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.