Archive for parent support
Necessary Life Skills
Posted by: | CommentsDay 3 of Not Being Able To Work In Effective Chunks and Week I’ve Lost Count of feeling crap. My head is now full of snot, the cough, whilst relenting slightly and not playing quite so much havoc on my chest and pelvic floor, is still there and my Levels Of Tolerance have all but vanished in a screaming tantrum.
I’m doing my best to hold it together, but fail miserably as Chippie, whom only 13 minutes earlier had insisted – insisted – he put clothes on instead of his bathers, as he usually does Thursday mornings before swimming, decided he could not possibly leave the house in clothes, and insisted, via screaming at me, that he wanted his bathers on.
However, he could not appreciate the need to remove his shoes in order to remove his pants in order to don his bather bottoms and insisites, via more yelling, that his shoes remain on.
As the experts suggest, I got down to his level. And I screamed at him, just like he was doing to me. Clearly, by being all calm and rational I just wasn’t speaking in a manner with which he could relate. I threw in the odd “fucking little shit” and “stop fucking around and make a decision” and he calmly replaced the shoe I had so horribly removed and went out to the car.
I pondered why I even bother with “calm and rational” at any time, and don’t just got for Screaming Swearing Fishwife first up, as it seems to get things happening.
Then I cried at swimming lessons.
In order to do something useful, I rang a local high school to find out some information, and was advised the information and forms I needed were to be completed and returned to the school tomorrow.
Ah, well, I thought, this will kill some time – phew! And we drove up, collected the forms, and I killed even more time by heading to Kmart to purchase some long pants for Chippie that would actually reach his ankles and, therefore, technically be considered long.
I was feeling much better, having achieved something I probably needed to do weeks ago, but with Melbourne weather being so fickle and inconsistent, it was hard to decide whether a few weeks ago was actually a good time for it. Still, it is now done and I can check that off my list.
My Feeling Much Better was shortlived, as the older two arrived home and proceeded to chip away at my resolve by niggling and picking on each other, until my Already Barely Existent Tolerance shattered and I told them if they didn’t frigigng stop I would either walk out the door and never come back, or, if they even contemplated touching each other again, I would bang their heads together so fucking hard they’d be rendered unconscious and if tha’ts what it took to get a moment of peace then I would fucking do it.
Then I asked them nicely to get ready for swimming.
And took several deep breaths.
They were now remotely tolerable and swimming lessons could ensue. Chippie went in for a play during lesson time and all was well. I had the added bonus of a friend there to talk to. So that was nice.
As the lessons finished and all the boys got dressed as quickly and efficiently as possible (Godzilla with the entire back of his shirt soaking wet, Monkey Boy without shoes etc) we were standing out the front, two families, five boys in total, as we mums discussed some catch up dates.
Chippie was running around with his similarly aged compartriot discussing bums and penises.
“Pull your pants down,” Godzilla tells Chippie.
“Leave your pants on!” I intervene. “And stop telling your brother to do shit like that. Seriously!?”
“That’s a necessary life skill,” says Monkey Boy.
“Isn’t it?” he asks, when we look at him, incredulous. “Knowing how to pull your pants down is necessary to get you through life.”
And, although by this point I really didn’t want to, I took them home … with a smile.
Spontaneous Mental Health
Posted by: | CommentsAfter a particularly, emotionally gruelling day I needed … something.
Sadly, my mind wasn’t up to thinking anything beyond “I can’t be arsed” and “I really need to get away from everything”.
As it stood, I had no energy nor inclination to do anything, yet the thought of staying a) at home and b) being surrounded by my family was driving me batty. Er. Battier.
I just wanted to stay at home and do nothing, yet, mind-explodingly, nothing made me angstier than staying at home and doing nothing.
Gah!
I sent a text to a friend. Mostly a ranty, woe is me one. Without thinking, aside from knowing she also had kids, a husband and it was Friday night, I said “wanna go see a movie”.
And she said YES! And my squeals of delight resounded around the neighbourhood and I thought I really need to get out more often. Which is precisely what I was doing.
Monkey Boy, highly attuned to my stress levels, and desperate to make me smile and chill a bit, was following me around making witty comments.
“Who are you texting, Mum?”
“Who is texting you, Mum?”
“Who was that?”
“What are you doing?”
Apparently, he is being humorous and lightening the mood. Clearly.
“Where are you going?” he asks, following me around as I attempt to get dressed, given I need to leave 5 minutes ago and got into my jarmies at 3.53pm.
