At the end of a successful birthday weekend, Maree and I sat Grizzlewick (my son) and Cricket (her son) down to a lovely dinner and thought that as responsible mothers we should attempt a conversation with them.
Gigglewick: Everyone’s had a lovely weekend, haven’t they? It has been really busy, and heaps of fun.
Maree: What do you think was the best part of today, Grizzlewick?
Grizzlewick: Playing with Cricket at the park.
Maree: And what about you Cricket?
Cricket: Well, I think it was getting an ice-cream. Yes.
* Any takers on the source...no fair cheating with the internet (NB: Not Fleetwood Mac)
Monday, 30 April 2007
I got tha toilet-training blues...
I was sitting reading the paper yesterday when I heard a snuffling, sobbing child limping up the stairs..
Behold! Miss O, in all her Cletis overalled glory!
Breathing into a mouth organ, so that as she sobbed her story, it's was given a poignant blues-esque quality...
'Poo! I done a poo!'
(zing, zinga zing (or however you express mouth organ 'music' phonetically))
Such a sad, sad story, but what a beautiful vignette! We'll make something out of her yet!
Behold! Miss O, in all her Cletis overalled glory!
Breathing into a mouth organ, so that as she sobbed her story, it's was given a poignant blues-esque quality...
'Poo! I done a poo!'
(zing, zinga zing (or however you express mouth organ 'music' phonetically))
Such a sad, sad story, but what a beautiful vignette! We'll make something out of her yet!
Tuesday, 24 April 2007
fairy tales
It can be awkward at times, but I love the fact that my kids still inhabit that sparkly world where Santa Claus and unicorns comfortably coexist with Reality. So I had a little moment of breath holding concern when I overheard this exchange between my girls:
MissMinx: I hope I never meet a bad fairy.
LadyMuck: No, this is just a movie, it's make believe, fairies aren't real.
MM: What...........No fairies?
LM: No, they're made up, like, you know, for stories.
MM: So, no fairies are real?
LM: Nope, no fairies.
*beat*
LM: 'Cept the tooth fairy of course.
Safe.
MissMinx: I hope I never meet a bad fairy.
LadyMuck: No, this is just a movie, it's make believe, fairies aren't real.
MM: What...........No fairies?
LM: No, they're made up, like, you know, for stories.
MM: So, no fairies are real?
LM: Nope, no fairies.
*beat*
LM: 'Cept the tooth fairy of course.
Safe.
Sunday, 22 April 2007
Bakers Delight.
Just tonight:
Me, putting the babes to bed: Night night Curly Girls...
Miss I: (Sits Up) No... I'm a Chicken Pie.
Me: Oh, so what are you Miss O?
Miss O: I'm Miss I.
Me: Hmmmm...
Miss I: No! She's not a Chicken Pie...
Miss O: Yes I am... I'm a curly Pie.
Me (walking out the door): Night night Chicken Pies...
Them: Night mummy...
Twin Logic - it's it's own special brand of confusion, but I think we're getting there.
Me, putting the babes to bed: Night night Curly Girls...
Miss I: (Sits Up) No... I'm a Chicken Pie.
Me: Oh, so what are you Miss O?
Miss O: I'm Miss I.
Me: Hmmmm...
Miss I: No! She's not a Chicken Pie...
Miss O: Yes I am... I'm a curly Pie.
Me (walking out the door): Night night Chicken Pies...
Them: Night mummy...
Twin Logic - it's it's own special brand of confusion, but I think we're getting there.
Sometimes it's roses, sometimes it's fleas*
Wow, it really has been the week for stupid tantrums in Not Craig Land.
I accept, with some reluctance, the inevitable truth that anyone who has a two year old and a nearly-one year old will occasionally have to deal with some spectacular yelling, not matter how lovely the children are most of the time. I think it's the incredibly level of creativity in coming up with things to be upset about that still occasionally takes me by surprise.
Up until this week, I thought Bundle could not possibly top his previous two most pointless hissy fits. The first happened when I told him to stop banging his own head against a wall, and the second occurred when I told him it was time for us to stop reading the Bible and move on to a different story.
