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.
Friday, May 30, 2008
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.
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