We do talk about our kids

If you fail to plan...

2011-02-28T20:26:00.004+11:00

About two years ago, well before either of my boys started school, I told Bundle and Cherub the story of a camp I went to when I was about 16. We were sleeping in army style tents, which meant I was sharing a tent with about 7 other moderately smelly guys.

One night, after lights out, one of my mates decided to sing "10 Green bottles", except that he thought it would be funnier if he started somewhere around 50.

By the time he got down to the mid-20s, one of the other guys in the tent had had enough and told him "That's it! Enough. There is one bottle left, and then the song is OVER".

Our singer responded with:

"One green bottle, hanging on the wall

One green bottle, hanging on the wall

And if one green bottle should be accidentally ADDED

There'd be two green bottles, hanging on the wall

Two green bottles, hanging on the wall...."

Etc

What I didn't consider was that two years after I told that story, Bundle's Grade 1 teacher might decide that the class should sing the same song, and that Bundle would suggest that the class should add bottles instead of removing them and, just for good measure, he would tell the teacher that it was all my idea.

I suddenly feel less distressed about missing parent teacher night.

2010 - The year in updates

2010-12-20T21:39:00.005+11:00

If history is defined as those things that seemed important (or funny) enough to use as a status update on facebook when they happened, then this is, sort of, the year that was.

I say "sort of" because I have left out all status updates whch relate to Cherub's week in hospital last March. I don't want to blog about it because it sucked.

So, more or less in chronological order, here's most of the rest of the child related updated of 2010.

INC is the silliest person in the whole stinking world - Bundle, Aged 5

Okay, so not a great start to the year.

Some days I might have objected to this, but it was the end of an exhausting holiday with certain extended family members and I had forgotten to pack dry underwaer for my son to change into after a trip to the pool. The above quote accurately sums up Bundle's feelings about having no underwear to wear to his cousins' place for the afternoon.

INC has discovered that a good cup of coffee, "Lets go to the Zoo" on the CD player, and playing both sides of a game of chess between Bundle and Cherub makes for a pretty good start to a public holiday. Four hours at the wave pool was pretty good too.

As the public holiday in question was Australia Day, let me just mention that I was happy that Cherub, who was then several months shy of his 4th birthday, was into chess at all.

INC asked "What's the time, Mr Wolf". Bundle the wolf said "it's time to sew up those holes in your shirt.

I'm not sure how many steps I was then required to take. It can be a confusing game.

INC is pleased that Cherub enjoys singing, but not so sure about his song choice. Sample lyrics from tonight include "In every house, they're doing the butt dance, oh yeah".

If you must know, there was a dance. With no pants.

INC managed to get Cherub out of a bad mood by bribing him with a really long slice of cucumber. Maybe this works for all children but nobody else has ever tried it?

Sadly, I cannot recall it working more than once.

INC started the day with Cherub saying "yippee" for 10 minutes straight because I agreed that we might open his presents some time in the next hour. Then, as we were leaving to go to the play centre for his party, he told me I needed to change into a better shirt or "everyone will think you're in a costume". I love you my beautiful four year old boy.

Just for the record, I'm pretty sure that I did actually change my shirt at that point.

INC always enjoys the combination of a good vocabulary and a hissy fit. When I told Cherub it was time to put his PJs on, he pounded his fist on his bed and furiously declared "I've had enough of these double standards"

The phrase "double standards" was repeated many times over a period of several weeks. I still don't know where he picked it up, or why it applied to the wearing of pyjamas at bedtime.

INC is slightly surprised that my son thinks that "well, you haven't oiled your feet" is a winning argument. In relation to anything.

I can't now remember which boy this was, but I'm guessing it was Bundle.

One friend, who has not met my sons, left a comment asking "Only slightly?", to which the answer is a resounding "yes".

Another friend, who has met Bundle and Cherub, said that this was not surprising at all.

INC should be using this opportunity to congratulate Bundle for being named Prep Student of the Week. Instead, I plan to congratulate his for telling me that he could not remember the name of Sponge-Bob's friend, but he thought it might be "Cake-Bob". One day, two awesome achievements.

I didn't know the answer either.

INC just watched a massed choir of 60 or so prep kids performing the "Humpty Dumpty Haka". I have not stopped laughing yet, and I don't plan to.

We do, however, apologise to any New Zealanders who happened to be in the hall at the time.

INC thought it was very sweet that when CHerub was sobbing about narrowly losing a game of Pokemon, Bundle, ever gracious in victory, patted him on teh shoulder and said "It's okay, you can play against Dad next, and he'll lose". When I objected to this, he said "But Daddy, you always do"

Maybe I never won because the rules of that game are insane. The rulebook includes a section called "Can my Pokemon be asleep and confused at the same time". This means a lot of people have actually asked that question.

INC was incredibly happy with Bundle's first school report, mostly because the teacher had to really work hard to find areas for improvement. If a prep kid needs to "improve fluency in reading" rather than, say, "learn to read", it's a pretty decent start

His second school report was even better. Yes, I am the insufferable parent who brags about how smart my kids are. This is unlikely to change.

INC is impressed with Bundle's suggestion that we should get a pet zebra and name it Collingwood

And yet, after trying for a year, we cannot think of a good name for the dog we are (still) planning to buy

Bundle: "I hope I have a happy birthday" Cherub: "Yes, you will. I promise you" My kids are awes

I really can't believe Bundle is 6 already. How did that happen?

INC came home tonight to find Bundle and Cherub playing a game called "Daddy". This involved one of them laughing a lot and the other one yelling "Just go to bed!"

Apparently I have been a bit insistent about bedtimes this year. And probably a bit stressed.

INC has convinced my boys that in a pillowfight, any sucessful strike must be followed by the words "Touche, pussycat" in a really high voice. It turns out that for some of us, even a relatively small amount of spare time can be considered "too much".

Well, no explanation needed there.

INC found Cherub's socks in the basketball net. Cherub asked me not to get them out because "I'm admiring my work".

Or there.

INC loved Cherub's attempt to persuade a dog to stop licking him. I quote "Idon't smell like sausages... but my Dad does"

And I did, but only because I had spent a large part of the morning selling the sausages to raised money for Cherub's kinder.

INC turned around this morning to discover that the "mwah mwah mwah" sound behind me was Bundle's new toy koala kissing his old toy kangaroo. Cherub said "Awww, they've falled in love already".

Bless.

INC loved taking the boys down to the oval to practise goal kicking today. Bundle would line up 35 metres out on a 45 degree angle and stand there with an expression of mixed concentration and apprehension that reminded me irresistably of Travis Cloke. Then he would run 34 metres and kick the goal from point blank range.

And then there were celebrations.

INC apparently needs to create a facebook page for my 6 year old son so I can change his relationship status to "is engaged".

Yes, a young lady in his class asked him to marry her (twice), and, on the second time, he said yes.

My very favourite part came a few days later, when we were siting at the dinner table. Bundle reminded me that he was going to marry Rachel. Cherub said "So, you think she's pretty, don;t you. Bundle paused for just a moment before grinning and saying quietly "Yes, I do".

Also, Cherub decided he would need to find "a prettier Rachel" to marry.

He has subsequently abandoned this idea and asked me to ask a friend if her 8 year old daughter is engaged yet. He wasn't too stressed about the outcome of this query, as even if young Hayley was engaged, "She might change her mind".

Usually, "he's half her age" is just an expression. Not in this case.

INC is impressed with the range of attacks my children's toy puppies have mastered this week. They include "flying claw", "tooth boost" and my personal favourite, "spinning tail beam". No, I can't see that letting the kids watch pokemon movies has had any effect at all. Why do you ask?

Well, at least it took their minds off their obsession with getting engaged.

The kids are convinced that flapping their arms actually helps them to jump higher on teh trampoline. I therefore have to say "I had nothing to do with that", closely followed by "Dude, you have to see this".

Seriously, that was not my idea. Also, it actually seems to work, if only by improving their balance.

_____

And that is it for 2010. Happy New Year to Meva, and anyone else who may ever read this. More stories next year. Probably.

Choo life

2010-09-05T08:31:00.004+10:00

So, my father's day started at 5.20am, when Cherub decided that we all needed to be told that he needed to go to the bathroom.

My personal view here is that he can manage this activty perfectly well all by himself and my company is not required, particularly not, and let's be really clear about this, at 5.20 a-freaking-m.

I have a plan. Next father's day, we are skipping the presents. Instead, my boys are going to let me sleep past 7.30am for the first time in SEVEN VERY LONG YEARS.

When I set up this blog, I really didn't think the web address would still be relevant three years later.

Still, it's hard to be too grumpy when we spent the extra hours we had together this morning building a train out of lego-type blocks for Bundle's favourite cuddly toy to ride in, and the quiet morning was filled with cries of "Here come the wuffy train".

On the off chance that any guy with kids other than me ever reads this, HAPPY FATHERS DAY!

And that makes 11

2010-06-22T21:07:00.003+10:00

So, what happens when:
1. One of your children is learning to read, and the other is yet to do so, and
2. Someone told them that the Bible is a source of some sort of authority?

You get to hear one of them saying this.

Bundle: No, Cherub, look, I'll show you. See here in the Bible, on page one, it says......

[wait for it]

.

"People should not make those silly noises"

And I'm still not sure what was so upsetting about Rock & Roller Cola Wars...

2010-06-17T20:06:00.003+10:00

Do you ever wonder what the kids get up to when you're at work?

Today's answer is that Cherub spent the morning breathing fire. First he ate some fire, then he breathed out, then there was fire all over the floor, but "luckily mum cleaned it up". Fortunately, even though he was standing on the carpet, that didn't get fired.

Bundle, who was at school while all this was going on, wasn't entirely sure that he should believe Cherub's account, so he asked a few questions. This went on for so long that I went and found a pen and started taking notes.

Bundle: You weren't really breathing fire, were you?

Cherub: Yes, I was. I'm telling the truth.

Bundle: How did you eat the fire?

Cherub: Well, first I got some fire from a dragon, then I ate it, and then I breathed it out.

Bundle: Well there are no dragons around here, so I don't believe you.

Cherub: Actually, I got it from a firefly.

Bundle: No. Fireflies only come out at night. They do not come out during the day.

Cherub: Well, this one did. Then it passed the fire on to a frog, and the frog passed it on to me, and I ate it.

Bundle: No, I don't believe you. I do NOT believe you.

Cherub: Well, that was just a conversation about fire that we had to have.

Bundle: No, I do not believe you. I do not.

Cherub: Okay, well, of course, I was tricking about the firefly and the frog. But I found some fire on the ground by myself. Well actually it was on the floor in the house, which isn't good.

They are in bed now, but I suspect that if I went upstairs, I would find that this conversation was still going.

Just like my actual musical career, only with more heckling

2010-06-01T00:13:00.002+10:00

INC: You drive me cra-a-azy, I just can't sleep...

