenging for myself. I am addicted to recipe books and food magazines and am always experimenting. Which often is great, and sometimes, random, and occasionally disastrous.
Yesterday I cycled trailer boys and all across town to raid my friends INCREDIBLE coriander patch, with Roast Capsicum Sauce in mind (Annabel Langbein's Eat Fresh : Hubby has enjoyed my expeditions into this land).
The boys had pasta with this delicious sauce, nutrients oozing from it's fresh herb, garlic and peppiness. Big Brother cried and Little brother spat it out, then threw it on the floor. So BB had spaghetti and cheese, and LB chewed plain pasta and spat it out. Then had yogurt and apricots for dinner. And both of them were up at 6am, starving for their weetbix.
Our adult taste buds enjoyed the sauce, though. And tonight? Just let me get out my latest Taste Magazine....
HOORAY for Easi-Yo yogurt makers. We make the thick creamy greek yogurt and the boys power through it. Call me budget, but all those little packages seems to disappear way to quickly. And I want full fat for these boys, they are growing brain connections and nerves that rely on that bit of fatty sheath to keep those legs moving quickly.
I am trying to introduce them to raw veges - the best I can do so far is slyly grate raw zucchini and carrot into food. If I give them the old carrot before dinner they tend to chew it then leave little piles of carrot pebbles around the carpet.
I am sure they will get there - Will used to do the same with apple peel - ask anyone who we've visited and they will agree they have seen me wandering around picking up bits of apple skin left behind.
But last night. I admit I am often a bit ambitious in the menu planning department. I have decided if I'm going to cook every night I might as well make it exciting and challenging for myself. I am addicted to recipe books and food magazines and am always experimenting. Which often is great, and sometimes, random, and occasionally disastrous.
Yesterday I cycled trailer boys and all across town to raid my friends INCREDIBLE coriander patch, with Roast Capsicum Sauce in mind (Annabel Langbein's Eat Fresh : Hubby has enjoyed my expeditions into this land).
The boys had pasta with this delicious sauce, nutrients oozing from it's fresh herb, garlic and peppiness. Big Brother cried and Little brother spat it out, then threw it on the floor. So BB had spaghetti and cheese, and LB chewed plain pasta and spat it out. Then had yogurt and apricots for dinner. And both of them were up at 6am, starving for their weetbix.
Our adult taste buds enjoyed the sauce, though. And tonight? Just let me get out my latest Taste Magazine....
HOORAY for Easi-Yo yogurt makers. We make the thick creamy greek yogurt and the boys power through it. Call me budget, but all those little packages seems to disappear way to quickly. And I want full fat for these boys, they are growing brain connections and nerves that rely on that bit of fatty sheath to keep those legs moving quickly.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Little Cavemen
Both Big Brother and Little Brother are obsessed with wheels, and in fact, anything round.
I can see the caveman in them emerging - they are definitely descendants of the first man to kick a round stone and think - 'UUg, that hurt but look it rolled away! I wonder if I can make this piece of mammoth hide into that totally crazy radical shape and when all the guys are hanging round waiting for our extremely rare steak dinners we can kick it to each other.'
My boys would have been great product testers for the first ever ball. They are forever finding objects and testing its aerodynamics - I banned kicking inside for a while then realised I had lost that battle about a hundred thousand years ago. So I bought WG an inflatable beach ball in the hope it would make less impact if it happened to hit the baby. I needn't have worried, the baby was taking notes and now he is mobile he is keen to perfect his own technique.
Little brother is in the pick-up-the-ball-and-drop-it phase of development, and just starting onto kicking, which is not too different to walking-into-it. Big brother is into drop kicks (Dad had to show him because I couldn't actually do one). He also likes to try a few headers.
They are not shape-ist when it comes to balls, they love the crazy bounces off the rugby ball, the big squidgy pink one that is deflating, the Cars ball that bounces really high, the home made felted ball for inside, the water filled petanque balls, the tennis balls for bowling. Balloons are the best giggle factories.
The other thing that is pre-programmed in them is the fascination with the wheel. All toys have to be upended to check their wheels go round and round like the last car. And, coming from a place that defies nature vs nuture, genetics and cultural preconditioning, both boys just picked up a car one day and went 'brrmmm, brrmmmm'.
HOORAY for running around outside after dinner, kicking balls, throwing balls, bowling balls, fishing balls from under the deck, laughing and falling over. Next to mammoth hunting it's really the best fun we've had this century.
