I’m too old to start Tap

2012

With a new year rapidly upon us I thought it time to share a cheesy motivational message (apologies).

Not long before Christmas I had a conversation with my 11 year old who was at the time tapping her feet like crazy around the house in some lovely old tap shoes she had been given by the lovely Jane from a certain south Newtown op shop.

The conversation went along the lines:

ME: :Why don’t you start tap lessons next year?”

Miss 11: “What? Oh I’m too old, all the other kids will have been doing it for years”.

ME: “You’re too old!?!?! You’re 11! Of course you’re not too old!!!”.

This conversation totally dismayed me because, apart from a few certain, mostly sporting, ambitions, most avenues are open to us at any age.  But many of us fall into the trap of thinking we’ve missed the boat, and then cement in this inaction with a sprinkling of I’m too busy, I’m too tired, or it’s all too hard.

So for all who have a dream to follow, whether you’re to be a famous vigneron, writer or photographer, start now!  It’s not too late! Book a course, write something, do anything… and set a goal! Oh, and if you’re afraid you’ll fail, the inconvenient truth is that if you don’t try it’s an automatic fail, so you might as well have a crack.

Have a great new year and I hope Santa was a greater success for you than he was for my 6 year old daughter whose sole wish was for a real magic wand :/  Ciao!

Take black undies to the hospital and 17 other tips for new mums

This was published on iVillage a week or so ago and I’ve finally got round to publishing it here too!  If you prefer you can read it on iVillage.

1. Don’t buy the most expensive pram in the world, chances are you’ll be downsizing it to a lightweight stroller the first chance you’ll get (you will ignore this tip, you will buy the fanciest pram, and you will get sick of carting it around and get a stroller the first minute you can, but don’t say I didn’t tell you!).

2. Run, don’t walk and buy Up The Duff by Kaz Cooke if you’re still pregnant and Baby Love by Robin Barker if you’re not.  Baby Love is the bible of babies and will help you with every rash, late night breastfeeding freak out, and even first meals.

3. Take black undies with you to hospital.  They match delightfully with the surfboard sized pads you’ll be sporting.

4. You get afterbirth cramps.  No-one told me this.  And I think I forgot each time anyway.  They hurt.

5. Giving your baby their first bath is scary, but swoosh them around gently in the water and they love it after their “help, I’m naked!” panic attack.  This grew to be my favourite time each day with my babies.

6. They grow really fast, in what will seem like a month you’ll have a roly poly six month old, and seemingly a year later they’ll be 12.  Savour every second while they’re tiny!

7. Sometimes babies don’t poo for several days.  When it finally comes, it can arrive with the force of Vesuvius, spilling forth from every opening of the nappy, often travelling all the way up their back to their neck.  It is statistically proven that these events are most likely to happen when they’re in the car, in their best outfit, and on the way to a glamorous event.

8. Due to number 7, wherever you go it is best to take at least one change of clothes and a plastic bag.

9.  The sense of responsibility can be overwhelming in the beginning.  Thinking this may have just been me I have asked around and have had resounding feedback that having full responsibility for keeping a little being alive is a little freaky!

10. You will meet some people whose babies seem to sleep through within 5 minutes of birth.  I always found it best to pretend that they were lying.  Or that it meant my baby was more alert and therefore smarter.  Or anything that made me feel better about this.

11. New babies sleep a lot.  More than you’ll think.  There’s not much coochy coo time in the early days.

12. You will get advice from everyone.  They will all give you different advice.  It is very confusing.  4 nurses in 24 hours giving you completely different tips about how to breastfeed can do your head in.  Take the advice that makes the most sense to you and disregard the rest.

13. After the first couple of weeks where you will be lavishly spoiled with flowers and fancily wrapped pink or blue gifts, you’ll be at home with a baby.  For lots of hours.  It can get a little lonely.

14. Habits are easily made, not so easily broken (though this applies to all ages really!)

Oh and to remember, for down the track….

15. They will make you laugh, lots.

16. They grow up and become you.

17. You will have unbroken nights of sleep again.

18. You can’t take them back 🙂

Well that’s fucked

When my darling youngest daughter, Petunia (ahem), was 4 years old, we visited my parents one day.

My lovely mother was putting make up (oh yes inappropriate I am sure) on Petunia at the little make up desk in her bedroom.  Above Lala’s head (yes my mother, despite not being a teletubbie, does gets called Lala “in real life” as Petunia would say) there was a large hole in the ceiling where my parents were fixing up some wiring or some such thing.  As Lala did Petunia’s make up, little Petunia looked up, saw the hole and said calmly to my mother “well that’s fucked”.  Which it was.  Clearly.  There was a big hole in the ceiling.