“It’s not fair! You get everything you want! You get to do everything!” He coupled this with feigning a tantrum and stamping his foot, and being “humorous” and “lightening the mood”.
I do appreciate his efforts.
His timing, however, was fucked.
I turned on him, hoisted my pants leg up and pointed to my leg.
“SEE THIS?!” I yelled at him.
“Um, is that good or bad?” he mistakenly enquired.
“IT’S VERY FRIGGING BAD!” I informed him.
I immediately subject him to a tirade about the lack of hot wax my legs have been treated to over the last several months, due to meeting with the school and the need to purchase him a Lego Star Wars advent calendar to ensure his behaviour between now and the end of school year was acceptable. Fuck, I thought, or maybe said allowed, you’re getting a frigging present to encourage you to behave in a manner that’s just normal and expected.
“AND STOP SAYING “FRIGGING”!” I finish with.
I do leave on a much better note, albeit unshowered and with Grumpy following me, holding a very sticky and messy pre-schooler and saying “Oh, I thought you were having a shower. I was going to put him in with you.”
Do I mention that the reason I shower only twice a week is so I don’t have to shower with a three year old? Well, that and because I’m running around like and idiot not having my legs waxed.
And I did acknowledge Monkey Boy and his attempts to make me smile, along with a lesson in timing, and the potential fucked upedness of it at times.
I leave. I pick my friend up. Already, a smile is forming on my face. It feels weird.
We arrive at the movies, chatting and gossiping and walking into an already dark cinema and finding some seats.
Then running, screaming and rubbing our burning eyes as we realise we have accidentally wandered in to the cinema showing Twilight and we hope that the movie we’re seeing erases that from our memory.
We watch New Years Eve, a terrible attempt by the Americans to do something like Love Actually. They kinda got it. Mostly, they missed the mark.
Still, it was a break, it was mindnumbing, I smiled a few times, I laughed once or twice, and I had a great time with a friend.
And I got home to a household of sleeping boys. Most of whom were in my bed and whom I had to relocate.
Ah, spontaneity, something I miss. Well, I miss the being randomly spontaneous like I was tonight, not the forced spontaneity that comes with having kids and you’re about to go out and one of them pisses all over your top …
I fessed up
Posted by: | CommentsThe time had come.
After I screwed up last week with the Disappearing Chips and the No Electronics At All Until Someone Tells The Truth Because I Hate Lies debacle, I fessed up.
The kids were annoying Grumpy, whom suggested they play Skylanders or something and Monkey Boy, being completely honest says “We’re not allowed to. Remember? Someone at the chips and Mum won’t let us.”
I did pretend not to hear and let Grumpy deal with it. Grumpy dealt with it by looking at me and saying, pointedly “Yeah! I wonder who ate them?”
Smartarse.
“I think it was me,” I said. Really, I know it was me. Not who ate them, but who dished them out to everyone.
“I had planned to put them aside, but decided to just serve them all up. As I was distracted,” and I was interrupted by a chorus of “It wasn’t me distracting you” because it never is! …
“I forgot,” I continued, “that I had emptied the pack.”
I cringed, waiting for the fallout, the accusations and never, ever being believed again.
Thankfully, a thought entered my head. A fabulous one. One that would redeem me forever! Hurrah!
“HA!” I said. “That means you ALL ate the chips, so you are ALL liars!”
And I ran away before they could say anything else.
Not that they did. They quickly set Skylanders up and that was the end of that.
Good Planning
Posted by: | CommentsToday was scattered. To say the least.
Sleep ins and rushing to school, a scheduled meeting where I got a latte, but was stood up. Not all bad, as ran to the rescue of a friend in dire need before heading off to have my own head shrunk. Have enough time to stuff food in face, seated for a change, at the table, where I pick up the school newsletter and accompanying paperwork (there is always accompanying paperwork!) that was unceremoniously removed from the depths of a school bag and left on the floor, partially concealed by the couch.
Remarkably, it was handed out Wednesday, and left near couch on Wednesday evening.
I glance over its contents, take a look at the bright blue paper with black writing stuffed inside it, contemplate (again) offering my services to whichever part of the parent committee thinks sending black type on darkish blue paper is a good idea, along with my ability to structure sentences that make some vague sense, and recall why I don’t, because they know better.
Mentally file the next special lunch day, by which I mean “remember to ask kids what they want, fill out the forms and pay for it, then locate the forms and payments in bottom of school bag the week after it is due and the day before special lunch day” and alter eyes to take in the Blue Paper Imformation.
