Archive for family
On the road again
Posted by: | CommentsAfter two days in Canberra doing all the fun and exciting things we can, catching up with friends, somehow managing not to go insane due to the crying, snotty, coughing growth I now have permanently attached to my body, and repacking the bags so all the clothes requiring washing are located in the one spot, we all hop back in the car and head off to the next part of our “holiday” … further north.
It was with great rejoicing that we noticed the temperature hit double figures the further we moved from Canberra.
Chippie still not well slept a majority of the journey, thankfully, and Godzilla started on the “I need to go to the toilet” thing ten minutes after a decent length stop somewhere for refuelling and meals.
The further north we went, the greater the temperature and the diminishing of child-friendly facilities, such as, oh, playgrounds and the like. We stopped for lunch in Gosford and set about locating somewhere to sit and eat, and where the kids could race around and burn of some energy. Took the turnoff to a memorial “park”, did consider the possibilty that it was going to be a pet cemetary, which would have been preferable to the vast expanse of dried up grass and lack of any sort of amenity or play equipment.
Found another park, agian, much grass, no facilities for climbing, lots of old people, and an art exhibition located where the toilets were, forcing us in all our long car tripped dishevelled state to enter the neat, clean and stylish building , complete with extremely expensive works adorning the walls, to go to the loo.
Not a place for energy packed kids who haven’t had any opportunity to run, climb or jump … except for that thing out the front that they ran to, climbed on and jumped off and turned out to be a sculpture on display. How were we to know? It looked like a lump of something! Even Monkey Boy, who hates art, can do something more artisitic and aesthetic!
After managing to relieve ourselves of bladder pressure without being asked to leave due to wearing tracksuit pants (suitable for long car trips) or the police being called, because 6 hours of travelling in a car will make you look a bit like a crim, we went on our way, attempting to explain to Godzilla that the middle of a very busy highway is not the place to stop so he can wee on a tree, and eventually made it to our terminus and accommodation for the next two days.
A very busy day
Posted by: | CommentsArgh! Why is it kids are so bloody cheery when they wake! It’s not fair.
It’s almost like they suck the energy out of you during the night, then taunt you with it all morning. At least until you’ve had your 3rd coffee.
Anyhoo, no time to dwell on this, I had a chicken cake to complete – that would be a mud cake in the shape of a chicken – then get organised for twenty people coming for lunch to celebrate the anniversay of Chippie’s birth.
Why do I do this?
Oh, yeah. I love a good part.
All organised, parts of my family arrived (expectedly) half an hour early, and Grumpy’s family started dribbling in onwards from half an hour late (also expectedly, but no less annoyingly).
Even Monkey Boy was miffed by this lateness, and kept commenting on it. I couldn’t help but pass a smug grin to the Grumpy one. Along the lines of “Yes, I’ve trained our first born well!”
Chippie, the guest of honour, decided to change his sleep times. Although, that’s a bit not quite true, because he doesn’t really have “sleep times”. Or he does, until you get used to them, then changes them. Like today, and decided to sleep at the times we had organised everything around for when he was usually awake.
And was then woken by noisy kids when he did decide to sleep.
Lunch went well, loads of food and tantrums from the nearly one year old when the cake was removed from his clutches after his third piece.
That done, it was time for everyone to go home, leftover bbq for dinner for us and … well, then I fell asleep on the couch, so no idea what went on after that …
Blood Sports?!
Posted by: | CommentsIt started off a relaxing day; my morning coffee, a walk with a friend, followed by a 2 hour breakfast with our families.
Then it was time for lunch, a ‘quiet’ afternoon wathcing DVDs with the kids, a sleep, a bath (on my own! Woo HOO!), some baking, the dinner.
Our post dinner Family Wii night commenced, where Grumpy and I kept getting beaten. Fortunatley, and something to soothe our already battered self-esteems, the remotes went flat. What to do?! We could sit around chatting about our week, but that didn’t offer any opportunity to redeem ourselves. Someone suggested Uno.
Sounds good to me. A bit of skill involved, but not much. Good chance of winning a couple of games and paying the kids back for beating us on the Wii all the bloody time. It was working. We even reduced Monkey Boy to tears, him wailing that “no one ever lets me win!”
Yeah, like we’re gonna allow ourselves to be beaten by an eight year old? Yeah, right. Pfft! The competition between Grumpy and I is bad enough.
Distracted by the eight year old, we lost our focus and the five year old won a hand! He leapt up in triumph, yelling “YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” and throwing his hands in the air.
Collecting my head on the way up and drawing blood.
Now that is taking it just a little bit too far, in my opinon!
Travelling with Kids
Posted by: | CommentsLeave on our trip to Sydney using Chippie as our ‘alarm clock’.
Basically, when he woke up for a feed, we (or rather, I) just stayed up and got everyone else up and we got going.
Kid’s didn’t sleep, despite it being way too early morning.
Didn’t have a coffee to kick us off, however, so was getting desperate about 10 minutes up the road.
Made it to large township where we stopped for petrol, aaaand planned for breakky but kids now asleep. Discover hole in radiator, so whilst Grumpy purchases product to temporarily plug it, I go and purchase coffee … from service station ‘cafe’ at a cost of approximately $782 for two skinny lattes, one with sugar.
