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.
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