Let the games begin

After a week of shoe horsing tired boys into uniforms, patching up shoes with duct tape and bribing them with sugary snacks in their lunch boxes, finally the final bell came. The teachers looked as relieved as the children. The parents were slightly less excited at the prospect of 6 weeks full time childcare, but at least the lunch boxes can be retired, and food simply laid about the house in opportune piles for casual grazing.
We got home at 2pm after a celebratory pizza and chip lunch with half the school at the long suffering local pizzeria. The boys first mission was to voluntarily clean the car so buckets of soppy water, hoses, spray bottles, clothes and water guns were hastily provided. It was a good reminder of holiday lesson number 1. Go with the chaos. Especially if something might be cleaned in the process.
Next, all the toy animals and McDonald's pre-landfill plastic collection of 2012 were collected, and lined up on the bedroom floor in preparation for a epic battle. This was a good reminder of No. 2. Go with the mess. And watch where you step.
The trampoline began it's transformation into a pirate ship. 'I need a stick to put the sail on' Little Brother said. 'And tomorrow, I'm going to work on the stuff that's inside the pirate ship, like a TV. It's going to be awesomely rocket.'
He ran off to get out of his uniform and into his casual look du jour - a T-shirt for a T-shirt, a T-shirt for shorts (legs through armholes and voila - instant tail!) and undies for a beard.
Reminder No.3. Go with the increase in washing. And pick up all used undies before they are recycled into props.
We had two swims in the sea over the afternoon and evening. Big Brother and Little Brother swam out in their life jackets as hubby and I watched and enjoyed a beer and chat in the setting sun. 'He was slipping out of his life jacket and I saved his life' was the report from Big Brother when they arrived back. He's prone to exaggeration, but still, Reminder No.4. Keep up the head count. 1.2.3. Children. How many? 1.2.3. Very precious and quite independent but still needing close supervision.
It got later and later in the day as Little Brother tried to find the perfect body cover that wouldn't attract bees, and Big Brother continued writing his lengthy tome that is entitled 'My Christmas list'.
Reminder no.5. What's bed time? We're having too much fun.


.

X's and Why's

As women we walk the tightrope of the double XX chromosome. Some of us balance perfectly poised dancing through life, and others of us swing side to side changing our minds like Tarzan trying to find rhe perfect vine. I can see with Little Miss 3 that she's already begun practising her acrobatics. On one side of the  X's she feels the drive to be autonomous, independent, in charge of her destiny.
We're driving.
'I COLD" she yells, 'put up my window."
I put up her car window.
'But, I really cold' she yells again 'put up your window'.
'No thanks,' I said,' I want my window down because I am hot'.
And yet, on the other side of X, she really really wants to fit in, live the in crowd, keep up with the latest trend.
'But I'm Hot too" she yells straight back at me. "I want MY window down".

The other morning there was the empty packet of highly-priced-strictly-for-adults-in-the-family-cereal lying empty on the table.
'Who ate all the cereal?' I grumbled, asking nobody in particular.
'Actually, I eat it ' she said. 'I eat it p-cos, I eat it p-cos, (pause)  I CAN eat it'.

While it's lovely having a like-chromosomed creature in the house, it's like running into a dear friend while travelling on Titanic. Having two of us onboard means it's going to get hairy for everyone at some stage.
 A few weeks ago she was happily sitting in the car watching the world go by, when she suddenly observed "Mumma, your hair is all grimpily!"
"Thanks, I think" I replied, unsure if it was a heavily disguised compliment, or not.
A few days later, she told a friend. " You have grimpily hair, too, just like my mum!"
This was encouraging, considering the shiny stylish hair of my friend.
But last night all hopes were shattered. 'You lie down, Mummy' she said. 'I going to cut cut cut your hair. And brush it too. It's ALL grimpily, again.'

She is torn between desperately wanting to gather information, but already knowing all the answers.
' Where the sun gone?' She demanded, as we drove through the twilight home from scouts.
' The sun has gone down, so it's nighttime now'
'No. Why? She countered.
I tried my best. ' During the day the sun moves across our sky, but during the night it's moving across the sky on the other side of the world so it's daytime there'
(I feel bad about the Santa fallacy so I try to give as truthful answers as I can the rest of the year)
'No. Why?'
'Well actually, it's the earth that travels around the sun, but don't worry about that. Everyday the sun looks like it travels across the sky, then it sets and it's dark while the sun is on the other side of the planet. ' I bumbled.
' No. Your hair is grimpily.'
' Ok. Thanks.'