Bundle: Daddy, why are you singing?

INC: You know, some days I just can't help it.

Bundle: Oh yes. You can. You can help it.

INC: Okay, look, you're in luck. Today is one of the days when I can help it

Bundle: Oh. No. You can ALWAYS help it.

INC: Okay, so, I'm just going to sing in the car on the way to work today. That way, no one will hear me

Bundle: YOU BETTER NOT WIND DOWN YOUR WINDOW

Does anyone else think he's trying to tell me something?

Nobody said it was easy/ No one ever said it would be this hard

2010-04-05T05:20:00.002+10:00

So, having covered history with Cherub, we now turn to science with Bundle.

Two quick facts:

1. It is very hot on the sun. But you won't burn your feet so long as you wear shoes.

2. Rocks don't burn, unless they are in a volcano. That only happens when the volcano is interrupting.

But they don't believe me when I tell them we didn't have a computer

2010-01-12T22:15:00.004+11:00

Cherub has, for no reason I can fathom, recently become obsessed with what used to happen in "the olden days". Some three year olds might ask an older person. Cherub has the much better plan of just informing us, from memory.

Here's a few of the interesting facts I have learned so far:

1. They used to fill up their houses with milk

2. Cherub was turned into a mouse called Jerry. So was everyone else. The only way to work out who was who was to look at which house a person was living in. Then Cherub moved houses and it got confusing

3. They didn't eat lamb

4. They used to have carrot races. The carrots were big enough to sit in and had wheels. They went very fast, particularly if they had rocket boosters.

5. I wasn't born yet. Neither was Bundle. Only Cherub was, that's why he knows all this stuff.

6. Sometimes the food that a person was eating would turn into a sword and they would go "ouch ouch ouch".

There will be more. I'm just going to add them as I learn them.

I have carefully advised Bundle, who starts school in a few weeks, that a teacher may at some stage ask the class if anyone knows about the olden days. If this happens, his answer should really really not be based on anything he has learned from his brother.

Mon chérubin hilarant

2009-11-17T19:35:00.003+11:00

My boys are going through a phase. For about the last 6 months. Every night when they hear me coming through the front door they abandon their dinner and hide under the kitchen table.

They know that I know where they are.

They jump out and say "boo" anyway, and laugh when I pretend to freak out.

Last night, we had a variation on this when young Cherub decided to stay under the table for as long as possible.

It went like this:

INC: Where's Cherub gone?

Cherub (from under the table): You have to guess where I am.

INC: Okay. Are you in Japan?

Cherub (from under the table): No

INC: Are you in America?

Cherub (from under the table): No

INC: Are you under the table and you need to come up and eat your dinner right now?

Cherub (from under the table): No

INC: I think you are.

Cherub (from under the table): You have to ask if I'm in France.

INC: Okay [small sigh] Are you in France?

Cherub (from under the table): NO!

It's just another Saturday, in a not particularly tired or old street

2009-10-03T15:45:00.005+10:00

A few highlights from today.

We started with Bundle and Cherub making puppets out of cardboard, paddle pop sticks and pipe cleaners and putting on the worst puppet show since Rory Gilmore discovered socks. I loved every single second of it. Five stars.

We went to the park to fly the styrofoam planes that we bought at Australian Geographic during last week's train trip to Melbourne Central. Inevitably, at some point in this exercise, Bundle's plane got stuck in a tree. The plane was out of reach and there was no hope of climbing the tree, since even the lowest branches were unreachable too.

I decided to get the plane down by throwing the only item I could find, which was my muesli bar. Incredibly, this almost worked. I hit the plane on my third throw and knocked to a lower, if still unreachable, branch.

Sadly, two throws later, the muesli bar got stuck too.

Bundle had stayed pretty calm up to this point, but when he realised we had nothing else to throw, he started to get seriously worried. Fortunately, I found a tennis ball in the boot, and ten or so throws later the plane was low enough to be poked with a stick, and, shortly after that, back on the ground.

Bundle was pretty excited, but still possessed of a sense of perspective, as demonstrated by:

Bundle: MY PLANE! YAY!!

INC: Is your daddy awesome?

Bundle: YES! Well, except for the muesli bar.

The park was followed by a trip to Bunnings to buy, as it turned out, hardly any mulch, and then home for lunch. After lunch , we played many more ridiculous games on the trampoline, we played with my sister's dog who is visiting for a few weeks, and then, for reasons that may one day be clear, Cherub decided that the next game we played would involve throwing a basketball "at your butt".

Cherub took an early lead by announcing this game while I was retrieving Bundle's football from under the trampoline, meaning his task was not that difficult.

After I levelled the scores a couple of minutes later, Bundle and Cherub teamed up and chased me around the yard for a minute or two, leading to this:

Bundle: Stand still, daddy, stand still. You have to stand still!

INC: I'm not going to stand still. That would make it too simple. I'm going to run around

Bundle: No daddy! We're on the 'easy' level.

For the record, the next level was 'medium', and I was allowed to move so long as it was at a walk and backwards.

Dull moments are something that happens to other people.

I don't know what to say to that (uh-hum)

2009-08-31T22:45:00.002+10:00

INC: So, what would you like for lunch today?

Cherub: Nothing

INC: Oh, okay. Here you go.

*Passes a handful of nothing to Cherub*

Cherub (angrily): Pfft. I didn't mean a real nothing.

Law & Order: WDTAOK Pt II

2009-08-16T14:56:00.002+10:00

I tell you, you let a boy go to just one "Emergency Services" day at Kinder and this is what happens....

The scene is our kitchen. Bundle's police car has just caught up with Cherub's speeding hot rod and the dialogue goes a little something like this:

Officer Bundle: You were speeding again. I'm taking you to jail

Speeding Cherub: But, but, I'm a mummy

Officer Bundle: Well, they'll just have to miss you for a few days. Come on.

Speeding Cherub: But, I was only speeding to catch up with my darlings...

Officer Bundle: YOU DON'T HAVE ANY DARLINGS. You've told me that before. I'm locking you up.

[Escorts speeding Cherub to jail]

....

It's quite surprising that certain politic parties who like to run on a 'law and order' type platform have not lobbied to lower the voting age to four. That rumbling that you hear off in the distance is the start of the biggest landslide ever.

Cheer up with Cherub

2009-08-14T21:29:00.002+10:00

I don't think I've ever seen a three year old comfort an older sibling before. It wasn't just a first, it was also incredibly sweet....

Bundle had been experimenting with stretching the arms of a small rubber frog (one of those incredibly cheap ones that you get in party bags) and sadly one of the legs had come right off.

It was Bundle's favourite blue frog and he was, for quite some time, absolutely inconsolable.

All my best efforts had failed, so Cherub decided to have a go at it. After not having much success initially, he decided to call in the big guns, so he went and found his favourite soft toy, just to see if Puppy could do it.

And it went a little something like this.

Cherub's puppy: Don't be sad Bundle, it's okay...

Bundle: *sniff* but my froggy lost a *sob* arrrrmmm...

Cherub's puppy: Well, you know, when I was a little boy, I had a toy like that too....

Bundle: You can't have been a little boy *sniff* You're just a cuddly, and cuddlies don't grow up...

[short pause]

Cherub's puppy: We-e-e-ell. When I was real.....

I'm not sure if it was because Bundle was so busy trying to figure out whether that made sense that he forgot to be sad, or because Cherub told him he had something on the back of his neck and then proceeded to poke him until he started giggling, but we had a happy Bundle again in no time at all.

And, once again, an awestruck and very proud daddy.

If you feel like jumping and you dont know what to do

2009-04-19T21:30:00.003+10:00

Well, you could record a children's album with Marty "Go the Dome" Worrall from season 2 of Aus Idol.*

Or, you could read this handy guide to trampoline games as invented by Bundle and Cherub.

It's working

This one started when I finally persuaded Bundle and Cherub that, rather than holding hands with one or the other of them while bouncing, I could hold hands with both and they could hold hands with each other and the three of us could stand in the middle of the trampoline and all bounce together.

We tried it. One of us, mildly surprised by the success of this idea, yelled "It's working!". This was closely followed by "It's not working!" as we collapsed in an unceremonious heap of randomly bouncing limbs.

Pretty soon, the game became a battle of opinions, as whoever had most recent yelled "It's not working" would try to drag the other two of us matwards.

If that was all there was to the game, it might not have made the list, but the boys have now refined it further by deciding that one's opinion as to whether "it's working" is dictated by the colour of one's shirt. Anyone in a blue shirt must believe and declared that "it's working", a red shirt requires the belief that "it's not working", and the person wearing black** must declare that "it's never working".

Just to add to the chaos, now pants colour must be taken into account too. So, when I wear a black T-shirt with khaki shorts, I am required to believe that "it's never working" and "it's always working".

Simultaneously.

Add two enthusiastic boys yelling similarly diametrical opinions and you will end up with an exercise in bouncy surrealism guaranteed to leave everyone involved laughing too hard to breathe.

It is also worth noting at this point that this game operates on exactly the same principle as De Bono's six thinking hats, and I'm willing to bet Edward was much more than 4 years old when he thought that one up.

Walking to Work

This is another game that developed from the practice of holding hands with one child and bouncing in the middle of the trampoline. One day when it was Cherub's turn to do this, Bundle decided to walk around the outside of the trampoline.

I should mention at this point that, if your trampoline is neither round nor surrounded by a very strong and very high net, do not allow your children to play this game.

Ever.

In any case, the basic idea is that one boy will try to "walk to work"*** around the outside of the trampoline while the other boy and I will wait for the most opportune moment to bounce towards the walker and land heavily next to him. If this is done correctly, the walker is bounced off his feet and he lies on the trampoline giggling before suggesting that we do it again.

It's far less sophisticated than the last game (for now), but pleasingly environmentally conscious.

I'm dead
Another fairly straightforward one. The boys and I run around the trampoline until we fall over. Each person who falls announces "I'm dead" and lies there. The last one to die wins.

As with most of the games listed here, I'm not sure how this was invented, and I'm even less sure as to why. My guess, though, would be that it was inspired by a game the boys learnt at a friend's birthday party last year.

The game, called "Dead Man", was imported from America by some of the most engaging children ever to cross the Pacific. In essence, you need to gather a fairly large number of small children. Generally, 6 to 8 works well. One child lies in the middle of the trampoline and the rest of them run around the outside chanting, oddly enough, "Dead man dead man come alive, when I count to number five".

The child in the middle tries to get up by the time the others have counted to five, which is not particularly easy when effect of having six children running around is to cause the allegedly dead person to jolt around wildly.

I only noticed that my children were participating in this when, from across my friends' back yard, I heard the familiar sound of a horizontal, slightly airborne Cherub giggling endlessly and declaring "That drives me nutths"****

Help Woof!

