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!"

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.