On the Y chromosome team, life seems much more practical, needs based, got-an-itch-scratch-it.
It comes in handy for random gaps in conversation, 'You should never bury your Dad in the desert sands when he's sunbathing and falls asleep ' Little Brother advised his cousin the other day, 'you might never find him again!'
And another favourite conversation starter:  'Did you know that I am allergic to poison?'

Countdown aka Dash for the finish

Christmas fever is building in our house. Oh, yeah. To be honest I'm about ready to pack in all commitments and resign myself to overeating, sorting lego into colours and pjama's as acceptable day wear. Yet, still we have a play centre christmas party, a 40th party, a community market, a tree to decorate, a 3 year old birthday party to organise and execute, white chocolate cheese cake to make, cards to post, friends to see, parcels to send, a nativity performance, a pizza night, christmas carols to practise on the ukelele.
No wonder we go about raving about peace, love and joy this time of the year cause we really need it. So much expectation to do it all in the few weeks left of this year, lets not forget there is another year around the corner.
The kids are enjoying the build up. They have started singing themselves to sleep with renditions of Silent night.
Little Brother told me the other day - 'Mum, I actually am going to make some Holy Spirit. I actually know the recipe - do you want to hear it? '
I was very keen. He said - 'I need milk and leaves and three types of food colouring - cause, you know, one for the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.' (Oh, that kind of spirit, I was hoping for a bit of holy Vodka).
They set up the Nativity scene on the fire hearth, and Big Brother pointed out the three wise men - 'That one is bringing Jesus gold.'
'ooh, treasure' said Little brother, a very keen pirate himself/.
'That one is bringing MURR' BB continued, himself a veteran of two Nativity plays,
'And that one is bring Frankfurters'.

NO !

She is going to be the perfect teenager. The world revolves around her and she controls the universe by saying 'NO' at every opportunity. I have to learn to state requests and never ever ask her if she wants to do something. The answer is already and will always be (until age 25) : No.

In a moment of weakness (and in desperate search for just the right type of requested undies for  a christmas present) I ventured for the first time ever,  into the Mall with her. 
It was a doomed mission as she was already tired from a big weekend and late night. As we pulled into a park and she screeched "NO! Don't want this park, want THAT park" (pointing at the vacant space next to our car)
Oh dear. If that wasn't case for aborting mission, I dont know what further sign I needed. However, blithely, stupidly, thinking 'how bad can it be? she's two years old', I pushed on.
It was a classic case of mall-staggers crossed with christmas-toddler-grabs. I WANT IT! she yelled when she saw everything, the 10 metre tree , the sparkley baubles, the jockey undies with Dan Carter's own baubles buldging. I covered her eyes and said peacefully "Ok, lets put it on your christmas list".
The first 10 times I managed to say in peacefully, but that didn't last.  I WANT IT ON MY CHRISTMAS LIST! she yelled. She's quite loud, my daughter.
I resorted to bribery and headed to buy us a juice, for (um?) good behaviour. She proceeded to have not one but two fully fledged lying on the ground, dress up round her ears, kicking, screaming tantrums as she objected to sharing the strawberry smoothie with me.
I kept up my mantra under my breath  'Who's the adult? I'm the adult'.
I carried her back to the car and went home and put her to bed. 2 hours later she emerged sweetness and delight.
I spent the time thinking of when she is a teenager and what how things will be so much better then. She'll ask 'Can I borrow the car?" Can I stay out late? Can I go to a party? He's just my friend!"
You know my answer will be?

RIP Ba-Ba

Yesterday afternoon she was leaping around the lawn, nibbling the grass, shredding my best pea crop in years, and stripping the silver beet of all greenery.
Last night, she was lying down, lethargic and this morning she is as stiff as a board.
So ends the short fluffy sweet life of Barbara-Ann Lamington Pearl (aka Ba-ba).
I blubbered.
Sheep farming is totally emotionally draining, especially when your entire flock is wiped out in one night. My brother the real sheep farmer reminded me of the saying - Where there is livestock, there's dead stock.
Maybe she found a poisonous nibbly bit she couldn't resist, maybe she had a clostridium disease due to lack of mum's milk as an orphaned lamb (Brother Farmer's theory), OR maybe the neighbour she has been waking up every morning (at 530am by bleating incessantly until she is fed) snuck through the fence and fed her snail bait (thats my current theory, I'm in the angry phase of grieving)
I continued to blubber.
Little Miss said - "Are you crying again?"
Big Brother said - "But there is some good news. We are still alive! We don't have the disease!"
Little Brother said - "Maybe we could get a new pet."
Dad dug a hole for her and we bent her stiff legs to fit. She looked peaceful.
Little Miss - "Why ba-ba sleeping in that hole! Ba-ba getting dirty"
Dad explained dead again, and the process of rigor mortis.
I suggested they pick a flower to throw into her grave.
Big Brother - "I picked a white one because that will remind me of Ba-ba."
Little Miss threw in her purple flower.
Little Brother threw in a grapefruit.
Little Brother - "Perhaps we can get a new pet. How about a seagull?"
Little Miss - "We get a new Ba-Ba? One day?"
Big Brother looked around the lawn - "At least we still have her poo's to remind us of her"
Little Brother - "Maybe if we watch some TV it might get away our sadness".

