Archive for children’s behaviour
Getting to know the kids
Posted by: | CommentsWe walk to and from school. It takes approximately 25-30 minutes. Longer if we have to go via childcare to collect Chippie.
This gives me ample time to catch up on stuff with the kids. Useful stuff.
Gdozilla was cold. And complainy. Personally, I didn’t understand this when he had a perfectly good, and new, fleecy lined jacket, complete with hood, a polar fleece jumper and a woollen, lovingly knitted (not by me – just so we’re clear) scarf.
Or course, the jacket stuffed in his bag, and jumper and scarf scrunched up in a ball and held against the front of his short sleeved school polo top may have had something to do with it. I suggest he put the jumper and scarf on.
Meanwhile, I listen to “the only thing” Monkey Boy learnt at school today; that bags don’t like orange dominos … which I thought was fairly common knowledge, but what do I know … 
?
????
Turn to Godzilla, due to his shoving his bag at my vagina, which I took to be a request to hold it for him, as he attempts to pull his right-sized jumper over the two-sizes-too-big, and unzipped jacket. Which was over the top of his scarf. I left him to it.
Monkey Boy launches into, despite my requests he doesn’t because I have no idea what he’s talking about and it hurts my head, a move-by-move recount of what happened at lunch time when they played Star Wars, using the names of all the characters that I have NO idea about.
This obviously reminds Godzilla to loudly proclaim “Look how many penises I have!” as he flaps the fringy bit on his scarf, which is hanging out the bottom of his jacket-under-his-jumper and covering his genitals. Well, technically, his trackies were doing a good job of that, but you know what I mean.
And then the “It’s my turn to do the password” conversation ensues as we approach childcare, collect a happy Chippie who commences screaming because he roared at some kid, who roared back. Chippie then insisted on climbing onto my back for the walk home, but was easily distracted by a low-ish fence on which he was able to walk.
Then jump off from conisderable height. Which is always just a little bit heart-wrenching for me. As I had his hand at the time, however, it was considerably more shoulder wrenching.
Ouch!
He and Monkey Boy then got into some running game, which concluded as we waited to cross at the lights, with Monkey Boy saying “NO!”, because he could, and in response to Chippie saying “say DES!” (yes) for some unfathomable reason.
Chippie waited until we had a reasonably sized collection of old Italian ladies, a young childless couple and a local business owner before he swung his entire arm around in a half circle, concluding with a fair smack to Monkey Boy’s face, because he said “no”.
I shall leave you to draw your own conclusions as to all the possible outcomes of that little scenario …
Product Review: That’ll need something to stop the bleeding
Posted by: | CommentsI was fortunate enough, some months back, to received a package of Elastoplast goodies in the mail.
A good thing really, as I am now beginning to really appreciate.
Not only where there sticky things to stop the bleeding, but also sports tapes and bandages and more sticky things to cover sores and burns and cuts.
I’m not sure if its due to a full moon, the silly season, or just my family, but they’re coming in extremely handy.
We’re nearly out. Godzilla has always had a love affair with sticky things to stop the bleeding, so much so that there doesn’t even need to be blood to require one (or even a mark) and I took back my words about my Mother-In-Law and her fascination with buying a bazillion packets of anything that cost $2 a pack and used those “sticking plasters” on him instead. Once, I even drew one on. But that’s because he drew the scratch on himself.
But lately, he’s been afflicted with a condition I call “Fallsy”, whereby he has grown a bit and has forgotten where all his bits finish and he keeps tripping over, skinning his knees and requiring, amongst much screaming, “something to stop the blood!”
Hellooooo Elastoplast!
I have even been referred to as a “good mum” because I have a back stashed in the nappy bag, my hand bag and the teensy storage compartment thing on the back of the pram. I’m not stupid.
Monkey Boy, on the other hand, has always had an aversion to such things. It hasn’t stopped him requiring one or two in his time, usually for such things as Falling From Heights, Playing Silly Buggers and Being An Idiot.
