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.

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'.

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.

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.

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!!

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.

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.