Inside a while later, they come to me with a card and a soft toy lamb. Big Brother has written me a card, and they have both drawn a picture of Ba-ba on it. The message reads:
'Dear Mum I am sorry to say Baba did but redmder your sill alive. Loev (with an arrow pointing to swap the letters around) from W, F, A and D xoxo

Visiting our old life

There are big events in life that spontaneously cause a fork in the road, such a rapid change in circumstances, your direction changes and you head down a side track you couldn't imagine you'd ever go. At time's it feels like that road you left behind carried on, without you, and you can imagine yourself living the other journey.
I've been a bit hesitant, unsure about bringing those two separate journeys together for us, but after nearly four years, we finally travelled back to where we used to live, touched base with our old life, well all the really good bits, anyway - our friends, the beautiful place we used to live (and none of the not-so-good bits). We went to a magical beach wedding, and the children danced the night away, pulling out all their favourite moves - shuffling, back spins on the floor and gangam style.

Car trips are such great opportunities for chatting, and listening to hours of Roald Dahl stories on CD, and of course, I-spy. Its a serious game in our car, with many quirks - we play i-spy colours, visible or invisible, real or imaginary. Some games take miles and miles, and there are many arguments.
Nine hours in the car each way gave us lots of time to tell stories about my memories of them as babies, and we drove by our old home where Little Brother was born. "So that's where I came out like a rocket!" he said when he saw the house. "I remember now!"

The car is also great for random thinking time.
Little Miss piped up at one stage "Mummy, I have a brown bottom, and  you have a hairy bottom."
"Umm, ok" I was not sure where this one was going.
She continued "But Daddy, ....Daddy has a hairy darse"

Staying with friends is a good way to practise our manners. My children are well behaved only as a result of constant brainwashing - 'Excuse me from the table, Thankyou for the yummy dinner, 'parroted Little Brother one night, adding, "and, we do not wash our pits in the pool of eternal life"

I a zombie princess

This has been the first year we have celebrated Halloween. I've always been a bit Barhumbug about it all, and I've managed to distract Big Brother the last few years by putting him in front of the TV, closing the curtains and pretending not to be home. However it was not to be missed this year. We invited a couple of boys from school to join us, and I bought some face paints, and a skull jar full of edible body parts (hearts, fingers, teeth and eyeballs). They painted themselves up (we are all about the free- styling body art). Big Brother painted a silver hand with a spider web on it. Little brother did a green mask, one green foot and some random gold spots. Little Miss put on her princess outfit and painted a few 'pots' on her face. We put a lead and a skull and cross bones scarf on Baa-Baa (our pet lamb). And, not looking particularly scary - we set off.

I had no idea what a big thing it was! There were lots of families and groups of kids toting bulging sweety treaty bags, intricate costumes and houses with glowing skeletons, graveyards, and cobwebs everywhere. The bay we live in is a very popular trick or treating destination, and I admit that I have changed my mind about halloween, actually, helped by a glass of wine on the way, we had a lovely family night out. They ate way too much confectionery, stayed up way too late, and had just a perfect amount of fun. (Once home i confiscated all the haul and will use them to bribe them all for weeks! Hoorah, Mum always has the last laugh!)

Little Miss has been re-enacting it all week - 'I a zombie princess' she says walking slowly around the garden. I find it almost preferable to her play acting cinderella.

Observant Little People

On a recent trip on the Ferry to Wellington we stopped at Somes Island. Little Miss peered through the salty sprayed windows and spotted a big orange buoy bobbing up and down in the big wet wobbly. ' 'Whats that Mum? '- (Its her favorite question after Why?)
'Its a buoy', I informed her.
'Cool. ' she said (Favorite response after No!) Then pause. Thoughtful look. Puzzled/concerned look. 
'Mum?'
'Yes?'
'Is that boy wearing togs?'

