That was then, this is now. I'm pretty sure that exhaustion and fatigue, which are different things I can assure you, had well and truly set in. We've only really had about five hours sleep but suddenly it's not all so bad.
The call to prayer, the roosters and my homicidal case of hives (which is currently on it's 6th day of trying to kill me) woke us up around quarter to six, Malay time. The Jelly Bean loves me again, he told me so, in a whisper at about 5am, and it's a cloudy but fine morning in Langkawi. The Bean's just having some vegemite toast, I've sampled some spicy rice wrapped in a banana leaf (I chose to not eat the tiny little complimentary fish - the heads were also complimentary - that came with it).
We're going to walk down the street to get my favourite Roti Pisang and The Bean an iced Milo. I might try and find some hypo allergenic laundry liquid and ask the man at the laundry if he would mind using it and that is as far as my plans have gotten.. Should take an hour or so..
Now we're at the beach. I'm hiding out of the sun on a banana lounge, clothed head to toe in cheesecloth, hiding the hives from prying eyes and protecting myself from exposure to anything that may cause harm. The Bean is throwing sand, refusing to go for a swim in the ocean "No please, mama, there's fish in the ocean," and playing with his cars.
The world is ok. Our bellies are full. The sun is shining out from under this umbrella and my son is safe, covered in sand and playing happily.
Sigh.
Breathe.
Relax.
Enjoy.
Sounds like four great New Year's resolutions to me.
Things The Bean has said:
After watching Playschool downloaded by my wonderful father who lent us his iPad to come to the 'laysia.
TB: Can we make some green jelly?
Me: Not right now, babe, we don't have a fridge. But I can make you some for you birthday when we get home to Australia if you like?
TB: Oh, yes please. And I want green jelly with red frogs in it, and I'll make you some jelly with fruit salad and mangoes and green fruit and strawberries in it for you!
Me: Do you mean kiwi fruit?
TB: Yep, but that's for you. I'm having green jelly with red frogs for my birthday. And then we'll have some cake, ok?
Friday, December 31, 2010
Langkawi -part 1
This is what I'm feeling at 11:10pm Malaysia time, which is 2:10am Melbourne time. I've been awake for 23 hours, the Bean's been awake for 21 with a two hour rest stop in between and a crash as we speak. We are still flying. We were delayed in KL. We are not at our destination of Langkawi and I hope we arrive before the night desk person goes home to their bed.
I hope we have a bed to sleep in tonight.
I am in awe of my son. I'm surprised he hasn't chucked the biggest tantrum and asked for a refund. He would be well within his rights at this stage. I'm surprised I still have my parenting license.
He has had a few tantrums he has cried and shouted and run away and pushed me away, I apologise.
I'm breaking a promise to my mum by writing this, for thinkingnthese bad things about myself. I apologise.
He is currently doing the wobbly train sleep. Because he refuses to sleep on my shoulder. There isn't much love left in him and as we all know, when we make mistakes, we have little love left for ourselves.
I think I've made a mistake.
I'm wondering why we're here. I'm wondering what I've done, am doing to him. And for what? Do I take him overseas for an adventure, for his bettering, for him to experience and enjoy what the amazing wide beautiful world and it's people has to offer?
Or is it for my pride?
Is it for me to say, hey, look what I can do? Look at this killer single mum jettsetting all over the place. Look how cultured that little boy is, his mum must be SO amazing, wow and she does it all by herself?
I can't do this all by myself. I, in actual fact, probably shouldn't do this all by myself.
We all need a voice of reason, and I've lost mine somewhere along the way of self righteous ideologies and experience and only living once and being brave..
Because right now brave is the last thing that I'm feeling.
And my beautiful boy has been lost in my cross fire.
And I just want to go home, wishing I was not the cause for his first all-nighter. Wishing it was an important piece of homework, or a party that I wished he hand't gone to or a girl.
But instead it was me.
And all my tears have gotten us is a better seat on the delayed plane.
Harper's tears have broken my heart and I just wish I could take it all back.
Thank the Lord, Buddha, Allah, Krishna, Aphrodite, Venus and all whom you may hold holy, he has just snuggled into my shoulder for the last ten minutes of the flight.
He loves me, yet.
I hope we have a bed to sleep in tonight.
I am in awe of my son. I'm surprised he hasn't chucked the biggest tantrum and asked for a refund. He would be well within his rights at this stage. I'm surprised I still have my parenting license.
He has had a few tantrums he has cried and shouted and run away and pushed me away, I apologise.
I'm breaking a promise to my mum by writing this, for thinkingnthese bad things about myself. I apologise.
He is currently doing the wobbly train sleep. Because he refuses to sleep on my shoulder. There isn't much love left in him and as we all know, when we make mistakes, we have little love left for ourselves.
I think I've made a mistake.
I'm wondering why we're here. I'm wondering what I've done, am doing to him. And for what? Do I take him overseas for an adventure, for his bettering, for him to experience and enjoy what the amazing wide beautiful world and it's people has to offer?
Or is it for my pride?
Is it for me to say, hey, look what I can do? Look at this killer single mum jettsetting all over the place. Look how cultured that little boy is, his mum must be SO amazing, wow and she does it all by herself?
I can't do this all by myself. I, in actual fact, probably shouldn't do this all by myself.
We all need a voice of reason, and I've lost mine somewhere along the way of self righteous ideologies and experience and only living once and being brave..
Because right now brave is the last thing that I'm feeling.
And my beautiful boy has been lost in my cross fire.
And I just want to go home, wishing I was not the cause for his first all-nighter. Wishing it was an important piece of homework, or a party that I wished he hand't gone to or a girl.
But instead it was me.
And all my tears have gotten us is a better seat on the delayed plane.
Harper's tears have broken my heart and I just wish I could take it all back.
Thank the Lord, Buddha, Allah, Krishna, Aphrodite, Venus and all whom you may hold holy, he has just snuggled into my shoulder for the last ten minutes of the flight.
He loves me, yet.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
The best medicine...
The best medicine for the current world craziness is to take a temporary, yet all incompassing, Lock Down. I talk of course of December, and all that it brings. The Jelly Bean and I are in Lock Down for today. I have gone outside to put rubbish in the bin and hang out some washing. I may take him across the road to the school park later if it stops raining. But that is IT, my friends. We are not goin anywhere. We are not calling anyone. We are not seeing anyone (not counting Mum and Dad that dropped in for a cuppa earlier today).
This entry may be a little stream of consciousness due to afore mentioned December and my resulting lack of normal brain function. Let's just go with it, yeah?
I have discovered, through facebook status updates, that although December has been a tad stressful for me, other people are in way deeper than I am. People are at major shopping centres before I've even had breakfast - and with a Jelly Bean, breakfast in our house is a pretty early affair - even on weekends. People are in a mad rush to buy all their Christmas presents on one day. They are spending and stressing and freaking the fuck out.
I really don't like shopping. Particularly at shopping centres. I'll go to them when I have something specific that I want or need. And often if there is something specific that I want or need I can get it cheaper online anyway. I do like shopping in supermarkets, I love buying ingredients to cook yummy things. I like shopping at markets and op shops because the things at the stalls are interesting. Or crap. But they're usually different from the things at the shops. And I don't like how you see people in groups of friends that all are dressed the same, irrespective of their fashion choices, colour schemes, sizes or shapes, they all look the same.
Sometimes the reactions from others akin this to me being a traitor to my gender but I find it tedious. I get nervous. I buy things I never had any intention of buying. I'm not saying I have no will power, but there is a reason that capitalist societies flourish financially. Advertising. It costs businesses a lot of money to advertise and there's a reason for that. It works. I hate shopping centres because I inevitably always buy something on the spur of the moment, and to tell you the truth, I'd rather save my money for overseas adventures.
While eating my early breakfast today, I was looking at a Christmas card given to me from a lovely friend. On the front was a big cartoon-y Santa with his arm around an equally cartoon-y Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Santa had a present wrapped in the convetional way, box, ribbon, colour co-ordination, killer perfect bow on top. They both look so happy. The box was not big enough for a PS3 or a new tv. It was not big enough for a vase or a bike or a new handbag. It was too small for an outdoor setting. It wouldn't fit a new hat or a painting. I suppose it would have enough room for a new iPhone or iPod or some jewellery. But I think Santa was giving Rudolph something more special than stuff.
Maybe it had a Treasure Map folded up inside, and Rudolph had to go on a midnight hunt for the treasure. Or maybe a photo of the two of them for Rudolph's desk at work. Or it might have held a small shell, pebble and coin that Rudolph looked at and teared up because Santa had remembered that special day they had spent together at the beach in Norway many years ago. And Rudolph was absolutely going to put these on his desk at work.
But they were happy.
I don't think that Santa is giving the Jelly Bean many presents this year. There are a few, I assume, that will make the Jelly Bean light up. There are a couple of educational ones (Santa knows how much the Jelly Bean's mama values education) and possibly some new pants. But they will all fit into the magic Santa bag that I made when the Bean was a baby.
It's giant and made of red and white stripy material. The first year I hand sewed his name on the bag in Giant green letters. The second year I sewed on a Christmas tree with buttons for decorations. Last year I sewed on a jelly fish that was reminscent of the jelly fish christmas tree decoration that he had made at creche (the others made paper link tinsel stuff, my spunk made a jelly fish). This year I asked him what he would like, he's getting a dinosaur.
'An Apatosaurus please, Mama.'
I'm not religious. I feel spiritual stuff from time to time, I believe in the soul and the nature of humans and a bit of a collective consciousness, but I don't abide by a set of dogma, except for maybe a strong sense of Karma. I participate in Christmas now because I have a little person, because I have parents and I like cooking and eating yummy food. I've been making friends presents now for a few years and that way I can afford to give many of them something, whereas if I had to go shopping, only a very select few would get anything. That is just the nature of things.
I think if Jesus was around today, saying the things that he said, someone would put him in a centre for the mentally unstable. No one would believe his prophet/son of god thing, and that's ok. We can all choose to believe what we want. I'm happy to say happy birthday. But we don't get around going crazy and spending heaps of cash for the Queen's birthday. We all get a bit pissed on the Sunday night or go away for the long weekend or have a bbq or hang out with friends. And she's still alive.
So during Lock Down we have ticked a few things off the list of items on the crazy December list (to be perfectly honest, I keep losing my list, but the things that I remembered from the original, are slowly getting ticked off). Today already we/I have had breakfast and later lunch, vaccuumed, made White Christmas (one of the fab presents!), done the dishes, washed and hung out a load of washing and folded and put away another load, taken out the rubbish, wiped the bench, gotten the paperwork sorted for our trip, set up future dated payments rent and bills for while we're away and dusted behind the TV. We did this while we listened to The Doors, Credence and the Forrest Gump soundtrack - as I was inspired by the awesome soundtrack of the film I watched last night - The Boat That Rocked.
The Jelly Bean has since confided in me that he doesn't like 'that woman singing that song about "Blowing in the window"' (Read 'wind' and assume Joan Baez) but he does like The Doors especially 'LA Woman' and especially not 'The End' (heathen) and he does like Credence for dancing to on the Turkish rug.
I have also listened a little more closely to the lyrics of some of these rockin' songs from the 60s and 70s and find that if written today, many others may have been hang with the J-Man in the centre for the mentally unstable, and I note -
Three Dog Night - 'Joy to the World':
'Jeremiah was a bull frog, he was a good friend of mine
I never understood a single word he said, but I helped him drink his wine'
B.J. Thomas - 'Raindrops keep falling on My Head'
'So I just did me some talking to the sun,
And I said I didn't like the way he got things done,
Sleepin' on the job'
And my favourite and absolutely the most puzzling,
The Byrds - 'Turn! Turn! Turn!':
'A time to dance a time to mourn,
A time to cast away stones,
A time to gather stones together'
The Jelly Bean is now having a nap because he's exhausted. I've called to order the need for the Lock Down because the poor dear keeps falling asleep at weird and extended intervals. He needs a day in tracky dacks listening to some killer tunes.
In fact, we all do.
Things The Bean has said:
I was doing Yoga on the Turkish rug.
TB: Wow, good job, Mama.
Me-(upside down, doing downward facing dog, getting quite red in the face and exhaling all at the same time): Thanks baby.
TB: That's a very good grasshopper.
This entry may be a little stream of consciousness due to afore mentioned December and my resulting lack of normal brain function. Let's just go with it, yeah?
I have discovered, through facebook status updates, that although December has been a tad stressful for me, other people are in way deeper than I am. People are at major shopping centres before I've even had breakfast - and with a Jelly Bean, breakfast in our house is a pretty early affair - even on weekends. People are in a mad rush to buy all their Christmas presents on one day. They are spending and stressing and freaking the fuck out.
I really don't like shopping. Particularly at shopping centres. I'll go to them when I have something specific that I want or need. And often if there is something specific that I want or need I can get it cheaper online anyway. I do like shopping in supermarkets, I love buying ingredients to cook yummy things. I like shopping at markets and op shops because the things at the stalls are interesting. Or crap. But they're usually different from the things at the shops. And I don't like how you see people in groups of friends that all are dressed the same, irrespective of their fashion choices, colour schemes, sizes or shapes, they all look the same.
Sometimes the reactions from others akin this to me being a traitor to my gender but I find it tedious. I get nervous. I buy things I never had any intention of buying. I'm not saying I have no will power, but there is a reason that capitalist societies flourish financially. Advertising. It costs businesses a lot of money to advertise and there's a reason for that. It works. I hate shopping centres because I inevitably always buy something on the spur of the moment, and to tell you the truth, I'd rather save my money for overseas adventures.