Recently, even Grumpy Pants has been in need of sticking plasters – the fabric ones, I found, are best for cuts with knives.
(As a slight aside, as a chef, he knows the “never leave knives in sinks” rule. Which didn’t stop him putting a knife in the kitchen sink when doing the dishes, then doing something really stupid. He planned to leave some dishes soaking, then remembered he had to go to work. So though “oh, Mad Cow might come and finish them off, so I’d better remove the knife in case she does and doesn’t cut hersel … OUCH, fuck!” Why he ever thought I’d go in and finish the dishes I have no idea. Crazy.)
So, he put a knife in the kitchen sink full of sudsy water, then stuck his hand into remove it and … voila … much swearing and requiring a need for Something To Stop The Blood. It was also extremely funny, because a) usually it’s me cutting myself on the knives and b) he always laughs and calls me an idiot.
Have I mentioned the fabric sticking plasters are best for cuts on fingers, cos they soak up loads of blood. I can vouch for this on a number of occasions, including the time I took a small chunk off my thumb becuase blood kids where having a fight behind me whilst I was chopping carrots for dinner. I did have to use several in that instance, however, but damn they were good!
He also managed to cut himself again, within the week, on one of his own knives.
The warmer weather has created an invasion of mozzies, which my youngest two, who have adopted my physiological aversion to mosquito bites, attract, are bitten and result in some seriously massive, red lumps that they insist on scratching. Welcome again, Elastoplast and your hard to remove sticking plasters that also prevent children gouging chunks out of their inflamed bite-sites and, consequently, making me feel queasy.
They’re also a bit fabulous for sticking on the backs of your shoes that rub to prevent them from rubbing.
We haven’t so far, had to use the strapping tape or bandages. Not on the kids away. The goodies pack, courtesy of Elastoplast, also contained a small soccer ball and foot ball, which the kids first used as hats, then proceeded to destroy the house with. Strapping tape good for putting my good vase back together.
And given the number of incidents of late requiring a complete restock-plus-more of sticking plasters, and an increase in extra-curricular sporting activities, I’m not quite so stressed given I have a stash of bandages and tape in the cupboard. Phew!
So, have to say, in a household full of boys, stupid behaviour, accident proneness and sharp knives, not necessarily mutually exclusive, I have to say how relieved I am that Elastoplast exists. As are my floorboards and the one white top I own.
For their complete range of stuff – and am super impressed at what they do have! – visit www.elastoplast.com.au
(Have my eye on the Kitchen Kit right now. Am unable to find the Stupid Boy Behaviour or Smart Arse Husband kits, however)
Speaking at their level
Posted by: | CommentsArgh!
GAH!
EEAAARRRRRGGGHHHHH!
I may have mentioned it before, but sometimes children are exteremly annoying and trying, and, quite frankly, do my fucking head in.
This time – like most times – Monkey Boy was at it. Domineering his younger brother and demanding he do stuff. The stuff that is my job to tell him to do, not his.
Putting his baby brother in his cot so he “couldn’t play with my trains” and annoy him and making him cry a lot and making me get all yelly and stabby and annoyed.
And, finally, when he decided he would go an “help” by playing with said baby brother instead of doing the job I had just asked him to do something in the vacinity of a bazillion times, I got angry.
I did my best to keep calm and try to speak at his level as all the books and experts suggest you do.
I really did.
“STOP BEING AN ARSEHEAD!” I demanded of him.
Then asked him why he was being one.
Hmm. Perhaps “arsehead” was not quite the word to use. And then I considered it. He’s a smart boy. His comprehension of things is well beyond his years.
I’ve never spoken to him like a baby – baby talk makes me want to vomit, quite frankly. I’ve often used “big” words around him, and spoken to him like he’s a person.
Yes “arsehead” is good.
Much more mature than “poo poo head” or “bum face”.
And we all know just how mature and growed up I can be. And sensible.
Just saying.