After his stella performance in the school production of 'The Muppets, A Play', which he shone as the Ninja Muppet, Little Brother requested that I get him a Ninja costume. I told him I'd try and get one from a secondhand shop, but when I disappointed him a full 6 hours later ( I mean, what have you been doing with your time Mum?) he had a little think. He's a man who deals in solutions, not problems.
"I know Mum," he said. "you could just knit me one instead."
(Darling thing, he still has such belief in my abilities he is completely undetered by the obvious lack of skill, or knitting).

Yesterday we had such a ball, chasing the Orca's that had cruised into Wellington Harbour to visit. I spotted them in our bay in the morning and Little Miss and I jumped in the car and headed to the reserve to see more. Unfortunately they didn't surface near us again, so I spent about 3 hours telling her 'They must be under the water now"every 10 mins when she asked 'Where orca's gone?"
Driving home from school though we were in luck and from the way the cars were all parked erratically along the verge of the bay, and people were pointing fingers and phones out to sea we knew they must be back. We screeched to a holt and leaped out. Suddenly two fins emerged about 3m from the waters edge. It was very exciting, and then we saw a larger one further out rolling and flapping it's flipper.
Big Brother " THis is so exciting, I've wanted to see an Orca ALL my life! This is the greatest day of my life!"
Little Brother "There's one, it looks exactly like a rock but it's moving so it must be an orca!"
Little Miss " They not under the water now"
And, Little Brother "Can we get closer so we can see what it's face looks like under the water?"
It was magical and we had fish and chips on the wharf hoping for more sightings. I would never have believed they would come that close in, and the thoughts of starting my ocean swimming training suddenly made me feel quite petrified. If I ever see an Orca that close in the water, I'll be sure never to lend you my wetsuit.

My battle du jour

My final attempt, my piece-d-resistance, my swan song, my grand finale of toilet training is not going well. She has No. 1's sorted, even dry at night, which is ridiculous for a two year old, but in the other department we are going nowhere fast, or, rather going everywhere, except.

She's too sly to be obvious, too female to be predictable, too perverse to follow a sticker chart, and she's too manipulative to be bribed - I mean, I find myself dazed and confused, giving her the marshmallow anyway and sometimes even one more for such a comprehensive and well concluded argument. 

I am one of 'those mothers' whom started mothering with actual cloth nappies that I'd learnt to origami-ninja-fold around the newborn without even using a pin, which was then covered in a brown handspun handknitted woollen pilcher that matted up like a felt cushion after a few washes. Everything and I mean everything shot out the sides, but the rows of pink rimmed naps flapping in the wind on my washing line felt very pioneering. I moved into reuseables - Kushies, then Fuzzy Buns and Honey Child (which were great - highly recommend), with a few supplements of nappy shaped recycled paper Moltex Eco (bury them in your own garden if you fancy). But oh how the mighty have fallen, today I pulled out of my handbag a barbie infested pink Huggies pull-up. Wow, thats why you never ever say never when it comes to parenting. 

We started toilet training great guns with this child by embracing our apple-given technology - the Iphone. She only got to play with it when on the potty. Fabulous plan, probably why she is dry, but absolutely not going there when she insists on the big girl toilet. Not going fishing for Iphones.

After 7 and half years of predominantly cloth nappies, and in total up to 3years toilet training, I am very much looking forward to putting all naps behind me. I am resorting to extreme measures to hasten the date - for example, last night we had a lovely family discussion around the dinner table about Tenemus. (If you want to feel icky, then Wiki that one). I'm hoping information is power. 

I'm especially looking forward to not scrubbing and disinfecting floors, following a child who likes to dress herself but is not partial to undies. And I am very very much looking forward to the day when I no longer find myself walking around town, opening my handbag to be greeted by the whiff of a pair of dirty gruts. That will be the sweetest smellfree smell of success.

Big Brother's First Shave

He was screaming like he'd cut off his arm. He hurtled into the bathroom, and on seeing the extent of the damage, hysteria reined.

While mentally rehearsing my 111 call - emergency service required? fire engine? ambulance ? - I jumped and followed the noise and found him hunched over on the bathroom floor, rocking, sobbing, with his hands covering his head and tears pouring down his cheeks. I registered shock and horror on his face, but - no blood ? Only, a trail of whispy blonde hair.

(Emergency service required?  - Umm, - hairdresser?)

With calm (a-list parenting) voices we soothed his shock and convinced him to show us his head. We both burst into gales of laughter. He looked liked a muppet crossed with a straight haired poodle crossed with a landing strip in the jungle. We tried to stop laughing as he buried himself into his father's arms and sobbed.

Big Brother had discovered Dad's electric head shaving machine, conveniently plugged in by the computer, and thought to himself - I wonder what that feels like? One Buzzzzzzzzzzz later...