While eating my early breakfast today, I was looking at a Christmas card given to me from a lovely friend. On the front was a big cartoon-y Santa with his arm around an equally cartoon-y Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Santa had a present wrapped in the convetional way, box, ribbon, colour co-ordination, killer perfect bow on top. They both look so happy. The box was not big enough for a PS3 or a new tv. It was not big enough for a vase or a bike or a new handbag. It was too small for an outdoor setting. It wouldn't fit a new hat or a painting. I suppose it would have enough room for a new iPhone or iPod or some jewellery. But I think Santa was giving Rudolph something more special than stuff.
Maybe it had a Treasure Map folded up inside, and Rudolph had to go on a midnight hunt for the treasure. Or maybe a photo of the two of them for Rudolph's desk at work. Or it might have held a small shell, pebble and coin that Rudolph looked at and teared up because Santa had remembered that special day they had spent together at the beach in Norway many years ago. And Rudolph was absolutely going to put these on his desk at work.
But they were happy.
I don't think that Santa is giving the Jelly Bean many presents this year. There are a few, I assume, that will make the Jelly Bean light up. There are a couple of educational ones (Santa knows how much the Jelly Bean's mama values education) and possibly some new pants. But they will all fit into the magic Santa bag that I made when the Bean was a baby.
It's giant and made of red and white stripy material. The first year I hand sewed his name on the bag in Giant green letters. The second year I sewed on a Christmas tree with buttons for decorations. Last year I sewed on a jelly fish that was reminscent of the jelly fish christmas tree decoration that he had made at creche (the others made paper link tinsel stuff, my spunk made a jelly fish). This year I asked him what he would like, he's getting a dinosaur.
'An Apatosaurus please, Mama.'
I'm not religious. I feel spiritual stuff from time to time, I believe in the soul and the nature of humans and a bit of a collective consciousness, but I don't abide by a set of dogma, except for maybe a strong sense of Karma. I participate in Christmas now because I have a little person, because I have parents and I like cooking and eating yummy food. I've been making friends presents now for a few years and that way I can afford to give many of them something, whereas if I had to go shopping, only a very select few would get anything. That is just the nature of things.
I think if Jesus was around today, saying the things that he said, someone would put him in a centre for the mentally unstable. No one would believe his prophet/son of god thing, and that's ok. We can all choose to believe what we want. I'm happy to say happy birthday. But we don't get around going crazy and spending heaps of cash for the Queen's birthday. We all get a bit pissed on the Sunday night or go away for the long weekend or have a bbq or hang out with friends. And she's still alive.
So during Lock Down we have ticked a few things off the list of items on the crazy December list (to be perfectly honest, I keep losing my list, but the things that I remembered from the original, are slowly getting ticked off). Today already we/I have had breakfast and later lunch, vaccuumed, made White Christmas (one of the fab presents!), done the dishes, washed and hung out a load of washing and folded and put away another load, taken out the rubbish, wiped the bench, gotten the paperwork sorted for our trip, set up future dated payments rent and bills for while we're away and dusted behind the TV. We did this while we listened to The Doors, Credence and the Forrest Gump soundtrack - as I was inspired by the awesome soundtrack of the film I watched last night - The Boat That Rocked.
The Jelly Bean has since confided in me that he doesn't like 'that woman singing that song about "Blowing in the window"' (Read 'wind' and assume Joan Baez) but he does like The Doors especially 'LA Woman' and especially not 'The End' (heathen) and he does like Credence for dancing to on the Turkish rug.
I have also listened a little more closely to the lyrics of some of these rockin' songs from the 60s and 70s and find that if written today, many others may have been hang with the J-Man in the centre for the mentally unstable, and I note -
Three Dog Night - 'Joy to the World':
'Jeremiah was a bull frog, he was a good friend of mine
I never understood a single word he said, but I helped him drink his wine'
B.J. Thomas - 'Raindrops keep falling on My Head'
'So I just did me some talking to the sun,
And I said I didn't like the way he got things done,
Sleepin' on the job'
And my favourite and absolutely the most puzzling,
The Byrds - 'Turn! Turn! Turn!':
'A time to dance a time to mourn,
A time to cast away stones,
A time to gather stones together'
The Jelly Bean is now having a nap because he's exhausted. I've called to order the need for the Lock Down because the poor dear keeps falling asleep at weird and extended intervals. He needs a day in tracky dacks listening to some killer tunes.
In fact, we all do.
Things The Bean has said:
I was doing Yoga on the Turkish rug.
TB: Wow, good job, Mama.
Me-(upside down, doing downward facing dog, getting quite red in the face and exhaling all at the same time): Thanks baby.
TB: That's a very good grasshopper.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
I am Jack's raging bile duct...
On Saturday morning I sent a text message to a couple of my nearest and dearest. It was a thank you message with the sentiments one sends to those that are always on the end of the phone when one needs to vent, which, lately, has been very often. I thanked them for being there and stated, as publicly and with as much intent as I could muster, that I was no longer interested in complaining about my misfortunes. That I was going to be cool, honey bunny. That I was done with Nancy Negative Pants.
As I only live with a nearing 4 year old, I have little venting opportunities at home, and although I tend not to whine about the little things - "that effing guy cut me off", "I can't believe what they did to her/me/you/him" or "and then she said... And I was like... And then, can you believe it, she was like..."
I'd gotten past holding onto that useless little stuff a while ago, maybe when I found my inner Zen garden in Malaysia in July.
However, the big dramatic stuff - the occupation stress, the occupation pressure, the family politics, the daughter-ing, the parenting guilt, the financial worries, the guilt about asking for babysitters too often with the impending festivities and the impending festivities has been cause for me to feel like a total whiney pants.
And today was my breaking point. I called my cousin and balled like a baby sitting in my car at the car park at work. I blurted it all out and am sure, now, that none of it made any sense.
I've had tears more often in the past week than I care to admit, or that is usual. I have spent more time on facebook than I proclaim to be healthy, I google irrelevant stuff, I look up parenting websites that only augment the parent guilt that is one of the key factors in my need to whine.
Whining = boring.
My nearing 4 year old is pushing every button he's ever found and then some. I feel as though every second time I open my mouth I'm snapping at him. And all the other times I'm apologising for snapping at him.
I am Jack's Medulla Oblongata.
But what're ya gonna do?
Ride it out and hope that he can afford therapy when he's in his thirties. Or that I get it right more times than I get it wrong. Or that I put him in stasis for every December from now until he moves out of home so that my life as a teacher/mother/daughter/provider/sister/friend plus co-conspirator in all things tinsel won't be experienced by his gorgeous little Jelly Bean squishy little face.
I don't want him to be Jack's broken heart.
Things The Bean has said:
Dinner time, day before shopping day with little items of interest in the cupboard and/or fridge.
Me: What would you like for dinner?
TB: Um, Special Orange Soup.
Me: Sorry love, we haven't got any Special Orange Soup.
TB: Oh, I KNOW! How about Sausage Rolls?!
Me: Nup, we haven't got any of them either.
TB: Yeah you do.
Me: No honey, I don't. Sorry. What about Special Cheesey Eggs?
TB: Oh no, I can't have Special Cheesey Eggs.
Me: Why not?
TB: Cause my finger's very sore.
As I only live with a nearing 4 year old, I have little venting opportunities at home, and although I tend not to whine about the little things - "that effing guy cut me off", "I can't believe what they did to her/me/you/him" or "and then she said... And I was like... And then, can you believe it, she was like..."
I'd gotten past holding onto that useless little stuff a while ago, maybe when I found my inner Zen garden in Malaysia in July.
However, the big dramatic stuff - the occupation stress, the occupation pressure, the family politics, the daughter-ing, the parenting guilt, the financial worries, the guilt about asking for babysitters too often with the impending festivities and the impending festivities has been cause for me to feel like a total whiney pants.
And today was my breaking point. I called my cousin and balled like a baby sitting in my car at the car park at work. I blurted it all out and am sure, now, that none of it made any sense.
I've had tears more often in the past week than I care to admit, or that is usual. I have spent more time on facebook than I proclaim to be healthy, I google irrelevant stuff, I look up parenting websites that only augment the parent guilt that is one of the key factors in my need to whine.
Whining = boring.
The complaining has reached plague proportions. Even with mindfulness and awareness of one's thoughts, this one, has lost the Zen garden, lost the ability to hold my tongue, has been a total snap dragon to my son.
My nearing 4 year old is pushing every button he's ever found and then some. I feel as though every second time I open my mouth I'm snapping at him. And all the other times I'm apologising for snapping at him.
I am Jack's Medulla Oblongata.
But what're ya gonna do?
Ride it out and hope that he can afford therapy when he's in his thirties. Or that I get it right more times than I get it wrong. Or that I put him in stasis for every December from now until he moves out of home so that my life as a teacher/mother/daughter/provider/sister/friend plus co-conspirator in all things tinsel won't be experienced by his gorgeous little Jelly Bean squishy little face.
I don't want him to be Jack's broken heart.
Things The Bean has said:
Dinner time, day before shopping day with little items of interest in the cupboard and/or fridge.
Me: What would you like for dinner?
TB: Um, Special Orange Soup.
Me: Sorry love, we haven't got any Special Orange Soup.
TB: Oh, I KNOW! How about Sausage Rolls?!
Me: Nup, we haven't got any of them either.
TB: Yeah you do.
Me: No honey, I don't. Sorry. What about Special Cheesey Eggs?
TB: Oh no, I can't have Special Cheesey Eggs.
Me: Why not?
TB: Cause my finger's very sore.
I had hurt my back roller skating. I was lying down on the lounge room floor, trying to stretch it out. This went on for a few days.
TB: Mama, why are you lying on the ground?
Me: My back's sore, remember?
TB: I'll go get you a face washer.
Me: Oh thanks, babe, but a face washer isn't going to fix it 'cause it's sore on the inside.
TB: Well, you'll have to put it on the inside, Mama.
Me: How can we put a face washer under Mama's skin?
TB: You'll have to open it.
Me: Hahahah
TB: And then I'll give you that yucky medicine to make you feel better.
I smile. He runs into his bedroom. Returns with the tea set.
TB: And here you go Mama, I made you a cup of tea to make your back not sore anymore.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Silly bloody season!
Here are the three main reasons why December = Silly.
1. The Jelly Bean is sick again. I've had a day off work because he's sick again. I had a day off work only a couple of weeks ago. I've spoken to my mum, she thinks he should see a naturopath. I've consulted the wisdom of google, the questions from other parents, the complaints and diatribes of people SO obsessed with anti-bacterial/non wheat/allergy free latex lifestyles, it makes me tired just thinking about it.
It seems, from my thorough, objective and humble research that it's fairly normal. Little people, anywhere between the ages of 12 months to 6 years seem to catch every bug that thinks about entering their breathing space. And if these bugs think about it while the little people are recovering from the last bug that thought about it, then two bugs fight it out to the death. The 'death' can mean any number of things, but the general list of bug 'deaths'/symptoms of feralness attacking my son include - snot (variants from clear to white to yellow to luminescent-toxic-waste-dump-fluoro-uranium type green), cough to junky cough (???), fever, sadness, only wanting their own mama, noisy mouth breathing, lack of the ability to say D's and N's at appropriate times and desire to watch Playschool, the Cars movie and to annoy the bollocks out of me. Bless him, hope he feels better soon!
2. We are fast approaching Christmas, I haven't finished making all the presents I was making for people. I decided to makes presents instead of buying presents as excess cash is not one of my life complaints, however, the making of presents has become a stress factor. I understand my thought processes were wonderful, if you make something for someone it means more, you put tiume and effort into it, they have something personal, etcetera etcetera. However, in telling myself I'm making something (and trust me, this is less stressful than going christmas shopping, I hate shopping at the best of times), I'm putting pressure on to get it all done by a deadline. You know, the excess time and effort.
I'm a teacher. I give deadlines ALL the time. Ones that my teenagers tend not to adhere to so very often.
And when I'm a student, I always leave things to the last minute. But in December, the last minute isn't even the 25th of December. The last minute starts when Christmas parties start. When you won't see such and such a friend after the 12th. Or the 16th.
So I have a rolling deadline, every few days.
Christmas, lasts for a WHOLE month!
3. We leave for Malaysia again on the 30th of December. That, today, is only 23 sleeps away but instead of the excitement I deep down feel, I am making little piles of things I need to do between now and then. I figure that the last few days after Christmas will be my organising to go away few days. Hopefully it doesn't rain so much so that I can get some washing dry.
But I have my malaria tablets in a little pile with the new sunscreen I bought the other day and the tropical strength roll on insect repellent.
Oh you poor poor baby, tropical holiday for three and a half weeks after Christmas. What a difficult life you must lead...
Ok, I'll stop whingeing now.
And tend to my luminscent son's face. It's started to crust up a bit on the right hand side...
Things The Bean has said:
He has a 'fishing' game that has fish and other sea creatures cut out of wood, in a wooden box. Each of the sea creatures has a little steel button type thing on the back to as to 'fish' them out of the box with the magnetic fishing rod. The Bean also has a similar jigsaw thing with bugs on the wooden cut outs that have the same steel button-y things. Logically, that means, in our house, we fish for fish, crabs, seahorses and jellyfish at the same time that we fish for bugs, butterflies, busy bees and the like.