Technically, this should be punctuated as "Help, Woof!" but leaving out the comma gives you a much clearer idea of how it is to be pronounced.

This one was invented while we were dog-sitting my sister's King Charles Spaniel, a beautiful little dog who is very affectionate despite the daily burden of having been named "Woofy". At our place, he is commonly addressed as "Woofster" or simply "Woof", which is no better at all.

Whenever they saw Woofy watching them, Bundle and Cherub would run into the net on one side of the trampoline, bounce off it, and run backwards to the other side whilst waving their arms around as if falling, and yelling "Help Woof".

I'm not sure what they expected a relatively small spaniel who was not even on the trampoline to do about their predicament, but his strategy of standing still and looking increasingly bemused seemed to be popular.

The look on the dog's face was so clear that I could almost see the caption over his head, which could only have said "Theze hoomins iz nutths" or similar.

Find a Spot

Originally, the idea of this game was that if a person was at the edge of a trampoline, anyone who managed to stand next to that person before they moved again would get a point. We would start on different sides and run through the middle, each trying to catch someone else whilst they were briefly standing still.

This actually worked, if only briefly. It got far more chaotic when Bundle decided to claim a point any time he passed anywhere near Cherub or I, regardless of where we were on the trampoline or whether we were moving. Cherub liked the idea too, and the game ended up with the two of them randomly running all over the trampoline yelling "Prize.. prize.. prize..." each time they passed anywhere near anyone else. Or when they didn't.

The look on Honey Bear's face when I said "hey, watch this new game our children invented" was really more than a little entertaining.

I should add that the thing I enjoy most about this game (and yes, we still play it) is that the main prize for the winner is an imaginary silver cup. Other participants who do reasonably well win some cheese.*****

There is a reason. It took me weeks to figure it out, but there is a reason.

In any case, it has been known to lead to conversations like this...

Bundle: I WON. I GET THE SILVER CUP! Oh, here Daddy, you can have some cheese.

INC: What? That's all I get. Just cheese?

Bundle: Oh, okay, you can have a silver cup too.

*Hands imaginary silver cup to INC*

*Looks INC straight in the eye*

Bundle: It's made of cheese.

This trampoline has been excellent value for money.

On. So. Many. Levels.

....

* It takes hard work and talent to get this good at wandering off the point before anyone has the chance to even find out what the point is.

** Me

*** Why they picked this destination has never been fully explained.

**** "nuts". He's two years old.

***** also imaginary

Some things you just can't coach

2009-04-11T23:09:00.001+10:00

Bundle is in the bath. Cherub and INC are watching him pack away all the bath toys so there is room for him to swim.

Yes, it is a big bath.

Bundle (to INC): You;ve never seen me swim before

Cherub (to Bundle): I've never seen you tidy up before.

INC (to everyone): *SNORT*

When Abbott and Costello were young...

2009-02-25T19:32:00.003+11:00

Another conversation that I can't quite believe actually happened.

[The scene is our toy room. Bundle and Cherub are sitting with a deck of cards between them.]

Bundle: Uno

Cherub: Uno

Bundle: Uno

Cherub: Uno

Bundle: No, Uno

Cherub: No, Uno

Bundle: No, Uno

Cherub: No, Uno

[beat]

Bundle: I don't know.....

How to make a parent happy

2009-01-09T17:08:00.002+11:00

Bundle: But why can't we go bike riding yet?

INC: Well, I need to get dressed first. I don't think everyone in the street wants to see me in my boxer shorts

Bundle: I think some of them might

Fox News Update

2008-12-15T20:29:00.002+11:00

For those who are wondering how this disaster waiting to happen ended, well, yesterday was the day when Bundle finally met Crazy Uncle Fox.

You will be pleased to know that, with no prompting from me at all, Bundle decided that we had to take the customised All Pro Scoop with us and show it to his uncle so that he would remember.

And we did.

My brother was bemused, to say the least, but pleased to be famous for something.

The whole thing is getting out of hand, partly because my wife thinks it's funny to talk about Crazy Uncle Fox whenever she gets the chance, to the point where I had to explain to Bundle that that is not actually his uncle's real name.

The whole bat story has taken hold to the point that, when Bundle found out that Uncle Fox was coming around on Christmas Eve "to help Daddy and Santa"*, he suddenly looked worried and asked "He won't put a hole in the presents, will he?"

I considered feeling bad about this, but then my idiot brother spent Sunday afternoon telling my nieces what my nickname was when I was 5 years old,** so I decided to feel entirely fine instead.

* There is a springfree trampoline arriving soon. Ssssh, don't tell the boys, it's a surprise.

** There is not enough money in the world to persuade me to tell you what it was.

Is this line bugged?

2008-12-10T20:59:00.002+11:00

Bundle really has been on fire this week. This morning, it was a conversation on his toy telephone that went a little something like this.

"Hello."

"Hello. who's this?"

"Bug? IS YOUR NAME 'BUG'?"

Puts telephone down, scowls furiously, and yells:

"THIS IS MAAAAAAAAD"

When the phone rang this evening, and I knew it would be one of Honey Bear's friends from the kinder committee, I cannot tell you just how hard it was not to answer the phone in exactly the same way as Bundle, just to see what would happen.

Try it, and let me know how it goes.

Getting to yes

2008-12-08T20:06:00.003+11:00

Bundle: Daddy, do you have brown hair

INC: Yes. And yours is blonde, isn't it? And it's very lovely

Bundle: Is it lovelier than yours?

INC: Yes. I think it is.

Bundle: Hmmm. So, can we agree on that?

INC: [beat] Ye-e-s. Yes, we can.

Bundle: Oh thank you.

[Gives INC a big cuddle to express his gratitude]

Whatever happened to "Nyah Nyah, can't get meeeee"?

2008-11-26T20:14:00.002+11:00

Bundle and Cherub were running around the backyard of their grandparents' s house, taking it in turns to try to spray each other with one of those little spray bottles that are most commonly used for pot plants.

And giggling.

Eventually, Cherub decided to come inside. He ran through the sliding glass door into the living area next to the kitchen, and closed it.

Bundle came right up to the door and sprayed it. Cherub stood just inside the door, on the other side of the glass from where Bundle was spraying.

As the water ran down the outside of the glass door, Cherub pointed to it, and, very politely, asked "Is it on the outside? Is that the problem?"

And smiled, ever so sweetly.

All alone in the moonlight

2008-11-11T22:02:00.003+11:00

My brother is coming to visit around Christmas time. He lives in WA so it's a very long time since the boys saw him. With that in mind, I probably need to stop referring to him as "your crazy uncle Fox"

Here's why.

May 2008
I was teaching Bundle & Cherub to play cricket. We found the bat I used when I played in the under-12s at my local club. It's an "All-Pro" signed by Sunil Gavaskar, for those who may be wondering. Bundle quit reasonably wanted to know why there was a big scoop out of the back. The answer was that my brother decided that having a scoop out of the back of his SS bat seemed to help Australian Captain Kim Hughes so he thought he'd try it out on mine.

I suppose I shouldn't feel too bad about the fact that, in the course of trying to explain that one to a 3 year old, I used the phrase "your crazy uncle" at least once.

June 2008
We took the boys to see the house where I grew up. As I was showing them around, I said "This was your Uncle Fox's room. Bundle said "He's the one who put a hole in your bat. He's crazy, that one"

I resolved to stop mentioning my brother for a few weeks in the hope that the whole thing would be forgotten.

October 2008
This had been working well until I told the boys that their cousins would be visiting this Christmas and, in a moment of weakness, accidentally let slip another reference to their father, crazy Uncle Fox.

Bundle said "I didn't know he was CRAZY".

He then thought for a minute before adding "Didn't he put a hole in something?".

And, a moment later "Hey, let's play cricket".

There's really not a chance that this will have all been forgotten by Christmas.

I guess I should stop referring to my sister in law as " your mad Auntie Poet" sometime soon.

Playaz

2008-09-11T20:53:00.007+10:00

I suppose it's no surprise that the inventor of wildly popular and famous games like "Find the Hamburger" and "You're not Craig" would have equally creative children. Here's a few of the soon to be popular games that they've invented recently.

1. The Pillow Game

I swear that my sole contribution to this was game was that I walked into the toy room one morning and, on seeing Bundle curled up on the miniature couch at floor level, said "Oh, you look like a pillow" and proceeded to rest my head on his back.

Okay, I may have tickled him also.

In any case, Bundle and Cherub decided they both wanted to be pillows, and decided that the best way to deal with having my head rest on them was to jump up and run to the other end of the house, do a few laps of the lounge room/hallway/kitchen circuit, and then run back to the mini-couch so we could do it all again.

Yes, that's right. There is a game where my children run around the house while I am required to do nothing but lie on the floor and possibly drink some coffee.

And my children invented it.

I am grateful.

2. Boo Holidays

This is quite similar to hide and seek, except that the person hiding tends to jump out and yell "Boo" rather than waiting to be found. The name arises from my children's tendency to asume that any toy or other item that is temporarily difficult to locate around the house must have gone on holidays. Which makes perfect sense.

3. That's not a beach, that's my head

I may have had something to do with naming this one. In any case, it's fairly simple. While the boys are in the bath, they like to take it in turns to place wet bath toys, (and, in particular, a plastic lobster) on my head. I say "That's not a beach. THAT'S. MY. HEAD" and they giggle wildly before doing it again.

This one is very popular.

4. The "Bundle" Game

I don't actually know what this involves, othe than the two boys running around a lot, but props to my older child for naming it after himself.

5. Pillow on you

I suspect this one is a very slight variation on the only game that I have ever banned from my house. I simply did not want my children to become too attached to any game called "Poo on you".

You will see how slight the variation iswhen I tell you that the revised game works as follows:

[Cherub places one hand, palm flat and downwards, on Bundle's head]

Cherub: Pillow on you

Bundle [wiping his head furiously] Aaaaargh. Clean clean clean clean clean. Ha

Bundle places hand on Cherub's head, game continues along a very similar lines, with much giggling.

As of today, there is a further variation of this game, apparently called "Robot on you".

No-one has yet explained why the appearance of a pillow, or a robot, on one's head requires such enthusiastic cleaning, but let me assure you that I have no intention of asking.

When in doubt, cute it out

2008-07-13T11:44:00.004+10:00

It is hardly news to announce that I think my children are cute and that this makes it impossible for me to remain cross with them for any length of time. However, I have noticed a recent spike in Bundle's ability to talk his way out of trouble with an explanation that is so adorable that the only possible response is applause and/or laughter.

Bundle does not get himself into trouble too often, mostly because he is a pretty agreeable sort and also because he has learned at least some discretion. He would get in even less trouble if he remembered to word his little brother up in advance. He demonstrated this wonderfully well last night, when Honey Bear asked him to briefly leave his "Winnie the Pooh free computer game that we found on the internet" and come into the kitchen. We didn't hear what he said in response to that request, and given his prompt appearance, we would have been mightily impressed except for one thing.