'I can't go to school', he sobbed. 'Everyone will laugh at me! No one will be my friend!'

'It's ok', I told him,  (pushing through the overwhelming funniness of it all) - 'You know, some people lose all their hair, and have bald heads and don't even get to choose. Like, when Doffa (their grandmother) was sick she had some medicine that made her hair fall out. And, (I thought, might as well go the whole hog), there are children who get sick with cancer who have to have medicine that make's their hair fall out, too.'

'But everyone will laugh at me', he ignored me and re-focussed on himself (acting like a total child, no sign of empathy or frontal lobes likely for another 20 years)

'Ok', I said, ' how about this. We will take a photo of your haircut, and post it on facebook. We will tell our friends the story and say you are scared to shave the rest off and don't want to go to school tomorrow. We will suggest to our friends that if they sponsor you - give money - to be brave and shave off the rest of your hair, then we will donate all the money to the Child Cancer foundation. That way, you can help other kids that are really sick and need help, and be brave.'

So we did, and the next morning we had pledges for over two hundred dollars! Of course he refused to let me come within 10 m with the shaver. Finally we agreed that he couldn't leave it how it was, and it at least needed a fix up job. I shaved his head with a number 4 all over, and then put two skin stripes through that closely resembled a hot cross bun. And amazingly not only did it satisfy him, his little brother wanted the same doo! 

Big brother wore a hat to school for a week, but Little brother reveled in the drama of it all. He wanted to go again, so we shaved a big NZ on his remaining hair in honor of our Olympic athletes. They were the talk of the school, famous at the rugby club and kings at the bus stop. And, we are proud to say, we raised over $300 for the Child Cancer Foundation. 

Here is the link to Big Brother talking about his experience on you tube...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HisYZj4Kt3U

Who taught them to talk?

Four months since my last Blog! Its been a heavy few months, I'll tell you about it some time, but for now I think I'll just update the happenings of the 3 little ones...much more interesting!

I'm starting to wonder whether it was wise to teach Little Miss to talk. She is three in December, but has a worldly opinion on everyone and everything. She crinkles up her nose, and says 'NOOOOOO', or 'Dammit'.
Life is a musical with her sitting on the couch strumming her ukelele and singing at top volume ' I am NOT singing! I am NOT singing!'
She loves Knock Knock jokes but mixes up the punch lines. But you'd better laugh. She keeps dibs on her 'guys' - 'where my guys, mamma?', 'what my guys doing?'.
Driving down the road she keeps a running commentary -
'Look, a horse!' -  'No, dear, its a cow.'
'Oh. A cow... Look, another horse!' - 'No, thats another cow."
'Oh. Dammit... What's that horse's name?'
And another time driving at night, totally out of the blue, she suddenly screamed out 'WE ARE GOING TO CRASH! WE RE GOING TO CRASH! THE CAR WILL HAVE BLOOD'!'

Little Brother is another thinker with a expanding vocabulary to match his imagination. In the school production programme he had been interviewed and when asked what he wanted to be when he grows up he replied - 'A ninja'. After the show finished I asked the boys if they were going to be actors when they grew up - 'No,' he said, ' I'm going to be a really really really (pause, he has the family pause) - FAT ninja.'
Then the other night he sidled up to me at a family dinner party and sat down. He looked pleased with himself.
'Mum,' he said, ' I have worked out the 10 steps to become a Ninja.'
'Great', I said, 'shall I write them down so we don't forget?'
Here they are - for your information -
Step 1. Meditate
2. Train (high kicks, kicks and weight lifting)
3. Get a belt ( the lips of your enemies)
4. Get a uniform with a hood (goes over your mouth)
5. Draw a picture on your tummy
6. Colour it in
7. Try and get a power
8. Get a weapon
9. First, get a normal weapon. (probably, a sword). (or poison, like the green ninja)
10. Colour in your helmet, tummy and your whole thing.