I can see the caveman in them emerging - they are definitely descendants of the first man to kick a round stone and think - 'UUg, that hurt but look it rolled away! I wonder if I can make this piece of mammoth hide into that totally crazy radical shape and when all the guys are hanging round waiting for our extremely rare steak dinners we can kick it to each other.'
My boys would have been great product testers for the first ever ball. They are forever finding objects and testing its aerodynamics - I banned kicking inside for a while then realised I had lost that battle about a hundred thousand years ago. So I bought WG an inflatable beach ball in the hope it would make less impact if it happened to hit the baby. I needn't have worried, the baby was taking notes and now he is mobile he is keen to perfect his own technique.
Little brother is in the pick-up-the-ball-and-drop-it phase of development, and just starting onto kicking, which is not too different to walking-into-it. Big brother is into drop kicks (Dad had to show him because I couldn't actually do one). He also likes to try a few headers.
They are not shape-ist when it comes to balls, they love the crazy bounces off the rugby ball, the big squidgy pink one that is deflating, the Cars ball that bounces really high, the home made felted ball for inside, the water filled petanque balls, the tennis balls for bowling. Balloons are the best giggle factories.
The other thing that is pre-programmed in them is the fascination with the wheel. All toys have to be upended to check their wheels go round and round like the last car. And, coming from a place that defies nature vs nuture, genetics and cultural preconditioning, both boys just picked up a car one day and went 'brrmmm, brrmmmm'.
HOORAY for running around outside after dinner, kicking balls, throwing balls, bowling balls, fishing balls from under the deck, laughing and falling over. Next to mammoth hunting it's really the best fun we've had this century.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Swap-sies
Yesterday I practised having four kids. At 3yrs, 2yrs, 11 months and 4 months it was, ok, not technically possible they were all mine, but great fun anyway. My dear hubby was hoping it would put me off the idea but ha ha no luck. He should organise some really badly behaved kids to come round if he wants to put me off.
My friend and I have started a most excellent arrangement of swapping childcare two afternoons a week - in a small town our childcare options are limited and we are both in similar situations, doing the accounts for our businesses while our kids destroy whatever they can reach (up to the 20th of the month it's open season round here).
We both have two older boys who can grunt at each other in total communication already, who can merrily spending the large part of two hours trying to play with the same toy, ride the same bike, eat the same biscuit. My son this week was a wimp - crying at the slightest push - and who used the 'running to Mummy' tactic to deal with the invasion of his person toy space. I tried NOT to reinforce this coping mechanism by being impartial, cool as a cucumber and mostly not interested. We had one chat about the rules - We don't hit our friends, We take turns, We are careful around the little kids. They seemed to have a few tussles but I guess even the small fry need to work out their own pecking order - the boundaries of their friendship.
That night at dinner I asked WG why he cried so much while playing with J. He said "J pushed me.' I asked 'Did you push him?' He replied with some satisfaction 'Yep.'
The littliest adoptee was a perfect angel. I had her in the front pack pointing away so she couldn't see I wasn't her Mum, and I did catch her looking at me in the mirror strangely at one point. She had a good old kick in the portacot (mostly in there to protect her from 3 older boys trying the maul her with love). I only had her for 2 hours but couldn't resist trying to dress her up in a hat from my 'pink box' - hand me downs not required so far for two sons, but who optimistically live in the baby room cupboard.
The biggest challenge was my nearly 1 year old. He liked to peer over the portacot edge, willing his little friend to grow faster so he would have someone to play with. If he did venture into the big boys domain he was given the naff-est car to play with. He spent 20 minutes sitting on the trike watching the boys race around playing toddler-dodgems. He only sat still cos he can't work it yet.
It was fun and I managed to get one chore done in two hours - dishwasher unpacked - quite impressed with myself for coping. Even better today I got to leave my two at my friends house and - sodding the accounts - trucked off to have my eyebrows shaped.
HOORAY for swap-sies!!
My friend and I have started a most excellent arrangement of swapping childcare two afternoons a week - in a small town our childcare options are limited and we are both in similar situations, doing the accounts for our businesses while our kids destroy whatever they can reach (up to the 20th of the month it's open season round here).
