Little Brother has always been an alternative thinker, a philosopher, what I'd call an old soul. His perspective on life is emerging as a comedian, and a philosopher. He pulls me up all the time, like the other day when I found popcorn all over the floor.
"Who dumped this popcorn on the floor? " I ranted.
(Apparently I'm all about the shame and blame).
" Well, It was half Miss A, then quarter of Big Brother and quarter of me" , he confesses in perfect fractions.
I thought that was impressive blame apportion, but I blustered on " well, you absolutely MUST NOT leave food on your bedroom floor.....that is why we eat at the table.....food dumped like this will bring ANTs and RaTS and MiCe and everything .... and we'll get sick and it's just NOT hygienic" I continued in full flow (apparently I'm not so good to moderating my inner drama queen).
Eventually I stopped. Silence. Then, Mr 6 chimes in, ever the voice of reason, "Mum, its not the worst disease you can get .... popcorn on the floor".
Earlier that day we arrived home and they asked to play on the computer -
" OK, get in your pjamas and you can play until dinner" was the unexpected reply.
"You are the best mummy ever" he cries. " you could only be better if you were.... better! "
Then there is his school writing - these two were published in the school newsletter-
Blue
Blue looks like lightning strikes.
Blue sounds like a cat hitting a mattress.
Blue tastes like blueberries.
Blue feels like air you can touch.
Blue is big chills on the skin.
Surprise
I asked Mum "What's for dinner?"
She said "Surprise!"
I ran to the table because it sounded so yummy like hot dogs or a hamburger, but it was casserole. Dis...gus...ting!
At the table on Friday night BB was discussing a new magic show he wanted to watch. ' It is so awesome! When I grow up I just want to be a magician!'
Little Brother join in with perfect comic timing ' And when I grow up....I just want to be...... able to take off my pants in public!'
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Monday, November 18, 2013
Half my continent life
As I was putting the rubbish out on the street last night in my floral P'Jamie's, I looked across the road to the crystallized harbour and the row of young neighbors sitting on the sea wall. They were in their twenties and just getting started for a rip roaring sunday night party, and I was nearly 40 and ready for bed. There is no use denying the passing of time and changing of priorities.
There have been a few reminders from the universe of passing time. My first grey. The ache in my back. The way kids I don't know refer to me as 'that lady.' Ever increasing amounts of facial hair. My optometrist suggesting I leave eye surgery a few years so that it could also correct the quote "shortsightedness that also comes with middle age".
My sister tells me the year between 39 and 40 is the worst, there's no escaping the passing days as they tick down but once you reach the date it gets easier to accept, there's a certain freedom, you never really get any older, birthdays cease to matter. I like that plan.
So far each decade has brought a new and exciting set of challenges and thrills. My teens were all about learning and setting myself apart from my family, my twenties were a festival of travels and work and carving out a life. My thirties so far (and they're not yet over) were all about the breeding and love and a learning curve so steep I am struggling to catch my breath at the top.
So, in a year's time I will hit 40, and statistically speaking I am likely to have
lived nearly half my life, (at least half of my continent life).
I have a year to work on what my 40's are going to about. I have an inkling of a plan to make them simply about being me.
There have been a few reminders from the universe of passing time. My first grey. The ache in my back. The way kids I don't know refer to me as 'that lady.' Ever increasing amounts of facial hair. My optometrist suggesting I leave eye surgery a few years so that it could also correct the quote "shortsightedness that also comes with middle age".
My sister tells me the year between 39 and 40 is the worst, there's no escaping the passing days as they tick down but once you reach the date it gets easier to accept, there's a certain freedom, you never really get any older, birthdays cease to matter. I like that plan.
So far each decade has brought a new and exciting set of challenges and thrills. My teens were all about learning and setting myself apart from my family, my twenties were a festival of travels and work and carving out a life. My thirties so far (and they're not yet over) were all about the breeding and love and a learning curve so steep I am struggling to catch my breath at the top.
So, in a year's time I will hit 40, and statistically speaking I am likely to have
lived nearly half my life, (at least half of my continent life).
I have a year to work on what my 40's are going to about. I have an inkling of a plan to make them simply about being me.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Hi Ho Hi Ho ....
....It's off to work I go, after 8 years of being a stay at home mum.