Truth Lies and Compliments

Things have been quiet in Big Brother's imaginary world for a while, at least, that is, around home. A few weeks ago, though, I became aware of the somewhat sideways looks I was getting from the staff and parents at school. I didn't know what was going on but one night arriving at ukelele practise I was promptly asked if I wanted a glass of wine. Of course I did. 'So your not pregnant then?'  'NO, ' I swiftly denied - ' Oh its just Big Brother has been telling everyone at school that you are having a baby, and he was so adamant about it, his teacher didn't want to ask!'
Even better another friend told me 'I had a great chat to BB yesterday - he was telling me how you are all moving to Russia soon! - I asked if you were all going, and he said, Yes because we are teaching Russian families about NZ families so we all have to go.'
It was only when he insisted we were leaving the next week, and coming home for all rugby games and practices that he blew his cover. I am trying to be positive about these flights of fantasy - perhaps he will grow up to be a spy. Or a writer. Or a compulsive liar. Or a poker player.
I tried a repeat of the whole importance of telling the truth vs. imagining things chat with him, and he seemed to take it all onboard. As far as I could tell.
Little Brother was asking me about a computer problem the other night and I pulled rank. I don't know, I said, ask your father, he's the computer genius. 'Well, that's right', he consoled me, ' but you are the clothing genius Mum, you have to do all the clothes every night.'

I drawing guns!

I drawing guns! she cries, all two and half years old, head bent over the orange felt tips, dribbling onto her abstract spotlike weaponry.
'Guns. GUNS! Fight.FIGHT! Men. Aeroplane. YES!OH! I DO MORE GUNS'
Two things sprung into my head listening to this soliloquy- firstly the realisation she is not a baby any more. She's a young lady, who likes wearing her plastic princess heels while on the trampoline.
She's a intellectual sponge, collecting all the language she hears, storing it in that super-computer toddler brain of hers and then stunning us all by pronouncing it wrong at the appropriate moment.
She's a copycat, primariy of her brothers (especially when if comes to her chosen art subjects) - so much so if she lived in another part of the world she'd probably be a fully paid up member of the NRA.
She's physically more person-like - her previously squidgey babyfat legs are now covered in a not-so-fine layer of dark hairs. 
She likes what she likes - copying the boys play, driving the dolls around in pushchairs, cooking with mum and wrestling with Dad. She also likes to sing grace at dinner, washing floors, and chatting.
She's a member of generation-i. This is most evident in her potty training - she'll only plant that butt and perform if she gets her hands on the iphone at the same time. 'Want play FRIV' she demands sitting at the iMac. She swipes the pages of a glossy magazine and says - Ipad - broken!'
(I have a spasm of fear - what is the world going to look like when she's in charge - will it be full of pocket supercomputers, and guns that look like orange spots?)
Which brings me to the second thing I am reminded of. On a page in Pennie Brownlee's website are two handwritten posters. Both gentle reminders to parents.  One says 'Do Not Disturb, I am about the sacred task of playing, i.e. I am unfolding my genius within' (which makes me feel reassured the gun battle is just another day at play). The second poster points at me and reads 'YOU are the model of emotional nurturing and trust'. (Which reminds me to a. rolemodel the person I want her to become, and b. cancel my NRA membership).

'

5year olds know it all

'Mum, you are not the boss of the world' says our newly minted five year old, just randomly needed to inform me over his egg and bacon pie. (Well, I guess that's what happens when you turn five and start school - three days into education for the masses and suddenly you know it all) - he continued: 'Mary is'. 'Do you mean Mary the mother on Jesus? ' I asked, incase he was meaning my friend Mary (who is admittedly an amazing woman). 'Mary is Jesus's mum. She is the boss of the world, even the boss of God.' he said, all with an air of finality that could only mean he had had his first religious education class. That's that myth blown, I thought, only tooth fairy, Santa and the 'fact' that the television only works on rainy days to go. He's taken to school like a duck to water - 'I love school, ' was this morning's report -' You get to play on the play ground TWO times every day. Its not dumb like he (indicating Big Brother) said' (Big brother immediately denied all knowledge, which shows he's not been wasting his near on 2 years in the education system, having at least learned the who,me?never face). It's been a big week for the new school boy- a birthday dinner with grandad and his cousins followed by a play centre leaving party then a Tranformers and Mice Party for 14 friends. He requested a ninja base gingerbread cake with flying ninja bread men all over it (And he actually got one, so maybe his mother is a bit of a miracle woman after all?). He also fulfilled a personal dream - to be Lego-rich. (thanks to bulk lot on Trademe). With all the celebrating and construction I told myself he'd be far too tired to actually start school until at least a week after his actual birthday. 'Are you happy' I asked him one night mid party season. 'I'm as happy as a gimbutt, he said. He's learned so much he's now making up his own vocabulary. Gimbutt- defn. As happy as a five year old in possession of a wristwatch, a thirst for knowledge, an edible ninja hideout and 6.6 kegs of Lego who has just discovered his mother isn't the most powerful person in the universe after all.

Time Warping Toddlers on Holiday

Daylight saving has ended, and not only has the big old sun in the sky changed it's working hours,  those hours seem to be stretched in funny places like a woolly jersey hung out to dry. Outside of the normal school-run routine and even simply being at home with children warps the days in funny ways, but yesterday - yesterday was something special. 

