Archive for feeding baby
And back to normal routine
Posted by: | CommentsWith guests gone, it’s all back to normal in the house.
We’re all completely exhausted and “stuff” is back in our lives. A trip to the local craft markets with a friend, accompanied by Chippie (standard) and Monkey Boy, who spent the entire trip there talking about how he was going to buy us all small pancakes and all kinds of lovely foody things, then finds a book he wants, buys that, swindles some dollars out of my friend to pay the difference and our nice foody things are all forgotten about.
Home we go, everyone tired, Grumpy puts Chippie to sleep and we have some quiet time. During which time, Godzilla decides he needs a password for his Mii (on the Wii) because, obviously the fitness levels, height and weight of a 6 year old are highly confidential and can’t be accessed by any other member of the family.
(Who can’t touch the bloody thing when he’s there anyway, because he won’t get off it!)
Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite have the sensibilities of his older sibling, whom came up with a relevant and easy to remember password, thought of a random combination of letters he liked at the time, didn’t write then anywhere and promptly forgot them.
Attempts by all family members to decipher the code (“it was something something one one”, “I don’t think it had ‘one one’ at the end”, ”I think it was something something one one” etc) where fruitless, and the Wii asked us to verify the user by entering his height.
Which is fine, except that this data was entered, we think, Christmas 2008. Given he has deleted several users, possibly his own, fiddled around with settings, colours and look, and added many, many other users, and has subsequently been banned from going into that part of the program, we have absolutely no idea what weight it is he entered.
We think it could be anywhere between1 and 2 metres.
Frankly, I have better things to do than attempt to work through every 4 number combination possible on the number pad, or guess the height of an imaginative 6 year old boy.
I make dinner instead; a lovely roast beef dinner, vegies, gravy, the works.
Godzilla refused the pumpkin (as he does) and added tomato sauce to the roast potato, Monkey Boy ate most of his and Godzilla’s cauliflower, but only the bits with cheese on them, and Chippie put each bit into his mouth, said “yuk” and placed it back on the plate, dropped it onto the floor or threw it across the table (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)
He then helped himself to a slice of bread and some floor sweepings for his main meal, replaced a small piece of semi-masticated bread back into the bag (thank goodness for the need to make school lunches tomorrow!) and appeared satisfied with his dinner.
Grumpy on the other hand consumed all remaining food items, depriving me of a potential scrumptious lunch that could have consisted of something other than Vegemite sandwiches.
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
If you can’t beat ‘em
Posted by: | CommentsWell, no you can’t beat ‘em coz the bloody Mumfia get all hoity toity and say things like “You’re a bad mother” and stuff like that.
After last night’s food rubbage in hair incident, and the super angry, long discussion Monkey Boy and I had afterwards, he sat and ate his dinner in peace.
That was also quite probably because he was really hungry and I made them walk home from school in the cold wind and wouldn’t let them eat anything before dinner. And there were no bones or inedible bits that he could pass off to his baby brother.
I like to think it was the former, but suspect it was the latter.
Anyhoo, mashed potato was involved, along with some chunky bits of vegie and meat, so that Chippie could eat it with his fingers. He did have a spoon to use, but we all know that at his age, the spoon is held in one hand and is used to aid concetration, so that the other hand gets maximum grabbage of food and stuggage in mouth.
Except for tonight where, clearly disappointed at his older brother, he managed to get mashed and chunky stuff on spoon with one hand, and handfull in the other and rub both through his hair.
Then he smelt like a sausage. Into the bath with the lot of them (becuase you’re not allowed to beat them).
Tomorrow night, I’m just going to serve dinner from the pot straight onto their heads. Saves on washing dishes.
It’s a good idea to pace yourself
Posted by: | CommentsDropped kids off at school and got right into it.
First things first, went to one of two fave local cafes and ordered takeaway latte. Skinny.
