Archive for babies
School excursions and rainy days
Posted by: | CommentsMake it to school, drop off cupcakes for entry into Godzilla’s class’ show day competition, swear a lot at the teacher, head over to Monkey Boy’s class room to find Chippie and find out what I’m supposed to be doing for the day.
Handed a 4 inch thick folder, complete with phone numbers, list of students I have (my own – damnit, I asked for some good ones! – his bestie and 3 others who I’ve had nothing to do with before) and a map of the Melbourne Show and vague instructions on what we’re supposed to be doing.
Placed into groups to wait for the bus. Our’s is 20 minutes late, we get to the show at 10 and just in time for it to start to rain. Before we even get into the gate, one of “my” kids starts complaining and asking why we can’t go on the rides. Then why they can’t get showbags. About 936 times in the 36 steps it takes us to get to the entrance.
Watch some pig diving, and head off on the walk around the show, with a horse lover, and animal hater and 3 boys, one of whom is still asking why we can’t get showbags, when can we go on the rides and not getting the fact that he is really beginning to piss me off.
Wander around a bit more, looking at various animals, rolling eyes at conversations involving words like “horse’s bum” and “ball sack” and “udder” – apparently an uttterly (or udderly – hahaha) hilarious phenomena.
The rain continued until we found somewhere for lunch, sat and ate, I, out of desperation, purchased a coffee that cost something like $800 (for the small) and which was utterly disgusting. Very disappointing.
And not good for the kids, one of whom thought the baby lambs were gorgeous, one still hating animals, another still asking about show bags and rides, and the other two talking about penises and other, equally uproarious things.
After threatening to lie on floor and throw a very loud, arms and legs flailing type tantrum if I was asked one more time if they could get a showbag or go on a ride, he let up for about 15 seconds before starting again.
Took them to see the chooks and other fowl. Mostly in the hope that the fowl would be louder than the kids, and quite possibly less foul, and would drain out there incessant annoyingness.
Although close, the kids still managed to be louder, one racing off here and there because the chooks/ducks/turkeys were “so cute”, another couldn’t stand them and Monkey Boy stood in front of a rather large and noisy turkey, copying it’s noise and it answering back. This kept him and bestie entertained for a few minutes, with 5th child asked if we could go on a ride now.
Thankfully, the chooks drowned out my very loud and frustrated scream, and we left, because it was nearly time to leave. And I really, seriously didn’t want to miss the bus back to school.
Half an hour till bus time and the skies, which had been dripping all days, opened up and dumped on us, just to make sure we really were wet.
Boys went feral and started wresting, in puddles and under drippy roofs, until I pulled out the mum card and told them we would walk back to the start and they could sit in the rain for half an hour while we waited for the bus. Must have done it well, because they didn’t argue (except for “I wasn’t doing anything, and can we go get a showbag now?”) and stopped immediately.
Make it back to our groups meeting spot, in time to meet the bus, only to discover it was’t ours and had to wait half an hour before ours turned up. The door on this 1950′s model, painted white so as to pretend it wasn’t really one of those yellow 1950′s busses, was too small to fit the pram in, so I let the driver manoeuver it in for me.
Made it back to school just after the bell went, ensuring I missed absolutley everything about Godzilla’s show day at school. Still bucketing down, I have to get kids, pram, bags and a term’s worth of Godzilla’s papers and artwork to the car without getting it wet.
Race off to swimming lessons, where Chippie was saturated before we even made it in the door. Thankfully, he was so tired he wasn’t interested in going in, and I did get the opportunity to change him. Including the nappy he’d been in all day, as he hadn’t been out of the pram.
Got partly changed myself, for my meeting, friend rings to say she’d been caught up and organised to pick her hubby up, take him to where she was with her kids, drop mine off, grab her and off we go.
Make it 5 minutes late, get wet racing in, get wet coming out, drop friend home, she races in to get my kids so I don’t have to get Chippie out of car. Monkey Boy can’t find shoes, Godzilla upset about something.
Eventually make it home, grabbing takeaway on the way, managing somehow to not get wet, eat, throw kids in bath, get them in bed and contemplate bath myself … discover am too tired to even be bothered.
Not a good sign.
Switch everything off, climb into bed … something I’ve forgotten but can’t remember what?
Crawl, begrudgingly, out of bed and write up note from Tooth Fairy. Read over it, can’t decipher it, fix up typos and print it off …
Stagger back to bed and …zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Of course, I don’t do anything else with my day …
Posted by: | CommentsMonkey Boy has lost a LEGO man.
I’m not surprised really, as, for some reason, they were all – all 897 of them - were taken out of their designated play area and distributed around various parts of the house; the top of the TV, inside shoes, up noses …
It’s quite devastating, a LEGO man missing. Particularly this one, as he is the Chef LEGO man and is required to be manning the chicken stand so the workers, who are currently building the railway line, have somewhere to go for lunch and don’t die of malnutrition or starvation.
