Bundle (looking down): Oh, what was that noise?
INC: I think that was your Pa.
Bundle: No, that was MY BUTT.
Sunday 16 December 2007
Good guess, but...
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.
Bundle (looking down): Oh, what was that noise?
INC: I think that was your Pa.
Bundle: No, that was MY BUTT.
Wednesday 5 December 2007
Hi, we're back
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.
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.
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
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.
Monday 15 October 2007
I am so proud
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.
He gasps and comes running to tell me when people use it on television.
My work here is done.
Tuesday 2 October 2007
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
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.
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.
Monday 1 October 2007
The Blame Game
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.
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.
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.
Monday 24 September 2007
Where is Dr Phil when you need him?
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 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?
Thursday 20 September 2007
The boys of history
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.
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
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".
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".
Tuesday 11 September 2007
A Wet Weekend
Miss M, #23, valiantly losing the Grand Final
Misses I & O a little perplexed
Miss O augmenting her immune system
Gumboots no longer required
Thursday 6 September 2007
They call me Dr Worm
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.
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.
Wednesday 8 August 2007
Darnedest (& knittedest) Things
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.
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.
Thursday 2 August 2007
Some one left the cake out in the rain
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.
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.
Wednesday 25 July 2007
Important Fact of the Day!
I have just been appraised, by a very reputable source*, of a most interesting and important fact:
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.
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.
Monday 23 July 2007
Ways to freak out your partner # 276
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.
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.
Tuesday 17 July 2007
Stolen Identity
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.
"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.
Monday 16 July 2007
Celebrate Good Times!
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!
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!
Wednesday 11 July 2007
Job or no job, you can't tell me what I'm not
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.
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.
Friday 29 June 2007
Champagne comedy....galore
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.
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.
Monday 25 June 2007
Conversations with Bundle – an uncommon dialogue
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.
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.
Thursday 21 June 2007
Things that never happened to Descartes
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!
"Excuse me, what are you?"
Such existentialism for one so young!
LOLTWINS
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!
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!
Thursday 31 May 2007
Shocked by the power
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.
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
Proof I must be doing a Relatively Good Job (or How Indoctrination is Working For Me):
Last night I was presented with
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!
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!
Monday 28 May 2007
Law & Order: WDTAOK
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.
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
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.
Anyway, you can read about a previous and rather more successful visit here.
Also, the alpacas are particularly cute.
Friday 4 May 2007
Give me some place to go, don't give me train rides
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!
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!
Monday 30 April 2007
Outside in the hall there's a catfight, it's just after midnight...*
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)
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...
I was sitting reading the paper yesterday when I heard a snuffling, sobbing child limping up the stairs..
Behold! Miss O, in all her Cletis overalled glory!
Breathing into a mouth organ, so that as she sobbed her story, it's was given a poignant blues-esque quality...
'Poo! I done a poo!'
(zing, zinga zing (or however you express mouth organ 'music' phonetically))
Such a sad, sad story, but what a beautiful vignette! We'll make something out of her yet!
Behold! Miss O, in all her Cletis overalled glory!
Breathing into a mouth organ, so that as she sobbed her story, it's was given a poignant blues-esque quality...
'Poo! I done a poo!'
(zing, zinga zing (or however you express mouth organ 'music' phonetically))
Such a sad, sad story, but what a beautiful vignette! We'll make something out of her yet!
Tuesday 24 April 2007
fairy tales
It can be awkward at times, but I love the fact that my kids still inhabit that sparkly world where Santa Claus and unicorns comfortably coexist with Reality. So I had a little moment of breath holding concern when I overheard this exchange between my girls:
MissMinx: I hope I never meet a bad fairy.
LadyMuck: No, this is just a movie, it's make believe, fairies aren't real.
MM: What...........No fairies?
LM: No, they're made up, like, you know, for stories.
MM: So, no fairies are real?
LM: Nope, no fairies.
*beat*
LM: 'Cept the tooth fairy of course.
Safe.
MissMinx: I hope I never meet a bad fairy.
LadyMuck: No, this is just a movie, it's make believe, fairies aren't real.
MM: What...........No fairies?
LM: No, they're made up, like, you know, for stories.
MM: So, no fairies are real?
LM: Nope, no fairies.
*beat*
LM: 'Cept the tooth fairy of course.
Safe.
Sunday 22 April 2007
Bakers Delight.
Just tonight:
Me, putting the babes to bed: Night night Curly Girls...
Miss I: (Sits Up) No... I'm a Chicken Pie.
Me: Oh, so what are you Miss O?
Miss O: I'm Miss I.
Me: Hmmmm...
Miss I: No! She's not a Chicken Pie...
Miss O: Yes I am... I'm a curly Pie.
