From the mouth of the babe

Emerging from the babble are real and actual words. Usually just one at a time, but there is a self belief written all over her face as she looks you in the eye, grabs your nose in a killer grip, and says 'Mouth'. Or points to the sky and says 'Boat.' Up until now we have had names, and the two most useful words in the world - 'More' and 'NO'. I say 'Have you had enough?' and she says. 'No. More. K?" She has recently added the opposite of 'more ' which is 'Nuff', but it is not usually used in conjunction with food - rather if she is being bear hugged by her brother she yells out 'NUFF!' Each word is a complete sentence with full stop. This is an example of a conversation we might have. A: 'EreeDada?' (she uses sign language of hands palm upwards for where is..) Me: He's at work. A. Work. Me: He's gone to work in the car. A: Car. Me: He's gone to work in the blue car. A. Blue. Like a little computer she absorbs the data and spits it out the other end. I'm not the only one she copies, as I found out a few days ago. We were leaving the Polling Booth, and she turned and waved at the nice polling lady who'd given her a sticker - 'Bye Bye. See-ya. Poo Bum.'

Testosterone Surges

Beware the 4 and half year old boy. This is the age of the testosterone surge, which in Little brothers case means lots of fighting games, poo jokes, increased appetite and crazily physical behaviour. The best remedy is an older brother to wrestle with and be put into place by (although I admit, there needed to be a bit of fore-planning there, but other 4 year olds also fit the bill). Its this age that people start commenting about how their 4 year old is 'really really ready to start school'. Usually when they get to school they settle down but, it can be a sprint for the those gates on the day of their fifth birthday. I have mixed feelings as little Brother approaches school. He is ready in the 6-weetbix-a-day-testosterone-wrestling-poo-joke sense, but I will miss being around for his particular wisdom and thoughtful insights into the world. For example we were watching a disabled man get out of his car with two walking aids. 'Why do people use poles when there is no snow?' he mused. At play centre he has had a burst of creativity involving mixed media collage. He isn't one to go along with the planned activity - he's into layers and layers of paper and glue, sellotaping toothpaste boxes onto pieces of paper, and random collections of objects glued painted and glittered. Its a play centre philosophy to never ask a child ' is that a picture of a tree?' but rather to ask 'tell me about your picture'. It means the child has free range imagination wise and never feels that their picture has to conform to someone else's idea of 'what it should look like'. Its certainly not going to be like that at school, where peer pressure (to conform in lots of ways) will be a prevalent experience. But enough maudling, I am going to make the most of my time with him over the next 6 months and commit to a few wrestling matches myself. I am excited for his big step into the world of education, and for the school to be gaining such a amazing individual. They will all no-doubt love his bottom-inspired humour and his insightful commentary of the world.

Terrible Twos meets The devil wears Prada

I was trying to explain Little Miss Nearly 2's unreasonable behaviour to the boys, as she screamed and wailed at the injustice of not being able to have 6 teaspoons of sugar on her porridge. "She has just worked out that she has her own thoughts and opinions, and she doesn't have to do what anyone asks anymore!" God help us. With a screech like a banshee and more than her fair share of determination she is the poster girl for Independence. She is sweet as sugar and spice most of the time, but once she sets her mind to something (like getting the toy the boy was playing with), its time to call in the UN Peace keeping force (aka Mum). The words are just starting to explode like rapid fire out of her super-charged toddler brain, and although they get pretty mangled by the unpractised speaking apparatus, they are all there - 'Share!' she told her Grandmother, when she spotted her with the chocolate. She talks in full ernest-faced sentences but they are completely untranslatable. Single word commands are her favourite way of ruling the universe. 'No' gets used even for yes, 'Stop' is useful for the boys, 'Mine!' is ever-popular, and she is cunning enough to understand the benefits of a sweet smile and sticky 'Please'. She also can spot 'lowas' (flowers) and knows her fashion. 'Itty', she says as she points to her favourite bright sparkly top (pretty!). The other day I was looking in my drawer, and she came to help. 'Itty' she pointed to a red cardigan. 'I was looking for this', I said, pulling out a blue t-shirt and putting it on. She frowned, looking confused. 'Dadda?' she asked. 'No, its mamma's' I said. She looked back at her choice, pulled it out of the drawer and pushed it at me ' Itty. Itty. ITTY!' she yelled. I put it on. 'Itty.' she said with unmistakeable air of 'I told you so' and stomped off. I was stunned and secretly thrilled with the knowledge that someone in this house is going to notice what I wear! She loves to be helpful (very different from the boys at that age who spent alot of time taking things apart to see how many pieces they could be deconstructed into). She is the person I ask when I've lost something. She is especially good at finding shoes, not just her own, but visitors also. She gets the boys shoes in the morning and chases them around and throws them at their heads. 'UUUUs' she commands. I think the Terrible Two's is not a fair description of this age group - she is not terrible at all, she is fabulously gorgeous, but she is just dealing with the frustration of being unable to make everyone else understand that she is the centre and ruler of the Universe. It's a toddlers job, to rule the world with a screech. And the terrible part is that it is my job to teach her that the world doesn't work like that.

Not rubbing it in, but WE WON!

We are a very patriotic family. When it comes to rugby and singing the national anthem, that is. Big Brother has been learning it at school, and with all the All Black Games, there's been alot of God of Nations as favourite singing in the car. Even Little Miss not quite 2 is known to start belting out a reasonable tune with lots of haka-esque leg slapping and tongue pointing. The boys know most of the Te Reo maori and englsh versions - with a few cute mistaken words - my favourite line is 'guard pacific's triple star from the SHARKS of strife and war'. We've been flying All Blacks flags, and wearing facepaint and temporary tattoos. We certainly had a fabulous world cup, with many family visiting to stay and see the games at the Wellington Cake Tin. Big Brother was full of interesting playground statistics 'I am so freaking out!' he told us before NZ vs. France the first time, 'NZ has versed France FOUR times and France have won 3 times! I am so FREAKING out!" We've also had lots of discussions about sportsmanship - and even (finally) been able to discuss what it is to be a good winner. Hoorah!