Blergh!
Almost didn’t buy them – should have listened to gut. Before I bought it. Gut afterwards certainly made itself known.
Can’t find anywhere to sit and eat, and eventually stop at roadside truck stop, complete with table and benches, where am required to breastfeed Chippie. In about 35 degree heat at 8am.
We drive on, and on. Once we hit out of radio receival range, we resort to the CD’s. Relieve boredom for some minutes by singing Bohemiam Rhapsody very loudly – complete with that head banging bit a la Wayne’s World. Kids suitably horrified. And bored. So we do it all again until they learn to appreciate it.
A game of I Spy ensues, and rapidly falls into the toilet when Godzilla decides that the answer is always “tree” and gets quite upset when it isn’t, and then that every second go is his.
Several attempts to redeem the game are thwarted by me flat out refusing to let anyone play any more.
Bypass the next scheduled, and potential car and human refilling spot, as all three kids fast asleep and totally unwakeable.
Ten minutes on, in the middle of nowhere, and a good hour and a half from the next refuelling station, Chippie awakes and commences inconsolable crying for the next hour, and 5 minutes from arrival at next port.
Stop for lunch in a park (another public feed in stinking hot weather) and off we set again.
Monkey Boy stopped asking “are we there yet?” early last year, and managed the journey until now without it. His latest version … “When are we getting to civilisation?!”
Stop roadside to feed screaming baby, who had, yet again, decided a remote spot well away from anything remotely civilised was a good spot for a feed.
Eventually hit civilisation then the City. Decide to traverse the Sydney Harbour via its famous bridge before heading to the hotel to check in. Chippie asleep.
Until we hit the halfway mark on the bridge and he starts up again. Just for fun.
Work out way back across the Bridge, get onto an un-get-offable freeway/expressway and eventually locate our hotel. Who have neglected to set up the portacott for Chippie that they had said they would.
Where they were going to put it, I had no idea, as there wasn’t room to lie him on the floor sans cot! He then decides that lying on a bed in a hotel room is a great time to learn to roll. His brothers decide that all the pillows in the room are best used for making a mound on one bed, and not used for preventing their baby brother from rolling off the other and getting lost under something.
Ring housekeeping, who send up a 15 year old male (boy) with the portacott, to set it up. Shoves it between a desk and the bed, preventing me from actually being able to leave bed to attend to a baby sleeping in it.
Rearrange room as best as possible, given there is about three inches spare anywhere in the room to put portacott.
Head for dinner and fall into bed …
Get. Out. Of. My. Way.
Posted by: | CommentsLeaving on holidays tomorrow, so my plan is to get as much done today as possible.
I start with my morning walk, which also involves collecting mail, putting Chippie to sleep and a fair whack of meditation and business planning for me.
Or would have, had everyone else cooperated and not got in my bloody way! Why is it that people feel the need to remain stationary when they can see a lady with a pram bearing down on them? Why is it they just can’t aid the process, rather than be obstructive? Why?
I have a good mind to rant at them!
Back home and I request an hour in my office to do some work. This, as explained to all other in the household, means that when mummy is in her office, it’s just like when daddy leaves the house to go to work; i.e. she is not home!
At least the cats listen to me.
My hour’s work took about 3 and a half (thanks to a supportive family) and stopped short when the printer decided it was going to quit well before quitting time.
I think I’ll just pack … as soon as the clothes I need are dry, and Grumpy returns from getting petrol so he can get the bags for me, and …
Post Christmas Traditions – 1, 2 and 3
Posted by: | CommentsWe’re off on holiday soon, and a friend is popping by later this afternoon, and, although a day early, we commenced the tradition of taking down the Christmas Tree.
This is where I insist that it must come down before it really starts shedding it’s needles, and everyone has something better to do.
Then commences the requesting someone get the boxes from whence all the balls and lights and tinsel and other festive-tree type paraphernalia came, then explaining where they can find it, then explaining it in more simple terms, then requesting someone go get it again as I’m up a friggin’ ladder trying to remove whatever is on top this year, then redirecting people’s attention to the job of getting the boxes for putting stuff away, please, then going and getting them all myself.
Where I find them in the very location I suggested in the first place without any worries.
The removal of balls and other hangy things commences, where the kids remove one (not each, just one) to my 132. Due to the new Wii and placement of tree, a bald patch has developed on the tree, near where Grumpy has been playing Wii tennis.
Also located under and in the tree were several shards of glittery gold ball. Grumpy looked decidedly guilty.
Next commenced the Removal Of The Lights which involves me standing precariously on a kid sized stool, telling Grumpy leave the house entirely because, no, you are not helping by removing all three strands of lights and scrunching them up into a ball then leaving me to untangle and place in three seperate boxes, then repeating myself with “please move away”, “please step away from the tree”, and “please watch where you are standing, now move away” and variations thereof.
I am then left to put everything back in the boxes and stash them away until next December, while everyone else traipses pine needles, bits of stray tinsel and shards of broken ball throughout the house.