Yes, for the past 8 (very lovely) years you might even say I've been a kind of sham Snow White (work with me on this analogy) who after sending her worker out into the world, passes her daytime hours sweeping, cleaning, cooking, joyfully carrying, bearing and then tending to the babies, all whilst singing harmoniously with small woodland creatures. Ok, I admit not so much cleaning and sweeping ever went on round here. But, as of the last few weeks, my stay at home time has come to an end. If you were being dramatic, and - I clearly am - you might say the axe has fallen, and cleanly chopped Snow White's head right off.
Poor old Snow White (please read me being facetious here).
Poor old me; it's been rather a shock.
So much of a shock that these days I am less Snow White and more one of the dwarfs.
First I was ACHEY. My body has reacted to the sheer physical shock of being back in a very physical job with no abdominals (missing in action after 3 pregnancies), a suspect pelvic floor (3 births later), and a generalised de-conditioning from possibly too many afternoon naps (no regrets there, though).
Next, I became HUNGRY, as the 8 hour day and increased brain challenge caused my metabolic rate to soar. Once I'd eaten every day I quickly transformed into SLEEPY, clocking up an average of 10 hours a night.
Ok, Ok, I admit it - I've also been HAPPY. It's great to be back doing what I used to love. I am re-discovering that I do have skills, and it's very rewarding work.
But, at times I've said hello to MOPEY, and WEEPY. These are hard roles to reconcile, as hard as it is to honestly write about them. For these eight years I have loved being a stay at home mum, and I can only now appreciate how this role has formed a large part of my identity, fed my sense of self, and been a source of pride. It was simply who I have always wanted to be. Letting go of that title fills me with a deep sense of loss, an acute awareness of the passing of time, of moving on through the stages of my life. But, if I want to work, and part of me does, I need to face down the inevitability of being JUGGLY, the working mum dwarf (that sounded better in my head). My plan is to follow the lead of inspiring family and friends who, like the thousands of other amazing juggling mums out there, get on with it. Being JUGGLY comes with her challenges and dealing with these will be my steepest learning curve since my third child was born and I realised I was truly outnumbered. The steep curve has led me to find my inner MANIC-y (that less well known dwarf). She is scary and should not be approached, rather carefully maneuvered into nearest bed, and left for those 10 hours.
My main nemesis, however, the one I fear becoming the most, as well as the hardest to admit to and avoid, is old GRUMPY. While this job lark has so many positives - its part time and will work around school hours once my youngest starts, its my first pay check for years, its resuscitating my hypoxic career - it is still a massive change for us all here on the ranch. I am at risk of the wind changing and being stuck forever with my GRUMPY face on, far too stretched to be nice to my kids (and husband) at the end of the day. I am not for one minute saying that I wasn't grumpy as a stay at home mum, but at least the kids largely copped what they caused. Internalizing GRUMPY will require scraping out a whole new bottom of my boots level of self control, and patience.
The 3 actual munchkins around the place have so far managed the change very well, notwithstanding monumental meltdowns from Big Brother and Little Miss. (So no change there at all).
Little Brother, aka THINKY, quietly asked me after my third day - Mum, did you get fired yet? '
'No! That wouldn't really be a good thing !' I said.
'Well, ' he reasoned, 'if you did get fired, then, you could just hang out with us all the time again!'
Can't argue with that.
Snow White is dead, Long live Snow White. (At least, until she gets fired).
Friday, August 23, 2013
Information sponges
My children are sponges. They absorb knowledge by all sorts of means - copying and watching, pure osmosis, practicing and sometimes, very occasionally and at last resort, by following instructions. I think the following instructions method is the slowest, especially when those instructions come from mother.
Little Miss still learns a lot by copying and pretending - to be me, or a princess, or a ninja, or a spoilt brat. She can't wipe her own bottom, but she can unlock and play a TV ondemand series on the Ipad without a second tap. She has a fixed slightly skewed world view and is totally inflexible. If the real world doesn't conform to her ideas, then, look out, its mega-tanty time. She is often still like all good toddlers, the Mugabe of her manor.
Little Brother preferred method of learning is digital. Ben 10 and FRIV teach him all he needs to know to advance his career as a weapons design expert (expanding his range that began with the walking axe). Thank goodness for Lego, which gives him a real life R&D platform. He also loves the nightly news weather report. Second preferred method is copying/following the instructions of his brother. Least preferred of all time is listening to Mum telling him to pick up clothes, close his drawers, put away his shoes, empty his lunchbox. That stuff is the work of the robots he is trying to design, so stop interrupting me, Mum! He is working hard on reading as an information source but the bandwidth is limited, upload and download a bit slow (especially b, d, p and q's confusion, I mean what imagination-less fool designed them).