That one thing was Cherub loudly enquiring "Bundle, why did you say BOTHER?"

Bundle didn't get in trouble for that, since we just thought it was funny, but having reached the age at which children stop being entirely upfront and flawlessly honest in all matters, young Bundle has had to think on his feet a couple of times lately.

The first was a week or two back. Bundle was quite keen to get back to playing "Dora the Explora's Animal Adventures" (does computer addiction run in the family, perhaps?), so much so that he came running out of the bathroom completely free of pants and headed for the computer. I, perhaps unreasonably, insisted that he retrieve, and wear, his pants before further computer games were played, if only because it was quite cold.

Bundle, after some insistence on my part, headed back towards the bathroom, but stopped a couple of metres short, and, lying on the toy room floor, announced he could go no further because he had "run out of muscles".

I suggested that I strongly suspected that he would be quite capable of walking back to the other end of the house once I told him he could return to the 'puter, and hence I suspected that he could also walk the two metres to the bathroom if he chose. He maintained what is best described as a dignified silence in response.

As it was the end of a long day, and he was genuinely tired after his cousin's birthday party, I decided not to make too big an issue of it, and so I retrieved the pants for him. Having put them on, he, slightly predictably, starting running towards the computer. I said "Oh, your muscles seem to have come back". He stopped for just long enough to look me in the eye and say, very seriously, "Yes, daddy. They were playing hide and seek".

I think this sort of creativity ought to be encouraged. And recorded on a blog so I can remind him about it at various birthday celebrations for the rest of time.

Bundle's best work, though, came when he was in much more trouble. I hesitate to record it here, as it involved admitting to a couple of things. One is that, despite all my good intentions before starting on this parenting thing, "bribing the kids to do stuff" is not as unknown a concept as it used to be. The other is that I got hustled by a three year old.

We occasionally use a reward system, which started during the period best described as either "toilet training" or "the longest living nightmare of my life" depending on how recent it was. Of the many things that we bribed Bundle with, the one that worked was a big bag of very small pieces of candy from one of those super cheap confectionary outlets. We bought an absolute heap of these things and they now occasionally get used for other things, like drinking foul tasting medicine without throwing a hissy fit.

Our usual approach is to start with a couple of pieces of candy as a reward, and then gradually phase it out once the children get the hang of whatever we are encouraging them to do. One morning, I had a memory lapse and forgot that we had phased out candy as a reward for whatever Bundle had just correctly done. Bundle knew it, of course, because Honey Bear had told him, but he asked me for it anyway in the hope thqat I had forgotten.

This is something we are fairly strict about. If one parent has said 'no' to something, asking the other parent behind the first one's back is heavily discouraged. Forgetting this, Bundle happily announced "Mummy, I got candy!", which lead to a couple of obvious questions from Honey Bear and suddenly Bundle was aware that he may need a way out quickly. It went something like this:

Honey Bear: Now, you know what I told you yesterday about this?

Bundle (meekly): Yes

Honey Bear: So you know that we don't get candy for that any more, don't you?

Bundle (still meekly): Yes

Honey Bear: So is there something you need to say to Daddy?

Bundle: (even more meekly) Yes

[Bundle turns to INC]

Bundle: You da maaaaannnn!

[INC & Honey Bear fall around laughing]

How, one wonders, could I possibly argue with that?

My children could probably learn to spell respect, but somehow the subject just never came up

2008-07-06T15:58:00.003+10:00

It has been fun watching Cherub learn to talk. It's particularly entertaining when he gets into a conversation with Bundle that clearly makes perfect sense to the two of them, but is a little bit confusing for the rest of us. I suspect that I will never understand why I went into their room one morning to find that they were both yelling "Norman!" very loudly.

We don't know anyone named Norman and it's not like we've been doing William the Conqueror themed bed time stories or something.

It's also fun because I never know quite what I am going to get called next.

It was another one of these slightly mystifying 'shout a random word' games that started it. As I was strapping the two of them into their car seats one morning, the word of the day seemed to be "PUMPKIN!". It went like this.

Cherub: PUMPKIN!

Bundle: PUMPKIN!

Cherub: PUMPKIN

Bundle: [seeing INC] PUNK!

INC: Did you just call me a punk?

Bundle: Yass

INC: And is that very funny?

Bundle: Yaaaasss!

Cherub: You're a carrot

I don't even know what that means.

For sheer excellence in refusal to take that whole 'respect for parents' thing seriously, Bundle really was at the top of his game. He was more than usually keen to leave for church, as we had told him that his grandparents, who have been away for 6 weeks, would be there today. When he asked if it was nearly time to go for the eighth time, I pointed to my scraggly two-day growth and explained that I needed to shave before going to church, as I didn't want to turn up at church with a beard.

His reply, whilst looking directly at my less than impressive stubble?

"No, everyone would laugh at you"

This was said with most pleasing confidence and certainty.

On hearing this, my lovely wife laughed very loudly and gave our son a high five.

Grizzlewick learns chess, a play in three parts

2008-07-04T15:07:00.002+10:00

Act One: The game begins

Grizzlewick: I’m going to move my horse

Mr Fix: No, don’t do that

GW: I’m going to move my castle.
This is a pretty tricky game, isn’t it? I’m going to take your pawn

MF No, don’t do that. Do your horse. I mean, knight.

GW Mummy, look I’ve got a castle!

Act Two: A little later

GW Look Mummy, I’ve got the white horse!

MF I’m in a bit of trouble now.

GW I’ve got SEVEN of Daddy’s!

MF I’ve got five. You’re in a good strategic position there, Grizzlewick

GW You might take my horse though. What can I do?

Act Three: A little later still

GW You’re going to win, Daddy! You’re going to win!

After ‘check’ #53, Mr Fix prevails

GW bursts into tears and promises he will never play again

FIN

You've got some nerve and baby that'll never do

2008-05-06T17:08:00.003+10:00

Excuse the unmitigated spewing forth of bile and irritation. Just can't stand it anymore, hence an open letter:

Dear You,

Maybe I’m trying to hard. Maybe it was too much to ask that you spend some kid-time with Grizzlewick recently. But we’ve known each other a long time, and you have indicated in the past that you want a treasured status in his life.

Lord knows, he certainly doesn’t need any more toys, so I thought it would be nice for you to spend some time together, doing something that he would like to do, rather than the usual “drag Grizzlewick along to a café in the vain hope he’ll sit still for four hours while we ignore him” procedure that usually characterises our catch-ups.

I did try to warn you that if Mr Fix and I tagged along at your get-together that he would spend all his time pawing at us rather than enjoying your company. Funnily enough, that’s exactly what happened. I could have told you too, that taking him to a café for lunch where there were precisely two things on the menu that he would eat would result in some pfaffing about of monumental proportions.

Also, when he burst into tears because he lost sight of both of his parents unexpectedly, breezing past him muttering in a sing-song voice “Just ig-NORE him” is probably not the most caring thing you could have done. In fact, it’s the kind of thing that I might do, but I am his mother and not a person in his life from whom he should be able to expect spoiling and unconditional love no matter the circumstances and incredibly lax discipline whatever the weather. Dude – I’ve had taxi drivers pay more attention to my child than you did.

And you know how irritated you were, that there was a small group (say about three people, one of them five years old?) lagging behind by about three quarters of a block as we walked down the street? Best I can tell, there was nothing to stop you either a) slowing the hell down or b) offering to take Grizzlewick’s hand (or better still offer him a piggy-back ride) and making him feel included in what turned into your outing.

What’s more, I really don’t care to hear feedback via others that he was a little monster that day, or that his behaviour leaves anything to be desired. A little thought on your behalf could have made the day a whole lot smoother, and it’s not like you can say you weren’t warned.

In retrospect, this whole thing was a really bad idea. I hope you won’t mind if, as his mother, I restrict my child’s interaction with you. It’s just that I don’t think you’re a particularly good influence.

Kind Regards,

Gigglewick

******

Dear Gigglewick,

Enough with the social engineering. They’re just not that into you.

Gigglewick

I remain on the far side of random

2008-04-30T20:32:00.002+10:00

A few more of my many recently entertaining conversations with my older son:

Scene 1: The toy room

INC: Okay boys. It's time for a bath

Bundle: No. I want a zebra

It is mildly comforting that this was a reference to a hand puppet, but perhaps not as comforting as one might think.

Scene 2: The toy room: More recently

Bundle: [proudly wearing his 'big boy' undies] I'm going to say something to the nappies

INC: Okay....

*Bundle walks over to the nappy box*

Bundle: SILLY NAPPIES!

INC: .....

Scene 3: Also the toy room: Only slightly less recently

Bundle: What time is it?

INC: It's 8.30.

Bundle: Oh

*Five minutes later*

Bundle: What time is it?

INC: It's twenty five to nine

Bundle: Oh. Good.

*Five minutes later*

Bundle: What time is it?

INC: It's twenty to nine

Bundle: Hmmmmm

*Five minutes later*

Bundle: What time is it?

INC: It's quarter to nine

Bundle: QUARTER TO NINE! REALLY? THAT SURPRISES ME!

.......

It surprised me too. Quite a lot, actually.

Identity

2008-04-24T20:57:00.003+10:00

A couple of recent conversations with the boys.

INC: Do you know something, Cherub? I think you're gorgeous

Cherub: Noooooooooo

INC: Yes you are. You're gorgeous.

Cherub. Nooooooo. Cheeky boy, actually.

And then there was my attempt to explain to Bundle why, whilst grateful for the offer, I was not going along with his suggestion that he could carry some ridiculously heavy item up the stairs for me (I think it was our large metal tool kit). It went like this:

Bundle: But why can't I carry it

INC: I wouldn't want you to drop it on your toes. It would hurt. You would say "oooo ouch. My toes" I don't want you to have to say "oooooo ouch"

Bundle: Seals do that sometimes.

So, one child has picked up the bizarre notion that his incessant cheekiness makes him less gorgeous, not more, which is not an idea he could possibly have got from his parents, and the other one thinks my impression of a toddler with a sore toe sounds confusingly similar to my impression of a seal.

Ever get the feeling that if the results of your parenting match your intentions it is more or less entirely a happy coincidence? I do.

I know every tune about dardi-cars and hurts and hearts and moons

2008-04-24T16:52:00.001+10:00

So Grizzlewick went on his first excursion yesterday, to the botanical gardens.

He came home pleased as punch after what he considers to be his first ride on a bus (actually we used the bus frequently when in Preston, but don’t try telling him that).

Also, he was excited about the cannon in the gardens, which I understand was clambered over by many an over-excited young child.

It also prompted the following conversation:

Grizzlewick: So mummy, the cannon doesn’t work now.

