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?
Sunday, October 31, 2010
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.
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