Me (walking out the door): Night night Chicken Pies...
Them: Night mummy...
Twin Logic - it's it's own special brand of confusion, but I think we're getting there.
Me, putting the babes to bed: Night night Curly Girls...
Miss I: (Sits Up) No... I'm a Chicken Pie.
Me: Oh, so what are you Miss O?
Miss O: I'm Miss I.
Me: Hmmmm...
Miss I: No! She's not a Chicken Pie...
Miss O: Yes I am... I'm a curly Pie.
Me (walking out the door): Night night Chicken Pies...
Them: Night mummy...
Twin Logic - it's it's own special brand of confusion, but I think we're getting there.
Sometimes it's roses, sometimes it's fleas*
Wow, it really has been the week for stupid tantrums in Not Craig Land.
I accept, with some reluctance, the inevitable truth that anyone who has a two year old and a nearly-one year old will occasionally have to deal with some spectacular yelling, not matter how lovely the children are most of the time. I think it's the incredibly level of creativity in coming up with things to be upset about that still occasionally takes me by surprise.
Up until this week, I thought Bundle could not possibly top his previous two most pointless hissy fits. The first happened when I told him to stop banging his own head against a wall, and the second occurred when I told him it was time for us to stop reading the Bible and move on to a different story.
Last weekend , however, we had 10 minute tantrum because I said it was time to get off the train (which was not entirely unreasonable of me, as it was the station that our car was parked at). If there is ever an Olympic event called 100m while carrying two children through a busy shopping area with one of them screaming wildly while everyone looks at me like I'm a maniac, I'm going to win.
The same day saw spectacular levels of protest because Bundle wanted to see some monkeys. I blame the zoo's complete failure to put any in the Hippo Enclosure. With a bit more foresight on their part, the whole problem could have been avoided. Any solution would have worked better than saying "Hey let's sing the Hippo song", which was utterly ineffective.
For sheer pointlessness, none of these top the very public meltdown in a fairly crowded food court when Honey Bear asked Bundle not to put any more pepper in his own milkshake.
Cherub has been joining in too, with impressive howls of protest every time we try to explain that there is some very literal truth contained in that old Canadian proverb about realising that we can not eat money.
All the tantrums in the world pale into insignificance compared to those moments when it's all good, like when these two children sit in the bath growling at each other like a pair of hopped up wolverines and then collapse in fits of giggles a second later.
My favourite moment of last weekend was, by far, when Bundle and I walked past a florist on the was to the fruit shop. Not only did he insist that we had to buy flowers for mummy, he also took my hand to lead me into the shop, chose a very nice bunch of roses, waited patiently while I paid for them, proudly carried them home and handed them, fully intact to a delighted Honey Bear.
We could have a billion billion tantrums** and I would still be ahead.
* Yes, again with the Fleetwood Mac
** Including the one that happened when I was halfway through typing that sentence. How Alanic.
I accept, with some reluctance, the inevitable truth that anyone who has a two year old and a nearly-one year old will occasionally have to deal with some spectacular yelling, not matter how lovely the children are most of the time. I think it's the incredibly level of creativity in coming up with things to be upset about that still occasionally takes me by surprise.
Up until this week, I thought Bundle could not possibly top his previous two most pointless hissy fits. The first happened when I told him to stop banging his own head against a wall, and the second occurred when I told him it was time for us to stop reading the Bible and move on to a different story.
Last weekend , however, we had 10 minute tantrum because I said it was time to get off the train (which was not entirely unreasonable of me, as it was the station that our car was parked at). If there is ever an Olympic event called 100m while carrying two children through a busy shopping area with one of them screaming wildly while everyone looks at me like I'm a maniac, I'm going to win.
The same day saw spectacular levels of protest because Bundle wanted to see some monkeys. I blame the zoo's complete failure to put any in the Hippo Enclosure. With a bit more foresight on their part, the whole problem could have been avoided. Any solution would have worked better than saying "Hey let's sing the Hippo song", which was utterly ineffective.
For sheer pointlessness, none of these top the very public meltdown in a fairly crowded food court when Honey Bear asked Bundle not to put any more pepper in his own milkshake.
Cherub has been joining in too, with impressive howls of protest every time we try to explain that there is some very literal truth contained in that old Canadian proverb about realising that we can not eat money.
All the tantrums in the world pale into insignificance compared to those moments when it's all good, like when these two children sit in the bath growling at each other like a pair of hopped up wolverines and then collapse in fits of giggles a second later.
My favourite moment of last weekend was, by far, when Bundle and I walked past a florist on the was to the fruit shop. Not only did he insist that we had to buy flowers for mummy, he also took my hand to lead me into the shop, chose a very nice bunch of roses, waited patiently while I paid for them, proudly carried them home and handed them, fully intact to a delighted Honey Bear.