We both have two older boys who can grunt at each other in total communication already, who can merrily spending the large part of two hours trying to play with the same toy, ride the same bike, eat the same biscuit. My son this week was a wimp - crying at the slightest push - and who used the 'running to Mummy' tactic to deal with the invasion of his person toy space. I tried NOT to reinforce this coping mechanism by being impartial, cool as a cucumber and mostly not interested. We had one chat about the rules - We don't hit our friends, We take turns, We are careful around the little kids. They seemed to have a few tussles but I guess even the small fry need to work out their own pecking order - the boundaries of their friendship.
That night at dinner I asked WG why he cried so much while playing with J. He said "J pushed me.' I asked 'Did you push him?' He replied with some satisfaction 'Yep.'
The littliest adoptee was a perfect angel. I had her in the front pack pointing away so she couldn't see I wasn't her Mum, and I did catch her looking at me in the mirror strangely at one point. She had a good old kick in the portacot (mostly in there to protect her from 3 older boys trying the maul her with love). I only had her for 2 hours but couldn't resist trying to dress her up in a hat from my 'pink box' - hand me downs not required so far for two sons, but who optimistically live in the baby room cupboard.
The biggest challenge was my nearly 1 year old. He liked to peer over the portacot edge, willing his little friend to grow faster so he would have someone to play with. If he did venture into the big boys domain he was given the naff-est car to play with. He spent 20 minutes sitting on the trike watching the boys race around playing toddler-dodgems. He only sat still cos he can't work it yet.
It was fun and I managed to get one chore done in two hours - dishwasher unpacked - quite impressed with myself for coping. Even better today I got to leave my two at my friends house and - sodding the accounts - trucked off to have my eyebrows shaped.
HOORAY for swap-sies!!
Monday, April 21, 2008
Who's the adult?
Some days it is so hard to remember that I am the adult. When things get crazy I really feel like throwing a great big old tanty panty, leg kicking, screaming show, until I get my way. When the TV is turned off and I know I have to slink off to the misplaced paper forest that is the office, I'm tempted to just scream until an older wiser person who knows THE RULES could calmly come and lead me by the hand. Or just give me my way.
W.George was merrily sitting on the couch, driving his cars around the pillows as Campbell Live finished tonight. As John said 'Goodnight' W.G. replied pleasantly ' Goodnight, John'. And within the seconds it took me to turn off the TV, he had morphed into a top volume whingey screamer. (W.G. that is, not John Campbell.)
He was suddenly hysterical, devastated. And I was so tempted to join him. But I managed to remember my mantra : 'Who's the adult? ...I am the adult...who's the adult?....'
This evening I had both of them at me, and looking back I pushed the limit too far by not getting home until 4.50pm. I had misjudged cooking time, and spent too long chatting to friends. So by the time I had something for them too eat - they had both lost it. Cooking is not fun and downright dangerous with a toddler crawling up your trouser legs and a toddlerplus grizzling in the pantry while trying to scale the cooking goods and reach the lollies. Once dinner was devoured we had to have a team cuddle on the floor to remind ourselves we do love each other, and that there is only one Mummy to fulfill all instant requests from two Boys.
They say you forget the bad bits, as time goes by and the memories fade. I hope I forget the times that I feel totally incompetent. The times when I resent the lack of a REAL ADULT who could come and sort all this mess out, make the dinner magically appear and get everyone back to being happy. I want to forget the times I feel like an impostor, and remember the times that we have THE most fun ever.
For the low points I'll keep a sign on the fridge ' who's the adult?....I am the adult..'.
HOORAY for Kings Soup Mixes. Add 9 cups of water and boil with lots of veges all whizzed up the in blender (who has time to chop?). Hello yummy winter soups for lunch, seeya later nasty ole' sammies.
W.George was merrily sitting on the couch, driving his cars around the pillows as Campbell Live finished tonight. As John said 'Goodnight' W.G. replied pleasantly ' Goodnight, John'. And within the seconds it took me to turn off the TV, he had morphed into a top volume whingey screamer. (W.G. that is, not John Campbell.)
He was suddenly hysterical, devastated. And I was so tempted to join him. But I managed to remember my mantra : 'Who's the adult? ...I am the adult...who's the adult?....'
This evening I had both of them at me, and looking back I pushed the limit too far by not getting home until 4.50pm. I had misjudged cooking time, and spent too long chatting to friends. So by the time I had something for them too eat - they had both lost it. Cooking is not fun and downright dangerous with a toddler crawling up your trouser legs and a toddlerplus grizzling in the pantry while trying to scale the cooking goods and reach the lollies. Once dinner was devoured we had to have a team cuddle on the floor to remind ourselves we do love each other, and that there is only one Mummy to fulfill all instant requests from two Boys.