This took the wind out of Lala’s sails somewhat and she came out of her bedroom calling me and choking back laughter.

After I overcame my pride at Petunia’s superior vocabulary and understanding of context for a four year old, I did get to thinking about swearing.  Because I can be a bit of a potty mouth.  And my husband is probably even more of one (he works in the music industry you see, they’re all terribly naughty).  We have tried to curtail our swearing over the years, particularly around the childers,  but not to much avail.

We don’t however swear at them. Years ago I visited an outer western Sydney suburb to attempt to sell some software to a law firm, and saw a woman dragging her child along ranting  “If you don’t f-ing come with me, I’ll f-ing hit you, you little f-ing brat”.  That made me feel terribly ill and want to leave this nameless suburb immediately.   Don’t swear at your children, it’s not nice.  At all.  Swear at the fridge instead.  Or the cat.  Just not the children.

Oh and before I toodle off I should mention that at around the same time Petunia came to visit me at work, drew a sausage shape on the whiteboard in my office, and then proceeded to call out “Penis PENIS PENIS ” louder and louder for about 5 minutes.

She was put on this earth to test me I am sure.

It’s not I love my third child more…

 

Happy Sunday! Here’s a post I wrote a little while ago which was published on iVillage yesterday! So you can read it here or here: http://www.ivillage.com.au/its-not-i-love-my-third-child-more/150142

“Have you seen the preschool concert video Jane?” I was asked nonchalantly by a mother at school one morning, shortly after my youngest had started Kindergarten.

“Aaaah no” I replied, adding quickly with a flash of fear “Why do you ask?”.

“Because, um, you were having a bit of a cry” she replied.

This was exactly what I had hoped would not happen.  I knew they had taped the concert that day.

Because I did cry.  Boy did I cry.  I sobbed into my tissue as if I were at my life’s end watching a tape of my life in fast forward.

It was the bloody song they all sang at the end of the concert that did it.

40 of these gorgeous little 4 and 5 year olds got assembled in their confounded cuteness and sang this infernal song which went something like:

“I’m a big kid now,

I’ve got my hat and my bag and my shoes

and I’m ready for school

I’m a big kid now”.

Tear jerking stuff if you’ve ever heard it.

This was however the third time I’d sat through such a concert.  And the first two times, I was FINE.  Totally fine.  In fact, just quietly, quite happy that one little body would be out of my hands five days a week in the near future.

It isn’t that I love my third daughter any more than the others.  I don’t.  I in fact ascribe to the theory that you love them all equally, if differently.

She simply was my BABY and this was clear and irrefutable evidence that my baby was really a baby no longer.

It’s funny how when you’re in the thick of babies and toddlerdom and preschoolers you feel that this is a phase almost to be endured in some ways.  Yet once it’s gone you yearn for those dimpled bottoms, first steps, and tantrums on the supermarket floor.

Looking now at my 11, 8 and 6 year olds, I can see that in ten years time my gaze will fall upon a 21 year old woman and I’ll wonder how on earth we got there so fast.

But, I will still be her mum. And I’m sure I’ll be honoured to be associated with such a wonderfully smart and grounded young woman.

Happy Present-Mongering, Dear Friend

There are many seasons to a life, don’t you think.

One season which is highly enjoyable, yet at the same time irksome, is the present-giving season.

In quick succession, your once single off-the-wall friend, can be engaged, married, knocked up and then the proud caretaker of a wee babbie.

If the indignity of watching your friend turn into a sleep-deprived milk bar (or partner of one) wasn’t enough to bear, there’s the requirement to celebrate each step along this path by giving them a gift.

There’s the Engagement Present.  The Kitchen Tea present.  The Wedding Present.  The Pregnancy present.  The Baby Shower Present.  And then of course, the present for the wee squealing thing itself.

Now I’m not against present-giving.  Not at all. I adore both giving and receiving presents.  However, during this particular season of a friend’s life, it can be a bit much, no?

I heartily support the wedding present, and despite my preference for purchasing a tangible gift, do understand the wishing well affair that is now so popular since we shack up well before we marry these days.  You only need so many toasters and towels.

Also, the baby present.  There’s nothing cuter than buying OOO clothes again, or even a lovely pampering gift for the new parents themselves. Not that’s it about me of course.