We could have a billion billion tantrums** and I would still be ahead.
* Yes, again with the Fleetwood Mac
** Including the one that happened when I was halfway through typing that sentence. How Alanic.
Monday 16 April 2007
The law of the jungle does not apply in my house
When Grizzlewick was very young (but old enough to chase our cats), we decided that it would make good sense to let him get whacked a couple of times. We figured that a well-placed tap from our most visible cat* would serve two purposes:
1. It would make Grizzlewick less inclined to damage our cat a second time
2. It would let our cat know that he didn’t necessarily have to suffer through the ENTIRE raft of pain meted out to him by said child.
A warning to others: this parenting experiment has been a dismal failure.
Grizzlewick WILL cry when scratched by our cat. But it doesn’t put him off, nosiree bob. He’s a persistent litthe bugger. In Grizzlewick’s defence, he often has a completely loving gesture to give – a kiss on the head, a gentle pat, a hauling across the room that results in the cat being placed in front of the heater.
What’s more, or possibly because of the inconsistency of the “loving”, neither has our cat figured out that the best thing would be to bolt at first sign of Grizzlewick. No, he lazes around the house, seemingly lovable, tolerating being dragged around at the shoulders until, much like Mel Gibson, he snaps, losing his easy-going persona and lashing out at the nearest person - mostly Grizzlewick, but sometimes Mr Fix or myself (that’s the cat, not Mel Gibson. Although given the way that Mel Gibson sometimes behaves, I’m sure we’re not that far down the list).
Will it ever stop? Yo, I don’t know (but probably by the time Grizzlewick turns 10).
* We have two cats, although many of our friends dispute this on the basis that the second cat is rarely seen.
1. It would make Grizzlewick less inclined to damage our cat a second time
2. It would let our cat know that he didn’t necessarily have to suffer through the ENTIRE raft of pain meted out to him by said child.
A warning to others: this parenting experiment has been a dismal failure.
Grizzlewick WILL cry when scratched by our cat. But it doesn’t put him off, nosiree bob. He’s a persistent litthe bugger. In Grizzlewick’s defence, he often has a completely loving gesture to give – a kiss on the head, a gentle pat, a hauling across the room that results in the cat being placed in front of the heater.
What’s more, or possibly because of the inconsistency of the “loving”, neither has our cat figured out that the best thing would be to bolt at first sign of Grizzlewick. No, he lazes around the house, seemingly lovable, tolerating being dragged around at the shoulders until, much like Mel Gibson, he snaps, losing his easy-going persona and lashing out at the nearest person - mostly Grizzlewick, but sometimes Mr Fix or myself (that’s the cat, not Mel Gibson. Although given the way that Mel Gibson sometimes behaves, I’m sure we’re not that far down the list).
Will it ever stop? Yo, I don’t know (but probably by the time Grizzlewick turns 10).
* We have two cats, although many of our friends dispute this on the basis that the second cat is rarely seen.
Tuesday 10 April 2007
Dude I'm standing right here, part 1
The scene is a quiet Easter Monday afternoon, somewhere in the suburbs of Melbourne. There is an aura of domestic bliss lingering in the air. Honey Bear is heading out the laundry door with a basket of washing, INC is chopping onions for a truly amazing stir-fry. Bundle is apparently getting hungry.
Bundle: Can I have something, Mummy?
HB: (From outside) Go and see your daddy
[Bundle wanders into the kitchen, opens the cupboard door and stands inside]
Bundle: I'll just get something out of here and tell daddy to open it.
Bundle: Can I have something, Mummy?
HB: (From outside) Go and see your daddy
[Bundle wanders into the kitchen, opens the cupboard door and stands inside]
Bundle: I'll just get something out of here and tell daddy to open it.
Wednesday 4 April 2007
Todd-gic*
The actual record of a conversation between Grizzlewick, his best friend (also called Grizzle), and a group of other small boys.
Q: What does Spiderman eat?
A: spiders
Q: What does Batman eat?
A: bats
Q: What does superman eat?
A: SOUP
Can't say fairer than that.
* Toddler-logic
Q: What does Spiderman eat?
A: spiders
Q: What does Batman eat?
A: bats
Q: What does superman eat?
A: SOUP
Can't say fairer than that.
* Toddler-logic
Tuesday 3 April 2007
Adelaide
A few more highlights of the Adelaide trip.
Bundle and Cherub had a wonderful time with the swing set in the back yard of my sister-in-law's house, particularly when they sat facing each other and giggled endlessly. However, I sensed that Bundle was starting to long for more when we had this conversation towards the end of the trip:
Bundle: Where's the bouncy castle
INC: We don't have a bouncy castle here
Bundle: This is an old playground.