Big Brother initially needed more parental instruction as first child off the block - but these days I'm semi-retired as the others just copy him. At eight years young, his brain is now wired for information via the written word. He's embarked onto a journey into the world of Harry Potter, picking up a wealth of helpful knowledge - 'Mum!' He greeted me first thing this morning - ' Guess what! Don't worry! Aunt Marge has a moustache too!'
(That's a slap in the face on a number of ego-crushing levels, cause, you know, I had always pictured myself as more of a Hermione)
Big Brother picks up information from the TV too, and on hearing that a golfer got played $1.6 M for winning one game, he declared - I am definitely going to play THAT game'.
'Rugby players, and tennis players get paid a lot too' I commented.
Little Brother looked worried. ' Is there a way to make money without playing sport?' He asked.
' Sure' I said, ' you could always invent or design things'.
'Yah!' He pumped his fist into the air and leapt off the couch as he yelled, ' I'm going to sell my inventions to the WORLD!'
'And, ' he added slyly, ' I' m going to sell them to myself!'
However there are times when holes in their knowledge suddenly become glaringly obvious. Big Brother turned 8 recently, and stealing my sister's plan for growing independent children, he started making his own school lunch. Which became a problem day one when he didn't actually know how to butter and cut a sandwich! (How on earth did I miss that lesson - was it was always easier to make the things, than deal with the chaos of teaching 3? Shabby parenting, I admit).
That night I also noticed he couldn't really use a knife and fork to eat a meal! Another habit of mine - automatically setting the table with fork and spoon, and providing pre-cut food for ease of mastication. So, it's my turn to refine a few skills, perhaps starting with identifying with heroes more my own, (cough), age range, and, keeping in mind I'm learning too - the always changing and everyday different lesson of how to be a parent.
Little Miss still learns a lot by copying and pretending - to be me, or a princess, or a ninja, or a spoilt brat. She can't wipe her own bottom, but she can unlock and play a TV ondemand series on the Ipad without a second tap. She has a fixed slightly skewed world view and is totally inflexible. If the real world doesn't conform to her ideas, then, look out, its mega-tanty time. She is often still like all good toddlers, the Mugabe of her manor.
Little Brother preferred method of learning is digital. Ben 10 and FRIV teach him all he needs to know to advance his career as a weapons design expert (expanding his range that began with the walking axe). Thank goodness for Lego, which gives him a real life R&D platform. He also loves the nightly news weather report. Second preferred method is copying/following the instructions of his brother. Least preferred of all time is listening to Mum telling him to pick up clothes, close his drawers, put away his shoes, empty his lunchbox. That stuff is the work of the robots he is trying to design, so stop interrupting me, Mum! He is working hard on reading as an information source but the bandwidth is limited, upload and download a bit slow (especially b, d, p and q's confusion, I mean what imagination-less fool designed them).
Big Brother initially needed more parental instruction as first child off the block - but these days I'm semi-retired as the others just copy him. At eight years young, his brain is now wired for information via the written word. He's embarked onto a journey into the world of Harry Potter, picking up a wealth of helpful knowledge - 'Mum!' He greeted me first thing this morning - ' Guess what! Don't worry! Aunt Marge has a moustache too!'
(That's a slap in the face on a number of ego-crushing levels, cause, you know, I had always pictured myself as more of a Hermione)
Big Brother picks up information from the TV too, and on hearing that a golfer got played $1.6 M for winning one game, he declared - I am definitely going to play THAT game'.
'Rugby players, and tennis players get paid a lot too' I commented.
Little Brother looked worried. ' Is there a way to make money without playing sport?' He asked.
' Sure' I said, ' you could always invent or design things'.
'Yah!' He pumped his fist into the air and leapt off the couch as he yelled, ' I'm going to sell my inventions to the WORLD!'
'And, ' he added slyly, ' I' m going to sell them to myself!'
