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.