He gets away with this stuff because he has lovely manners. I'm not sure how many two year olds respond to the suggestion that they might like a bowl of cereal for breakfast by saying"Thank you, that would be wonderful". I was also impressed that when I gave him his breakfast he said "Thank you Daddy, that's very sweet of you"
Still on children and swings, I think that it was inevitable that, as the parent of a child named Cherub, I would eventually run out of sensible songs about swinging and end up singing a few choruses of "He's my Cherub Pie". Those who remember a rather similar song by Warrant will appreciate just how wrong that is.
Bundle and Cherub had a wonderful time with the swing set in the back yard of my sister-in-law's house, particularly when they sat facing each other and giggled endlessly. However, I sensed that Bundle was starting to long for more when we had this conversation towards the end of the trip:
Bundle: Where's the bouncy castle
INC: We don't have a bouncy castle here
Bundle: This is an old playground.
He gets away with this stuff because he has lovely manners. I'm not sure how many two year olds respond to the suggestion that they might like a bowl of cereal for breakfast by saying"Thank you, that would be wonderful". I was also impressed that when I gave him his breakfast he said "Thank you Daddy, that's very sweet of you"
Still on children and swings, I think that it was inevitable that, as the parent of a child named Cherub, I would eventually run out of sensible songs about swinging and end up singing a few choruses of "He's my Cherub Pie". Those who remember a rather similar song by Warrant will appreciate just how wrong that is.
Monday 2 April 2007
Why is it so?
It was Miss H's 8th Birthday Party yesterday, and we took a Squeal of Tweenies horse-riding. I have yet to work out precisely when I became the type of mother who Does these Things. Because no-one in their right mind would take seven 8-year-olds to a Riding School, and then load them up with fairy bread and cupcakes and cheezels... would they? I know that it's not something I would have anticipated all those years ago, when the idea of 'children' first crossed my mind. My children were going to be different. They weren't going to be influenced by Mattel or Disney - they were going to learn to think independently, and be who they wanted to be. And naturally the person they were going to Be was NOT going to a be pretty pink pony-obsessed tweenie....
Things haven't turned out like they were supposed to...
I set to pondering on this as I was filling loot bags (or rather, Loot Pink Plastic Noodle Boxes with tiny pastel winged horses tied to the handle) with lollies- whizz fizzes and chupa chups - couldn't find any bananas (spewin') at 9:30 on Saturday night. Thankfully I had a glass of wine and a mother to laugh at my feeble justifications.
When did this happen? When did I get sucked in to the whole perfect parent phenomenon? I used to wage jihad against lolly bags, and provide carrot and celery sticks for snacks...
I continued to question myself as the 100s and 1000s crunched underfoot during the preparation of the fairy bread (with white bread!). It was a join effort - the twins were 'helping'.
The answer came when all H's friends arrived, and I let them know what the Big Secret - that had required them NOT wearing dresses and party shoes, but rather jeans and sneakers - was, and my kitchen exploded into a frenzy of screams and squeals of utter delight. I may have received an instant headache, but the look on H's face was priceless.
And worth the complete lapse in parental principles.
Things haven't turned out like they were supposed to...
I set to pondering on this as I was filling loot bags (or rather, Loot Pink Plastic Noodle Boxes with tiny pastel winged horses tied to the handle) with lollies- whizz fizzes and chupa chups - couldn't find any bananas (spewin') at 9:30 on Saturday night. Thankfully I had a glass of wine and a mother to laugh at my feeble justifications.
When did this happen? When did I get sucked in to the whole perfect parent phenomenon? I used to wage jihad against lolly bags, and provide carrot and celery sticks for snacks...
I continued to question myself as the 100s and 1000s crunched underfoot during the preparation of the fairy bread (with white bread!). It was a join effort - the twins were 'helping'.
The answer came when all H's friends arrived, and I let them know what the Big Secret - that had required them NOT wearing dresses and party shoes, but rather jeans and sneakers - was, and my kitchen exploded into a frenzy of screams and squeals of utter delight. I may have received an instant headache, but the look on H's face was priceless.
And worth the complete lapse in parental principles.
Friday 30 March 2007
That's not my name
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!!
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
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.
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.
Wednesday 28 March 2007
and she rushes in
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.
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
Presents that Miss H received for her 8th birthday, in an attempt to explain her personality:
She ain't your typical 8 year old... (and that's the way I like it)
- 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.
- 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)
Tuesday 27 March 2007
Perspectives
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?
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?
Monday 26 March 2007
The Negotiator
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
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...
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...
Saturday 24 March 2007
Are all boys created equal?
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.
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.
Friday 23 March 2007
Hello, my name is Gigglewick, and I am a parenting basket-case
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.
Thursday 22 March 2007
And so it begins
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.
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.
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