However there are times when holes in their knowledge suddenly become glaringly obvious. Big Brother turned 8 recently, and stealing my sister's plan for growing independent children, he started making his own school lunch. Which became a problem day one when he didn't actually know how to butter and cut a sandwich! (How on earth did I miss that lesson - was it was always easier to make the things, than deal with the chaos of teaching 3? Shabby parenting, I admit).
That night I also noticed he couldn't really use a knife and fork to eat a meal! Another habit of mine - automatically setting the table with fork and spoon, and providing pre-cut food for ease of mastication. So, it's my turn to refine a few skills, perhaps starting with identifying with heroes more my own, (cough), age range, and, keeping in mind I'm learning too - the always changing and everyday different lesson of how to be a parent.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Conversation starters
I was admiring Little Brothers latest drawing of what might have been a motorbike. Mum : "Tell me about your picture, it looks amazing"
LB : " It's got really big guns"
Mum: " It sure does. You are going to be a great engineer or maybe, a designer when you grow up"
" Me too! " said Big Brother. " I want to be an all black and a policeman and a designer and an engineer. I'm already a weapons expert"
"Me too! " LB agreed, " I already invented the walking axe".
Another day, LB "Why did god make mosquitoes?"
Mum : " Umm, I don't know . Do you have any ideas ?"
LB : " No, duh, Mosquitoes don't even have ears. But, I think he made them to suck out the blood of things that had too much blood."
Fair enough.
Another day, BB " Mum, I think I have worked out why you are growing a mustache"
Mum : "Oh?"
BB : "I think when you were younger you ate too many kiwi fruit skins. And now the prickles are coming out in your mustache."
Gee, thanks.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Superheroes unite
Being a parent can be really good for your ego..and also, really bad.
I was thrilled to be the recipient of a big hug from little brother a few weeks ago - he's been super affectionate after we deserted him and his siblings for a week or 9 days while we holidayed on a romantic pacific island sans offspring- and, well, I've enjoyed the welcome home/she didn't ditch me after all cuddles.One day he said to me in a loving baby-voice "you are my mumma. (Squeeze) You are my secret agent mummy".
" yes I am" I replied, thrilled to bits with the promotion.
I've been quite chuffed at the thought.
I have been talking it up a bit, working up my air of superior knowledge and world changing abilities, for surely, if you can't be a super hero to your children, then who can you be? A secret agent to ? Huh?
Walking past the neighbors new super-high super-flash fence I'd pointed out the wee camera on the keypad at the gate used by all and one for filtering the wanted visitors from those trying to sell you a new improved religion/vacuum.
"see that little camera "- I informed the kids - " it's actually an eye ball scanner. It's actually used to check the identities of visitors off an Internet based data base"
They were impressed. Everyday now they line up to have their eyeballs scanned, just incase they get granted access.
" you ARE a secret agent mumma" little brother re-stated ( the obvious)
" Yess, I am" I agreed.
But then on the weekend I heard them talking about their own secret agent identities.
"I'm Zac powers," little brother said " secret agent rock star"
"I'm Leon," said big brother, " secret agent tech head"
(Better than secret agent dick head! I commented. he agreed.)
"I'm Annie" said little Miss, " secret agent Princess"
"For sure, "I agreed, " but, uh, what about Dad?"
" He is Gary, Secret Agent Tool Shed"
"And me?" I stupidly asked, way too eager.
"Mum, " they agreed, breaking it to me gently, " you are Sally, Secret Agent Big Bum."
And later, as if it could get worse, I heard them discussing super heroes. Apparently they may not like me when I get angry, because the options they were discussing for my super hero persona were either a green eyed cyclops or, the Incredible Hulk.
I was thrilled to be the recipient of a big hug from little brother a few weeks ago - he's been super affectionate after we deserted him and his siblings for a week or 9 days while we holidayed on a romantic pacific island sans offspring- and, well, I've enjoyed the welcome home/she didn't ditch me after all cuddles.One day he said to me in a loving baby-voice "you are my mumma. (Squeeze) You are my secret agent mummy".
" yes I am" I replied, thrilled to bits with the promotion.
I've been quite chuffed at the thought.
I have been talking it up a bit, working up my air of superior knowledge and world changing abilities, for surely, if you can't be a super hero to your children, then who can you be? A secret agent to ? Huh?
Walking past the neighbors new super-high super-flash fence I'd pointed out the wee camera on the keypad at the gate used by all and one for filtering the wanted visitors from those trying to sell you a new improved religion/vacuum.