It was The Bean's turn, in this case, I tell him which creature to pick up with the fishing rod. When it's my turn he tells me which creature. (Hours of entertainment!)
Me: Can you pick up the black and yellow stripey fish?
TB, tongue hanging out, fishing with one hand (them's the rules, no guiding the string with the other hand allowed) picks it up and puts it in my hand.
Me: You got it! Well done!
TB: Thanks, Mama, your turn.
TB: Mama, can you pick up the brown dolf?
Me: Huh? What's a dolf?
TB: The brown dolf, Mama. (Pointing)
Me: Hahahahahahah!
Me: Do you mean the brown golf?
TB: Yeah, that brown dolf right there.
Me: It's not a golf babe, it's a cricket.
1. The Jelly Bean is sick again. I've had a day off work because he's sick again. I had a day off work only a couple of weeks ago. I've spoken to my mum, she thinks he should see a naturopath. I've consulted the wisdom of google, the questions from other parents, the complaints and diatribes of people SO obsessed with anti-bacterial/non wheat/allergy free latex lifestyles, it makes me tired just thinking about it.
It seems, from my thorough, objective and humble research that it's fairly normal. Little people, anywhere between the ages of 12 months to 6 years seem to catch every bug that thinks about entering their breathing space. And if these bugs think about it while the little people are recovering from the last bug that thought about it, then two bugs fight it out to the death. The 'death' can mean any number of things, but the general list of bug 'deaths'/symptoms of feralness attacking my son include - snot (variants from clear to white to yellow to luminescent-toxic-waste-dump-fluoro-uranium type green), cough to junky cough (???), fever, sadness, only wanting their own mama, noisy mouth breathing, lack of the ability to say D's and N's at appropriate times and desire to watch Playschool, the Cars movie and to annoy the bollocks out of me. Bless him, hope he feels better soon!
2. We are fast approaching Christmas, I haven't finished making all the presents I was making for people. I decided to makes presents instead of buying presents as excess cash is not one of my life complaints, however, the making of presents has become a stress factor. I understand my thought processes were wonderful, if you make something for someone it means more, you put tiume and effort into it, they have something personal, etcetera etcetera. However, in telling myself I'm making something (and trust me, this is less stressful than going christmas shopping, I hate shopping at the best of times), I'm putting pressure on to get it all done by a deadline. You know, the excess time and effort.
I'm a teacher. I give deadlines ALL the time. Ones that my teenagers tend not to adhere to so very often.
And when I'm a student, I always leave things to the last minute. But in December, the last minute isn't even the 25th of December. The last minute starts when Christmas parties start. When you won't see such and such a friend after the 12th. Or the 16th.
So I have a rolling deadline, every few days.
Christmas, lasts for a WHOLE month!
3. We leave for Malaysia again on the 30th of December. That, today, is only 23 sleeps away but instead of the excitement I deep down feel, I am making little piles of things I need to do between now and then. I figure that the last few days after Christmas will be my organising to go away few days. Hopefully it doesn't rain so much so that I can get some washing dry.
But I have my malaria tablets in a little pile with the new sunscreen I bought the other day and the tropical strength roll on insect repellent.
Oh you poor poor baby, tropical holiday for three and a half weeks after Christmas. What a difficult life you must lead...
Ok, I'll stop whingeing now.
And tend to my luminscent son's face. It's started to crust up a bit on the right hand side...
Things The Bean has said:
He has a 'fishing' game that has fish and other sea creatures cut out of wood, in a wooden box. Each of the sea creatures has a little steel button type thing on the back to as to 'fish' them out of the box with the magnetic fishing rod. The Bean also has a similar jigsaw thing with bugs on the wooden cut outs that have the same steel button-y things. Logically, that means, in our house, we fish for fish, crabs, seahorses and jellyfish at the same time that we fish for bugs, butterflies, busy bees and the like.
It was The Bean's turn, in this case, I tell him which creature to pick up with the fishing rod. When it's my turn he tells me which creature. (Hours of entertainment!)
Me: Can you pick up the black and yellow stripey fish?
TB, tongue hanging out, fishing with one hand (them's the rules, no guiding the string with the other hand allowed) picks it up and puts it in my hand.
Me: You got it! Well done!
TB: Thanks, Mama, your turn.
TB: Mama, can you pick up the brown dolf?
Me: Huh? What's a dolf?
TB: The brown dolf, Mama. (Pointing)
Me: Hahahahahahah!
Me: Do you mean the brown golf?
TB: Yeah, that brown dolf right there.
Me: It's not a golf babe, it's a cricket.
Friday, November 26, 2010
The Green Butterfly Part II
As promised, photos of my BEAUTIFUL Green Butterfly Jelly Bean!
And as it started to go a little pear shaped - ie. we had an argument about him putting his hands down his pants in every photo.
Things The Bean has said:
As I am turning lights off and we are walking out the door, kitted up as A Green Butterfly.
TB: Mama, I don't want to be a butterfly anymore. I want to be a racing car.
Me: You are dressed up, you are going as a Green Butterfly! (read completely exasperated tone)
TB: I'm not a Green Butterfly, anymore, I'm a racing car.
Me: Well you sure look like a Green Butterfly to me.
TB: I look like a butterfly, but I'm really a racing car.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
The Green Butterfly - Part I
The Jelly Bean's creche is having a dress up day tomorrow. I was talking to a couple of others at work the other day and asked them what on earth I was going to get him to dress up in. The sign reporting the dress up day also clearly stated 'No Superheroes' (they kill people, see).
Pirates were ok, I was told. And considering the area, I'm sure there are going to be a few soldiers.. But I digress...
The Jelly Bean owns a Batman costume. But that is not in the rules. The other girls at work suggested a rock star, a pirate, I suggested a ghost. I was thinking of the stuff we had at home, these three options were do-able.
This morning I told the Jelly Bean that he was having a dress up day at creche. Instead of suggestions, I asked him what he wanted to be...
TB: A butterfly.
Me: Oh cool, what colour butterfly would you like to be?
TB: A Green Butterfly, please.
(Such good manners)
Me: We'll have to go buy you some wings. What if they don't have green wings, what colour would you like?
The Bean looked confused.
TB: I want to be a green butterfly, Mama.
Me: Yeah I know, but if they don't have any green wings, what colour would you choose next?
TB: Ummmmmm, yellow.
Me: OK, yellow, just in case.
TB: No please, not yellow, I want green.
We went to swimming. He got in trouble and got sent out of the pool for not doing good listening. He waited patiently then burst into tears and refused to go back into the pool. He chucked a tanty getting changed. I was about to veto the butterfly wings.
But I felt that I had to keep my side of the bargain.
And here is where the admission of shame comes in.
I wanted to be the cool mum that let's her little boy dress up as anything he wants. I wanted to be the cool mum that supports her son in anything he wants to be, to grow to be, to choose to be.
I wanted to be that mum.
So I HAD to get the butterfly wings. They didn't have green ones. They didn't have yellow ones, either.
We got blue ones. And we got some green Christmas decorations and some green shiny string stuff and with the wings came a head band (it was for girls of course) so I put green Christmas baubles onto the wire at the end of the headband and made antennae. I stuck baubles onto the wings and some string and made the wings as green and butterfly-y as possible. I got an old green singlet of his and I painted black stripes onto it. I took the black pants out of his Batman costume and he is going to wear them as insect-y legs.
I'm going to take pictures.
I'm going to be so proud of him.
We had to go to the supermarket and we saw a friend of mine while we were down there. The Bean of course, wanted to wear his new wings and antennae and he looked adorable. But I was so ready for someone to shoot him down. To ask if he was a fairy.
I had my defensive finger on the trigger, just waiting for someone to have a go at him. Or me for letting him be him.
And then I realised, this was more about me than it was about him. Two old ladies told him how good he looked. One person asked if he was a spaceman. Another woman told him to be careful because in the wind, he might just blow away on a day like today.
The friend of mine that we saw told him he was a 'very spunky butterfly'.
Then I started rambling.
And I might have even told a white lie.
Me (paraphrased - but you'll get the idea): I know, he's a butterfly, they've got a dress up day at creche tomorrow and I asked him if he wanted to be a pirate or a rock star, we have a ukelele at home, he could've taken a guitar, but he said he wanted to be a butterfly, so I was like, cool, what colour butterfly babe? and he said a green butterfly mama but they didn't have any green wings, or yellow wings which was his second choice, so we got blue ones instead....
My friend to The Bean: Your mama is SO clever making your wings more green so you can be a green butterfly, hey?
TB: Yup.
And then, later on, I called my mum to tell her how freaked out I am about an effing mouse that is plaguing my house at the moment, but ended up telling her about the green butterfly and the ramble started again although I didn't tell her any lies, I just told her that if anyone thinks he's gay they can get rooted and if they have anything to say then that is their problem. And she agreed and said whatever makes him happy and if I'm ok with that then that's fine, too.
And then I felt like she was having a go at him. I got off the phone before we could have an argument.
I love him. I want him to be happy. I don't want his life to be about me. I don't want to push him either way to make any decisions he doesn't think are right for him.
Now I'm in tears because he wanted to be a green butterfly and I've become THAT mum.
Not the supportive one, the cool, calm, accepting, ace one. Not the one that doesn't see gender, that doesn't hold stake in gender roles, sexual preferences, identity of sexual preference or gender at not even four years old. Instead I'm THAT mum. The awful, opposite of all that I outwardly represent.
The hypocrite one.
The militant one.
Things The Bean has said.
TB: A,B,C,D,E,F,G. H,I,J,K,ELemendede, P,Q,R,S - W, X,Y and Z now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me.
(I keep waiting to see if he'll include T,U,V and I wait til the last micro second to interject and say T,U,V but he always gets to W before I can do it. Timing is everything I'm told..)
In the car.
TB: Mama, I'd like a boat.
Me: Really?
TB: Yup.
Me: But I can't afford a boat, baby.
TB - BLANK STARE
Me: I don't have enough money for a boat.
TB: Yeah, ya do.
Pirates were ok, I was told. And considering the area, I'm sure there are going to be a few soldiers.. But I digress...
The Jelly Bean owns a Batman costume. But that is not in the rules. The other girls at work suggested a rock star, a pirate, I suggested a ghost. I was thinking of the stuff we had at home, these three options were do-able.
This morning I told the Jelly Bean that he was having a dress up day at creche. Instead of suggestions, I asked him what he wanted to be...
TB: A butterfly.
Me: Oh cool, what colour butterfly would you like to be?
TB: A Green Butterfly, please.
(Such good manners)
Me: We'll have to go buy you some wings. What if they don't have green wings, what colour would you like?
The Bean looked confused.
TB: I want to be a green butterfly, Mama.
Me: Yeah I know, but if they don't have any green wings, what colour would you choose next?
TB: Ummmmmm, yellow.
Me: OK, yellow, just in case.
TB: No please, not yellow, I want green.
We went to swimming. He got in trouble and got sent out of the pool for not doing good listening. He waited patiently then burst into tears and refused to go back into the pool. He chucked a tanty getting changed. I was about to veto the butterfly wings.
But I felt that I had to keep my side of the bargain.
And here is where the admission of shame comes in.
I wanted to be the cool mum that let's her little boy dress up as anything he wants. I wanted to be the cool mum that supports her son in anything he wants to be, to grow to be, to choose to be.
I wanted to be that mum.
So I HAD to get the butterfly wings. They didn't have green ones. They didn't have yellow ones, either.
We got blue ones. And we got some green Christmas decorations and some green shiny string stuff and with the wings came a head band (it was for girls of course) so I put green Christmas baubles onto the wire at the end of the headband and made antennae. I stuck baubles onto the wings and some string and made the wings as green and butterfly-y as possible. I got an old green singlet of his and I painted black stripes onto it. I took the black pants out of his Batman costume and he is going to wear them as insect-y legs.
I'm going to take pictures.
I'm going to be so proud of him.
We had to go to the supermarket and we saw a friend of mine while we were down there. The Bean of course, wanted to wear his new wings and antennae and he looked adorable. But I was so ready for someone to shoot him down. To ask if he was a fairy.
I had my defensive finger on the trigger, just waiting for someone to have a go at him. Or me for letting him be him.
And then I realised, this was more about me than it was about him. Two old ladies told him how good he looked. One person asked if he was a spaceman. Another woman told him to be careful because in the wind, he might just blow away on a day like today.
The friend of mine that we saw told him he was a 'very spunky butterfly'.
Then I started rambling.
And I might have even told a white lie.
Me (paraphrased - but you'll get the idea): I know, he's a butterfly, they've got a dress up day at creche tomorrow and I asked him if he wanted to be a pirate or a rock star, we have a ukelele at home, he could've taken a guitar, but he said he wanted to be a butterfly, so I was like, cool, what colour butterfly babe? and he said a green butterfly mama but they didn't have any green wings, or yellow wings which was his second choice, so we got blue ones instead....
My friend to The Bean: Your mama is SO clever making your wings more green so you can be a green butterfly, hey?
TB: Yup.
And then, later on, I called my mum to tell her how freaked out I am about an effing mouse that is plaguing my house at the moment, but ended up telling her about the green butterfly and the ramble started again although I didn't tell her any lies, I just told her that if anyone thinks he's gay they can get rooted and if they have anything to say then that is their problem. And she agreed and said whatever makes him happy and if I'm ok with that then that's fine, too.
And then I felt like she was having a go at him. I got off the phone before we could have an argument.
I love him. I want him to be happy. I don't want his life to be about me. I don't want to push him either way to make any decisions he doesn't think are right for him.