Last weekend , however, we had 10 minute tantrum because I said it was time to get off the train (which was not entirely unreasonable of me, as it was the station that our car was parked at). If there is ever an Olympic event called 100m while carrying two children through a busy shopping area with one of them screaming wildly while everyone looks at me like I'm a maniac, I'm going to win.
The same day saw spectacular levels of protest because Bundle wanted to see some monkeys. I blame the zoo's complete failure to put any in the Hippo Enclosure. With a bit more foresight on their part, the whole problem could have been avoided. Any solution would have worked better than saying "Hey let's sing the Hippo song", which was utterly ineffective.
For sheer pointlessness, none of these top the very public meltdown in a fairly crowded food court when Honey Bear asked Bundle not to put any more pepper in his own milkshake.
Cherub has been joining in too, with impressive howls of protest every time we try to explain that there is some very literal truth contained in that old Canadian proverb about realising that we can not eat money.
All the tantrums in the world pale into insignificance compared to those moments when it's all good, like when these two children sit in the bath growling at each other like a pair of hopped up wolverines and then collapse in fits of giggles a second later.
My favourite moment of last weekend was, by far, when Bundle and I walked past a florist on the was to the fruit shop. Not only did he insist that we had to buy flowers for mummy, he also took my hand to lead me into the shop, chose a very nice bunch of roses, waited patiently while I paid for them, proudly carried them home and handed them, fully intact to a delighted Honey Bear.
We could have a billion billion tantrums** and I would still be ahead.
* Yes, again with the Fleetwood Mac
** Including the one that happened when I was halfway through typing that sentence. How Alanic.
I accept, with some reluctance, the inevitable truth that anyone who has a two year old and a nearly-one year old will occasionally have to deal with some spectacular yelling, not matter how lovely the children are most of the time. I think it's the incredibly level of creativity in coming up with things to be upset about that still occasionally takes me by surprise.
Up until this week, I thought Bundle could not possibly top his previous two most pointless hissy fits. The first happened when I told him to stop banging his own head against a wall, and the second occurred when I told him it was time for us to stop reading the Bible and move on to a different story.
Last weekend , however, we had 10 minute tantrum because I said it was time to get off the train (which was not entirely unreasonable of me, as it was the station that our car was parked at). If there is ever an Olympic event called 100m while carrying two children through a busy shopping area with one of them screaming wildly while everyone looks at me like I'm a maniac, I'm going to win.
The same day saw spectacular levels of protest because Bundle wanted to see some monkeys. I blame the zoo's complete failure to put any in the Hippo Enclosure. With a bit more foresight on their part, the whole problem could have been avoided. Any solution would have worked better than saying "Hey let's sing the Hippo song", which was utterly ineffective.
For sheer pointlessness, none of these top the very public meltdown in a fairly crowded food court when Honey Bear asked Bundle not to put any more pepper in his own milkshake.
Cherub has been joining in too, with impressive howls of protest every time we try to explain that there is some very literal truth contained in that old Canadian proverb about realising that we can not eat money.
All the tantrums in the world pale into insignificance compared to those moments when it's all good, like when these two children sit in the bath growling at each other like a pair of hopped up wolverines and then collapse in fits of giggles a second later.
My favourite moment of last weekend was, by far, when Bundle and I walked past a florist on the was to the fruit shop. Not only did he insist that we had to buy flowers for mummy, he also took my hand to lead me into the shop, chose a very nice bunch of roses, waited patiently while I paid for them, proudly carried them home and handed them, fully intact to a delighted Honey Bear.
We could have a billion billion tantrums** and I would still be ahead.
* Yes, again with the Fleetwood Mac
** Including the one that happened when I was halfway through typing that sentence. How Alanic.
Monday, 16 April 2007
The law of the jungle does not apply in my house
When Grizzlewick was very young (but old enough to chase our cats), we decided that it would make good sense to let him get whacked a couple of times. We figured that a well-placed tap from our most visible cat* would serve two purposes:
1. It would make Grizzlewick less inclined to damage our cat a second time
2. It would let our cat know that he didn’t necessarily have to suffer through the ENTIRE raft of pain meted out to him by said child.