That job done, and its the ceremonial dumping of the tree into the green bin.
Which Grumpy has informed me he will do soon. In the meantime, it is sitting on the back decking, just outside the door.
Family from the Outside
Posted by: | CommentsA quick trip to the coast for lunch … the usual 2 hour drive and fish and chips on the beach.
Monkey Boy, still rambling like and insane man (I wonder if that is something they learn in grade 2? And will grade 3 be any better) is going on and on about his new Lego and what he is going to call everything.
The last set he purchased himself, with money from grandparents for Chrimstas, contained a shark. Which he named, ever so originally “Sharky”.
He informed me (in about 1000 words) that the next one he got he would make sure it had a dog in it “which I will call ‘Barky’. No, no, no wait, no I’ll call it ‘Doggy’”.
Great. Whatever.
“And I could get one with a cat and call the cat ‘Catty’”
Mmmm.
And on and on and on about ‘Squiddy’ and ‘Birdy’ and blahdy bladhy blah-y.
We pass the sand on the beach and Godzilla advises us that he wants to “find crabby”.
Clearly bored with the antics, or maybe just simply a smart arse, Grumpy points to me and says “there she is!”
Oh, hahahaha. Hilarious!
Off we walk, trying to drown out the sounds of the incessant talking and focus on the relaxing beach tones.
(Calm blue ocean. Calm blue ocean.)
Just as we pass a large family group, and more specifically, the matriarch of the group, Godzilla (big smile on face) points at me and loudly informs the entire free world “You’re name is Crabby!”
Horrified onlookers glanced at me to gauge my reaction. Which was to laugh and say “Keep that up and you’re gonna get a serious dose of slap-cheek”.
Horrified onlookers became, amazingly, more horrified and more onlookery!
I smile politely at them and say “Oh, he usually calls me much worse!”
At least it shut them up …
Merry Crisis
Posted by: | CommentsAwake at 2.17am for a feed for Chippie.
Merry Christmas to me. Ho, Ho, Bloody Ho.
At least he wasn’t asking “can we open the presents now can we open the presents now canweopenthepresentsnow!?”
Back to bed with him and awoken a short time later, a very short time later, by sounds. An eight year old, moving stealth like – or so he thought, it was more like an “I’m not drunk!!” husband arriving home after a night out with his mates, drunk – through the house to check out whether Santa had been, and calculating number of presents with his name on it compared to rest of the family.
Encouraged to go back to bed (“Get back to bed, RIGHT NOW!”) until a more suitable hour. Like when the clock said something that began with, say, a 9!?
He arose again at 5.00am, waking his slightly younger brother who was torn between being incredibly grumpy at being woken and excitement about presents. Then distress as his Santa sack was missing from the end of the bed.
Rules applied … no one does anything, touches anything or asks “Canweopenthepresentsyet?” until Mummy has her coffee. Then we can start.
Paper rippage, box tossing and delighted screaming indulged in by all.
Time for some playing, and making of potato salad for lunch, before heading off to the lunchtime gathering.
Excessive food consumed, presents exchanged, item ticked off the list, it was back home to make the filling for the dessert I was providing, and a good hours sleep to be had by all.
Including me!! How exciting.
Arrive home, commence whippage of cream and thawage of berry, when Monkey Boy sitting at the table (eating??! What?) quietly and calmly informs me that there’s “some ants on this”.
By “this” he meant my three large circles of meringue (the one that called for 8 egg whites and an hour of cooking) on a plate on the table, and by “some ants” he meant “plague”.
I said “(*&$#&*( ()*&%$(#^$(#^ ($%&*($&%(#& O(&*$%( and (&%$(*%&*$ time to make another one OI$#(*^&&(*(%^*&#^$*^*&%@*&#*&^@%” and then “(*&$#*&*&^%^&$#&^(%&#^#&^@$#&%$*^&(%^#*$%&@%$*^%#(^#*&$%@*^$(#^%(#^%(&$”
And then set about making another one. I’d already started whipping cream and my sleep deprived mind wasn’t capable of thinking up anything else to make where cream, marscapone cheese and berries could be used.
Finished just in time to leave so we’d be at the evening gathering on time. Receive a phone call when 5 minutes away asking if we were nearly there.
Hmm. Odd, as usually we are the only ones on time and end up sitting around waiting for half an hour before the next family member arrives. Apparently, we were an hour late. Apparently, we were the only ones who didn’t receive the memo that this year, the function was starting an hour earlier than normal.
More food consumed, people forced to eat my dessert – which appeared to be self-regenerating and never likely to be finished – as I wasn’t going to let it go uneaten after the drama that it had caused me. It deserved to be chopped up into little pieces and eaten!
(*&$(*#^%(^#
Then made people take some home with them.
More present exchange, tiredness kicking in and then it was off home.
For, hopefully, a good night’s sleep.
Delivering hope to those of us on the frontline of the parenting battlefield, the MadCow Diaries have helped mums like me realise that there are no perfect parents (and if there are they are incredibly stressed strange people) - it's okay to do it your way without the guilt ;) And you are not alone.
You rock, Doll.....thanks for such awe inspiring honesty and brilliant laughs.