Now I'm in tears because he wanted to be a green butterfly and I've become THAT mum.
Not the supportive one, the cool, calm, accepting, ace one. Not the one that doesn't see gender, that doesn't hold stake in gender roles, sexual preferences, identity of sexual preference or gender at not even four years old. Instead I'm THAT mum. The awful, opposite of all that I outwardly represent.
The hypocrite one.
The militant one.
Things The Bean has said.
TB: A,B,C,D,E,F,G. H,I,J,K,ELemendede, P,Q,R,S - W, X,Y and Z now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me.
(I keep waiting to see if he'll include T,U,V and I wait til the last micro second to interject and say T,U,V but he always gets to W before I can do it. Timing is everything I'm told..)
In the car.
TB: Mama, I'd like a boat.
Me: Really?
TB: Yup.
Me: But I can't afford a boat, baby.
TB - BLANK STARE
Me: I don't have enough money for a boat.
TB: Yeah, ya do.
Monday, November 22, 2010
The approaching 4 factor...
This is where we're at...
The Jelly Bean argues every point. I am in constant battle with the 'approaching 4 year old' logic and I lose more often than I win.
The Jelly Bean's favourite quotes within these battle of wits, strike that, battle of logics, are -
'No!'
'I don't want to!'
'But I want it/to do *that*/to eat this lollipop NOW!'
'Did you hear what I said?'
'Are you listening to my words?'
'MAMA!!!!!!!!!!'
'But I AM being a nice boy/friendly/talking nicely to you/using my manners!'
Tears also are in abundance.
As is the phrase when he wants attention or for me to stop doing something that I'm interested in/involved with/working on -
'I just want you.'
And how can one react to that other than to drop everything and pick him up and give him cuddles and tell him that I'm here. I'll always be here. I love him, so.
Emotional blackmail works a treat for the approaching 4 year old.
We've implemented a new tool. I have drawn up a chart and stuck it with a magnet to the side of the washing machine. He can see this chart when he cleans his teeth. It has a column for smiley faces and a column for sad faces. If he fills a row with smiley faces he can have a treat - a trip to the cool park, an icy pole, to make some cookies, to play with a friend. But if he fills up a column with sad faces he's not allowed to go to swimming and I can take one of his favourite toys away. We haven't filled up either column yet, but the threat of the sad faces seems to be working well.
Until this morning when I asked him if he wanted a sad face for being silly and jumping on the couch. He said, 'Yes please. I'd like a sad face.' Then promptly walked into the bathroom waiting for a sad face.
Touché
At times like this all one can reasonably do is lie on the couch or on one's bed and look out the window at the swishy tree outside.
Things The Bean has said:
When looking at the swishy tree.
Me: Baby, can you see that birdy in the swishy tree.
TB: Yup. Where is it?
Me: On that branch.
TB: Hey Mama. There's a rhino.
Me: In the tree?
TB: No, Mama. It's a rhino pig.
Me: A rhino pig?
TB: Hmmm.
Me: Does it have a rhino face.
TB: Yeah.
Me: And a pig body.
TB: No Mama, not a pig body. A rhino body.
Me: So it's a rhino.
TB: No it's a rhino pig.
I was cooking. The Bean, from the lounge room -
TB: Mama, my name's not Jelly Bean anymore. I'm just Relax.
Me: Oh really? Your name's Relax or you are relaxed?
TB: Yup, I'm Relax, it's my racing car name.
We'd had some friends over in the afternoon, we'd eaten dips and other assorted snacks. After saying goodbye I'd come inside, gone to the loo and then to my room to get changed into my non-company tracky dacks. I'd been out of sight for maybe 2 minutes.
TB: Mama, I ate all your biscuits!
One morning I was dozing in bed while The Bean was playing with his cars. He'd eaten breakfast but had started nagging me to get up, from the lounge room.
TB: Mama, can you listen to my words?!
Me: Hmmmm.
TB: Mama, you have a big stretch and then I'll come in and talk to you.
The Jelly Bean argues every point. I am in constant battle with the 'approaching 4 year old' logic and I lose more often than I win.
The Jelly Bean's favourite quotes within these battle of wits, strike that, battle of logics, are -
'No!'
'I don't want to!'
'But I want it/to do *that*/to eat this lollipop NOW!'
'Did you hear what I said?'
'Are you listening to my words?'
'MAMA!!!!!!!!!!'
'But I AM being a nice boy/friendly/talking nicely to you/using my manners!'
Tears also are in abundance.
As is the phrase when he wants attention or for me to stop doing something that I'm interested in/involved with/working on -
'I just want you.'
And how can one react to that other than to drop everything and pick him up and give him cuddles and tell him that I'm here. I'll always be here. I love him, so.
Emotional blackmail works a treat for the approaching 4 year old.
We've implemented a new tool. I have drawn up a chart and stuck it with a magnet to the side of the washing machine. He can see this chart when he cleans his teeth. It has a column for smiley faces and a column for sad faces. If he fills a row with smiley faces he can have a treat - a trip to the cool park, an icy pole, to make some cookies, to play with a friend. But if he fills up a column with sad faces he's not allowed to go to swimming and I can take one of his favourite toys away. We haven't filled up either column yet, but the threat of the sad faces seems to be working well.
Until this morning when I asked him if he wanted a sad face for being silly and jumping on the couch. He said, 'Yes please. I'd like a sad face.' Then promptly walked into the bathroom waiting for a sad face.
Touché
At times like this all one can reasonably do is lie on the couch or on one's bed and look out the window at the swishy tree outside.
Things The Bean has said:
When looking at the swishy tree.
Me: Baby, can you see that birdy in the swishy tree.
TB: Yup. Where is it?
Me: On that branch.
TB: Hey Mama. There's a rhino.
Me: In the tree?
TB: No, Mama. It's a rhino pig.
Me: A rhino pig?
TB: Hmmm.
Me: Does it have a rhino face.
TB: Yeah.
Me: And a pig body.
TB: No Mama, not a pig body. A rhino body.
Me: So it's a rhino.
TB: No it's a rhino pig.
I was cooking. The Bean, from the lounge room -
TB: Mama, my name's not Jelly Bean anymore. I'm just Relax.
Me: Oh really? Your name's Relax or you are relaxed?
TB: Yup, I'm Relax, it's my racing car name.
We'd had some friends over in the afternoon, we'd eaten dips and other assorted snacks. After saying goodbye I'd come inside, gone to the loo and then to my room to get changed into my non-company tracky dacks. I'd been out of sight for maybe 2 minutes.
TB: Mama, I ate all your biscuits!
One morning I was dozing in bed while The Bean was playing with his cars. He'd eaten breakfast but had started nagging me to get up, from the lounge room.
TB: Mama, can you listen to my words?!
Me: Hmmmm.
TB: Mama, you have a big stretch and then I'll come in and talk to you.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Guilty, of love in the first degree...
Love.
'Love is a many splendid thing,
Love lifts us up where we belong,
All you need is love.'
Ewan MacGregor got it right. But with ultimate love comes ultimate guilt. Feeling guilty of getting it all very, very wrong.
And the mother guilt we pass down onto our children, from our mothers and their mothers and every other parent in the known history of the known universe has given it all to their off-spring and I'm feeling ALL of it, from ALL of them, EVER, ALL of the time because what if I'm messing him up? What if the Bean turns out ultimately crap without any sense of respect for life and love and people and feelings and family, without any sense of being a good man, without any sense of direction?
We went swimming today with a good friend of mine who is 6 months pregnant and already so much more relaxed about things than I ever was, have been, potentially will be. I have my moments of calm and my moments of content and I LOVE THEM, but at the end of the day, I'm a worrier. This has also been passed down so graciously from my fore-father (yes, singular... Thanks Dad).
This friend told me to just let the Bean swing into the pool from the pool steps because he's only going to hurt himself once. I've got to let him hurt himself. I was never going to be one of 'those' mothers. The ones that worry about their kids being dirty or sick or hurt. I'm certainly not a helicopter at the park mother, I let him fall of slides and swings and light houses all the time. In fact, just this afternoon he scraped his little spunky face because he fell off the climb-y stairs thing and I made a joke out of it. He wasn't really hurt, I wobbled his legs to check it they were broken. Then I wobbled his arms to check if they were aslo broken. By the time I tickled his tummy and his back in search of broken bits he was giggling and fine. But at the pool I'm a shouter. A 'Get Back Over Here Jelly BEAN', type mother. I try to make him stop throwing stuff. I try to make him eat his vegetables. I have to do homework while he hangs out with himself.
I don't really let him eat many lollies. Or chocolate. Or Ice Cream.
And I'm tired of making sure I'm always saying the right thing because sometimes, just sometimes, a good Swear Fest Vent 2010 can go a long way to making one feel better about the injustices of one's world/day/job/life/frustrating situation at hand.
And I feel so guilty when I get it wrong. And when other people seem to be getting it right.
And I don't want the responsibility, sometimes. Just sometimes.
Because I don't have to justify myself. I don't need to explain how I live my life to anybody. I don't need anyone's approval of my parenting skills or lack, accordingly, thereof. But at the end of his teenage years, when I'm both a teacher of teenagers and a parent of a teenager I know how many judgments will have come my way. He will be a teenage boy. He will drive everyone around him to near insanity. Wait, he'll, one day, BE IN YEAR 9!
And that worries me. This whole gig. This parenting deal.
Sometimes, it's just too hard. And I don't know what the fuck to do.
Things The Bean has said:
1. I walk into the lounge room and all of the cushions from the couch are all on the floor.
TB: Hi Mama, I'm a froggy. And I've hopped and hopped onto all these Lilly Pats.
Me: Hi Froggy.
TB: No, my name is Munjel The Frog.
2. *Sounds of flushing toilet*
Me: Did you just do some poos?
TB: No but there was a thing on the ground and I put it in the toilet and closed the lid and I pressed the button and now it's gone away!
*flashes me the proudest grin EVER*
(I Remember the purple paper clip I'd seen on the floor earlier but couldn't be bollocksed bending down to pick it up)
Me: Was the thing purple?
TB: Yup.
Me: Oh, you could have just given it to me babe, it didn't need to get flushed down the toilet.
TB: No Mama, it was yucky!
3. Driving past the local small plane/helicopter airfield, The Bean points out some planes with rotar blades on the front.
TB: Mama, Look at those heli-planes!
'Love is a many splendid thing,
Love lifts us up where we belong,
All you need is love.'
Ewan MacGregor got it right. But with ultimate love comes ultimate guilt. Feeling guilty of getting it all very, very wrong.
And the mother guilt we pass down onto our children, from our mothers and their mothers and every other parent in the known history of the known universe has given it all to their off-spring and I'm feeling ALL of it, from ALL of them, EVER, ALL of the time because what if I'm messing him up? What if the Bean turns out ultimately crap without any sense of respect for life and love and people and feelings and family, without any sense of being a good man, without any sense of direction?
We went swimming today with a good friend of mine who is 6 months pregnant and already so much more relaxed about things than I ever was, have been, potentially will be. I have my moments of calm and my moments of content and I LOVE THEM, but at the end of the day, I'm a worrier. This has also been passed down so graciously from my fore-father (yes, singular... Thanks Dad).
This friend told me to just let the Bean swing into the pool from the pool steps because he's only going to hurt himself once. I've got to let him hurt himself. I was never going to be one of 'those' mothers. The ones that worry about their kids being dirty or sick or hurt. I'm certainly not a helicopter at the park mother, I let him fall of slides and swings and light houses all the time. In fact, just this afternoon he scraped his little spunky face because he fell off the climb-y stairs thing and I made a joke out of it. He wasn't really hurt, I wobbled his legs to check it they were broken. Then I wobbled his arms to check if they were aslo broken. By the time I tickled his tummy and his back in search of broken bits he was giggling and fine. But at the pool I'm a shouter. A 'Get Back Over Here Jelly BEAN', type mother. I try to make him stop throwing stuff. I try to make him eat his vegetables. I have to do homework while he hangs out with himself.
I don't really let him eat many lollies. Or chocolate. Or Ice Cream.
And I'm tired of making sure I'm always saying the right thing because sometimes, just sometimes, a good Swear Fest Vent 2010 can go a long way to making one feel better about the injustices of one's world/day/job/life/frustrating situation at hand.
And I feel so guilty when I get it wrong. And when other people seem to be getting it right.
And I don't want the responsibility, sometimes. Just sometimes.
Because I don't have to justify myself. I don't need to explain how I live my life to anybody. I don't need anyone's approval of my parenting skills or lack, accordingly, thereof. But at the end of his teenage years, when I'm both a teacher of teenagers and a parent of a teenager I know how many judgments will have come my way. He will be a teenage boy. He will drive everyone around him to near insanity. Wait, he'll, one day, BE IN YEAR 9!
And that worries me. This whole gig. This parenting deal.
Sometimes, it's just too hard. And I don't know what the fuck to do.
Things The Bean has said:
1. I walk into the lounge room and all of the cushions from the couch are all on the floor.
TB: Hi Mama, I'm a froggy. And I've hopped and hopped onto all these Lilly Pats.
Me: Hi Froggy.
TB: No, my name is Munjel The Frog.
2. *Sounds of flushing toilet*
Me: Did you just do some poos?
TB: No but there was a thing on the ground and I put it in the toilet and closed the lid and I pressed the button and now it's gone away!