Honestly, they’re more likely to die of baby slobber and/or being consumed by one, because I appear to be the only person in the house capable of keeping small things out of the babies reach. When I can find them, that is.
I was given the task again this morning of “Please look for my LEGO man. He’s the chef one. He’s holding a chicken. He looks like this” and I’m shown the box that he came in. I have no idea why we still have the box or how many times it has been retreived from various bins, but we do. “Please? You never do anything for me when I’m at school!’
So, in between writing articles, doing some admin, feeding the baby, hanging out the 592 loads of washing sitting there to be hung, and washing the remaing 963 and doing everythign I can to avoid doing the bathroom, I ponder that the Chef LEGO man is really to blame for his own demise. If he’s going to wander off from the safety of the pack, albeit quite likely between the semi-toothless, slobbery jaws of an infant, then, really, he’s just asking for it.
And are groups of LEGO men referred to as “packs”? What is the terminology for a mass of LEGO men (and women, lets not discriminate) congregating in the one spot? Usually right in the middle of the bloody floor where they can’t be seen in the dark or when mummy is carrying a fully laden basket of wet washing that should really have been hung out three days ago!
Given he was carrying a bit of chicken, I’m willing to bet he’s been eaten. Although it’s also possible he’s run, screaming, and is in amongst the washing to be washed, or hiding under a nearby couch or refrigerator. No doubt he’ll be found, somewhere between my bedroom and Chippie’s at some stupid hour when I’ve been awoken from a nice sleep, I’m cold and … barefoot!
The school classroom pet and vital decision making for mums
Posted by: | CommentsLast night was Monkey Boy’s turn to bring home the school pet … a chamelion called “Rex”.
Thankfully, not a real one, as it would probably have been eaten by bubs or ended up in the washing basket, not to be found for 4 days or when I next found the time to do the washing, whichever was soonest.
Rex is based on a book of the same name, where the kids’ names are drawn out of a hat and they get to take Rex home and write about what he did at home in a special diary that also gets sent home. Last night was our turn.
Our turn also involved taking lots of photos of Rex, because Monkey Boy a) doesn’t like drawing much and b) trying to get Monkey Boy to draw is something akin to sticking hot pokers in your eyeballs, shoving bamboo skewers under your toenails, pointy bit first, and taking a 3 year old shopping. Simultaneously.
We took photos of Rex doing all sorts of things. Monkey Boy was exceptionally well behaved, to the point I considered “losing” Rex so that he would remain in our household and work his magic on Monkey Boy.
The result was getting up first thing to download the photos and print them off so Monkey Boy could stick them in the special book. Inevitably, the Universe and rest of familly conspired against me, Chippie deciding to sleep in and waking after Grumpy went off to work, so I got to deal with him and the other. Monkey Boy and Godzilla were so excited about Rex still being there they went nuts. We had little bread, and zero chance of me getting out of the house to get it.
Did the photo thing in between feeding baby and yelling at older two to get some kind of sense (not common – I knew that was a real push and I’m not an idiot with such unreasnable expectations) and was left with a hard decision to make … have a shower or make the school lunches.
A shower was getting beyond ‘want’ and more in the realms of ‘need’ given the makeup residue on my face from several days ago. Thankf ully most of that had come off on the sheets. Also in desperate need of a wash. And I felt icky. I wasn’t sure if I was able to function without a shower.
*sigh* But didn’t want to get the phone call from school either.
Made lunches – which happened more quickly than anticipated given the bread shortage status, and was able to pop in the shower. Chippie was happily playing and I advised Monkey Boy about 892 times where I was going.
So he led Chippie into the bathroom and buggered off. I rinsed the shampoo off my head and opened my eyes to find Chippie dropping a toilet roll into the toilet, leaving just enough paper to then unravel the roll and suck on icky bits of it. He then proceeded to rip teensy tiny bits of paper off the roll and fling them as best as possible.
Ten minutes later, as I was putting shoes and sock on, I was still pulling bits of toilet paper from my feet, backs of legs and celing rose …
Leave house and return 32 seconds later to retrieve Rex and volcano for school science fair.
That’ll make for a Happy Mummy
Posted by: | CommentsAwoke this morning to no water in the house.
Actually, I awoke much earlier than that to a crying baby, who was unceremoniously dumped on me at some stupid hour by a half asleep husband who’d stumbled out of bed and grabbed him. Then stumbled into the bathroom, loudly, and grumpily stumbled back complaining there was no water.
So he boiled the kettle and used what water there was in there to shave before he went to work. Which is kind of fair enough, but I do need a MUG of coffee after I’ve had my first MUG of coffee for the day.
Thankfully, for my sanity and the continued survival of the children, I’d sorted the automatic coffee machine out last night – we were all safe!
For about 13 seconds – the kids woke, discovered the aqua-deficit and commenced the “why is there no water?” mantra. The on that goes “Why is there no water? But why is there no water? But why is there no water?”
Repeat 9 million times a minute.
