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).

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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.