"see that little camera "- I informed the kids - " it's actually an eye ball scanner. It's actually used to check the identities of visitors off an Internet based data base"
They were impressed. Everyday now they line up to have their eyeballs scanned, just incase they get granted access.
" you ARE a secret agent mumma" little brother re-stated ( the obvious)
" Yess, I am" I agreed.
But then on the weekend I heard them talking about their own secret agent identities.
"I'm Zac powers," little brother said " secret agent rock star"
"I'm Leon," said big brother, " secret agent tech head"
(Better than secret agent dick head! I commented. he agreed.)
"I'm Annie" said little Miss, " secret agent Princess"
"For sure, "I agreed, " but, uh, what about Dad?"
" He is Gary, Secret Agent Tool Shed"
"And me?" I stupidly asked, way too eager.
"Mum, " they agreed, breaking it to me gently, " you are Sally, Secret Agent Big Bum."
And later, as if it could get worse, I heard them discussing super heroes. Apparently they may not like me when I get angry, because the options they were discussing for my super hero persona were either a green eyed cyclops or, the Incredible Hulk.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
There and Back Again
Being away from the children for nine days broke something. In a good way. It opened a door and gave us a glimpse on a life, a life of a couple that we used to know, a life that is coming back as they get older, grow up and one day fly the nest.
I feel like we have packed up that part of our lives that contained baby buggies and nappies and sleepless nights and cracked nipples. Mushy food and 24/7 on call. LIke childbirth, the memory fadesm and I'm left with I know I have even mostly fotgot what it was actually like in the Breeding years, because I look back on those days so fondly. A tropical holiday reminded me how quiet and peaceful the house will be one day. And it reminded me to enjoy the chaos while it lasts. For although we have packed away the baby paraphernalia, we are by no means out of the kids at home zone, and as they grow a new set of challenges emerge.
Challenges like, managing the addiction behaviour of a 6year old to computer games? Encouraging creativity and independent thought? Keeping them safe as they gradually spend less time under my wing and gaze, and more time in the public arena. (Luckily on holiday i could temper these tricky questions with a few mai-tais from the poolside bar)
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the team of super-nannies (grandmother, nieces, aunts uncles and 1 dog) all played tag team to keep the wheels turning. I felt a little impressed by the size of the instruction booklet I left - wow, when you write it all down I do have a busy job.
Big Brother had let his sister come into bed with him if she got sad at night.
They had drawn a beautiful and detailed Welcome Home poster.
The reunion was epic, loud and emotional.
I thanked Big Brother for his prayers, praying I didn't get eaten by a shark over there (and reassured him it is more likely to be donked by a falling coconut than chomped by a shark)
We are back in the zone, and the break seems like a fabulous dream. Back in daily life I am trying not to grump, but go with it, gladly giving away my peace and personal space for just a few more years.
I feel like we have packed up that part of our lives that contained baby buggies and nappies and sleepless nights and cracked nipples. Mushy food and 24/7 on call. LIke childbirth, the memory fadesm and I'm left with I know I have even mostly fotgot what it was actually like in the Breeding years, because I look back on those days so fondly. A tropical holiday reminded me how quiet and peaceful the house will be one day. And it reminded me to enjoy the chaos while it lasts. For although we have packed away the baby paraphernalia, we are by no means out of the kids at home zone, and as they grow a new set of challenges emerge.
Challenges like, managing the addiction behaviour of a 6year old to computer games? Encouraging creativity and independent thought? Keeping them safe as they gradually spend less time under my wing and gaze, and more time in the public arena. (Luckily on holiday i could temper these tricky questions with a few mai-tais from the poolside bar)
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the team of super-nannies (grandmother, nieces, aunts uncles and 1 dog) all played tag team to keep the wheels turning. I felt a little impressed by the size of the instruction booklet I left - wow, when you write it all down I do have a busy job.
Big Brother had let his sister come into bed with him if she got sad at night.
They had drawn a beautiful and detailed Welcome Home poster.
The reunion was epic, loud and emotional.
I thanked Big Brother for his prayers, praying I didn't get eaten by a shark over there (and reassured him it is more likely to be donked by a falling coconut than chomped by a shark)
We are back in the zone, and the break seems like a fabulous dream. Back in daily life I am trying not to grump, but go with it, gladly giving away my peace and personal space for just a few more years.
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