Me: Mmm-hmmmm…

Grizzlewick: But in the old days, it used to go peow peow peow!

Me: Uh-huh….

Grizzlewick: Yes! And it used to shoot at the dardi-cars!

Me: ???!!!

Subsequent conversations have been unable to tease out the true identity of the “dardi-cars”.

My thoughts are initially that

a) he made it up entirely or
b) he means the “Dardanelles”, in which case I have to wonder why my son is being provided with a detailed history of military campaigns and ordinance.

Any advances on these thoughts?

Information Night...

2008-02-20T11:10:00.002+11:00

Yesterday evening I spent an hour in a hot and stuffy school library, cramming my slightly curvaceous arse into a teeny-tiny child size chair in order to discover that in an amazing break from tradition Miss H will this year be learning...

English!

and also some

Maths!

With a dash of PE! thrown into the mix.

Grrrrrr.......

I HATE primary schools. And primary school teachers*. Who are incapable of using correct grammar even when lecturing parents... Apparently, according to the principal (to whom I have actually complained) it's a 'generation thing' and there's not a lot she can do about it.

Grrrr......

* Except those primary school teachers who number among my friends, obvs. They don't count. Neither does Miss M's teacher from last year - he ROCKED.

what's for dinner tonight?

2008-02-12T22:26:00.000+11:00

we were at msac earlier.

young d and i are watching his 2 sisters in their swimming lesson.

young d asks me: what's for dinner tonight?

me: guess

young d [eye's lighting up]: pizza!

me: nope

young d [eye's still afire]: lasagne!

me [eye's getting twitchy]: no

young d: [still hopeful]: tacos!

me: no! i'll tell you... COUS-COUS!!!! [voice is very excited, kind of like "wow wouldn't that be the best thing ever that you would like to eat?]"

young d: oh.

and note he says this not as "oh" as in simple disappointment; he also adds a twist of comedy to it, making it a comedic "oh", and that makes it worse than just a disappointed "oh".

[someone once told me ages ago, oh alright it was my ex-husband, that when he was less than complimentary about the food i cooked, i shouldn't take it personally.]

NOT TAKE IT PERSONALLY?

how can a woman, who has cooked for her loved ones, and then had a nose turn up or similar, not take it personally?

i am sure i represent all women and/or cooks when i say this.

[insert little vignette here, now we are back home]

princess just came in the room: ooh, something smells nice, what's for dinner...

me: COUS COUS!!

[pause]

me: WITH CHICKEN!!!!!

princess: yum!

me: and i left the carcass out there for you to strip

[princess makes sound of ravenous beast, flaps her arms, and runs to the kitchen. there are now the sounds of feasting from that direction, like some sort of stephen king monster.]

you can't please everyone, all of the time. this i know to be true.

i am glad my daughter shares my genes; the love of stripping a chicken carcass, neck and all. it's passed down the female side in my family.

Lookin' for adventure...or whatever comes our way

2008-02-04T22:48:00.000+11:00

So on Saturday, Grizzlewick snuggled up to me on the couch in front of cartoons.

His eyes were shining, he smiled a heart-melting smile.

"Oh, Mummy," he said, snuggling close.

"Yes, darling?"

"Now, Mummy," he said, grasping my hand tightly.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

"CAN I HAVE A MOTORBIKE FOR CHRISTMAS?"

What took me so long (what took me all night)

2008-01-12T20:17:00.000+11:00

Three and a half years.

Yes, three and a half years.

That is how long it took me to teach my children to say "You da maaaaan".

Honestly, I don't know what is wrong with me.

Actually, it's still a work in progress. Cherub, at 20 months, isn't quite doing three word sentences (apart from "Lift me up", "Give me candy" etc) but he happily joins in our regular "You da man" "No, you da man" type conversations by pointing at various family members and saying "Man! Man!".

Bundle also has the general idea, but being a stickler for good grammar he still insists on saying "No, You're The Man, daddy".

It's still fun.

The first few times I did this, my appallingly bad homeboy impressions were so comical that Bundle, in between endless giggles, gasped "I can't breath, daddy" on two separate occasions.

The only thing funnier than that was the reaction after I persuaded Bundle to sneak up behind Honey Bear and yell this phrase in place of the usual "It's story time".

It took just a moment to register what Bundle had just said and then my lovely wife laughed harder than I have heard her laugh in months.

And then we all joined in. There was much pointing of finger and tickling of already giggling children.

If our little family ever reaches consensus on which one of us is 'da man', I'll let you know immediately.

Good guess, but...

2007-12-16T20:48:00.000+11:00

In honour of my in-laws' recent ~~departure~~ visit, I present the following conversation with my lovely three year old. It's bedtime, stories are finished, and I am tucking him in to bed. The in-laws are downstairs, doing something or other, I guess. Their footsteps are audible.

Bundle (looking down): Oh, what was that noise?

INC: I think that was your Pa.

Bundle: No, that was MY BUTT.

Hi, we're back

2007-12-05T21:57:00.000+11:00

I have been thinking a lot about this blog lately (as opposed to actually writing anything on it). In particular, ever since I read this post from Baltimore's finest, and a few of the more pointed comments on that post, I have been wondering whether I have been guilty of presenting a rather skewed view of parenting that emphasises the cuteness while glossing over the less fantastic parts.

It's not like I have never alluded to the difficulties associated with parenting. Locating this blog at letmesleepnow.blogspot.com was a small hint as to how much sleep I have had in the past three years (none). Also, since I am aiming for balance, the past couple of months have mostly been taken up with Bundle apparently growing his wisdom teeth (or possibly they are two year old molars that are running a year late) while Cherub, advanced child that he is, seems to have hit the 'terrible twos' at the relatively young age of 18 months. This has been a truly bad combination.

Also, it would be safe to say that this movie review is unlikely to cause a sudden spike in procreational activities amongst bloggers any time soon.

However, having considered all of that, I don't really plan to change my approach to this little blog. Whilst the point of We Do Talk About Our Kids is to have a space where we can all write whatever we want to and there are no rules as far as I know (we really need to have a staff meeting, don't we?) I plan to continue to use this little blog to record all the things I love about my beautiful boys and anyone who wants to send me 'get a life, mommybloggers/daddybloggers' type messages, can.

As far as I am concerned, there is enough negativity towards parenting without me adding to it, and every time I think about complaining about the way parenting has changed my life, I look at my awesomely beautiful boys and forget what I was going to say.

So, to catch us up for the past couple of months, here are a few of my favourite parenting moments from recent times.

Cherub is at that age (around 18 months) where every new word he learns is an event. I won't bore you senseless by listing them, buit allow me to mention in passing that whenever he runs through the kitchen at top speed saying "Hurry. Hurry. Hurry." the cuteness meter is at risk of exploding.

Around a month ago, I took the boys on a train ride to Belgrave to pass he time one Sunday afternoon. Every time we were about to leave a station and the doors were about to close, Cherub leaned over, pressed my nose and said 'beep'. The other passengers were suitably entertained by this.

Driving home from Bunnings last week, I had this conversation with Bundle:

Bundle: Oh, there's a posty. Will he get wet?

INC: Probably, but he has a good raincoat so he should be okay

Bundle: Does he have a house, too?

INC: Yes, I'm sure he does

Bundle: And does he have wood at home?

INC: [briefly pauses to wonder where this is going] Yes, I think so

Bundle: [profoundly] We can't live without wood.

I could explain that one, but I think it's cuter if don't.

Cherub is at an age where he is very, very clear about what he wants, and when he wants it, by his verbal communication skills are not always up to the task of communicating it clearly. I admire his creativity in finding ways to get the message across. For example, he was slightly displeased that his grandfather was reading a book in a comfortable chair rather than playing with him. His response was to walk up as close as possible and throw a soccer ball at my father-in-law's head, really hard.

This pleased me endlessly.

Earlier this week, Honey Bear and I took the boys to the family hairdresser, a wonderful woman who provides excellent haircuts at stupidly low prices because she works from home. Bundle was playing with our hairdresser's train set while Honey Bear was having her legs waxed, and he drew my attention to the fact that a particular train had fallen off the end of the track. From there, the conversation went like this:

Bundle: The driver can't get the train back on the track

INC: Keep trying, you're nearly there

Bundle: It's back on the track

INC: Oh, what a clever driver

Bundle: It was me actually

INC: ....

Bundle: Pretend drivers can't really drive trains, daddy

INC: Oh, I didn't know that

Bundle: I didn't know that either

What's to complain about? My life is awesome.

I am so proud

2007-10-15T10:02:00.000+10:00

Grizzlewick is firmly of the belief that "John Howard" is a naughty word.

He gasps and comes running to tell me when people use it on television.

My work here is done.

Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance

2007-10-02T21:47:00.000+10:00

At the risk of causing extreme disappointment to all of our three year old female readers, I have to announce this.

Bundle is well and truly spoken for.

And he has been for years. The child does not have commitment issues.

A delightful young lady, also three, who for the purpose of this blog will be referred to only as Bundle's Girlfriend, has been a part of our delightful son's life for some time now. We first suspected there was some chemistry when she developed a habit of tackling him to the ground at Playgroup, and our suspicions only grew when BGF visited us at home and as soon as he saw her, Bundle yelled her name and threw both arms and one leg in the air and promptly lost his balance entirely.

Although BGF is, according to her own mother, quite high maintenance, Bundle is an easygoing agreeable chap and he's usually willing to accommodate BGF even when she is a little on the demanding side.

Still, it hasn't always been smooth sailing. BGF has a brother who is only about 15 months younger than her, and hence 12 months younger than Bundle. We have already noticed a bit of a tendency for BGF to get slightly stroppy when Bundle spends too much time hanging out with the guys instead of paying attention to her.

Which brings us to last Sunday night, when we took Bundle, Cherub, BGF and BGF's two younger brothers (yes, five children aged three and under) to the Aspendale RSL, because we heard that the guy who does the music will cheerfully take a break from the Johnny Cash impersonations and sing a few kids' songs if more than two or three children turn up on any given night.

The children all had a fantastic time running around the dancefloor like maniacs and crashing into each other, and also occasionally doing some dancing. Bundle was a bit reluctant to get on the dancefloor at first, but Cherub had no such inhibitions and he was soon busting moves with the best of them.

Cherub was quite the hit with a number of older women (one of them must have been at least 4) , and one of the evening's many highlights came when the young lady who had been sitting next to Cherub on the stage and patting his hair stood up and Cherub realised that she was nearly twice his height.

His little face, which is expressive at the best of times, was quite the picture.

BGF didn't mind the odd dance with Cherub too, perhaps thinking that two can play this "hang out with the other's younger brother" game. It seems this was an effective strategy.