A warning to others: this parenting experiment has been a dismal failure.
Grizzlewick WILL cry when scratched by our cat. But it doesn’t put him off, nosiree bob. He’s a persistent litthe bugger. In Grizzlewick’s defence, he often has a completely loving gesture to give – a kiss on the head, a gentle pat, a hauling across the room that results in the cat being placed in front of the heater.
What’s more, or possibly because of the inconsistency of the “loving”, neither has our cat figured out that the best thing would be to bolt at first sign of Grizzlewick. No, he lazes around the house, seemingly lovable, tolerating being dragged around at the shoulders until, much like Mel Gibson, he snaps, losing his easy-going persona and lashing out at the nearest person - mostly Grizzlewick, but sometimes Mr Fix or myself (that’s the cat, not Mel Gibson. Although given the way that Mel Gibson sometimes behaves, I’m sure we’re not that far down the list).
Will it ever stop? Yo, I don’t know (but probably by the time Grizzlewick turns 10).
* We have two cats, although many of our friends dispute this on the basis that the second cat is rarely seen.
1. It would make Grizzlewick less inclined to damage our cat a second time
2. It would let our cat know that he didn’t necessarily have to suffer through the ENTIRE raft of pain meted out to him by said child.
A warning to others: this parenting experiment has been a dismal failure.
Grizzlewick WILL cry when scratched by our cat. But it doesn’t put him off, nosiree bob. He’s a persistent litthe bugger. In Grizzlewick’s defence, he often has a completely loving gesture to give – a kiss on the head, a gentle pat, a hauling across the room that results in the cat being placed in front of the heater.
What’s more, or possibly because of the inconsistency of the “loving”, neither has our cat figured out that the best thing would be to bolt at first sign of Grizzlewick. No, he lazes around the house, seemingly lovable, tolerating being dragged around at the shoulders until, much like Mel Gibson, he snaps, losing his easy-going persona and lashing out at the nearest person - mostly Grizzlewick, but sometimes Mr Fix or myself (that’s the cat, not Mel Gibson. Although given the way that Mel Gibson sometimes behaves, I’m sure we’re not that far down the list).
Will it ever stop? Yo, I don’t know (but probably by the time Grizzlewick turns 10).
* We have two cats, although many of our friends dispute this on the basis that the second cat is rarely seen.
Tuesday, 10 April 2007
Dude I'm standing right here, part 1
The scene is a quiet Easter Monday afternoon, somewhere in the suburbs of Melbourne. There is an aura of domestic bliss lingering in the air. Honey Bear is heading out the laundry door with a basket of washing, INC is chopping onions for a truly amazing stir-fry. Bundle is apparently getting hungry.
Bundle: Can I have something, Mummy?
HB: (From outside) Go and see your daddy
[Bundle wanders into the kitchen, opens the cupboard door and stands inside]
Bundle: I'll just get something out of here and tell daddy to open it.
Bundle: Can I have something, Mummy?
HB: (From outside) Go and see your daddy
[Bundle wanders into the kitchen, opens the cupboard door and stands inside]
Bundle: I'll just get something out of here and tell daddy to open it.
Wednesday, 4 April 2007
Todd-gic*
The actual record of a conversation between Grizzlewick, his best friend (also called Grizzle), and a group of other small boys.
Q: What does Spiderman eat?
A: spiders
Q: What does Batman eat?
A: bats
Q: What does superman eat?
A: SOUP
Can't say fairer than that.
* Toddler-logic
Q: What does Spiderman eat?
A: spiders
Q: What does Batman eat?
A: bats
Q: What does superman eat?
A: SOUP
Can't say fairer than that.
* Toddler-logic
Tuesday, 3 April 2007
Adelaide
A few more highlights of the Adelaide trip.
Bundle and Cherub had a wonderful time with the swing set in the back yard of my sister-in-law's house, particularly when they sat facing each other and giggled endlessly. However, I sensed that Bundle was starting to long for more when we had this conversation towards the end of the trip:
Bundle: Where's the bouncy castle
INC: We don't have a bouncy castle here
Bundle: This is an old playground.