*flashes me the proudest grin EVER*
(I Remember the purple paper clip I'd seen on the floor earlier but couldn't be bollocksed bending down to pick it up)
Me: Was the thing purple?
TB: Yup.
Me: Oh, you could have just given it to me babe, it didn't need to get flushed down the toilet.
TB: No Mama, it was yucky!
3. Driving past the local small plane/helicopter airfield, The Bean points out some planes with rotar blades on the front.
TB: Mama, Look at those heli-planes!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
stAGES
I'm told that as children reach certain ages they become ready for certain events in their lives. At this time, heading towards the end of the year, my child is approaching the 'ready for kinder' age. This age, however, does not necessarily coincide with the 'going to kinder' age. He has pre-dated the going with the readiness and I'm getting greyer by the day with the excess energy, the excess whining, the excess defiance and the excess use of the word 'No'! (on both our behalves)
He currently goes to creche three days a week and loves it. He has his BEST friend, Kade and stuff to climb on and stuff to get messy in and sand to throw (with enough left over to bring home in pockets, hoods, shoes) and places to run around and balls to kick and friends, with whom, to play. I have had the pleasure of witnessing, whilst talking to The Bean's teacher, The Jelly Bean and Kade in action. They truly are best friends. They laugh hysterically about things only they understand. They walk around as though a shadow to the other. They say goodbye, see ya tomorrow, see ya when you come to my house. It's beautiful.
I've put a note in Kade's communication pocket to ask his mum if we can organise a catch up on the weekend sometime. The Jelly Bean may, in fact, need more 'Kade' time.
But it's a bit embarrassing, too. Most people see me as the jovial, bubbly, life of the party type, but in fact, I may have discovered I'm one of 'those' extroverts. You know, the ones who are an extrovert to hide the fact that they are a bit nerv-ey around new people and don't really know what to say. The ones that maybe have a bit of a loud voice and a loud laugh (I can't actually help this one, it does just come out that way!) and makes people laugh at big jokes at my own expense. Who woulda thought, at 32, I am still finding things out about myself. ;o)
However, when I HAVE to make friends, say for example, with Kade's mum, so that my son can see his friend, as in Kade, I have no idea what to say. I actually wrote a note then got The Jelly Bean's teacher to check it to see if it was too dorky. To check that I wasn't making a fool of myself in trying to make a new acquaintance so that The Bean could play and be happy with his BFF. She laughed at me and said it was fine but as you know, me and words and such, putting it down in writing makes it real for me, and 'in writing' dorkiness, is pretty difficult to escape from.
So that done, I'm now waiting by the phone for her to call me. Or even text. Wondering what I'm going to say. If she'll think I'm a big dork. It's like I'm trying to date someone, and we all know how successful I am at that little process! (Look, another joke at my own expense!!!)
And a couple of weeks ago I had the information night for the Jelly Bean's kinder. And I might have cried a little bit. Well, welled, not sobbed *scoff* because he's ALL GROWN UP! Another Mum that was sitting next me has a boy in the same room at creche as the Bean and she wants me to put our number in her communication pocket, too. She's a single mum and laughed when I cried, I mean welled.
The Bean starts kinder in February and he has to have a lunch box and a kinder bag and he will go on excursions with a name tag and he will learn to write his name and everything. We (as in kinder kids' parents) have to try and get them to eat from a lunch box at home, as most kids need to be trained in NOT eating everything in their lunch box at one sitting, ie. Morning tea, then having nothing left for lunch.
I have to try and teach him a whole bunch of stuff that I do without thinking:
Not eating all of one's lunch at morning tea (sometimes, I do have to think about this one, actually), how to wash our hands PROPERLY, how to clean our teeth (this one's difficult when you have a child who is so fiercely independent that he pushes your hand away with such force when one tries to help him with anything), how to use a fork (without pushing food onto it with our other hand), how to draw circles (The Bean is not a fan of drawing anything, he builds blocks and leggo, he plays with cars and trains and dinosaurs, he reads books and memorises the stories, he chucks sands and runs around with handfuls of tanned bark spilling out the back like the smoke from a rocket ship but drawing is not his fave thing), how to use pedals on a bike (he DETESTS pedals) and how to make friends.
Um....
Things The Bean has said:
1.
TB: Mama, can I please watch the Hess-a-me Street?
2.
TB: Mama can we get up now?
Me: Not yet, babe.
TB: Pleeeeeeeaase, Mama.
Me: In five more minutes.
TB: No more five more minutes!
Me: No more five more minutes?
TB: No please, I want five more minutes to move away.
3.
TB: Mama, ice-cream is for eating and suns-cream is for putting all over you, isn't it?
He currently goes to creche three days a week and loves it. He has his BEST friend, Kade and stuff to climb on and stuff to get messy in and sand to throw (with enough left over to bring home in pockets, hoods, shoes) and places to run around and balls to kick and friends, with whom, to play. I have had the pleasure of witnessing, whilst talking to The Bean's teacher, The Jelly Bean and Kade in action. They truly are best friends. They laugh hysterically about things only they understand. They walk around as though a shadow to the other. They say goodbye, see ya tomorrow, see ya when you come to my house. It's beautiful.
I've put a note in Kade's communication pocket to ask his mum if we can organise a catch up on the weekend sometime. The Jelly Bean may, in fact, need more 'Kade' time.
But it's a bit embarrassing, too. Most people see me as the jovial, bubbly, life of the party type, but in fact, I may have discovered I'm one of 'those' extroverts. You know, the ones who are an extrovert to hide the fact that they are a bit nerv-ey around new people and don't really know what to say. The ones that maybe have a bit of a loud voice and a loud laugh (I can't actually help this one, it does just come out that way!) and makes people laugh at big jokes at my own expense. Who woulda thought, at 32, I am still finding things out about myself. ;o)
However, when I HAVE to make friends, say for example, with Kade's mum, so that my son can see his friend, as in Kade, I have no idea what to say. I actually wrote a note then got The Jelly Bean's teacher to check it to see if it was too dorky. To check that I wasn't making a fool of myself in trying to make a new acquaintance so that The Bean could play and be happy with his BFF. She laughed at me and said it was fine but as you know, me and words and such, putting it down in writing makes it real for me, and 'in writing' dorkiness, is pretty difficult to escape from.
So that done, I'm now waiting by the phone for her to call me. Or even text. Wondering what I'm going to say. If she'll think I'm a big dork. It's like I'm trying to date someone, and we all know how successful I am at that little process! (Look, another joke at my own expense!!!)
And a couple of weeks ago I had the information night for the Jelly Bean's kinder. And I might have cried a little bit. Well, welled, not sobbed *scoff* because he's ALL GROWN UP! Another Mum that was sitting next me has a boy in the same room at creche as the Bean and she wants me to put our number in her communication pocket, too. She's a single mum and laughed when I cried, I mean welled.
The Bean starts kinder in February and he has to have a lunch box and a kinder bag and he will go on excursions with a name tag and he will learn to write his name and everything. We (as in kinder kids' parents) have to try and get them to eat from a lunch box at home, as most kids need to be trained in NOT eating everything in their lunch box at one sitting, ie. Morning tea, then having nothing left for lunch.
I have to try and teach him a whole bunch of stuff that I do without thinking:
Not eating all of one's lunch at morning tea (sometimes, I do have to think about this one, actually), how to wash our hands PROPERLY, how to clean our teeth (this one's difficult when you have a child who is so fiercely independent that he pushes your hand away with such force when one tries to help him with anything), how to use a fork (without pushing food onto it with our other hand), how to draw circles (The Bean is not a fan of drawing anything, he builds blocks and leggo, he plays with cars and trains and dinosaurs, he reads books and memorises the stories, he chucks sands and runs around with handfuls of tanned bark spilling out the back like the smoke from a rocket ship but drawing is not his fave thing), how to use pedals on a bike (he DETESTS pedals) and how to make friends.
Um....
Things The Bean has said:
1.
TB: Mama, can I please watch the Hess-a-me Street?
2.
TB: Mama can we get up now?
Me: Not yet, babe.
TB: Pleeeeeeeaase, Mama.
Me: In five more minutes.
TB: No more five more minutes!
Me: No more five more minutes?
TB: No please, I want five more minutes to move away.
3.
TB: Mama, ice-cream is for eating and suns-cream is for putting all over you, isn't it?
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Carpet picnic
Snake, Dairmud (teddy) and Alexander (tiger) were having a carpet picnic in my lounge room. It started quite abruptly, as picnics often do, spontaneous and the like, and one three (nearly four) year old was master chef of the gathering.
With a drawstring bag filled with a plastic tea set (the only non pink one my mother could find), random plastic spoons, some chop sticks, a plastic rolling pin and a pair of plastic child-friendly scissors which had come with a tub of play-dough, some little plastic tubs in which the ice-cream man up the street used to sell us ice-cream, some plastic taste tester thingys that were also from the afore mentioned ice-cream man, half of one of those beige microwave egg poaching devices, half a salad server whose handle had long since broken off, some plastic sipper cup lids and numerous other items pilchered from my plastics' cupboard The Bean ensured that all present were well fed.
Snake first sipped a cup of coffee.
Alexander came late to the picnic, as did Dairmud. Nobody knew where Cohen was, possibly lost on the way to the mat.
Alexander was given some yoghurt while The Bean made Dairmud's lunch/dinner (these words were interchangeable - it may have been a late lunch early dinner situation).
The Bean first made Dairmud some cheesey pasta (reminiscent of one Bean's dinner of less than an hour prior).
He put a lid on the bowl and revealed it to Dairmud as though in one of the posh restaurants we see in American movies, with the silver food covers.
He helped Dairmud hold the spoon but Dairmud fell over. The Bean had to give him a cuddle because he was crying.
Me: Oh no! What happened to Dairmud?
TB: He fell over and hit his head. I have to give him a cuddle. We have to cuddle babies when they're crying.
Me: What did he hit his head on? On the floor? The ground?
TB: No he hit his head on the bed. He's very sad.
He then proceeded to make Dairmud so much food, he had his pasta, some baked beans, some yoghurt...
TB: Oh well done Alexander! Look Mama, Alexander ate ALL his yoghurt. Good Job!
Me: What about Snake?
TB: He's just sipping his coffee. But I've got him some sausage rolls in the bowl for when he's finished, like a good boy.
:o)
I'm in the kitchen.
TB: Mama, come over here into this house. That's your house, but in this house you have to come and make Dairmud some lunch.
Me: I think you can make him some lunch.
TB: No, I'm the Dad. You have to make it
(Where the bollocks has that stereotype come from???)
I flatly refused.
Sexist!
Things The Bean has said:
The Bean decided to make Dairmud some fruit toast but I believed that Dairmud instead preferred pancakes.
TB: Hmmm, well I can make you some pancakes, Dairmud . I just need some sugar and some pancakes and these scnissors to cut the pancakes.
With a drawstring bag filled with a plastic tea set (the only non pink one my mother could find), random plastic spoons, some chop sticks, a plastic rolling pin and a pair of plastic child-friendly scissors which had come with a tub of play-dough, some little plastic tubs in which the ice-cream man up the street used to sell us ice-cream, some plastic taste tester thingys that were also from the afore mentioned ice-cream man, half of one of those beige microwave egg poaching devices, half a salad server whose handle had long since broken off, some plastic sipper cup lids and numerous other items pilchered from my plastics' cupboard The Bean ensured that all present were well fed.
Snake first sipped a cup of coffee.
Alexander came late to the picnic, as did Dairmud. Nobody knew where Cohen was, possibly lost on the way to the mat.
Alexander was given some yoghurt while The Bean made Dairmud's lunch/dinner (these words were interchangeable - it may have been a late lunch early dinner situation).
The Bean first made Dairmud some cheesey pasta (reminiscent of one Bean's dinner of less than an hour prior).
He put a lid on the bowl and revealed it to Dairmud as though in one of the posh restaurants we see in American movies, with the silver food covers.
He helped Dairmud hold the spoon but Dairmud fell over. The Bean had to give him a cuddle because he was crying.
Me: Oh no! What happened to Dairmud?
TB: He fell over and hit his head. I have to give him a cuddle. We have to cuddle babies when they're crying.
Me: What did he hit his head on? On the floor? The ground?
TB: No he hit his head on the bed. He's very sad.
He then proceeded to make Dairmud so much food, he had his pasta, some baked beans, some yoghurt...
TB: Oh well done Alexander! Look Mama, Alexander ate ALL his yoghurt. Good Job!
Me: What about Snake?
TB: He's just sipping his coffee. But I've got him some sausage rolls in the bowl for when he's finished, like a good boy.
:o)
I'm in the kitchen.
TB: Mama, come over here into this house. That's your house, but in this house you have to come and make Dairmud some lunch.
Me: I think you can make him some lunch.
TB: No, I'm the Dad. You have to make it
(Where the bollocks has that stereotype come from???)
I flatly refused.
Sexist!
Things The Bean has said:
The Bean decided to make Dairmud some fruit toast but I believed that Dairmud instead preferred pancakes.
TB: Hmmm, well I can make you some pancakes, Dairmud . I just need some sugar and some pancakes and these scnissors to cut the pancakes.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Too big for words?
So instead of it happening gradually, instead of me getting to a point where I've accepted his growth and maturity for his age, instead of me being ok with him no longer being little and cute and tiny enough to wear onesies, instead of me coping with the light speed growth of my one and only off spring in a slow, sort of wise manner, it has all crashed onto me like a tonne of the proverbial!!