There is a thingy at school. This afternoon. Sausage sizzles and art show and presentations and stuff. Also, could I please bring some baked goods to school during the day on Friday so they may be sold at the Cake Stall that is also happening at this Thing. Can I also volunteer some time to help with stuff.
Um, no. Not on such short notice. Ok, in fairness, they did hand the notice out earlier this week. It’s my fault I didn’t read it then. But, really, for things like “helping out” and “cake stall”, I need more than two day’s notice. That’s just how I roll.
At which point, we need to leave the house to collect the kids from school (and maybe attend this Thing), so grab my phone and keys and we leave. Arrive at school to bustling activity, sausage sizzles, art shows and cake stalls.
“Oh, fuck,” I mumble to myself as I recall the real repercussions of this.
Being gossiped about because I have, yet again, not contributed in any way I can now deal with. It’s the inevitable “Did you bring money? I want a sausuage,” that will come as soon as the bell goes.
I turn to Grumpy Pants.
“Did you bring money? They’ll want a sausage,” I inform him.
He pulls his wallet out of his jeans and discovers exactly zero dollars and zero cents in there.
“Did you bring any money? I want a sausage,” says Godzilla, in way of greeting as he bounds up to us.
“Just pay on your credit card,” he suggests when we finally explain the lack of physical funds for such delicacies.
We are not without intellegent thinking however. The school is located a block from Dan Murphy’s. Although we don’t actually need to add to our wine stocks just at the moment, we know the purchase of wine will never go astray. So, like all good thinking parents, we toddle off to the bottle shop, leaving our kids to run rampant at the Thing at school, and withdraw some cash with our purchase. We can nor purchase sausages.
Monkey Boy, it appears, is equally resourceful. The Mother of one of his friends passes us and says “Oh, I gave him some money. He said you didn’t have any.” So we offloaded a bottle of wine onto her.
Really, we didn’t want to be seen as “those parents”. Walking around the school with one bottle was going to be enough to draw Those Looks.
We stuffed the bottle of wine into Godzilla’s school bag, made mental note to withdraw it when we got home, and wandered around the school, eating sausages and looking at artwork.
And avoiding the cake stall so I didn’t feel so guilty.
(Don’t get me wrong; I’m more than happy to contribute and bake stuff for cake stalls. I just need more than 43 seconds notice)
Walk home, collecting Chippie along the way. By the time we get home, the kids are hyped up, loud, annoying and obnoxious. I advised of the potential of them being locked out of the house when we arrived home if they did not settle down. And soon.
Thankfully, the house across the road had a gas leak and was in danger of being blown up. So some work was being done directly outside our house.
Leaving me with the perfect place to stash my kids until I was able to cope with them …
Finding my niche and some cooking tips
Posted by: | CommentsAfter a series of fairly standard Mother Fails; holding the toddler upside down and walking him, face first, into the end of the bed (in my defence, I couldn’t see past his bum and legs, so it his fault, right?), banging his head as I lifted him out of the car, and again, an hour and a half later as I put him back in.
My excuse for the last one was that his eldest brother had just pushed the door open, smacking him in the head, and I was giving him big cuddle and he wriggled and his head got bumped. No, it didn’t get bumped cos I was trying to subdue him. It was an accident!
I felt it best that I put him down for a while, so as to lessen the risk of banging his head. He only managed to succeed in tripping over and mildly grazing his lip and nose, but at least I was nowhere near him at the time.
Godzilla also felt it more apt that he take over his own lunch making as, clearly, I’m not up to that task either. He has been doing a fabulous job, and is very happy with the outcome. Especially as he is now getting more dried apricots in his lunchbox. This only due to the fact that he is cutting them in half (and this morning, into sixteenths) so “there are more in there”.
Last night, given I got “all three for guitar lessons” again, and it was turning-snot-into-icicles type weather, I barely managed to restrain myself from leaving Chippie on the corner where he decided to throw a MASSIVE tantrum of epic proportions. Yes, I’m aware that commonly the terms “massive” and “epic proportions” are not usually considered good gramma, however, in this case it was a MASSIVE tantrum of epic proportions. Not one or the other, but quite litterally the two combined. And then some.
Freezing cold as it was, I managed ot calm myself enough to drag him to the door of the studio and remain outside until he had calmed and not push him under the next tram that came along. It was a feat, but I did it. I don’t know how good I am for the job, though.