They say you forget the bad bits, as time goes by and the memories fade. I hope I forget the times that I feel totally incompetent. The times when I resent the lack of a REAL ADULT who could come and sort all this mess out, make the dinner magically appear and get everyone back to being happy. I want to forget the times I feel like an impostor, and remember the times that we have THE most fun ever.
For the low points I'll keep a sign on the fridge ' who's the adult?....I am the adult..'.
HOORAY for Kings Soup Mixes. Add 9 cups of water and boil with lots of veges all whizzed up the in blender (who has time to chop?). Hello yummy winter soups for lunch, seeya later nasty ole' sammies.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Running man
My baby is running. Only for two of three hurtling steps until he crashes into the nearest door frame, or furniture leg. But for certain, he has begun his life long search for the thrills of speed.
He has been early to walk at 11 months, but it was hardly a surprise - he has been working on mastering this skill for a while. Watching his brother rocket off has been all the inspiration he could have needed. I thought I'd better record a timeline of his physical accomplishments in the last 5 months because it astounds me that he can learn so much in what feels like a flutter of days.
Week before xmas - crawled forwards, and got the idea he could choose where he wanted to go.
4 days later - Bored of that so stood up at the couch.
Jan- Solid practising of standing up at any possible opportunity. Crawling faster.
Feb- Standing up at window. Fell out the sliding doors onto his face. Repeatedly.
Mar - Standing independently. Taking a few steps, but leaning too far forward so more like a diver than a walker. Fast crawling. By end of march was standing up at the window on top of a box. Climbing up on the couch, then onto the arm of the couch. Fell down deck steps twice onto forehead.
April - Walking, and running few steps by 3rd week. Climbing up 3 steps of a small slide, bringing his feet through then sliding down - all independently. Climbing down deck steps backwards. Kicking a ball intentionally. Throwing the tennis ball in what proud mother would call 'his first overarm bowl'.
Being a physio his development is right up my alley, but it still amazes how much he has absorbed, how efficiently he copies, and how undetered he is by the physical injuries - today he has two bruises making racetracks down his forehead.
He's so good at absorping that he is the kind of sponge that you want to have on hand when the bath overflows all the way down the hallway, except of course he would have been the one who blocked the drain in the first place then scampered off.
W. George quote of the day about his little bro: ' He's funny. He's not quite normal'
HOORAY for hot dates with your husband, and remembering that we have more in common, and more to talk about, than a business and two major-minor distractions.
He has been early to walk at 11 months, but it was hardly a surprise - he has been working on mastering this skill for a while. Watching his brother rocket off has been all the inspiration he could have needed. I thought I'd better record a timeline of his physical accomplishments in the last 5 months because it astounds me that he can learn so much in what feels like a flutter of days.
Week before xmas - crawled forwards, and got the idea he could choose where he wanted to go.
4 days later - Bored of that so stood up at the couch.
Jan- Solid practising of standing up at any possible opportunity. Crawling faster.
Feb- Standing up at window. Fell out the sliding doors onto his face. Repeatedly.
Mar - Standing independently. Taking a few steps, but leaning too far forward so more like a diver than a walker. Fast crawling. By end of march was standing up at the window on top of a box. Climbing up on the couch, then onto the arm of the couch. Fell down deck steps twice onto forehead.
April - Walking, and running few steps by 3rd week. Climbing up 3 steps of a small slide, bringing his feet through then sliding down - all independently. Climbing down deck steps backwards. Kicking a ball intentionally. Throwing the tennis ball in what proud mother would call 'his first overarm bowl'.
Being a physio his development is right up my alley, but it still amazes how much he has absorbed, how efficiently he copies, and how undetered he is by the physical injuries - today he has two bruises making racetracks down his forehead.
He's so good at absorping that he is the kind of sponge that you want to have on hand when the bath overflows all the way down the hallway, except of course he would have been the one who blocked the drain in the first place then scampered off.
W. George quote of the day about his little bro: ' He's funny. He's not quite normal'
HOORAY for hot dates with your husband, and remembering that we have more in common, and more to talk about, than a business and two major-minor distractions.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Daylight savings for parents
Changing the clocks back used to be a time of quiet rejoicing for me. It was an opportunity to go out for a big night, then sleep knowing an extra hour was there to be slumbered through, a gift from the Gods of Govt. I am one of the best customers of the Bank of Sleep - it's the most strictly controlled aspect of my finances, every deposit and withdrawal monitored on the balance sheet.