A tragedy of the worst kind – R.I.P MUG
Posted by: | CommentsArrive home after much drinking and eating and socialising and having a good time.
Discover that Mokey Boy had not stacked the dishwasher as he’d been instsructed prior to us leaving, and communicated instruction again.
He attempted the “but it’s past my bedtime” thing. I’m onto him, however, and explain the sensibility of doing it when we first ask, preferably tantrumless, so that he does not miss out on things like playing … or going to bed.
Typically, he’s rambling away, albeit nicely and jokingly and we’re chatting amicably when I hear a crash and turn to find MUG lying on the floor with several large chunks missing from her body.
Monkey Boy looks like he’s about to cry, Grumpy wanders in to find out what the noise was about, Monkey Boy advises him, cautiously, that “I broke Mummy’s MUG” and Grumpy Pants reads her her last rites, giving what, I’m sure he perceives is a suitable eulogy.
“Oh. Is that all? Well, pick it up and put it in the bin, quickly!” and wanders off.
Monkey Boy does as asked, then, picking up a large knife from the sink, he holds it up and informs me that “I’m surprised you didn’t stab me with this after I broke your MUG.”
Well, I would, but I’m still in shock.
After a few more moments, and cautious sideways glances at me, he asks “Why aren’t you yelling at me?”
Again, probably shock. I’m far to stunned and distraught at the tragedy that has just taken place. I’m really not sure how I’m going to go on.
I’m not entirely sure if Monkey Boy was really testing to see how far he could push me, and had pushed MUG to her demise, whether she had leapt to her own end due to thoughts of how hard she’d have to work should Monkey Boy continue his arse-headedness, of if it was a genuine accident.
I’m fairly sure, however, that her not being there for me tomorrow morning will result in some serious yelling, and a good chance of a stabbing. Or two.
(For those who don’t know MUG, you can read about her here)
A simple “please” will do it
Posted by: | CommentsChippie’s vocabulary is rapidly increasing.
He is of that age where he is absorbing everything around him, like a sponge .. no literall, I swear he absorbed a sponge. It was there, with him, in the bath, and now …. gone!
Also, he has brothers that are teaching him well; “Chippie, can you say ‘nose’ / ‘eyes’ / ‘poo’ / ‘wee’ / ‘bum’ / ‘Godzilla is an arse head’”
(Followed by “STOP! That is enough. Do not teach your brother things like that. Chippie, can you tell your brother to stop being an obnoxious little twat? Good boy.”)
Which pleases me no end, as my favouritest thing in the world is good communication and my favouritest time in a child’s develoment is that bit where he learns to say enough to communicate what he wants without pointing, urghing, screaming, crying, stomping or throwing and before he can say so much that he annoys you with his incessant gibberish.
He can say “thank you” and “here you go” and “car” and “plane” (bim) and “truck” (tuck) and “train” (ttt ttt ttt too’ too’) and “Monkey Boy” (Ma-poo) and various other words.
So, when I strip him off for his bath this evening, and place him in then gently remove the battery operated trains from his hands and calmly advise him that “these are not bath toys, they can’t go into the bath” (because, I am a parent that likes to talk a lot and annoy them with my incessant gibberish) I simple “please” would have got the message across.
And not the ear-splitting scream, followed immediately by the breath in and the holding of it.
The holding of it until he passed out.
Again. The third time in six months.
Completely out of it, unconscious, out cold.
On the upside, at least the crying stopped.
He still never got the trains for in the bath. He wouldn’t have got them if he said “please” either.
I just personally could do without the heart pounding, fearful anguish the passing out option provides.
A simple “please” is preferred.
And I do wonder how you go about that breath holding thing as an adult, when it all just goes horribly wrong for you …
Stop messing with my head!
Posted by: | CommentsAwoke, head still sore, body still sore, throat still sore … and this time, I am sick - erk!
The kids come into our bed, earlier than allowed, and Godzilla starts thinking out loud …”I’d like to play with my goofy string today,” he informs us.