545 am. Children up and first breakfast of weetbix. We are at the bach so my day started with a preplanned sleep-in on my behalf (after 12 years together our contracted sleep-in details are highly negotiated - present contract includes minimum of  2 rounds of tea and toast). 

750am. Sleepover over. Wake-boarding for Dad.  Second breakfast for kids, Weetbix. We head off to the tennis court for a few hits. Big Brother and I practice for 15 minutes and in this time he clocks 3 hits and 64 misses (at which I enthusiastically call out 'Nearly!' 'Try again' and 'Wow, so close' - I mean tennis has got to be a the worst game to learn for the parent). Across the court I hear the 5 most dreaded words from a toilet trained child's mouth while out of the house - 'I NEED TO DO POOS!' Oh, crap/ Literally. At speed I gather up kids, racquets, covers, balls from bushes and buggy and we all jog carefully home (carefully cause my children refuse to wear undies on holiday and previous experience has taught me not to squeeze them while running for the bathroom). Morning tea follows. Tree climbing practice. Game of soccer on the lawn. I get inspired with a pair of scissors and give them all haircuts, with happy mullet results. They strip off for the haircuts and get covered in hair so we climb into togs and walk down the beach. We dig trenches, make sandcastles and I shamelessly bribe them into swimming in the freezing cold lake. Big brother likes to warm up by rolling in the sand, including planting his face directly in the sand. We stagger home, as only you can with a 2 year old who wants to wear 'cool mine jandals' but can't bear to have sand in them so takes them of every, and I mean every second step to remove the insulting particles). Shamelessly I bribe the boys to carry the spades, buckets and towels home. Series of bucket baths to wash off sand. Hot showers to warm everyone up. All 4 of us squeeze into the shower and we all get holiday shampoo in our eyes which really stings. 3 tantrums. All get dressed in third outfit for the day. Lunch is prepared and eaten. Dishes washed. Read books. I check the clock - its 11.40am.

 

The voices in my head

Now that we have three talking children it's like the voices in my head have multiplied. Driving in the car I now have a 4 way channel of conversations -
Me, thinking - "What are we having for dinner, where do I have to be, when and what combination of equipment/ children/ clothing/shoes/ cash do I need, must remember to email/phone/text/yell/clean/scrub/move/put back/find the ...."
Big Brother and Little Brother -"And then, the droid army smashes Fluffy the puppy, but the puppy cries 'wah,wah, "" Yeah, and then the Ninja master with the black belt goes pow pow pow, " "No, the monster eats the puppy" 'NO, that was so awesome", "Thats what makes you beautiful"
And Little Miss - "Mamma, show you - bird!" "Mamma, show you - Ho-co-coca" (helicopter, but it took me a while to work out that one), "mamma - show you - digger". "mamma,  TURN CORNER"...

Its overwhelming at times. Three little fizzing brains and one slower, more list-based one (when did I stop imagining stories in my head?) coming out with wonderful observations on the world.
It can get confusing - Little Miss has been asked - Do you want the blue one, or the green one (cup, shoe etc) so many times she thinks anything she wants is called "Blue-Red"
"BLUE-RED, BLUE-RED, ' she yells, pointing at the green cup. Or the cheese.

The boys consider everything to be Awesome - 'Its an awesomely rocket!'. After a swimming lesson where Little Brother sobbed the entire half hour, except for the part he was howling hysterically after getting water in his nose, he climbed out of the pool and greeted his brother with - 'That was awesome!'

And then there is the problem of the number of feet. In our house, we have three each - the left one, the right one, and of course the wrong one. Is this right? they ask - No, its wrong - put it on the left one. Is this the left one? No, its the right one, but also the wrong one....

Big Brother asked me "Mum, can I have one of those card things, you know, those card things that have credit, you know, a credit card?
And the other day he opened a conversation with -" Mum, you know how you don't like feeding us...."