But now I have children, and this year Daylight savings change has been hard on the bottom line. The first morning W. George was to be found bouncing along the hallway, on his moon hopper, at 4.30 am. Not a good start. A few mornings later he climbed into his brothers cot, and the two of them tried to shake the walls of the cot apart, rattling and giggling.
They have only been brothers for 11 months, but they already have a well organised system of tag team - little brother wakes on the days big brother sleeps in, or visa versa. Little brother is temporarily silenced by a visit to Mum's milk bar, but big brother launches in 'want some weetbix? with hota wata? and milt? and sugar?' or another cutey - ' GEELUP'.
My lovely husband is well aware of my sleeping requirements, and is wonderful at taking the boys for the morning shift, doing more than his fair share. But today was my turn. Little brother woke at 4am, then snoozed until 6.
Both boys were up by 6.10 and so far they have been dressed, had 2 weetbix each, toast, they've jumped on the couch, made a hut in the pop up tent, driven cars over the couch, found their man-bags (from the op shop, now living in the dress up box) and been to the shops for jam and cheese. Now they are giggling and wrestling in the tent.
It's been delightful and I wonder how much else I miss while my eyes are shut.
HOORAY FOR Playcentre - What a brilliant place to tire them out, and have an adult conversation. Playcentre is about much more though - it's a great place to learn for both kids and parents. Hooray for the parents who work so hard to keep Playcentre going. We're going to miss it over the next 2 weeks of school holidays.
But now I have children, and this year Daylight savings change has been hard on the bottom line. The first morning W. George was to be found bouncing along the hallway, on his moon hopper, at 4.30 am. Not a good start. A few mornings later he climbed into his brothers cot, and the two of them tried to shake the walls of the cot apart, rattling and giggling.
They have only been brothers for 11 months, but they already have a well organised system of tag team - little brother wakes on the days big brother sleeps in, or visa versa. Little brother is temporarily silenced by a visit to Mum's milk bar, but big brother launches in 'want some weetbix? with hota wata? and milt? and sugar?' or another cutey - ' GEELUP'.
My lovely husband is well aware of my sleeping requirements, and is wonderful at taking the boys for the morning shift, doing more than his fair share. But today was my turn. Little brother woke at 4am, then snoozed until 6.
Both boys were up by 6.10 and so far they have been dressed, had 2 weetbix each, toast, they've jumped on the couch, made a hut in the pop up tent, driven cars over the couch, found their man-bags (from the op shop, now living in the dress up box) and been to the shops for jam and cheese. Now they are giggling and wrestling in the tent.
It's been delightful and I wonder how much else I miss while my eyes are shut.
HOORAY FOR Playcentre - What a brilliant place to tire them out, and have an adult conversation. Playcentre is about much more though - it's a great place to learn for both kids and parents. Hooray for the parents who work so hard to keep Playcentre going. We're going to miss it over the next 2 weeks of school holidays.
Monday, April 14, 2008
where have all the clean clothes gone?
3 days of rain and suddenly every cloth item in the house is in one of many piles in the laundry waiting to be moved on through the labyrinth that is my washing system.
Today I spent an hour :
1.clearing the hot water cupboard of clothes into drawers,
2. folding and putting dampish washing into cleared cupboard,
3. hanging damper clothes off line to over fire drying rack (which had to be set up for the winter, over a fire that had to be lit and made safe with the fireguard - all of which had to be located in the shed), then
4. hanging 2 more loads of clean washing onto the line, then
5. putting one more load into the wash (which oops is still in the machine).
If you think that was boring to read, then imagine actually doing it! All the time fishing an inquisitive 11 month old out of the fire place (got his head stuck, lucky hadn't lit it yet), out of the hottie cupboard, out of the rain in his socks, out of the pegs (he likes poking them down through the slats of the deck). He also likes to grab a few newly washed pairs of undies out of the clean pile and race off, sucking them! Did I mention he likes to put toys in the dryer and turn it on?
Of all the domestic chores that seem to come with motherhood, washing is my burden. Folding and putting back into the room seems to be the point of most resistance. I end up with a visiting mountain of dry washing hogging the couch pretending to watch the TV. Wish it would make itself useful and fold itself - or at least babysit so I could go for a night out. In my beautifully clean clothes.