Just when you thought I'd given up blogging..

I'm not sure how the last two months have slipped away without a blog up-date. Time flies when you're racing around like a mad mama. What have we been up to? Highlights have included a ski trip to Wanaka, a visit to the farm in Makahu, playing rugby every weekend, and just spending time with the kids, and with their lovely grandparents, with friends and family. Skiing was a big adventure and this year the boys took to it like ducks to water. They are both skiing now, going up the chair lift, and the pommer lift. They loved the gear, and the freedom, racing off down the mountains weaving in and out of the skiers and generally giving their mother a heart attack. Big Brother is officially a faster skier than I am now, racing past me, seeking out the little jumps on the side of the piste, and flicking through his turns. He also discovered another passion - ice climbing - if he wasn't on his ski's he was up some snow covered ice face, kicking his boots into the hill like a pro, then sliding down at top speed. He didn't enjoy his last lesson much, as the instructor kept telling him to 'slow down, slow down'. It was just like skiing with Mum. As we drove out of Wanaka he looked out the window of the car at the beautiful southern alps, and said "I'm going to climb all those mountains one day". Little Brother was a star, his goal was to do the pommer independently, then the chairlift. He achieved it no sweat, and it was such a great buzz to be able to ski all together. Little Miss did not make it up the mountain this year, but had a wonderful time with her grandparents, charming them with her smiles, and games, and going on picnic lunches to one stunning lake side beach or another. With a few long car journeys we have some mammoth games of I- spy. We have a few variations on the game now - I-spy colours, and I-spy imaginary. Big Brother must have been listening at school after he won a few games with his new found knowledge - the first clue was something beginning with A. The second clue was we get something from it. Once we gave in the answer was AIR - we get oxygen from it. The other memorably long game was the clue something that was the colour red. After much guessing it turned out to be a thin ring of red gas that surrounds the sun. We didnt get that one either.

Philosophers aka toddlers.

Part time toddlers, part time philosphers, my children.
I was trying to break it to them gently.
'Well, life isnt actually fair, ' I explained one day, 'sometimes things work out the way you want, and sometimes it doesn't'
Thats just the way it is...
'Yeah, ' agreed Big Brother, 'here's one I learnt at school -
Life is....' pregnant pause,'..Life.'
'THats very true, dear,' was about all I could muster in reply.

Another day -
'How old are you, Mummy?'I was asked from the back seat
'I'm thirty-six' I replied truthfully thinking, (how did i get to be so old???)
'You must be nearly dead!;' Little brother exclaimed.
I was lost for words, but luckily,-
'No, thats not that old! ' Big Brother and his lovely cousin agreed ' you might be dead when you are one hundred.'
'My great granny lived to 104!' our lovely wee cousin explained.
'Well, 'I said, taking a big breath and just diving on in there, 'no-one knows how long we might live, people can die at any age, but the important thing is to enjoy everyday with the people we love.'
Silence.
Longer silence.
(Although there is a lot to look at in the way of diggers and wind turbines along seaview road).
Then the clanger.
'Why do we live, ' asked our lovely cousin who is obviously wise beyond her years, 'if we are just going to die?'
Silence. (Me, this time)
'That is such a great question' I replied (throwing it right back at you!) 'what do you think?
'Ooh, ooh, ' clambered Big Brother to keep up the existential pondering, 'I've got a really good question....(pause)...'who made God?'
Silence. Me, again.
'That is a good question?' Who do you think?'
'Well', said the wise cousin, 'I think a bit broke off from the sun, and then turned into the earth and that's where everything came from.'
Luckily, we arrived at our destination.

Rugby Fever

We are so thrilled to be able to report that after 9 weeks or so, Little Brother has made it off the sidelines and onto the rugby field for his first game! He's been going to practice and games every week all this time, but hasn't quite made it over the scary line onto the paddock !
It has been a self imposed bench-time, (or in the case of practice he has spent most weeks up the nearest tree). He was keen as at the start of the season, and loves the kit. His new boots (smallest size possible), green and yellow Eastbourne socks (that reach righ to the lower limits of his buttocks for extra warmth on windy days) and jersey were a huge hit from day one, but watching the other kids play, he immediately voted himself off the team, telling us that he's not fast enough to get rips. Maybe when Im older, he thought. Another day he mused 'Perhaps we could go to the Library and get a book on how to play rugby'. 'Good idea,' I replied, 'but to get better at something you actually just have to practice and practice it.'
It's taken a few weeks to convince him. He's been practicing getting into his boots, climbing trees and enjoying the oranges at half time. He's also had a lot of practice drinking his aftermatch lemonade.
Last Thursday we had a breakthrough when I told them we were off for the Team photo. 'Do I have to play rugby?' he asked, 'Not today, just sit on the chair and look like a rugby player.' He was right into that idea - and lined up, marched on and sat in the front middle of the team pulling a range of serious 'rugby' faces as the camera flashed. 'That was jool' (cool) he told me.
And then, this saturday, he held Dad's hand as he toddled off to join the team for warm up. Then the inspired team manager suggested he should perhaps carry the ball onto the field for kick off. He agreed, and to his and our surprise he played the whole game.
'Rugby is jool fun' he said afterwards, as we stripped off his first-time-ever muddy uniform and scrubbed his skinny muddy knees.