He gets away with this stuff because he has lovely manners. I'm not sure how many two year olds respond to the suggestion that they might like a bowl of cereal for breakfast by saying"Thank you, that would be wonderful". I was also impressed that when I gave him his breakfast he said "Thank you Daddy, that's very sweet of you"
Still on children and swings, I think that it was inevitable that, as the parent of a child named Cherub, I would eventually run out of sensible songs about swinging and end up singing a few choruses of "He's my Cherub Pie". Those who remember a rather similar song by Warrant will appreciate just how wrong that is.
Bundle and Cherub had a wonderful time with the swing set in the back yard of my sister-in-law's house, particularly when they sat facing each other and giggled endlessly. However, I sensed that Bundle was starting to long for more when we had this conversation towards the end of the trip:
Bundle: Where's the bouncy castle
INC: We don't have a bouncy castle here
Bundle: This is an old playground.
He gets away with this stuff because he has lovely manners. I'm not sure how many two year olds respond to the suggestion that they might like a bowl of cereal for breakfast by saying"Thank you, that would be wonderful". I was also impressed that when I gave him his breakfast he said "Thank you Daddy, that's very sweet of you"
Still on children and swings, I think that it was inevitable that, as the parent of a child named Cherub, I would eventually run out of sensible songs about swinging and end up singing a few choruses of "He's my Cherub Pie". Those who remember a rather similar song by Warrant will appreciate just how wrong that is.
Monday, 2 April 2007
Why is it so?
It was Miss H's 8th Birthday Party yesterday, and we took a Squeal of Tweenies horse-riding. I have yet to work out precisely when I became the type of mother who Does these Things. Because no-one in their right mind would take seven 8-year-olds to a Riding School, and then load them up with fairy bread and cupcakes and cheezels... would they? I know that it's not something I would have anticipated all those years ago, when the idea of 'children' first crossed my mind. My children were going to be different. They weren't going to be influenced by Mattel or Disney - they were going to learn to think independently, and be who they wanted to be. And naturally the person they were going to Be was NOT going to a be pretty pink pony-obsessed tweenie....
Things haven't turned out like they were supposed to...
I set to pondering on this as I was filling loot bags (or rather, Loot Pink Plastic Noodle Boxes with tiny pastel winged horses tied to the handle) with lollies- whizz fizzes and chupa chups - couldn't find any bananas (spewin') at 9:30 on Saturday night. Thankfully I had a glass of wine and a mother to laugh at my feeble justifications.
When did this happen? When did I get sucked in to the whole perfect parent phenomenon? I used to wage jihad against lolly bags, and provide carrot and celery sticks for snacks...
I continued to question myself as the 100s and 1000s crunched underfoot during the preparation of the fairy bread (with white bread!). It was a join effort - the twins were 'helping'.
The answer came when all H's friends arrived, and I let them know what the Big Secret - that had required them NOT wearing dresses and party shoes, but rather jeans and sneakers - was, and my kitchen exploded into a frenzy of screams and squeals of utter delight. I may have received an instant headache, but the look on H's face was priceless.
And worth the complete lapse in parental principles.
Things haven't turned out like they were supposed to...
I set to pondering on this as I was filling loot bags (or rather, Loot Pink Plastic Noodle Boxes with tiny pastel winged horses tied to the handle) with lollies- whizz fizzes and chupa chups - couldn't find any bananas (spewin') at 9:30 on Saturday night. Thankfully I had a glass of wine and a mother to laugh at my feeble justifications.
When did this happen? When did I get sucked in to the whole perfect parent phenomenon? I used to wage jihad against lolly bags, and provide carrot and celery sticks for snacks...
I continued to question myself as the 100s and 1000s crunched underfoot during the preparation of the fairy bread (with white bread!). It was a join effort - the twins were 'helping'.
The answer came when all H's friends arrived, and I let them know what the Big Secret - that had required them NOT wearing dresses and party shoes, but rather jeans and sneakers - was, and my kitchen exploded into a frenzy of screams and squeals of utter delight. I may have received an instant headache, but the look on H's face was priceless.
And worth the complete lapse in parental principles.
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