HOORAY for iron free zones like my house!
W. George Quote : when asked what he wanted to bake? - 'some pink cakes'. (They were delicious too.)
Today I spent an hour :
1.clearing the hot water cupboard of clothes into drawers,
2. folding and putting dampish washing into cleared cupboard,
3. hanging damper clothes off line to over fire drying rack (which had to be set up for the winter, over a fire that had to be lit and made safe with the fireguard - all of which had to be located in the shed), then
4. hanging 2 more loads of clean washing onto the line, then
5. putting one more load into the wash (which oops is still in the machine).
If you think that was boring to read, then imagine actually doing it! All the time fishing an inquisitive 11 month old out of the fire place (got his head stuck, lucky hadn't lit it yet), out of the hottie cupboard, out of the rain in his socks, out of the pegs (he likes poking them down through the slats of the deck). He also likes to grab a few newly washed pairs of undies out of the clean pile and race off, sucking them! Did I mention he likes to put toys in the dryer and turn it on?
Of all the domestic chores that seem to come with motherhood, washing is my burden. Folding and putting back into the room seems to be the point of most resistance. I end up with a visiting mountain of dry washing hogging the couch pretending to watch the TV. Wish it would make itself useful and fold itself - or at least babysit so I could go for a night out. In my beautifully clean clothes.
HOORAY for iron free zones like my house!
W. George Quote : when asked what he wanted to bake? - 'some pink cakes'. (They were delicious too.)
Saturday, April 12, 2008
It's rainding!
W. George might become a meterologist. He enjoys the weather report, and would probably recognise both TV3 weather presenters - Toni and Mike - on the street like long lost parents. He watches the sky for approaching clouds and the first drop of wetness he abandons his bike and hurtles inside yelling
' Mum - it's rainding!'
then comes the motivation for all his weathervane activity -
' watch a movie?'.
It all started when I avoided putting on the TV for months during the summer because I'd told him ' we only watch movies when it is raining, dear'. But even the most incredible summers come to an end and this morning it is indeed raining. And he's now totally absorped in the Piglet Movie.
Setting the rules is tricky. There is no room for grey in the mind of a toddler, things are absolute and even the concept of later, tomorrow or not now are two complex for those fluffy little frontal lobes he's got. For example, he doesnt know how to lie .... when asked ' why is your brother crying?' he says ' I bit him'. He is just learning that there are different angles on truth - another answer to this question was ' he put his finger under my wheel' (i.e. as I biked past).
So how do I explain that the TV rule for the summer is not going to be the same in the rainy days to come? That my answer will depend on what time of day it is, how I am feeling, how desperately I need to get dinner on undisturbed? How do I introduce the fact that I can change my mind, change the rules randomly and that I have total and absolute say on what goes?
No wonder they keep asking the same questions over and over - incase the answer magically changes. No wonder these 2 year olds throw almighty tantrums. Parents are totally frustrating to live with. Maybe that's why W. George can relate to watching the weather, whatever Toni and Mike say, the clouds and wind are likely to make up the rules as they go along.
HOORAY FOR littlies magazine.. and their recipes this month. We munched the Ginger Crunch and The Kisses were delicious!
' Mum - it's rainding!'
then comes the motivation for all his weathervane activity -
' watch a movie?'.
It all started when I avoided putting on the TV for months during the summer because I'd told him ' we only watch movies when it is raining, dear'. But even the most incredible summers come to an end and this morning it is indeed raining. And he's now totally absorped in the Piglet Movie.
Setting the rules is tricky. There is no room for grey in the mind of a toddler, things are absolute and even the concept of later, tomorrow or not now are two complex for those fluffy little frontal lobes he's got. For example, he doesnt know how to lie .... when asked ' why is your brother crying?' he says ' I bit him'. He is just learning that there are different angles on truth - another answer to this question was ' he put his finger under my wheel' (i.e. as I biked past).
So how do I explain that the TV rule for the summer is not going to be the same in the rainy days to come? That my answer will depend on what time of day it is, how I am feeling, how desperately I need to get dinner on undisturbed? How do I introduce the fact that I can change my mind, change the rules randomly and that I have total and absolute say on what goes?