He now, yet only in the past week, has done the following:
- gone into the cubicle of the toilet at the swimming pool, by himself, closed THEN LOCKED the door behind him, then got his dangle to aim appropriately, then flushed the toilet all with me hovering outside the cubicle feeling just a little bit redundant (although he did still have to tell me he was finished, making me still feel needed!)
- he has started saying 'What?!' with all the attitude of the majority of year 9s I've had the pleasure to love and adore. When I reply with, 'Don't say 'what' to me.' He retorts, with equal attitude, mixed with defiance and just a dash of sarcasm, 'Pardon?!'.
- he's told me that he doesn't want to tell me about his day. Nothing fun happened. He didn't play with anyone except Kade and 'No we didn't sing any songs on the mat!'
- he's stopped having day time naps, although he has seemingly inherited his grandfather's ability to fall asleep on the couch after work (read 'creche')
- the only accidents he's been having, touch wood, are in the aiming, not the timing. Yet I'm still the sucker that has to clean wee off the floor!
- he sings songs about Whiskey - Rye Whiskey, to be exact - ALL the time
- he may be a trainspotter (I'm not really saying that this is a sign of maturity beyond one's years, but he does talk about them ALL the time, as though he feels the need to fill the space with chatter about made up trains, not entirely sure what this means!)
- when I walked into the playground of creche and caught him chucking tanned bark around, he heard me say his name, IN FULL, dropped his handful THEN turned around, with a total look of 'busted' on his face!
- he is starting to figure out that some books are just crap - thank the deity - he has developed his 'discerning'.
- he asks me to change/repeat/turn the song up louder whence in the car
- he's a back seat driver, telling me to turn my blinkers/lights on, 'That man is driving VERY silly' and 'Turn left, Mama!'
- He's using mostly correct tenses, sentence structure and his vocabulary is growing remarkably! He now says - often, cool, 'like', nah, mate, totally and um
- his taste buds are fussy and boring but he eats ALL the time
- he's a veritable giant, with people assuming for his height he should be a) at school, b) at kindergarten, c) riding a bike/scooter or d) speaking more clearly
- he jumps into the pool, toes over the edge, arms out like a rocket in front of him and does the best belly whack you ever did see, swims under water and comes out all triumphant, with me nowhere near him.
- he got sent out of his swimming lesson and made to sit on the side of the pool for not having good listening ears on, even though we had a talk about this exact issue immediately prior to his swimming lesson. Twice. In one lesson.
- he still holds my hand but lets go as soon as possible after we get across the road, just a little bit embarrassed..
He's pretty much my three and three quarter year old teenager!
Things The Bean has said:
* When I said he should have a nap one afternoon.
TB: I'm not tired Mama, I'm just thinking with my eyes open..
* When the annoying woman was on the PA at the school across the road every 7.5 minutes on the first day back at school this week.
TB: That lady just told me to go to the office, again, but I don't wanna go to the office, Mama.
* When singing while I was in the other room.
TB: Old Mac Donna had a farm, E I E I O, and on that farmer he had a dinosaur E I E I O, with a ... ummmm...
* In the kitchen
TB: Mama you're going to have a baby.
Me: Ugh, thanks!
TB: What?
Me: Don't say what to me.
TB: Pardon?
Me: It doesn't matter, I'm not going to have a baby for a while I don't reckon.
TB: Yes, you can.
Me: It's kinda impossible, anyway...
TB: No, you need to have a baby.
Me: Right, well what baby do you want me to have? A sister or a brother?
TB: A baby brother, please.
He now, yet only in the past week, has done the following:
- gone into the cubicle of the toilet at the swimming pool, by himself, closed THEN LOCKED the door behind him, then got his dangle to aim appropriately, then flushed the toilet all with me hovering outside the cubicle feeling just a little bit redundant (although he did still have to tell me he was finished, making me still feel needed!)
- he has started saying 'What?!' with all the attitude of the majority of year 9s I've had the pleasure to love and adore. When I reply with, 'Don't say 'what' to me.' He retorts, with equal attitude, mixed with defiance and just a dash of sarcasm, 'Pardon?!'.
- he's told me that he doesn't want to tell me about his day. Nothing fun happened. He didn't play with anyone except Kade and 'No we didn't sing any songs on the mat!'
- he's stopped having day time naps, although he has seemingly inherited his grandfather's ability to fall asleep on the couch after work (read 'creche')
- the only accidents he's been having, touch wood, are in the aiming, not the timing. Yet I'm still the sucker that has to clean wee off the floor!
- he sings songs about Whiskey - Rye Whiskey, to be exact - ALL the time
- he may be a trainspotter (I'm not really saying that this is a sign of maturity beyond one's years, but he does talk about them ALL the time, as though he feels the need to fill the space with chatter about made up trains, not entirely sure what this means!)
- when I walked into the playground of creche and caught him chucking tanned bark around, he heard me say his name, IN FULL, dropped his handful THEN turned around, with a total look of 'busted' on his face!
- he is starting to figure out that some books are just crap - thank the deity - he has developed his 'discerning'.
- he asks me to change/repeat/turn the song up louder whence in the car
- he's a back seat driver, telling me to turn my blinkers/lights on, 'That man is driving VERY silly' and 'Turn left, Mama!'
- He's using mostly correct tenses, sentence structure and his vocabulary is growing remarkably! He now says - often, cool, 'like', nah, mate, totally and um
- his taste buds are fussy and boring but he eats ALL the time
- he's a veritable giant, with people assuming for his height he should be a) at school, b) at kindergarten, c) riding a bike/scooter or d) speaking more clearly
- he jumps into the pool, toes over the edge, arms out like a rocket in front of him and does the best belly whack you ever did see, swims under water and comes out all triumphant, with me nowhere near him.
- he got sent out of his swimming lesson and made to sit on the side of the pool for not having good listening ears on, even though we had a talk about this exact issue immediately prior to his swimming lesson. Twice. In one lesson.
- he still holds my hand but lets go as soon as possible after we get across the road, just a little bit embarrassed..
He's pretty much my three and three quarter year old teenager!
Things The Bean has said:
* When I said he should have a nap one afternoon.
TB: I'm not tired Mama, I'm just thinking with my eyes open..
* When the annoying woman was on the PA at the school across the road every 7.5 minutes on the first day back at school this week.
TB: That lady just told me to go to the office, again, but I don't wanna go to the office, Mama.
* When singing while I was in the other room.
TB: Old Mac Donna had a farm, E I E I O, and on that farmer he had a dinosaur E I E I O, with a ... ummmm...
* In the kitchen
TB: Mama you're going to have a baby.
Me: Ugh, thanks!
TB: What?
Me: Don't say what to me.
TB: Pardon?
Me: It doesn't matter, I'm not going to have a baby for a while I don't reckon.
TB: Yes, you can.
Me: It's kinda impossible, anyway...
TB: No, you need to have a baby.
Me: Right, well what baby do you want me to have? A sister or a brother?
TB: A baby brother, please.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
There's something about winter...
We seem to have had a particularly long and grey winter in Melbourne town this year. Although it's now officially spring, it's still pretty much winter. It's been very chilly, very wet and windy and although that's great for the plants and the frogs or something, as the saying goes, it's pretty difficult for parents of little people.
Little people seem to either a) be completely susceptible to every bug known to man or, (and this may deem itself to be more likely) b) actually ENJOY being sick. The amount of snot that has come out of my son's nose could fill up a small dam. The amount of hours we've spent awake at night while he coughs could have been better spent learning a new language. The amount of grumpy whiney-ness (on both of our parts) in the two days leading up to the newest and more aggressive manifestation of the latest germ, could have been better used in a conference room with world leaders in solving the conflicts of the planet (world leader's could in fact use some three and a half year old logic in solving such matters, I believe).
So I've decided I'm ready for the sun. As I'm sure I've mentioned before, we are both fairly pastey human beings so enormous amounts of sun exposure for us are not without consequence. We do, unfortunately, have to spend some hours, every day, during the summer months inside (usually between 10am and 4pm) and we only really go to the beach at the end of our street after 5pm. We're cocktail hour beach-ites if you will...
But some sunshine. Some time at the park or even the school across the road. Some time when I can sit on a bench and watch The Bean run around, would be a pleasant change. I can almost see the energy come out of him at such times. He's too wriggly and too bouncy and too jittery to be cooped up inside for six whole months! As am I, I'd like to add.
I don't really like those play centres. They just seem wrong. There are too many pictures of creepy looking child (and Mama) eating clowns on the walls. They have sections that are easy for little people to get stuck in but almost impossible for Mama's to even get inside. They have bad coffee. The have mother's groups. They have "parents" sitting down while terrorist children begin playground bullying at such a young age I not only want to strangle the children, but also the people that bred and refuse to control said children.
I'm not really a fan of those play centres.
And we've watched 'Play School', 'The Bear in the Big Blue House' and the 'Cars' movie way too many times. The Bean actually said to me this morning, when he woke up, that Doc Hudson was his best friend. How sad is that? Although Paul Newman (the voice of Doc Hudson in the 'Cars' movie) is sadly departed, and I've had something of a major crush on him since I was about 10 when I first watched 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid', and then in the years that followed with 'Cool Hand Luke', 'The Hustler', 'The Sting' and 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof', and then, of course, 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid' again, 'Cool Hand Luke' again, 'The Hustler' again, 'The Sting' again, and not to mention 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof' again. And again. The fact that my son is finding best friend-ship with an animated version of a '51 Hudson Hornet, voiced by a dead, formerly too-hot-for-words, actor makes me think we both may have a little cabin fever.
And also, we may have watched too many episodes of The Big Bang Theory as well. The Jelly Bean keeps requesting that I sing him 'Soft Kitty'. Even though I tell him that's only for when he's sick.
Then he looks at me with his eyebrows up.
Of course he's sick. It's still pretty much winter!
Things The Bean has said:
Whilst playing in the lounge room with his big wooden, toy clock.
TB: "And under the clock today, we have the remote control!"
Another thing The Bean has said:
Upon waking up next to me, in my bed, very early and unflatteringly I might add...
TB: "Mama, you need a hair cut, it's all difficult!"
Little people seem to either a) be completely susceptible to every bug known to man or, (and this may deem itself to be more likely) b) actually ENJOY being sick. The amount of snot that has come out of my son's nose could fill up a small dam. The amount of hours we've spent awake at night while he coughs could have been better spent learning a new language. The amount of grumpy whiney-ness (on both of our parts) in the two days leading up to the newest and more aggressive manifestation of the latest germ, could have been better used in a conference room with world leaders in solving the conflicts of the planet (world leader's could in fact use some three and a half year old logic in solving such matters, I believe).
So I've decided I'm ready for the sun. As I'm sure I've mentioned before, we are both fairly pastey human beings so enormous amounts of sun exposure for us are not without consequence. We do, unfortunately, have to spend some hours, every day, during the summer months inside (usually between 10am and 4pm) and we only really go to the beach at the end of our street after 5pm. We're cocktail hour beach-ites if you will...
But some sunshine. Some time at the park or even the school across the road. Some time when I can sit on a bench and watch The Bean run around, would be a pleasant change. I can almost see the energy come out of him at such times. He's too wriggly and too bouncy and too jittery to be cooped up inside for six whole months! As am I, I'd like to add.
I don't really like those play centres. They just seem wrong. There are too many pictures of creepy looking child (and Mama) eating clowns on the walls. They have sections that are easy for little people to get stuck in but almost impossible for Mama's to even get inside. They have bad coffee. The have mother's groups. They have "parents" sitting down while terrorist children begin playground bullying at such a young age I not only want to strangle the children, but also the people that bred and refuse to control said children.
I'm not really a fan of those play centres.
And we've watched 'Play School', 'The Bear in the Big Blue House' and the 'Cars' movie way too many times. The Bean actually said to me this morning, when he woke up, that Doc Hudson was his best friend. How sad is that? Although Paul Newman (the voice of Doc Hudson in the 'Cars' movie) is sadly departed, and I've had something of a major crush on him since I was about 10 when I first watched 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid', and then in the years that followed with 'Cool Hand Luke', 'The Hustler', 'The Sting' and 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof', and then, of course, 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid' again, 'Cool Hand Luke' again, 'The Hustler' again, 'The Sting' again, and not to mention 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof' again. And again. The fact that my son is finding best friend-ship with an animated version of a '51 Hudson Hornet, voiced by a dead, formerly too-hot-for-words, actor makes me think we both may have a little cabin fever.
And also, we may have watched too many episodes of The Big Bang Theory as well. The Jelly Bean keeps requesting that I sing him 'Soft Kitty'. Even though I tell him that's only for when he's sick.
Then he looks at me with his eyebrows up.
Of course he's sick. It's still pretty much winter!
Things The Bean has said:
Whilst playing in the lounge room with his big wooden, toy clock.
TB: "And under the clock today, we have the remote control!"
Another thing The Bean has said:
Upon waking up next to me, in my bed, very early and unflatteringly I might add...
TB: "Mama, you need a hair cut, it's all difficult!"
Thursday, September 2, 2010
D-Day
D-Day is this coming Sunday. I know this conjures images of war and devastation, death and destruction but it also means Daddy's Day - or so creche tells me. I don't want to be bitter and twisted, I don't want to be a nasty wench that wishes all other kids didn't create presents for their dads simply because my son's dad isn't around.
But I struggle with the notion that creating gifts for absent dads, or creating presents for present Papas that have the word 'Dad' all over it, is an educational tool in contemporary Western society. Where nearly 50% of marriages end in divorce and more and more kids are living in single parent families. I think that Mums and Dads deserve all sorts of presents all of the time, we are, unquestionably, wonderful people. However, it is the fact that I have to explain it when we get home to a house where there is no dad.