Grumpy Pants, not remembering differently, asks, “What’s ‘goofy string’?”
“Aw. Well, it’s string,” Godzilla replies. “And it’s goofy.”
Well explained.
The day proceeds; unpacking of bags, sorting washing, putting things away, Monkey Boy hanging around under pretence of “helping” but instead holding out for any further gifts I may have forgotten to hand over days ago.
He finds a pile of paperwork, amongst which were a few things I collected in China.
“Pahahaha,” he says. Then asks “Did you go to the Fucken’ Spa, Mum?”
And sniggers some more.
“Stop being so silly,” I admonish him. “That’s just silly. It’s the fooshoon spa!”
Although I actually have no idea how to pronounce it and have to wander into the wardrobe and close the door in order to have a quiet chuckle to myself.
Monkey Boy then embarks on a mission of obnoxiousness, to which I send him to his room and he misses out on the movie we put on for our “quiet afternoon”. Off he goes, sulking, until he decides he’d rather be with us.
“If you send me to my room, Mum, well it’s fun in there, so you’re just rewarding me for my behaviour!”
Nice one, buddy. But still don’t want you near me while you’re being an obnoxious little twat.
“Well, isn’t that lucky?” I ask of him. “Win-win for everyone!”
Then further contemplate how to manage that one, as I’m well are that he’s attempting to manipulate me.
Stumble through afternoon, feeling worse than I did this morning, and eventually, thankfully, it is the end of the day, and bathtime.
I hope in with some relaxing essential oils, some lovely smelling bubble bath and a toddler. Relieved boredom and stress of day by teaching him how to say “snot”. Rid self of him once most of his body parts are wet, add some more hot water, and had some time alone.
Lie back to process the last few weeks, now I have a moment too, and finish up pondering why my bath also contains, amongts the rubber ducks and seven face washers, some rice and toenail clippings.
It most certainly is
Posted by: | CommentsThe usual Tuesday morning routine, where I am woken by Grumpy’s alarm.
Actually, slightly unusual awakening, as it’s usually Chippie crying an hour before the alarm where I am woken. Thankfully, he awakes just before Grumpy gets out of the shower, so they have breakfast together and I am reprieved of that particular fun-filled task.
Then its on to getting older kids up, yelling at them about various things such as breakfast, dishwashers, shoes, reader books and wearing pants to school.
Whereby Godzilla bounces around in various stages of dress and Monkey Boy heads to toy room to play with his Thomas set (brought out as Chippie has a harder time eating it than Lego and Monkey Boy loves it, even though he won’t admit it, because he’s far too old for that sort of thing now.)
And it is whilst the two of them – the oldest and the youngest – are in their playing that Monkey Boy informs me of something I already knew, but couldn’t quite place …
“Mu-uum! Chippie is acting all cutesie. It’s pure sign of evil!”
You never listen to me!
Posted by: | CommentsAfter yesterday’s disgustingness of behaviour (from all parties) I was most dismayed to discover we needed bread, milk and some fruit.
Which meant needing to leave the house. And it was going to be hot. Not wanting to run the risk of the kids going totally feral because they managed a good sleep last night, and being stuck in the house, I decided that they should all be forced to come for a walk with me.
The lesser of two evils, as it where.
Anyhoo, an evil still, and dealt with the “we don’t want to come” followed not longer after I made them come with “can we go to [insert name of shop here]” and repeat. 9,586 times, occasionally throwing in the name of another (usually toy related) shop.
I put at stop to that by saying ”If you ask again, ah! no, be quiet, if you ah! NO! If you ask again, no serioulsy, shut up and listen to what I’m saying, because if you ask again, we will not be going to any.”
Was immediately asked “Well, if we be good and if we don’t ask again, can we go to the toy shop?”
Roll eyes out of head, mutter for fuck’s sake and get into discussion about whether that was actually asking, or merely enquiring as to how their behaviour played into it, and informed “you never listen to me!”