No wonder they keep asking the same questions over and over - incase the answer magically changes. No wonder these 2 year olds throw almighty tantrums. Parents are totally frustrating to live with. Maybe that's why W. George can relate to watching the weather, whatever Toni and Mike say, the clouds and wind are likely to make up the rules as they go along.
HOORAY FOR littlies magazine.. and their recipes this month. We munched the Ginger Crunch and The Kisses were delicious!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Excuse me from the table
W. George has started to say 'Excuse me from the table', when he has finished his global distribution of food throwing and general mess generation that is dinner time. I feel a bit sad about it. Not so much that he is programmed to say this - I am the master programmer after all and I've been brainwashing this particular piece of manners into him for years - rather I am a bit sad because he used to say 'Nu- mee from the table' instead.
It was really cute and always made me melt.
The fact that he can say it properly now makes me think he's on a slippery slope of growing upness that is only going to end in tears at the school gate ( from me), total embarassment (of me) and grunting (at me) to become the only form of communication for all the ages ending in -teen.
Oh, if only we his parents could always be the centre of his universe, copied and admired, everything we say, do, act, all faithfully imprinted in his sponge brains, stored and influencing his every decision.
Then again, I don't need a 45 year old son having to suck his thumb and hold onto my ear everytime he needs to recover from his 43 year old brother wrecking his train track.
Nature I guess knows what she's doing , our babies will walk, they will learn to speak properly, they will develop their own lives away from us, and they will one day move out and pretend their mother never taught them how to clean a kitchen bench. I'll feel a bit sad at each stage, I guess. But nature knows best - she is after all a mother too.
SAVING THE PLANET today one decision to bike to town (rather than drive) at a time.
HOORAY FOR bike trailers for children ! We love ours, thanks Trademe.
NU- mee from the blog....
It was really cute and always made me melt.
The fact that he can say it properly now makes me think he's on a slippery slope of growing upness that is only going to end in tears at the school gate ( from me), total embarassment (of me) and grunting (at me) to become the only form of communication for all the ages ending in -teen.
Oh, if only we his parents could always be the centre of his universe, copied and admired, everything we say, do, act, all faithfully imprinted in his sponge brains, stored and influencing his every decision.
Then again, I don't need a 45 year old son having to suck his thumb and hold onto my ear everytime he needs to recover from his 43 year old brother wrecking his train track.
Nature I guess knows what she's doing , our babies will walk, they will learn to speak properly, they will develop their own lives away from us, and they will one day move out and pretend their mother never taught them how to clean a kitchen bench. I'll feel a bit sad at each stage, I guess. But nature knows best - she is after all a mother too.
SAVING THE PLANET today one decision to bike to town (rather than drive) at a time.
HOORAY FOR bike trailers for children ! We love ours, thanks Trademe.
NU- mee from the blog....
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Hooray for hand me down pjs
SAVING THE PLANET 3 pairs of hand me down pjamas at a time - 3 flannel pairs - covered in as many trains, planes, trucks and cars any boy could wish to dream in. Warm and scrummy and the best bit - pre loved. We love our hand me down clothes and shoes for both young and old. Everything fits so well, no new clothes crinkly edges.
I'm part of a few handmedown trains, and I gratefully appreciate all that comes our way. Its such a saving as these little ones grow like mushrooms -arms longer, heads brainier, legs more chicken like( for our boys anyway) and feet like little buns rising.
With it being a little chillier around the extremities today I felt obliged to dig around and half an hour later managed to track down 2 pairs of shoes and even da-da two pairs of matching socks ! Probably wont happen again this winter. The sense of achievement was satisfying as we clonked into playcentre, until I realised my tottering 11 month old boyo was no longer able to walk. It is a highly risky precision skill for him at the moment, one he has only mastered for a week and there I was adding concrete blocks to his legs. The shoes didnt stay on.
BEST TIP today was from Jo's Mum - buy all the same colour socks and then there will always be a pair! Brilliant. Now, I'm off to pack up a bag of too small clothes and post to someone else...keep the pre-love flowing.
W.George Quote : as I was packing up the train set
"You're so helpful, Mum"
I'm part of a few handmedown trains, and I gratefully appreciate all that comes our way. Its such a saving as these little ones grow like mushrooms -arms longer, heads brainier, legs more chicken like( for our boys anyway) and feet like little buns rising.