It was then a matter of convincing Grumpy to take Chippie with him to get vegies and other stuff for the weekend, whilst I whipped up the cake for tomorrow’s family birthday celebration gathering and worked out what the hell I needed to do for dinner with friend’s this evening.
Receive a text message from a friend, who also happened to be taking a couple of school kids for cooking, my eldest son included. Apparently, he has informed her of his newly acquired skill of climbing onto the garage roof. “It’s a life skill,” he allegedly informed her.
Am glad I have chosen to make a mud cake, as it allows me a couple of legitimate swigs of a coffee liqueur before lunch. Thankfully have enough for cake. And a couple more swigs. And a splosh in my early afternoon coffee.
Cake baked, Grumpy home, Chippie fed, house tidied (ish), kids collected from school and taken to supermarket to grab a few more provisions for weekend. Arrive home 23 minutes before guests due to arrive for dinner, and still manage a shower, and to whip up a dips platter.
Chippie escapes out back door, finds cat’s water, splashes around a bit then drinks from the bucket. Well, that’s him sorted, and leaves me free to serve guests and sit down with a glass of wine.
Dinner served, more wine consumed, Chippie in bed and other kids set up in front of a movie and watching rude clips on You Tube.
Evening finally complete and it hits me: 1) it’s very late and we have 20 guests coming for lunch, and 2) I think I had more drinks than intended.
I really must learn to pace myself. Organising a dinner, followed the next day by a lunch, is just silly. Especially when there’s baking of cakes involved.
Oh, come on, surely they’re not that bad!
Posted by: | CommentsAhem.
Oh dear.
I did the school pickup and walked home. I had discussions with kids for approximatley half an hour.
I did a bit of work, I had further talk with kids re unpacking school bags and unstacking dishwashers (which made a return whilst I was away on the weekend), they ransack cupboards for food, they crawl around kitchen floor chasing Chippie and getting under my feet.
I cook dinner. We eat. I do some more talking about clearing up and stacking dishwasher.
I find the discarded mini organic rice cake from earlier this afternoon still sitting on the floor.
They can’t be that bad, really. But they must be. Three kids - three boys – aged nearly 1 through to just under 9 have crawled past this mini organic rice snack. Yet there it remains.
Uneaten.
Untouched even. Unheard of in my house.
Hmm, wonder if I should put it back in the pack for a later date. Waste not, want not and all that ….
A near fatal reaction to food
Posted by: | CommentsThe Chef part of the relationship out at work, so the non-chef person – ie Me! – at home cooking dinner.
I mush some potato for Chippie, add bits and pieces of what the rest of us normal people are eating, moosh it some more and pop him in his highchair.
Monkey Boy, being uncharacteristically helpful this evening, hangs Chippie the entire bowl, complete with spoon, before I’m close to ready. The fact he has the spoon means he’s never gonna give it up. And its covered in crap, so I don’t want to touch it now, anyway. Euwww.
I also figure he has to fend for himself at some point in his life, why the hell not now. So I leave him to feed himself. Although not entirely convinced he’s actually consuming anything, as it appears the mush is all over his face, bib, floor, walls and ceiling fan 3 rooms away.
We’re all happily sitting, eating (gorging) our dinner and I hear Chippie struggling to breath. Now, a normal mum would panic, rip her child from his high chair and commence some kind of food-removal-from-oesophagus procedure, whilst simultaneously calling 000, explaining situation and keeping remainder of children in household calm and ignorant of the disaster that was befalling them.
Thankfully, I’m not one of those mums. I take a sip of my wine, glance over and discover the only reason he can’t breath is due to the fact he’s eating like a pig, stuffing such great handfuls of his mashed potato (with extra goodness) into his face that his mouth is too full, and he’s managed to get a considerable amount of his dinner up his nostrils.
That’ll make a nice change, having most of his dinner residing in the vicinity of his mouth. Cleaning it up’ll be much easier; I just squeeze it out his nose and feed it to him.
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.