However, the Kitchen Tea and the Baby Shower ? Meh.

I should be clear here though.  I LOVE parties.  Any excuse for a party.  I love dress up parties, dress down parties, cocktail parties, Christmas parties.  Any party really.  So if you’re going to turn your Kitchen Tea into an uproarious celebration, I’ll be there, literally with bells on if you’d like.  But a present?  You’re getting one in five minutes at the wedding darling, keep your shirt on.

And the Baby Shower?  Well, in my opinion, it’s a little hard to kick up your heels at the Baby Shower.  As much as I enjoy decorating a teeny little singlet…. actually scrap that, I have zero interest in decorating teeny little singlets.

The prompt for this post was a friend’s bewilderment at what to put on the card for a baby shower.  I suggested “Happy Present-Mongering” which she thought hilarious but probably less than PC.

Having said that, I’m off shopping now.  My children are attending parties for 4 little darlings tomorrow, so it’s time to brandish the Visa.

That’s the next season.

To The Tooth Fairy: A Warning from HR

Dear Tooth Fairy,

It has come to our attention that you have been remarkably lax in the performance of your duties.

We refer in particular to the following instances  :

1.   Over 5 households have reported that you have repeatedly failed to attend on the night the tooth has been left for your retrieval.  Sweeping into a child’s room at 9.00am after they have advised their parent you have not attended is simply not acceptable and puts you in significant danger of being seen by a child (and you know full well the permanent, in fact fatal to you, consequences of such an occurrence).

2.  In Household B, we have been advised that up to THREE TEETH have waited in a matchbox beside the child’s bed before you decided to attend.  This child apparently made repeated complaints to their mother about this before it was brought to our attention.  (If this occurs again your contract will be terminated without further notice).

3 In Household C, you took the tooth out of the box in which it was kept for safe-keeping and replaced it with a number of LEAVES.  This has caused untold trauma to the child in question.  We have heard this caused you significant amusement.  It is not funny.  If this child takes action against us in future for mental pain and suffering due to your actions we cannot guarantee that we will not seek to recover from you any damages won.

Please take this as a final warning.

Thank you.

SuperDad

I have a secret.  It’s something I don’t talk about often for fear of reprisal.

My husband is a Super Dad.

Shhhhhh!  I don’t want this getting around. I know it’s unfair. I’ve read the articles, seen the stats.  Most women, even if they work, take on more than their fair share of the burden of housework, cooking and looking after kids.

My husband is the exception to the rule. He’s fantastic with my girls, an amazing cook and enjoys, ENJOYS (I know, it’s sickening) nothing more when he gets home from work than a quick vacuum around the kitchen and lounge to make himself feel King of his Domain.

He then lights a few choice lamps, some incense, tidies the lounge, bathes the kids and cooks a delicious meal.

It’s at this point that I tend to trip through the front door, weary from a long day of marketing and management.

Invariably, three clean, smiling, pajama-ed girls turn from the table, look at me and announce “Mummy, you’re just in time for dinner”.  OK, OK  I may have left reality a little here.  Sometimes that is the case, and sometimes one of the girls is kicking another under the table or proclaiming “I won’t eat that”.  But what I have described DOES HAPPEN in my house, just not all the time.

Furthermore he is completely and utterly comfortable with this.  He has no insecurities about being the Dad in the playground most of the time.  He doesn’t give a toss what other people think.  He goes to the veggie garden at school, snips a little rosemary and parsley for the evening’s dinner menu and chats with the mums who tend the garden and are glad to see the herbs go to good use.

The only time he has been caught out was the day he was playing at home with our girls and one of them put her tiara on his head.  That afternoon he went out to the shops to find some replacement vacuum parts.  I was at home at the time so he decided to go solo.  He went into the shop, did what he needed to do, got back into the car and upon looking in the rear vision mirror realised that he still had the tiara on his head.  “I wondered why the guy was looking at me funny” was his only comment when he got home,  after first asking me accusingly “WHY didn’t you tell me I still had the tiara on my head?”.  Which of course I couldn’t reply to, being as I was helplessly convulsing in laughter on the floor.

I do pay my penance though.  He does occasionally go away for work, and when he does it’s for up to 9 weeks at a time.  Which leaves me as mum, marketer, manager, cook, and cleaner.

When this happens I tend to go into shock.  After the reality has sunk in, I go to the wardrobe and silently, reluctantly, but with a good deal of pride, pull out and dust off my Super Mum outfit.