And I don't know what to say. Or how to make it better for him.
Because ultimately he is a boy. He craves a dad. He has been asking for quite a few months now where his dad is or why he's not here, and I can explain as best I can in age appropriate language but I can't make his dad appear. No matter how hard I try. How many emails I send. How much I suggest or plead or beg.
I can't change the fact that he's a boy and I'm a Mama of a boy, a slightly tom-boy-ish mama yes, but a girl nonetheless. I can go in the back yard and we can get completely covered in dirt and we can play cars at the beach and get completely covered in sand. I can watch racing cars. I can kick soccer balls. I can do all of the stereotypical 'masculine' activities but I can never be his dad, and in all honesty I'd really rather not. I really love being a Mama.
But I fear that he is lacking something.
And I fear his broken little heart every year when creche then kinder then school then friends then after-school television specials continually remind him that he doesn't have a dad in his life. And I fear that he will try and protect me from seeing that his little heart is broken. Because although potentially broken, that little heart is so kind and caring that he hates to see anyone else in pain. Even if the pain is a protective one. Of him.
Things The Bean has said:
Me: Guess how much I love you?
TB: Um...... Forty!
Me: hahaha, I love you forty?
TB: Yup, and I love you forty, too.
But I struggle with the notion that creating gifts for absent dads, or creating presents for present Papas that have the word 'Dad' all over it, is an educational tool in contemporary Western society. Where nearly 50% of marriages end in divorce and more and more kids are living in single parent families. I think that Mums and Dads deserve all sorts of presents all of the time, we are, unquestionably, wonderful people. However, it is the fact that I have to explain it when we get home to a house where there is no dad.
And I don't know what to say. Or how to make it better for him.
Because ultimately he is a boy. He craves a dad. He has been asking for quite a few months now where his dad is or why he's not here, and I can explain as best I can in age appropriate language but I can't make his dad appear. No matter how hard I try. How many emails I send. How much I suggest or plead or beg.
I can't change the fact that he's a boy and I'm a Mama of a boy, a slightly tom-boy-ish mama yes, but a girl nonetheless. I can go in the back yard and we can get completely covered in dirt and we can play cars at the beach and get completely covered in sand. I can watch racing cars. I can kick soccer balls. I can do all of the stereotypical 'masculine' activities but I can never be his dad, and in all honesty I'd really rather not. I really love being a Mama.
But I fear that he is lacking something.
And I fear his broken little heart every year when creche then kinder then school then friends then after-school television specials continually remind him that he doesn't have a dad in his life. And I fear that he will try and protect me from seeing that his little heart is broken. Because although potentially broken, that little heart is so kind and caring that he hates to see anyone else in pain. Even if the pain is a protective one. Of him.
Things The Bean has said:
Me: Guess how much I love you?
TB: Um...... Forty!
Me: hahaha, I love you forty?
TB: Yup, and I love you forty, too.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Reasons Why Being A Mum is ACE!
I love being a mum because I get to say all the really annoying things that I swore I'd never say. That irritated the life out of me when I was growing up (and until now, let's be perfectly frank). That came out of the mouths of my parents and other parents I see/hear/come into contact with/observe.
Namely, but not limited to:
The whiney parent voice -
"Will you PLEASE hurry up!? It cannot possibly take THAT long to put your shoes on/clean your teeth/eat your breakfast/go to sleep/take your shoes off/put your cars away!"
The out of control in the supermarket/street voice -
"No, Jelly Bean."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"But I want a dough nut/a new car/to go back to the park/to stay FIVE MORE MINUTES!!"
[Tantrum starts to bubble.]
"You don't get what you want if you talk to me like that."
"Mamaaaaaaaaaa!!!"
[Tears begin to well!]
"I said no!"
"But whyyyyyyyyyy?"
"Because I'm the mum, that's why!"
[Crying ensues]
"That's it, we're going home."
....
"WILL YOU JUST GET IN THE CAR!"
The absolutely astounded at the logic voice -
"WHAT? Why is all the washing I just folded ALL OVER THE LOUNGE ROOM FLOOR?!"
"I was helping, Mama."
"Got to your room."
(Not proud of that one!)
The I've said this too many times voice -
"Will you please stop throwing those cars?"
"I'm not throwing them, Mama. They're landing on the floor."
or
"What do you say?" (Inferring that manners are needed here/now - this phrase comes out of my mouth about 76000 times per day)
or
"Mama?"
"Yeah?"
"Mama?"
"Yes."
"Mama? um... Mama?"
"Oh my god, I'm changing my name."
The option to say goofy words voice -
Some of my favourites are 'Holy Moly!' 'Holy Ca-roly' (I made that one up myself to avoid saying saying Holy Crap once), dangle, swishy, Jelly Bean, spunk face, Ha-Ha (his asthma pump, cause you have to breath 'Ha... Ha' into it), poos, wees, poooowee! plus the option to talk about myself in the third person whenever I feel like it - "Ok, you just do that, and Mama will do this!" (It's fab!)
I also love being a mum because I get to help The Bean with projects! He had his first show and tell today. They are having Multi-Cultural week at creche and he took in lots of photos from our trip to Malaysia. He talked about the photos and the other kids got to look at ticket stubs and baggage tags and photos of his mum with snakes draped all over her head. I couldn't have been prouder than when two little boys asked me today if I was scared when I touched the snakes. I was also so proud of The Bean for being so brave and standing up at group time and explaining all about his holiday to all of his friends in the Rainbow Room.
I love being a mum when it's really cold and you get extra cuddles on the couch in front of the heater. Especially in the 'zone out' time not long before dinner needs to be made and we both stare out the window for a few minutes watching the 'swishy tree outside'.
I love being a mum when I have finished all my homework and I get to pick him up from creche and not have to get on the computer when I get home.
I love being a mum when he reads books back to me.
I love being a mum when you have to check for head lice.
"Honey, if you just stand still I'll be finished really quickly."
[wriggle, squirm, walk away]
"But I want to play with my cars."
"If you stop wriggling, seriously, stop wriggling, it'll take two minutes."
I love being a mum when he asks for Wasabi peas and you give him one and he takes one and then eats three in total before he asks for a drink.
I love being a mum when he is in the bath and the steam fills up the shower screen and he calls out,
"Mama! I found a raindrop for you!"
I love being a mum when I get to say good night to him and he is safe and in his bed and clean and warm and full and happy. I love getting to kiss his face off even when we've argued about what toys he can and can't take to bed with him. I love saying "Goodnight, baby. I love you so much."
I love it even more when he loves me so much right back.
Things The Bean has said:
After staring at our empty gold fish tank.
JB: We need to get a new black fish.
Me: Really? (Insert skeptical, unexcited tone)
JB: Yep. And he needs to eat those trees for dinner.
Me: Those trees are plastic.
JB: No, they're not plak-stick. He can eat them.
Me: Fish can't eat plastic.
JB: He can eat some rocks.
Me: Fish don't eat rocks!
JB: Hahahahahahahahaha
Me: Heheehe
JB: Well, you'll just have to get him some fish dinner, then.
Another Thing The Bean has said:
JB: "Mama, there's a phone-asaurus in my dinosaur bag."
Me: "A what?"
JB: "He's not a tyrannasaurus rex. He's silver. He's a phone-asaurus and he goes like this 'olololololoooolololo'."
Me: "A phone-asaurus?"
JB: "Yep, and he can talk."
Monday, August 16, 2010
Definition of a Bean - circa 3.5 years old
I felt like writing a list.
Here are the things that are typical of my Jelly Bean as he stands today, just gone three and a half years old.
1. His diet consists of food that he thinks are his favourites 'cause they're yum but have secret hidden nutrition therein
- My homemade Sausage Rolls (secret mushrooms, onions, carrot, zucchini, egg, garlic, capsicum)
- Special Cheesey Eggs (Mushrooms, spring onions, tomato, capsicum - and even sometimes tofu!)
- Special Orange Soup (everything orange you can think of on the vegetable scale! Plus a few white vegies that won't change the colour)
- Special Dip (Either home made Tsaziki or Tuna dip with grated cucumber, spring onions and garlic)
- Spaghetti (Everything I can get in there, including lentils, beans and 'leaves' with a few tins of tomatoes to make him think it's just spaghetti sauce!)
- Pita Bread Pizza which he helps to make - the sprinkling of sliced mushroom, tomatoes, spring onions and rocket leaves make such things edible if you get to do it yourself
- Plus a standard breakfast of a banana, 2-3 Vita Brits and 2 pieces of bloody fruit toast (no inherent nutrition - this is where I have an epic fail!)
- Snacks of either Brown/Purple/Blue/Green yoghurt - depending on the colour of the lid/container!
2. He loves planes, trains and automobiles. This is an often returned to topic of conversation, irrespective of time of the day or length of previous conversation about planes, trains or automobiles.
3. He has numerous 'best' friends - including, Kade, Daniel, Ella, Ben and Will, and today it's Ethan.
4. He has zero skills in getting his dangle to actually wee in the toilet. Bloody men!
5. He has become a little obsessed with talking about his dad, that's ok, and I've shown him photos and explained some things, but his little brain doesn't really get it, yet.
6. He wants to go on a 'Globbily Train'. It's either silver or white and if anyone has ever seen one could you please explain what it is to me, as I have no idea.
7. He loves dinosaurs but they seem to only be played with whilst in the bath.
8. He still wants to have a bath in the baby bath sitting in the base of our shower. I'm not sure what's going to happen when he really doesn't fit in it anymore. The skinny-stringiness of The Bean allows for his little butt to fit in it now so we'll cross that proverbial bridge when we get to it, I guess.
9. He loves going to Creche, the Brown Park (???), the Lighthouse Park and Ninna and Papa's.
10. He wants to go to Kinder and School "Right now!"
11. He told me I need to get him a yellow coat for when he goes to school and I flatly refused, no child of mine is going to where a bloody yellow school uniform - ew!
12. He doesn't unerstand when people are tricking him - one of his teachers at creche tried to playfully block him from the door one day when I picked him up. She told him he had to stay with her all night. He looked at me and burst into tears.
This morning I tried to trick him when he told me the sunshine was out and it was time to get up. I said it was just the moon. That I was going back to sleep. He looked at me confused and when I smiled he said, "No Mama, it's the sunshine. You can't go to sleep anymore."
13. His favourite words are - difficult, train, racing car, globbily, boat, exciting, 'alaysia, aeroplane, important, aero-port, AMAZING, oops and Mama.
14. He doesn't think that going to work is a good enough reason to not go to Malaysia.
15. He has approximately 18 different laughs, all but one are fantastic. The one that isn't is the fake one. That one is just a little embarrassing.
16. His favourite musicians are Lily Allen, Corb Lund and the Dixie Chicks. 'Thank God he's a country boy!'
17. He has developed a habit of sitting DIRECTLY in front of the heater. When I tell him to move he tells me he's 'very cold'. But I raise my eyebrows and he moves, one centimetre by one centimetre until my eyebrows have come down.
He also has been going missing at creche, the girls figured this out after they kept finding him sitting on the floor underneath the hand dryer. He would sit down until it stopped blowing hot air. Stand up, press the button, sit underneath it. And repeat. Until they'd tell him to come out of the bathroom. Probably with their eyebrows raised.
18. He likes going to the doctor because they have an endless supply of lollies.
19. His new favourite thing is the hot water bottle.
20. He doesn't like people that 'drive silly'. He tells me constantly to turn my lights on and my blinkers on. To turn left. And to go over the 'boomps' (speed humps). He's the worst back seat, driving little person I've ever met.
Things The Bean has said:
The Jelly Bean is a procrastinator (no idea where he gets that from).
I told him about 70 000 times to put his shoes on one morning and he kept finding other 'important' things to do.
I got grouchy and shouted.
Me: Jelly Bean, we're going to be late, will you please HURRY UP!?
TB: (with his hands over his eyebrows)
OK, Mama! Put your eyes down. Say it nicely.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Rocks and Waves and Around the world in 70 days!
Periodically, since The Bean was a baby, in fact, maybe from before he was born, I've experienced times of over emotional, waves of love/panic. It doesn't last very long as an entity but it reveals itself from time to time over the course of a few days or even up to a couple of weeks. This love/panic wave tends to reveal itself as a feeling of guilt or a feeling of fear or a feeling of joy or dread or confusion or excitement or a combination of all of the above.
The first time I had this wave was when I was about 7 weeks pregnant, in the plane on the way home to Australia, from Canada. I talked to The Bean about radiation and aeroplanes and how if it stayed where it was, (he was an 'it' then) I would keep it as safe as possible, staying away from wings and engines etc, until we got home. The second wave I had was when I found out about a few complications I was going to have with my pregnancy. The third, major, wave I had was when I thought The Bean wasn't going to make it out alive, literally, when I was rushed into an emergency ceasarian section.
These pre-birth love/panic waves were nothing on the now alive Jelly Bean waves. And I've definitely gone through my own share of crazy in life. Before and after The Bean, not because of The Bean, but in my head. And these waves hit me hard. I'll just be doing something seemlingly unrelated and I'll look at The Bean and POW - Right in the kisser! I get hit by a love/panic wave that stops my heart and makes me feel crazy emotions, crazy protective, mother lion instincts that would force the Devil himself back to Hades rather than mess with me type emotions.