I almost made them ring the water company, but they got bored and I was left doing it. At 8 am was told it would be another 2-3 hours! Do they not care that I’ve only had one coffee and am required to care for 3 small children, two of which need to be at school within the hour?
Argh!
I’ve been invited to a friend’s house for lunch. Which means I may have to cancel. Or worse – go smelly! Relent and actually risk asking someone for help – or plan to ask if I can have a shower at her place – when the water comes back on.
Now I’m left with the option of asking for something (not something I’m terribly good at) or be late (something I’m really terrible at)
Friend preferred me late and showered, but arrived at her place decaffienated.
There’s nothing like a good friend who knows how to make a coffee!
That’s not funny at all!
Posted by: | CommentsArrive home from day trip to Queenscliffe, a thankfully uneventful and I Spy free return trip.
Organise kids to pack for their sleepover, Godzilla and Monkey Boy doing their respective jobs of unstacking dishwasher and feeding the cats, and we drop them off.
Grumpy busily stacking the dishwashwer when we return, whilst we decide what we wil do for dinner, Chippie crawling around eveywhere he shouldn’t be and touching everything he shouldn’t.
I walk into the kitchen to find him pulling a spoon out of the dishwasher and sucking on it, whilst Grumpy stands back and watches.
I almsot vomit when realise it is the spoon that was used to feed the cats. Overwhelming desire to vomit made a) yelling at Grumpy and b) hastily removing spoon from Chippie’s clutches and hosing him down, very difficult. In a time longer than I deemed acceptable, I was able to remove spoon, yell at Grumpy and stuff Chippie under running tap in sink.
I could smell cat food for next few hours, and Grumpy spent the equivalent amount of time accusing me of being a bad mother for feeding the baby cat food, and calling Chippie “puss”.
And nearly making me vomit again.
He claims it is payback for me laughing earlier when Chippie threw up on his head.
I think he is just being a bastard!
I’m happy for the day to end now.
And, surely, I’ve had my three “bad things come in threes”.
I was trying to be helpful and get the limes that Grumpy needed for dinner. The ones up the other end of the house, under the pram where, in my distressed state earlier, I had left them. I was being helpful despite running close to late for gymnastics. I was being helpful despite Karma haivng a bit of a laugh and offering some payback.
I know, I know, I tell the kids not to run in the house all the time. But, I was in a hurry. And being helpful.
Thomas the Tank Engine is not my friend (technically, it was Emily, one of Thomas’ friends. But not my friend). I stood on Emily as I walked briskly … I wasn’t running! … skated, twisted my ankle, smacked my shin on the bottom step and fell back onto by back.
I lay on the floor in the foetal position. The only position for it really. I hurt. I was surrounded by Thomas’ friends and my not friends. Grumpy called out to check I was ok. Monkey Boy yelled at Chippie for making a mess of his trains, and at me for letting Chippie make a mess of his trains.
(I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be discussing leaving trains where Chippie can play with them, and putting things away and making the area safe for Chippie and everything else I have said and will no doubt have to repeat many, many more times)
Then he came to check that I was ok – becuase, really, he is a compassionate and helpful little boy.
“Don’t touch me!” I advised him when he went to assist me and check my ankle was ok.
“OK,” he said. “Poke, poke, poke” he continued, as he sat beside me and poked various parts of my body as I remained incapable of moving enough to prevent him touching me.
Eventually the pain wore off, I delivered the limes, I put my boots on and broke the zip (Argh! I want the day to finish RIGHT NOW!) and took Monkey Boy to gymnastics.
We arrived home 15 minutes before our guests were due to arrive, me still in a vague and traumatised state, made worse by the fact that I had to serve them CCs and a choice of two dips for pre-dinner nibblies due to lack of deli produce with which to prepare an acceptable (by me) and adequate nibbles platter.
We discussed the days events over dinner, I botched dessert (although it could have been much worse) and served tea and coffee.
*sigh*
Despite the day I’ve had, the valid excuses and the sincere empathy and forgiveness of my friends, I still feel slightly inadequate at not having a cheese platter to finish off the night.
Besides, it’s not my fault the deli closed early!
And then I smashed a champagne glass … *sigh*
Might as well do something useful.
Posted by: | Comments*sigh*
Chippie is wide awake again. Still. I’m not surprised – I have no reason to be surprised – becuase its morning and he’s never had a morning sleep. Still, I’m a very busy lady.
Right now, I’m attempting to participate (well, listen in on) a teleseminar about working from home and stress.
Whilst I’m doing the listening as best I can, he is trashing my office.
*sigh*
I think I shall give up and go up the street to get the things I need for guests coming for dinner tonight. Might as well do something useful with the time.
Yep, good idea. Right now he’s barfing up my post it notes. Shopping it is, then.
Mad Cow writes a very funny blog that all parents can relate to. I know that whenever I drop in to catch up I will end up in stitches (of laughter!) and head off to my day with a smile on my face. Thankfully, here is someone who tells it like it is. 