English as a first language

Little Miss 2 is opening her mouth and a what seems like a torrent of words are coming out. One at a time, now and then strung together, coupled with lots of crinkled noses and perfectly sincere looks.
'Day? Work? Dadda?' she asks her father every evening.
'Yes, thanks darling, I had a nice day at work' he replies.
She is naturally tidy - 'Shoes. Off.' she tells visitors. 'Outside' (If they don't get the hint she picks the shoes up herself and flings them out the back door)
She is naturally bossy - 'BOYS !' she yells in their faces, 'Car! One...three...One...three'
She is naturally parroting her parents, and brothers - and yesterday chased her brother around yelling 'Bugger. Bugger.' We decided she was only reminding of his unfinished porridge, but there sure is a lot of things lost in translation.
She is testing out descriptive words - 'Hard' she said as she turned on the tap of the home brew barrel and it poured all into the boots and over the floor. 'Open. Biscuit. Stool. Where stool? Ahh, stool. Up. Biscuit. Open. Hard. Ahh, Loff!' (L-off as in fell-off, not to be mixed up with L-over) 
Non verbal communication is no problem with her peers. One friend described her interacting in the sandpit with a boy, who was holding a sandy car in his sandy hands. Little Miss was holding the waterhose, and waited for the boy. When he was undecided about how to proceed, she looked exasperated, took the car from his hand and washed it, gave him back the car and washed his hands for him with the hose. Problem sorted, no language required.

The older boys have an increasing amazing grasp of language -and what they don't know they simply make up. One day Little Brother was helping me bake gingerbread bunnies, and we talked about dipping their ears in chocolate - 'yes, 'he declared, ' we could make chocolate bombs. You know, chocolate Vo-vos - Did you know Mum that Vo-vo is maori for bomb?'
(Needless to say I didn't know that)
Another day Big Brother and I were perusing the secondhand shop at the dump - I explained all this perfectly good stuff had been thrown into the rubbish by people - and he was amazed - 'You could throw out everything!' he exclaimed. 'Lets look really hard, Mum, and we might find something from (whispered in awe) : China!'

The one language that I refuse to tolerate though, is winge-ish. I have a tactic, and I can't remember if I copied it off some genius now unattributed, or I made it up in a mind numbing sleep deprived brilliant moment. Try doing this : When any of the children whine or complain, whinge or moan, or tanty, - first, keep a straight face - look really confused, then think for a while, perhaps jiggle your ear violently liked you've got a mosquito stuck in their. Then, dismiss them with a apologetic and slightly loud -  'Sorry, I don't understand.'  If they try again with the whole 'wah-wah-wah-wahwah ' give them a cheerful, 'Nope, nope, I don't speak whinge-ish, only english - can you repeat that?'
Even a two year old can get the gist of this farce, and it feels so utterly superior in a teaching-a-valuable-life-lesson way.

Doffa lives in our hearts now

Its been a summer of wind and sadness. Although it was expected after a long illness, we lost our Doffa - our grandmother, mother and mother-in-law. She’s left a hole in our lives the size of Lake Taupo. How much do you tell a 6,4 and 2 year old of the ‘death-nitty-gritty’? Quite a lot, it turns out. We’ve talked about hearts stopping and souls leaving a body and cremation (which is being all burned up into ashes), and what means to be alive or dead. We talked about heaven but overdid it perhaps a touch, I realized, when they started talking about how cool it is and how much they want to go there. Dad had the most comforting description of the state of our loss - ‘Doffa lives in our hearts now.’ Out of the blue Little Brother summed up the heaviness in all our hearts -‘I just wish I could see Doffa again.’ Ever logistically minded he continued, ‘But, we can’t. She lives in our hearts now. Its like, we ate her.’ At four and a half he is the bearer of harsh truths for his grandfather - ‘You have to live by yourself now Granddad.’ he told him one day shortly after the event. Another day he informed him ‘You’re fat, Granddad.’ We made a book about Doffa’s life and the kids drew appropriate pictures - like one about the way she liked to line up her shoes beside her bed when she was little, a picture of her dancing (which she loved) and skiing (which she loved). There are pictures of the handsome kind friend who wrote to her and asked her to marry him, a picture of her 3 sons wrestling, and of course lots of battle scenes between dragons and droid armies. I’m sure she would have loved it. They dictated a page of what they remember about her : She likes to give us hugs - She likes to give us presents sometimes. - Doffa uses her manners. She likes it when we write her letters. She reads us stories. Granddad reads us stories too. Actually Granddad reads us more stories than Doffa. She gives us strawberries. It seems the past tense is hard to grasp at that age. Its been a summer of expected and unexpected death. What a shock to learn we are all closer to heaven than we think. Our cousin Rachael at 41 years old was diagnosed with, battled and lost her life to cancer in just three weeks. She lives in our hearts now, too. Its been a summer of gratitude. We were lucky to know and share the lives of two amazing women. ‘I’m going to live until I’m one hundred’ Little Brother says. ‘Sadly, we don’t get to choose how long we live’ I tell him, going for full disclosure now, the gloves are off - ‘when our time is up, it’s up. We have to make the most of everyday we do have, with the people we love.’ Its a lesson that we are never too young or too old to learn.