The love/panic wave has hit me a bit in the past couple of weeks, on and off and I wasn't sure why. There's been some stress in my job. I had an operation to remove my wisdom teeth, I've been a bit sick and The Bean's been a bit sick but that's all normal life stuff, really. And I realised, bit slow on the uptake sometimes, that the holiday my folks are going on is less than two weeks away. They'll be gone for ten weeks and I'm so excited for them and proud of them that they are finally going on a round the world adventure. They're in their early fifties and for their whole lives they've busted their butts looking after me and my little brother that now, that they've got some time and they've paid their stuff off, they can actually go and enjoy themselves and be free of responsibility. And it's awesome!
And I'm cool.
And my brother's cool.
And The Jelly Bean has a pretty awesome mum that rocks it home, lookin' after him and stuff.
But holy crap, Mum and Dad won't be there. They won't be 15 minutes drive away. They'll be on the other side of the world.
And it's ok when I decide that I'm going on the other side of the world, I'm cool, like I said.
But the rocks that have always been there, the rocks that have been, well, rocks, throughout an entire lifetime, literally, mine and then The Bean's, the rocks that have supported this mum in her journey of single mum-ness, aren't going to be around the corner.
And I guess the love/panic waves are hitting a bit more often and a little bit harder than they have in the past, they are hitting, pummelling, crashing into me on the shore that is my life (oooh, LOVE a good metaphor!) and they are showing up 'cause I might be just a teensy bit scared of doing this mum thing without a rock, or two, to cling onto, when the waves crash. (Get it? I extended the metaphor even more then, clever, I know! See how I also made a joke at my own expense because I'm getting nervous just writing about it?)
Anyway, musing to figure it out. It'll be ok.
And I'm so excited for them. I want to make sure, that, in writing, I tell them to eat lots of yummy food, drink pints in pubs with locals that they can't understand, buy lunch then sit in a park or near rivers or lakes and watch the world go by in a place in the world they've never been before, never eaten lunch before. I want to tell them to wander around markets, take photos and breathe. Because these were the best bits about travelling for me.
That and coming home with a magical little tiny Jelly Bean.
Things The Bean has said:
This morning my mouth was hurting and it was my first day back at work after the operation.
Upon waking...
Me: Owwwww...
TB: What's hurting, Mama?
Me: Mama's still got a sore mouth. Come on babe, time to get up.
TB: From your operation?
Me: Yup.
TB: Ugh, gross.
I'm by this stage in the bathroom, turning lights on.
Me: What's gross?
TB: In my mouth.
Me: What's gross in your mouth?
The Jelly Bean walks into the bathroom.
TB: There's bits of snails in there, look!
The first time I had this wave was when I was about 7 weeks pregnant, in the plane on the way home to Australia, from Canada. I talked to The Bean about radiation and aeroplanes and how if it stayed where it was, (he was an 'it' then) I would keep it as safe as possible, staying away from wings and engines etc, until we got home. The second wave I had was when I found out about a few complications I was going to have with my pregnancy. The third, major, wave I had was when I thought The Bean wasn't going to make it out alive, literally, when I was rushed into an emergency ceasarian section.
These pre-birth love/panic waves were nothing on the now alive Jelly Bean waves. And I've definitely gone through my own share of crazy in life. Before and after The Bean, not because of The Bean, but in my head. And these waves hit me hard. I'll just be doing something seemlingly unrelated and I'll look at The Bean and POW - Right in the kisser! I get hit by a love/panic wave that stops my heart and makes me feel crazy emotions, crazy protective, mother lion instincts that would force the Devil himself back to Hades rather than mess with me type emotions.
The love/panic wave has hit me a bit in the past couple of weeks, on and off and I wasn't sure why. There's been some stress in my job. I had an operation to remove my wisdom teeth, I've been a bit sick and The Bean's been a bit sick but that's all normal life stuff, really. And I realised, bit slow on the uptake sometimes, that the holiday my folks are going on is less than two weeks away. They'll be gone for ten weeks and I'm so excited for them and proud of them that they are finally going on a round the world adventure. They're in their early fifties and for their whole lives they've busted their butts looking after me and my little brother that now, that they've got some time and they've paid their stuff off, they can actually go and enjoy themselves and be free of responsibility. And it's awesome!
And I'm cool.
And my brother's cool.
And The Jelly Bean has a pretty awesome mum that rocks it home, lookin' after him and stuff.
But holy crap, Mum and Dad won't be there. They won't be 15 minutes drive away. They'll be on the other side of the world.
And it's ok when I decide that I'm going on the other side of the world, I'm cool, like I said.
But the rocks that have always been there, the rocks that have been, well, rocks, throughout an entire lifetime, literally, mine and then The Bean's, the rocks that have supported this mum in her journey of single mum-ness, aren't going to be around the corner.
And I guess the love/panic waves are hitting a bit more often and a little bit harder than they have in the past, they are hitting, pummelling, crashing into me on the shore that is my life (oooh, LOVE a good metaphor!) and they are showing up 'cause I might be just a teensy bit scared of doing this mum thing without a rock, or two, to cling onto, when the waves crash. (Get it? I extended the metaphor even more then, clever, I know! See how I also made a joke at my own expense because I'm getting nervous just writing about it?)
Anyway, musing to figure it out. It'll be ok.
And I'm so excited for them. I want to make sure, that, in writing, I tell them to eat lots of yummy food, drink pints in pubs with locals that they can't understand, buy lunch then sit in a park or near rivers or lakes and watch the world go by in a place in the world they've never been before, never eaten lunch before. I want to tell them to wander around markets, take photos and breathe. Because these were the best bits about travelling for me.
That and coming home with a magical little tiny Jelly Bean.
Things The Bean has said:
This morning my mouth was hurting and it was my first day back at work after the operation.
Upon waking...
Me: Owwwww...
TB: What's hurting, Mama?
Me: Mama's still got a sore mouth. Come on babe, time to get up.
TB: From your operation?
Me: Yup.
TB: Ugh, gross.
I'm by this stage in the bathroom, turning lights on.
Me: What's gross?
TB: In my mouth.
Me: What's gross in your mouth?
The Jelly Bean walks into the bathroom.
TB: There's bits of snails in there, look!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Perfectly right now...
Some say the Terrible Twos, the Trying Threes, the F*cked up Fours, the Forgettable Fives and so on until their kids have grown up and moved away because they're parents wished for them to behave appropriately, like adults, without tantrums and not be kids...
The Jelly Bean is well and truly three and a half (next week). He has tantrums and screams and deliberately doesn't listen to me. He chucks stuff. He refuses to eat. Then he refuses to eat anything but fruit toast. Then he refuses to eat fruit toast.
He's three and a half.
I don't want to spend his childhood wishing away the difficulties of his childhood. Especially when some of the times I have, he is the most hilarious, most compassionate, caring, funny, spunky example of humanity that makes me want to freeze time and NEVER let him grow up.
At creche this week The Bean was given a task. It is being assigned to all of the kids in his class/room/group, over the next few months.
They have a pet toy frog. Similar, I'm assuming, to the task that may be given to primary school children when they get to take home the class' pet guinea pig or pet bird or pet rabbit. Except without the risk of death. Although, there is certainly still the risk of maiming, but we did ok.
We had to take home the pet toy frog 'Galumph' (yes, named after the song!) for two nights. He also had an exercise book that had been
converted into 'Galumph's Story Book'. The children who had already taken him home had written a page in the book and added some photographs to the story of Galumph's time with their family.
I was so excited!
The Jelly Bean would not put him down. He wanted to show Galumph everything. Sleep with Galumph. Take Galumph to swimming. He called Ninna and Papa to tell him he was allowed to take Galumph home for TWO days. Galumph sat with him in the car. The Bean wanted to take Galumph to the beach, but it was raining. So we made pizza with Galumph. The Bean ate his pizza, but Galumph only watched. He prefers pizza with bugs and flies on it. Although he did love the rain.
I felt like a totally involved, educational, project helping mother. I had flashes back to my parents helping me. I could close my eyes smell glue sticks and feel pipe cleaners and hear the falling of glitter. I also flashed forward to all of those same things, yet in reverse.
What a wonderful time!
Then the other night, the Bean peed on my red Turkish rug.
He peed with intent, deliberation and defiance. I was FURIOUS! I shouted at him. I asked him if he wanted me to shout at him some more, he laughed at me. Said no. Then ran away.
RAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then I told him he had to get in the bath, his clothes were covered in wee and I was mad.
I threw guilt at him. I threw rage at him. I threw a yucky tone, angry words, frustration, embarrassment, confusion at him. I went to clean up the rug, he'd taken his clothes off then was running around, half naked, laughing and being silly.
That was it. I told him he wasn't allowed to have a bath, he had to have a shower.
Tears.
Pleading.
Tantrum.
Tears.
"I'm sorry Mama! Please! I'm a nice boy. I'm not a yucky boy. Please!"
I love that punishment for my son is NOT having a bath!
Things The Bean has said:
Yesterday was my birthday. I'd told The Bean the night before trying to encourage him to remember and wake me up with big 'Happy Birthday' kisses and songs and maybe even French Toast in bed. It was a stretch of the imagination, the inherent skills needed and possibly even his height, but one is allowed to fantasise on one's birthday.
At 6:15am.
TB: Mama, I want to get up.
Me: Guess what day it is?
TB: Please, can you turn the light on?
I switch on the light, all smiley.
Repeat, Me: Guess what day it is?
TB: Um.
Me: It's Ma-maaaaa's...
TB looking confused.
TB: Can I have a banana?
Me: It's Mama's birrrrrr...
The Bean was by now looking at me as if he needed to stage an intervention and possibly call the local hospital psych ward.
I was grinning. It was birthday.
Me: It's Mama's birrrrtttthhhh...
TB: It's your Happy Birthday!
I milked him for endless 'But it's my birthday' kisses and hugs every chance I got. He even started singing 'Happy Birthday' without any prompting from me whatsoever.. Twice!
The Jelly Bean is well and truly three and a half (next week). He has tantrums and screams and deliberately doesn't listen to me. He chucks stuff. He refuses to eat. Then he refuses to eat anything but fruit toast. Then he refuses to eat fruit toast.
He's three and a half.
I don't want to spend his childhood wishing away the difficulties of his childhood. Especially when some of the times I have, he is the most hilarious, most compassionate, caring, funny, spunky example of humanity that makes me want to freeze time and NEVER let him grow up.
At creche this week The Bean was given a task. It is being assigned to all of the kids in his class/room/group, over the next few months.
They have a pet toy frog. Similar, I'm assuming, to the task that may be given to primary school children when they get to take home the class' pet guinea pig or pet bird or pet rabbit. Except without the risk of death. Although, there is certainly still the risk of maiming, but we did ok.We had to take home the pet toy frog 'Galumph' (yes, named after the song!) for two nights. He also had an exercise book that had been
converted into 'Galumph's Story Book'. The children who had already taken him home had written a page in the book and added some photographs to the story of Galumph's time with their family.
I was so excited!
The Jelly Bean would not put him down. He wanted to show Galumph everything. Sleep with Galumph. Take Galumph to swimming. He called Ninna and Papa to tell him he was allowed to take Galumph home for TWO days. Galumph sat with him in the car. The Bean wanted to take Galumph to the beach, but it was raining. So we made pizza with Galumph. The Bean ate his pizza, but Galumph only watched. He prefers pizza with bugs and flies on it. Although he did love the rain.
I felt like a totally involved, educational, project helping mother. I had flashes back to my parents helping me. I could close my eyes smell glue sticks and feel pipe cleaners and hear the falling of glitter. I also flashed forward to all of those same things, yet in reverse.
What a wonderful time!
Then the other night, the Bean peed on my red Turkish rug.
He peed with intent, deliberation and defiance. I was FURIOUS! I shouted at him. I asked him if he wanted me to shout at him some more, he laughed at me. Said no. Then ran away.
RAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Then I told him he had to get in the bath, his clothes were covered in wee and I was mad.
I threw guilt at him. I threw rage at him. I threw a yucky tone, angry words, frustration, embarrassment, confusion at him. I went to clean up the rug, he'd taken his clothes off then was running around, half naked, laughing and being silly.
That was it. I told him he wasn't allowed to have a bath, he had to have a shower.
Tears.
Pleading.
Tantrum.
Tears.
"I'm sorry Mama! Please! I'm a nice boy. I'm not a yucky boy. Please!"
I love that punishment for my son is NOT having a bath!
Things The Bean has said:
Yesterday was my birthday. I'd told The Bean the night before trying to encourage him to remember and wake me up with big 'Happy Birthday' kisses and songs and maybe even French Toast in bed. It was a stretch of the imagination, the inherent skills needed and possibly even his height, but one is allowed to fantasise on one's birthday.
At 6:15am.
TB: Mama, I want to get up.
Me: Guess what day it is?
TB: Please, can you turn the light on?
I switch on the light, all smiley.
Repeat, Me: Guess what day it is?
TB: Um.
Me: It's Ma-maaaaa's...
TB looking confused.
TB: Can I have a banana?
Me: It's Mama's birrrrrr...
The Bean was by now looking at me as if he needed to stage an intervention and possibly call the local hospital psych ward.
I was grinning. It was birthday.
Me: It's Mama's birrrrtttthhhh...
TB: It's your Happy Birthday!
I milked him for endless 'But it's my birthday' kisses and hugs every chance I got. He even started singing 'Happy Birthday' without any prompting from me whatsoever.. Twice!
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