As Bundle and BGF were sitting next to each other on the stage during a break between sets, and I was chatting to Honey Bear and BGF's mother, all three of us looked up just in time to see Bundle lean over and, with a confidence his father didn't develop until the age of about 26, plant a gentle kiss full on BGF's lips.

It goes with out saying that this one of the cutest things I have ever seen or which I ever expect to see for the rest of my life. It also goes without saying that Bundle now has to look forward to a lifetime of me reminding him that his first kiss was on stage at the Aspendale RSL.

In case I haven't made this clear enough, I LOVE BEING A PARENT.

The Blame Game

2007-10-01T10:02:00.000+10:00

Case file: The mysterious case of the burst balloon

Victim: Golly Gosh, aged Three.

Witnesses: Grizzlewick, 4. Ace Gosh, 4, Mr Fix, 35, Mum Gosh, 35, Dad Gosh, 37.

It is alleged that Golly Gosh, owner of a fine ‘wiggly shaped balloon”, lost possession of said balloon on the afternoon of September 27.

Witnesses Mr Fix, Mum and Dad Gosh report hearing the balloon burst, followed by a howling which split the morning with the force of a Metallica concert.

Golly Gosh emerged from the lounge room, where he had last been observed playing alone, to report the damage.

The following is record of investigating officer’s interview with Grizzlewick, 24 hours after the fact.

Investigating Officer Gigglewick: So Golly had a great
balloon?

Grizzlewick: Yes, but it broke!

I/O: Uh-huh. That’s pretty upsetting.

Grizzlewick: Yeah. It made him cry.

I/O: I see. You didn’t break the balloon
though, did you?

Grizzlewick: Yes. No. Ace did.

I/O’s note: Grizzlewick and Ace were not observed in the vicinity of the crime, nor does the forensic evidence suggest they had any involvement in the destruction of said balloon. They were released with no punishment, however the following notes have been appended to Grizzlewick's file:

Recommendation # 1: that subsequent evidence presented by witness Grizzlewick is treated with the utmost caution, and regarded as circumstantial in the prosecution of any crime, real or perceived.

Recommendation # 2: That Grizzlewick’s friends watch their backs. It appears he can go from “Zero” to “Finger-pointing” in under a second.

Where is Dr Phil when you need him?

2007-09-24T11:49:00.000+10:00

I spent the weekend attending, among other things, a birthday party.

The older brother of birthday child is great mates with Grizzlewick, they have known each other since older brother (let's call him Neil) was born, about ten months after Grizzle.

When we arrived at the birthday party, Neil grabbed Grizzlewick by the arm and insisted on playing with him, leading him around the party and ordering him around, etc.

About an hour later, I was having a discussion with one of the other parents at the party. “Grizzlewick and Neil are all over each other,” I noted. “Yes,” she replied. “My poor Andrew can’t get a look-in”.

I reported this conversation to Neil’s father, a little later in the day. “I know,” he said. “Paul complained about the same thing last time they were together and was quite pissed off that they weren’t playing with Jane more”.

So, at this point, the count is:

Two happy children playing with each other

Two “excluded” children

Two pissed-off parents

One completely oblivious Gigglewick.

At first I was a little bit upset that Grizzle and Neil were being perceived as exclusionary, but now I can’t help but feel a bit crabby. Neil and Grizzlewick see each other about three times a year, but speak of each other constantly and truly LOVE each other.

Grizzlewick, in his defence, has spent the sum total of about three hours in his entire life in the company of the other children in question – I doubt he could name them let alone pick them out of a crowd.

Even more irking, is that I have the sneaking suspicion that this is less to do with the kids and more to do with the parents.

Nevertheless I do worry:

Am I becoming one of those “cool gang” mothers that facilitates the merciless targeting of bullying and name-calling?

Should I do something about this exclusive play, and if so, what?

The boys of history

2007-09-20T21:39:00.000+10:00

Last weekend was a weekend for fabulously happy firsts in our little family.

For context, we have discussed in past posts the tendency of a few of the writers of this blog to give their children nicknames involving the word "Moo". In my case, the younger of my boys is almost never address without "moo" being suffixed to his name, or to some other word entirely. He very patiently answers to anything, including "Moosey-moo".

Anyway, picture if you will a very stupid mug which has a ceramic cow's head stuck to the base (inside the cup). This ridiculous feature is undetectable when the mug is full of coffee, with the result that unsuspecteing guests often get a small surprise when, after a few sips of coffee, a cow's head mysteriously appears.

As you can imagine, I find this utterly hilarious.

I happened to be drinking from this mug while having breakfast with my boys last Saturday, and they too were quite fasscinated as first the ears, then the eyes and nose, and finally the whole head of the cow appeared. The pused regularly in eating their Rice Bubbles to lean over as close to the cup as possible and say "moooooo".

As a matter of history, that was our very first "Cherub moo"

This weekend also saw the first time the boys had taken a ride on a real steam train, thanks to the good folks at steamrail.com.au.

And it was a most pleasant afternoon jaunt from Mitcham to Camberwell and back. I recommend this to anyone.

Finally, and most wonderfully, this Sunday night was the night when, after three years of saying "Goodnight Bundle, sleep sweet, I love you", finally, finally, I heard a little voice say "I love you too".

In the heavens, the choirs sang and the angels danced, and in that darkened bedroom my heart ached with joy, and I knew that I would not trade that moment for all the riches in the world, for nowhere on God's earth was there a happier man than me.

Things you should not do if you wish to avoid the wrath of a four year old

2007-09-20T10:07:00.000+10:00

1. Suggest that watching Bananas in Pyjamas for the fiftieth time might not be as exciting as going for a bike ride.

2. Refuse to go to the local toystore to buy a "shake and go" car.

3. Fail to take him to visit his friends, even though they are currently interstate.

4. Eat the last Furry Friend after he has gone to bed.

That last one makes Grizzlewick particularly "fwuwious".

A Wet Weekend

2007-09-11T09:47:00.000+10:00

Miss M, #23, valiantly losing the Grand Final

Misses I & O a little perplexed

Miss O augmenting her immune system

Gumboots no longer required

They call me Dr Worm

2007-09-06T20:55:00.000+10:00

Moving out of a rental property inevitably involves much of the gardening, and not the fun, creative type where you get to nurture beautiful things as they grow, but more of the type where you pull up ever single stone in the badly constructed path out the back of your chaotic rental property garden and rip out the roots of the cooch grass and various weeds that keep growing up between the stones.

This is not particularly fun but last time I found myself doing this, the exercise was much improved by the presence of my beautiful older son.

Bundle not only helped with the weeding, he also spent a pleasing amount of time ensuring I took gardening safety seriously. As a result, the lifting of each stone was accompanied by constant reminders along the lines of “Be careful daddy, there are ants under there. Be careful. [beat] Are you being careful Daddy?” and so on.

We also found a number of worms, and after a brief initial hesitation, Bundle accepted my assurance that worms were friendly and not at all dangerous and we had to be nice to them because they help the garden grow and other such things that parents find themselves, sometimes to their own surprise, saying on these occasions.

More surprising, and infinitely more pleasing, was Bundle’s understanding of the world of worms, summed up by the following conversation which took place shortly after I had lifted a worm out of the way so as not to squash it when replacing a flagstone, and the worm had taken a very brief look around before burrowing straight back into the ground:

Bundle: Oh, where did he go?

INC: He went back into his home

Bundle [considers this for a moment]. Yes. He’s had a lovely day, but it was time to go home now. Hmmm. Yes.

Happy third birthday, Bundle. You are truly gorgeous beyond description and your very proud parents love you endlessly.

Darnedest (& knittedest) Things

2007-08-08T20:59:00.000+10:00

I don't often talk about my endlessly put-upon Middle Daughter, Miss H.

At least, that's what she tells me... And my (middle) sister backs her 100%.

Pftt! Like she's know anyway.

However over the last couple of days she has come out with a couple of corkers, which to my utter shame, upon hearing them, my immediate reaction was 'I must remember to blog about this'.

1. During a discussion about pubic hair over the dinner table (please. don't ask. just go with it here), amid much hilarity between MrB, Miss M and myself over her use of the word 'public' hair, Miss H asks for clarification... We explain what 'pubic' hair is... She ponders this, then states, quite matter-of-factly

"But that would be private hair surely? Not Public..."

2. Sitting down to watch 'Thank God You're Here' this evening, I was most excited at the inclusion of Ross Noble in the cast. He rocks. They do their little spiel thing with Shane at the beginning and Miss H declares "He's funny. And he's French"

I do believe that may have been the only moment in history where a Geordie accent was mistaken for French, but there you go...

She really does exist in her own universe.

Some one left the cake out in the rain

2007-08-02T12:42:00.001+10:00

For your reading pleasure, I present to you

Each and every birthday cake between ages 5 and 21
(as workshopped by Grizzlewick and his grandmother last night)

5 - banana cake with lolly bananas on it

6 – cricket bat cake

7 – traffic light cake

8 – “another train cake”

9 – square cake

10 – a bowl cake with lollies

11 – a milo cake

12 – a box cake of chocolate frogs

13 – a barbecue shape cake with shapes

14 - a “snot rod” cake

15 – cat shape with M and Ms

16 – lots of cup cakes

17 – football cake

18 – a hot rod cake

19 – light globe cake

20 – rubbish truck cake

21 – fish finger cake

I am intrigued by the notion of both "barbecue shape cake with shapes" and "a bowl cake with lollies". And why he wants a "light globe cake" is beyond me.

Whatever decisions he makes about changing cake fashion between now and then, there is simply NO WAY that he is not being presented with a "fish finger" cake at his 21st.

Important Fact of the Day!

2007-07-25T15:29:00.000+10:00

I have just been appraised, by a very reputable source*, of a most interesting and important fact:

The average four-year-old child asks 437 questions a day.

I just wish this source could have drilled further down and worked out exactly what proportion of those 437 questions were just the word 'Why?'.

Or, indeed, the new New! Improved! version we get in our household... "yeah... but... WHY?"

This just convinces me even further than the people who choose a career in Early Childcare are either

a) bonkers

or

b) modern day saints.

What say you?

*Libra Overnight Pads (with wings) backing paper. Odd Spot #139 to be exact.

Odd Spot #173: Elephants are the only animals that cannot jump
and
Odd Spot #391: Slugs have four noses
are also particularly pertinent.

Ways to freak out your partner # 276

2007-07-23T16:17:00.000+10:00

Arrive home driving a car which inexplicably contains three children, instead of the single child you

a) left the house with and

b) gave birth to.

In this case, it was some surprise afternoon guests after a trip to the pool, but Mr Fix nevertheless suitably perplexed at the 200 per cent increase in children in a mere 90 minutes.

Madonna and early episodes of Home and Away lead me to believe that anyone can pick up some spare family members down the street if they create a hollow back story. I'm just living the dream, people.