(Welcome to my world, kiddo!)
They managed, somehow, not to ask again, and we got the bits we needed then headed to Kmart to “have a look” and so Monkey Boy could tell me what he wanted for his birthday and what he and Godzilla wanted for Christmas. What Godzilla wanted appeared to be strikingly along the lines of, and adding to, those items Monkey Boy wanted.
We had a look, I took note (then promptly forgot, which I’m wont to do unless I actually write a note, which I promptly lose) and said “Come on, we’re going.”
Followed immediatley by same, and then with “NOW!” and Grumpy and I started walking out. Usually, they get concerned when we round the corner and out of site, and are not long behind.
For some reason, not today.
I was left with no other option, and it was seconds later that two terribly embarrased and sheepish little boys made their way to the front of the store. Immediatley after, it seems, that an announcement was put over the PA system, requesting they make their way to the front of the store immediately.
I did ask that “before you get into really big trouble” be added, but the girl, aged approximately 12, left it out. Still, impressed with the customer service, as she complied, big smile on her face, at my request.
Walking home, and refusal to visit any other shops they had requested before my “Can we go to” embargo, and Monkey Boy requests that I never, ever do that again.
“Why did you do that, anyway?” he enquires.
Coz you never listen to me!
I have the power
Posted by: | CommentsArrive home at just before midnight last night, to discover older two children still not home, having apparently organised a sleepover for themselves at friend’s house.
Quietly entertain resentment that I finally have a great night out and he manages to shirk his fatherly duties, without even trying.
Out for breakky with hubby and Chippie, and go and collect children from friend’s house.
Attempted maniupulation to either stay longer or have friends over to our place. Sensed extreme overtiredness and prevented any further discussion by commencing the Extraction Process, whereby I indicated, several times, the need to leave, and walked out the door some 47 minutes later. I record, I believe.
Arrive home and attempt “quiet time” for entire family, which no-one seems able to co-ordinate. Monkey Boy, after some minutes rest, gets his second wind and proceeds to cut my head off with makeshift lightsabre, constructed from the stick part of a cheapo plastic trident, the handle from a Bob the Builder screwdriver and kilometres of sticky tape.
He then aids me in removing the bandaids covering blisters on my heel, ripping them off as quickly as possible and attempting to stick them on my face. He called it “payback” but I prefer to suggest he was being a bloody little shit. He called in backup from younger brother, handing him the bandaid, holding my arms and asking Godzilla to stick them on me.
Course, it takes a Mum. All I did was say “Can you please put that in the bin for me?” and off he went.
It was all I could do to not stick my tongue out at Monkey Boy and say “ner” – and that was far too much effort, so I didn’t bother with that, stuck my tongue out and said “ner”.
Then called him over for a cuddle, ripped the bandaid off my other heel and stuck it to his cheek.
Mummy – 1, Kid – 0
Negotiating and one up manship
Posted by: | CommentsArrive at school for pickup and Monkey Boy comes racing over to me, a friend and his mum in tow.
“Can I go to his place after school today? Please,” and without pause, comment or even a look from me, “I’ll be off your hands!”
Hmm, no argument there from me. Turn to Mum and tell her that I really had no argument to that and she was welcome to him.
Of course, I couldn’t leave it at that. I really did have to show him who was boss. My opportunity came when fellow school mum says they’re going swimming in the backyard pool.
I time it beautifully, waiting till a larger group of kids and their parents were leaving, “You can, but you’ll have to go in naked. And everyone will see your doodle.”
Apparently, I am the evilist mummy in the world. Tempted to prove just how evil by renegging on agreement for the after school play. Decide against this for sake of own sanity.
Turn up 2 hours later, only to be negotiated with some more and leaving empty handed. He was staying for a sleepover.
Fuck you make me laugh (via Twitter @woogsworld)
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. 
You rock, Doll.....thanks for such awe inspiring honesty and brilliant laughs.