With it being a little chillier around the extremities today I felt obliged to dig around and half an hour later managed to track down 2 pairs of shoes and even da-da two pairs of matching socks ! Probably wont happen again this winter. The sense of achievement was satisfying as we clonked into playcentre, until I realised my tottering 11 month old boyo was no longer able to walk. It is a highly risky precision skill for him at the moment, one he has only mastered for a week and there I was adding concrete blocks to his legs. The shoes didnt stay on.
BEST TIP today was from Jo's Mum - buy all the same colour socks and then there will always be a pair! Brilliant. Now, I'm off to pack up a bag of too small clothes and post to someone else...keep the pre-love flowing.
W.George Quote : as I was packing up the train set
"You're so helpful, Mum"
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
P.S.
HOORAY FOR annabel langbein and magic chocolate cake (carrot hidden inside)
SAVING THE PLANET TODAY by drinking cold and luke warm cups of tea. Only filling the jug for the number of cups needed!
CUTE-isms OF THE DAY
from W. GEORGE - the toddler with a pottyful of presidential potential -
" I love sports " (he says trying to hit a wooden brick with a plastic stick)
"I NEED a skirt" (no explanation needed?)
"i going to get some cheese and honey" (he cycles off wearing his superman suit, a red handbag conatianing essentials such as paper money and a wooden train over the handlebars)
SAVING THE PLANET TODAY by drinking cold and luke warm cups of tea. Only filling the jug for the number of cups needed!
CUTE-isms OF THE DAY
from W. GEORGE - the toddler with a pottyful of presidential potential -
" I love sports " (he says trying to hit a wooden brick with a plastic stick)
"I NEED a skirt" (no explanation needed?)
"i going to get some cheese and honey" (he cycles off wearing his superman suit, a red handbag conatianing essentials such as paper money and a wooden train over the handlebars)
introduction
Hello and welcome on board. Has everyone got their seat belts on? Remembered to turn off the oven, hang out the washing, put your wallet and 2 spare nappies in your handbag, feed the worms, brush your own hair? Did you manage a shower this morning - Y/N? Well, never mind, now how many weetbix in total are smeared on the faces and hair of your offspring peering at you from the back seat? - I'll wait while you quickly run off and grab a wet facecloth, scrub all the faces in the backseat then throw it onto the pile of past face cloth emergencies rotting behind the driver's seat.
Okay, now, has everyone got their seat belt on .... lets go guys....
(I'd prefer a cheeky yellow sign bobbing in the back window of my car that says 'mother on board'. At least the world is then warned regarding the erratic driving, the food conveyor, and smeared windows when Im driving. That a baby is on board is perfectly fine by me, i drive safely anyway, but knowledge that the sleep deprived caffeine fueled mother with a brain clogged by a supermarket list is in control of the fast moving vehcile is, I think, a very sensible warning to all to stay well clear.)
So, here's my attempt at the blog - I'm offloading some of these motherish experiences and thoughts, why? Maybe while spending all this time wishing that the boys would grow up, that they'd go to sleep, that they'd play together, that they'd be more independent, that I had more energy, more time, less washing, more spare cash, - while Im thinking all this stuff that actually this amazing time of my life is flying by. Unless I record them, I'm gonna forget the hilarity, the cuteness, the cuddles of complete and fierce devotion, the moments of phenomenal clarity of deep and meaningful thinkings, the day to day exhiliration and despair that seems to me (in my meagre 2.5yrs experience) is what it is to be a mother.
Okay, now, has everyone got their seat belt on .... lets go guys....
(I'd prefer a cheeky yellow sign bobbing in the back window of my car that says 'mother on board'. At least the world is then warned regarding the erratic driving, the food conveyor, and smeared windows when Im driving. That a baby is on board is perfectly fine by me, i drive safely anyway, but knowledge that the sleep deprived caffeine fueled mother with a brain clogged by a supermarket list is in control of the fast moving vehcile is, I think, a very sensible warning to all to stay well clear.)
So, here's my attempt at the blog - I'm offloading some of these motherish experiences and thoughts, why? Maybe while spending all this time wishing that the boys would grow up, that they'd go to sleep, that they'd play together, that they'd be more independent, that I had more energy, more time, less washing, more spare cash, - while Im thinking all this stuff that actually this amazing time of my life is flying by. Unless I record them, I'm gonna forget the hilarity, the cuteness, the cuddles of complete and fierce devotion, the moments of phenomenal clarity of deep and meaningful thinkings, the day to day exhiliration and despair that seems to me (in my meagre 2.5yrs experience) is what it is to be a mother.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)