Stolen Identity

2007-07-17T11:59:00.000+10:00

The kidlets and I were visiting an old friend of mine and her little boy. I hadn't seen them in ages, and it was good to catch up. The five of us were sitting around the table, being very grown up with our cups and saucers, when Butterball asked me a question.

"What's the time, Mummy?"

I answered, and my friend's little boy started laughing incredulously.

"What's funny, young whippersnapper?" I asked smilingly. Or words to that effect.

The poor little boy could hardly speak, he was laughing so much!

"You're not Mummy!" he finally replied.

So there you are! Apparently, there's only room in his house for one Mummy and he knows very well who that is, thank you very much.

Celebrate Good Times!

2007-07-16T10:08:00.000+10:00

It's Misses I & O's 3rd Birthday today!

Yay! for I & O!

and also....

Yay! For Acton and MrB! For surviving 3 years of twinness!

I looked at them this morning, with their curly blonde hair all manic and Young-Einstein-like, with their identical blue eyes sparkling with excitement, and I just prayed a silent 'Thank You'.

He was right, I was wrong. Again. I spent the first couple of months of my pregnancy cursing Him, but He promises we won't ever have a burden we can't carry, and it's true. The girls, while occasionally being a little too boisterous and twinny to cope with, are a joy and a blessing.

It's amazing to watch them grow - despite being non-identical, they are exactly the same height and weight - their similarities are mystifying, their differences enlightening...

As they were opening their presents this morning, they each had one eye on what the other was getting, but there were no squabbles. They have learnt from a very early age to share, and to see them playing together warms the heart.

And now they are 3 - no longer babies, but Big Girls. All toilet-trained (except for mishaps such as our trip to Ikea this weekend - argh! always the way when you have a 90 minutes drive home!) and with very definite opinions on most everything. And an ability to express said opinions loudly, clearly and most forthrightly! (Miss O yesterday informed her father he was 'a meany. Stop being so bossy. I'm not happy with you')

Happy Birthday Curly Girls!

Job or no job, you can't tell me what I'm not

2007-07-11T07:12:00.001+10:00

We are so, so tired of helping Grizzlewick to get dressed in the morning, and the endless nagging it takes to inspire a response.

This morning, Mr Fix tried some reverse psychology.

Mr Fix: Daddy used to get dressed by himself when he was your age.

Grizzlewick: Yes....but you're not me.

Champagne comedy....galore

2007-06-29T16:09:00.001+10:00

My parents gave Grizzlewick a big box of CDs with the books of Roald Dahl being read by various English personages including Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie.

He has promptly become obsessed with Fantastic Mr Fox and keeps bellowing "CHICKENS GALORE!!!!" at me.

So I taught him how to use the word in other contexts, and have now been informed that we have:

1. movie cars galore
2. geo trax galore
3. matchbox cars galore
4. lego galore and
5. hot rods galore but NOT
6. Ernie (our cat) galore, because "there is only one of him".

Also I have taught him this joke:

Q What do you do if you see a space man?

A Park in it, man.

IS THERE ANY REASON OTHER THAN THIS TO HAVE A CHILD?

I THINK NOT.

Conversations with Bundle – an uncommon dialogue

2007-06-25T21:31:00.000+10:00

I may have mentioned Bundle’s enthusiasm for trains before.

Yes. Yes I have.

Anyway, one of his favourite features of his ever growing train set is the Cargo Drop Station, which features a big plastic arm with a magnet that, when pressed, drops a container into passing trucks. It also has a signal box, the windows of which have streaks on them which make it look like it’s raining. This will become important in a moment.

The cargo drop station is not quite as popular as the level crossing, but it has several advantages, including:
1. I haven’t had to glue it back together yet
2. Conversations like this….

Bundle: What’s this, daddy?

INC: Is that your cargo station?

Bundle: It’s my cargo DROP station, I think.

INC: I see

Bundle: It’s raining in the signal box, Daddy. That isn’t a good idea

INC: Raining inside the signal box. Oh no. The signalmen will get wet!

Bundle: No they won’t.

INC: Really? Why not?

Bundle: They have umbrellas.

Am I the only parent who gets halfway through a conversation like this, wonders where it is going, and then is still surprised by where it ends up?

I doubt it.

Things that never happened to Descartes

2007-06-21T18:25:00.000+10:00

This morning I walked into Grizzlewick's childcare centre, and one of his friends asked me:

"Excuse me, what are you?"

Such existentialism for one so young!

LOLTWINS

2007-06-21T12:46:00.000+10:00

For some reason this remins me of the twins.

They are always pulling tables/ chairs over to their bedroom window to perve on the Big Girls playing on the street. Or on the neighbour mowing her lawn.

Gotta love lolcats!

Shocked by the power

2007-05-31T19:11:00.000+10:00

One of the things I am growing to dislike about Grizzlewick's long and winding road to "big-kidhood" is his ever-growing independence.

Don't get me wrong, I would love nothing more than for him to wake up, make his own breakfast, slouch out of the house for the day with nary a grunt behind him, and leave me to a blissful morning of, well, let's be honest, housework*.

But at this age (4) his independence is nothing short of terrifying.

Last weekend, I was doing a bit of, erhum, housework, and he decided to help. As I was heading out the backyard to hang out the washing, he noted that the floor needed vacuuming.

"Yes it does," I agreed. "Just wait until I hang this washing out and then we will do it together".

When I returned inside, he was sitting on the kitchen bench with a sopping wet vacuum cleaner plug (he'd tipped over a vase getting on the bench), holding it out towards the power socket.

I shrieked.

I knocked it out of his hand.

He started crying.

Then Mr Fix and I spent about thirty minutes telling him in a variety of ways how scared we were by what he had done, and how accidents with electricity could mean you "have to go to hospital". However, given his advanced state of howling, it's fair to say we weren't getting through to him.

Our usual response in these situations is to call in the "big guns". And that means Pa. You see, Mr Fix and I can say anything we want. But in place of a higher being, my son has his grandfather. And what he says, although he is often very accommodating of the little tyke, carries a weight that I couldn't have foreseen.

Luckily we were headed out to my folks for dinner. So when we arrived, I said to Grizzlewick,

"Hey, you should have a talk to Pa about electricity".

So he very solemnly walked up to my father, looked up at him with saucer-sized eyes and said solemnly,

"Pa. Electricity is dangerous. You really shouldn't play with it. And never never vacuum without Mummy"

* But in my mind it's not housework. No. In my mind, it's a long sleep in, lazy breakfast, reading the paper from cover to cover and possibly watching 'Insiders' without interuption. Pah! Like that will ever happen.

In the Blood

2007-05-31T10:21:00.000+10:00

Proof I must be doing a Relatively Good Job (or How Indoctrination is Working For Me):

Last night I was presented with

~ 3 Scholastic Book Club order forms

and

~ Permission Notes for 'Sport for Life' gym and contemporary dance classes at school.

Now, being in the same boat as pretty much anyone else out there with school age children and a mortgage, money is short supply at Chez B. And therefore the weekly school newsletter bearing yet more chirpy paragraphs requesting funds for this, that and the other, is a thing to be dreaded. I pay my taxes, I pay the 'voluntary' contribution to the school (So voluntary that we were sent an invoice this year! And then a statement saying we were outside terms (wtf?!)), but the constant 'extras' we're being asked to pay for really gets my goat. And dressing it up in terms of how these classes contribute to different aspects of the curriculum actually just contribute to my rising blood pressure.

Sorry, will control my ranting on this here blog...

Anyhowdles, this morning I was going through the book club pamphlet and picked out a number of books. They're not the ones the kids want (Design your Own Paper Fashions!), but instead include 'Scholastic Dictionary of Antonyms, Synonyms and Homonyms', 'My Australian Story: Refugee' and 'My Australian Story: Stolen Generation' (yes, we're happy to spend our money on ensuring we raise Happy Little Lefties)(Happy Little Christian Lefties - oh the conflicting ideologies!). Then I realised that I was about to spend $70 on books. The 'Sport for Life' classes were going to cost $70. I decided to give my children the choice - (Non-Compulsory) sport classes or books?

They both chose the books.

I am so proud of them!

Law & Order: WDTAOK

2007-05-28T23:10:00.000+10:00

It is not that easy to explain to a two year old why someone, who is presumably someone a bit older, feels the need to write his name and postcode all over the equipment at one of the local parks. However, Bundle has certainly grasped the concept that such behaviour is not to be encouraged. Our last conversation on the topic went something like this:

Bundle: Someone put paint on here too. That’s naughty.

INC: Yes. He will be in trouble when his parents find out.

Bundle: Hmmm. Someone will say “No” very loudly.

Two important things here. Firstly, at least now I know that my son has made the link between his parents saying “no” really loudly and him being in trouble. Secondly, I’m impressed that at the age of two my son has basically grasped the concept of how the Children’s Court is likely to deal with a teenager charged with criminal damage.

We like tractors

2007-05-28T07:11:00.000+10:00

We visited Chesterfield Farm again on the weekend. We picked the wrong day to do this, as it was so windy that Cherub’s attempts to walk did remind me irresistibly of a very small and not entirely successful mime artist. In fairness, he’s 12 months old so the fact that he’s walking around a farm is not unimpressive.

Anyway, you can read about a previous and rather more successful visit here.

Also, the alpacas are particularly cute.

Give me some place to go, don't give me train rides

2007-05-04T23:34:00.000+10:00

There are a few things that I find hard to figure out. Here's one now.

Many suburban shopping centres/collections of factory outlets feature a dinky little Thomas the Tank Engine with coaches which runs around a tiny part of the shopping centre for about three minutes and then one's son gets cross because it's over already.

This costs $3.00. Per child.

Alternatively, on any Sunday of the year, the same parent can drive/walk to his or her local train station, and for $2.50, buy a ticket enabling one to travel anywhere on the entire metropolitan rail network with as many children as one can reasonably manage.

Last weekend, while Cherub was having an unusually lengthy afternoon sleep, Bundle and I caught the train to Flinders Street, walked over to Federation Square to admire the ferris wheel, looked for boats on the Yarra, admired the view from the bridge, got on the next train, which included a not unexciting (for a two year old) trip through the loop, and happily headed home again.

Bundle was thrilled every single time we went through a level crossing, and excited almost beyond belief when we saw some diggers on a building site near the train line. More importantly, the trip was long enough that he was saying 'are we there yet' with three stations to go and he was perfectly happy to get off the train when we finally found our station.

And he was still telling people about this the next day.

Let me just mention again that this was all for the bargain basement price of $2.50. Mysteriously, however, in the middle of a perfectly pleasant Sunday afternoon, the trains were less than one fifth full, but had we been at one of those shopping centres we probably would have had to queue up to get on the dinky little three minute train ride.

I can not figure this out.

I also cannot figure out how we ran a party at home for eight children aged 6 months to nearly five years for two whole hours and I cannot come up with enough decent anecdotes for even a fairly brief post. So, without further ado...

HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY CHERUB!

Outside in the hall there's a catfight, it's just after midnight...*

2007-04-30T16:10:00.000+10:00

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)

I got tha toilet-training blues...

2007-04-30T09:41:00.000+10:00

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!

fairy tales

2007-04-24T12:00:00.000+10:00

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.

Bakers Delight.

2007-04-22T18:55:00.000+10:00

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.

Sometimes it's roses, sometimes it's fleas*

2007-04-22T11:00:00.000+10:00

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.

The law of the jungle does not apply in my house

2007-04-16T16:49:00.000+10:00

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.

Dude I'm standing right here, part 1

2007-04-10T07:13:00.000+10:00

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.

Todd-gic*

2007-04-04T16:52:00.000+10:00

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

Adelaide

2007-04-03T06:15:00.000+10:00

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.

Why is it so?

2007-04-02T14:24:00.000+10:00

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.

That's not my name

2007-03-30T20:53:00.000+10:00

This isn't about one of my children. And it isn't about me. But it is about one of my friends and another friend's son.

L was minding J while J's mum C was swanning about somewhere else. J was about 3 and a half and had recently had a very nasty tummy bug and wasn't yet up to keeping himself nice after going to the toilet.

So, L's in the kitchen and hears a little voice calling from the loo.

J: I'm finished, L.

L: Really? Are you sure?

J: Yes, L. I'm really finished.

L: Is it messy?

J: NO! It's me! J!!

Fleetwood Wick

2007-03-30T14:07:00.000+10:00

For some reason, when Grizzlewick was a baby (around the six-month mark), we took to calling him “Mr Moo”. I don’t know why we did this – there were no cow books, it wasn’t one of those family nicknames that gets passed down the generations, it was just something we called him and it stuck.

Around the same time, I seemed to be hearing an awful lot of ‘Tusk’ by Fleetwood Mac. I’m not sure why this is either, I don’t own a copy*. I think it was a combination of the café we were regularly frequenting and visits to my parents’ house. Of course, the net result of this was a rendering of the brass band sections of this song to encompass the following lyrics:

Mister Moo
Mister Moo
Mister Mister Mister Moo
Mister Moo
Mister Moo Moo MOO MOO!

Now that’s a lovely little song if your child giggles insanely every time you sing it. But like the lyrics of James Reyne tracks, it’s not the best thing to be muttering under your breath while walking down the street. I’m not sure if it’s better or worse than:

‘Somebody told me’

Somebody told me that you were a grizzle
A mister the grizzle
That wanted to grizzle grizzle and grizzle
It’s not confidential
That he’s got potential
For rushing and rushing around

I’m going to be one of those embarrassing mothers.

* some would argue that this makes me “above it all” in a coolsie way. Others would suggest that I need to “respect the classics man” and obtain a copy with all speed.

and she rushes in

2007-03-28T20:51:00.000+10:00

hi all. i feel like i'm walking into a get-together that's been going a little while. i'm late, i'm harried and i don't know any of you. well, not really.

you all look at me when i come in the door. i'm feeling embarrassed and shy. and i'm with princess, who's on crutches.

yes, one of the reasons i've not posted yet, and therefore introduced myself, is that princess recently managed to break an important body part which she needs for walking.

a trip to the hospital, and back, with diagnosis of badly-sprained ankle. then a call monday, telling us to go back in, it's a fracture, radiologist was not on duty over the weekend, reviewed the x-rays today, la di da. it's a broken ankle.

after that, a swirl of words, including two that scared me alot. surgery. general anaesthetic.

they put her leg in plaster and dr daniel and dr chris were champions.

fast forward to today. ct scan shows that the plaster they have on now is cool, that will do, no surgery. no openings for melbournegirl to do a shirley maclaine around the nurse's station a la terms of endearment.

so, to my introduction.

hi. i'm melbournegirl and i'm 43. yep, i'm the old one around these here parts. princess is 10, and an old, old soul. she is the most insightful, aware and switched-on person i've ever met.

like i said to i'm not craig, i'm not sure how often i can post, and whether the offerings will be cute, but i'm happy to be part of the community.

My little H8er

2007-03-28T09:42:00.000+10:00

Presents that Miss H received for her 8th birthday, in an attempt to explain her personality:

Imaginext Knights, Wizards and Griffin (oooh! I love griffins!)
Bright Pink t-shirt with a picture of a fairy and a toadstool. And diamantes.
Books on scrap-booking and dolphins.
A harness-lead thingy for her rabbits, so she can take them for walks... [Feral rabbits that were brought to the house as babies by Inigo - and saved by me because I'm a Soft Touch (and species-ist) and which are now comfortably accommodated in a massive hutch next to the house. Miss H sits in the hutch for hours on end. With the lid down. Among the hay and rabbit poo - communing with the bunnies]
A 'God Girl' cap.
An 'Ancient Egypt' puzzle cube.

Items she chose from the Menu at Blue River Chinese Restaurant last night:

Duck with Plum Sauce
Curry Puffs
Just the lettuce from the Sang Choy Bow

She ain't your typical 8 year old... (and that's the way I like it)

Perspectives

2007-03-27T21:53:00.000+10:00

It took less than 24 hours from landing at Adelaide airport to my first official child related embarassing moment of this holiday.

I was watching Bundle chatting to hs lovely eleven year old cousin in her room. Spotting a Lift bottle, he announced "It's a bottle. It's for tipping wine, I think".

The previous evening, I had been answering my niece's questions about which church I go to. Now, thanks to Bundle, the same niece thinks I'm a complete alcoholic. It's amazing how clearly a look can say 'bad parent'.

But really, it depends on your point of view. As far as I am concerned, anyone who has a two year old who can not recognise a soft drink bottle is clearly doing something right.

In other news, the same two year old child has just started counting to three whenever I don't respond fast enough to one of his requests. Does anyone have a suggestion on what exactly to say when this happens?

The Negotiator

2007-03-26T19:30:00.000+10:00

Overheard at this weekend's three-year-old birthday party:

Cricket: Maybe you should give that toy (a newly acquired monster truck
that doting grandparents had given Cricket for his birthday) to me.

Grizzlewick: No, I'm still playing with it.

Cricket: But I am too big for this one (pointing out a ride-on ladybird)
and you are not too big for it. Maybe I should have the car.

Grizzlewick: But maybe it is my turn to play with it.

Cricket: Oh. Okay.

I love their use of the word "maybe" - like they are in any way open to negotiation.

In other news, Grizzlewick wrote his name for the first time on Friday (Urngh! accompanied by GRIMACE!!! and then followed very closely by GLOWING PRIDE OF MOTHERHOOD) and rode a horse for the first time yesterday.

I am so proud I can't even swear.

Just Because

2007-03-26T08:51:00.000+10:00

Eek! I'm the next in line to introduce myself here at Mommybloggers* Anonymous, so let me just grab my cup of tea and Scotch Finger biscuit and I'll be right with you...

Hi, I'm Actonb and I'm a Mommyblogger. Well, at least I am now! I'm 33, wife to the much-put-upon MrB, and mother to the 4 Misses B. I try to keep my Cute Kid stories to a minimum, but sometimes I just can't help myself... and I have also been known to show photos at Punters' Drinks (Grogblogging for ex-Radar addicts), but that's only because they asked...

Anyway,

Miss M is 9, going on 17. She's everything that I'm not - sunny, friendly, affectionate - but that is a Good Thing as she is also becoming adept at the eye-rolling, hands-on-hips, 'whatever' Attitude. She also has Dramatic Tendencies that MrB and I have been encouraging, and then immediately regretting. She can do the 'talk to the hand' whatever-flick with a hip jiggle and an eye-roll like she's come straight from the streets of Compton.

Miss H is 7 (8 tomorrow!) and is the most intensely vague child you have ever met. She looks like a mini-Galadriel, complete with sticky-out Elf ears emerging from her long white-blond hair. She rocks. I do not understand her in any way, but she rocks...

Misses I and O are 2½. They are our 'blessings'. I cried for a month when I found out I was having twins... but they turned out to be quite easy and adorable babies. However twin toddlers in their Terrible Twos is something quite different...

Yep, the B household is officially Bedlam.

*EqualResponsibilityParentingBlogging doesn't really have the same ring to it really...

Are all boys created equal?

2007-03-24T10:03:00.000+11:00

I'd been to the supermarket with my 5 year old girlchild Butterball and 4 year old boychild Bopper. We had paused in the toy aisle and purchased a Barbie for BB and a Ken for B. (I know! I should have been socially enlightened and refused to buy them such plastic examples of sexist stereotyping, but I'm easy.)

When we returned home, BB and B grabbed their new dolls and went racing into their shared bedroom to rip them out of their boxes. As I walked pass their room laden with shopping bags I heard the following exchange:

B: Oh! Ken's got no willy!
BB: No! That's strange. 'Cos, B, most boys have willies.

Hehehehe. Most.

Hello, my name is Gigglewick, and I am a parenting basket-case

2007-03-23T14:31:00.000+11:00

Okay. Thanks INCraig for starting us off, as I think we were all waiting for that to happen. Did I say "we all"? I meant me.

I am Gigglewick, 30 years old, living with the charming Mr Fix while we try our best to live up to the task of being parents to Grizzlewick, who is currently approaching his fourth birthday (end of April). With a birthday coming up we are expecting an explosion of amusement in the form of childish glee/disappointment/delight/frustration.

I am aware that in having only the one child I am a bit of a parenting ninnyhammer*.

But Grizzlewick apparently has the capability of meeting the humourous story capability of a whole schoolyard of kids, so I guess it's okay.

It's also fair to say perhaps I spend too much time on the internet - Grizzlewick has now taken to building offices for his cars so that they can "do their email".

* sigh *

* How awesome is this word? That's what happens when you let the internet choose your synonyms.

And so it begins

2007-03-22T21:39:00.000+11:00

Hey hi and welcome to our new little blog right here.

I should probably define what this blog is all about, but in all honesty it's really not something I've actually thought about much yet. It just seemed like a good idea to set up a space for us to swap stories about the cuteness of children. Happily, Actonb, Gigglewick, Meva and Melbourne Girl have agreed to join in with whatever we are doing here, which pleases me endlessly.

I was going to introduce each of the team members and their children but then I realised that it would be like those appalling first week of new tute group moments when you speak to the person next to you for two minutes and then you have to introduce them to the rest of the group, except that I have never met any of my fellow team members even for two minutes so I'm just going to let people introduce themselves.

As for me, I'm a thirty-something guy and endlessly proud father. My gorgeous wife (known to the blogging world as Honey Bear) and I have two beautiful boys. Bundle is around two and a half and our little Cherub is 10 months old. And you will be hearing much more about how cute they are soon.

Stick around. This will be fun.