I did attempt to make myself feel better, by replicating the dinner I’d made last night, only with rice instead of pasta. Because it was yummy, and also because I “had to use the beef”. Otherwise we’d have to ditch it, which I don’t like to do. Also, if I didn’t use the beef, then the only alternative for ingredients for the evening meal were the peas that had fallen out of the packet and stuck to various parts of the freezer innards, some cream, a small carrot, onion and garlic.
The other ingredients to go with the beef and all I needed. So I commenced cooking, reached for the cream and was mildly surprised that we had none.
It also sent me into a tail spin, because although I can make up a recipe and create a meal, I lack the necessary brain capacity to change it part way through.
Which leaves me offering these very important cooking tips for you:
Tip 1
Always make sure you have ALL the ingredients for the meal BEFORE you start cooking.
Tip 2
Be married to a chef, or have one as a very good friend or one you can call on any time.
Tip 3
Do NOT hang up on them they reply to your “So, I started cooking that thing I did last night and realise we have no cream, what can I do?” and they piss themselves laughing at you. For around five minutes. Or more.
It’s not personal. Well, actually it is. But if you hang up, you’ll never get the answer you need.
For more fabulous cooking tips, don’t read this blog, you won’t get any here.
Mother Fail
Posted by: | CommentsI do believe I have been doing remarkably well the last few days.
Aside from dealing with some major disappointments and Stabby, Angry inducing behaviours courtesy of people or persons unnamed who have done well to piss me right off, my mothering is without fault.
I think the first incident of note occurred yesterday afternoon, after much screaming “hurry up” across playgrounds in a tone oft referred to as “fishwife”, I had finally managed to collate all relevant children and head towards the gate. Grumpy had extra shifts, the “usual routine” was thrown into complete disarray and if it wasn’t bad enough that I had to do swimming with my alabaster legs, complete with full Winter pelt, I was also treated to the delight of having to wrangle the guitar lessons with three children in tow.
So, we needed to get “out the gate now, or we’ll be running late! Argh!”
So there we were, heading briskly towards the exit when the school principal comes running up behind me, calling my name. My stomach lurches, a bazillion “oh, god, what now?” thoughts of varying degrees run through my head and I put on my cool, calm “Yes, how may I be off assistance?” face, which I think looked more like a “what the fuck have my kids done now?” grimmace.
It was ok. She wanted me to review something for her, that was totally unrelated to my children and more along the lines of stuff I know. Phew. During which time, my children have completely disappeared and I’m usure if they have buggered of to the toilet/playground/with some friends, or hadn’t realised I had stopped and wandered off home.
Nice one. My kids vanish whilst I’m standing in the school playground, talking to the principal.
I scrape together a dinner in the time we’ve had, do the guitar lesson shuffle, which means taking all three kids, dropping one off, going for a walk, switching kids, discovering Chippie stinks like you would not believe and the convenient, portable change mat with extra nappies and wipes is nowhere to be seen, go for another walk, collect biggest child and head home.
Well done for the evening. I think I deserve a glass of wine after that.
And I’m up early this morning. As is, for some reason unbeknownst to me, is Godzilla.
Strangely, he is also doing everything on his list that I have organised for him to do each morning, so that I don’t have to keep reminding him to do them, yet am still required to do each morning. He’s doing it without being told, reminded or having the list pointed out to him. I am doing my usual trying to get at least one thing off my list so I don’t have to do it later. Therefore am busy.
Well before its time, he comes in to not only inform me that he has done everything on the list, but also to ask when I may be making their school lunches for them.
Let’s completely forget that it is not part of my routine to be performing such a domestic duty at that particular time of the morning.
He later informs me that he completed all his required duties without having to be asked, and brings it to my attention that I haven’t. Yes, he’s had to ask me numerous times for his lunch so he can place it in his bag.
Bit my tongue on the standard “Now you know how I feel!” retort.
Make it out the door, after them, still pulling on my pants, kicking yesterday’s (I hope!) undies out of the left leg as I lock the door behind me and race up the street to catch up. They have even remembered their drink bottles, and Godzilla has his swimming bag!
Receive a text message I’d been waiting on from a friend, and check it out as I’m pushing the childless pram – he’d escaped and was “drunning up da hill!” - run into Godzilla and am immediatley reprimanded by Monkey Boy who tells me, in no uncertain terms “Don’t text and drive!”
I’m unsure whether to go with the standard “shut up!” or feel suitably chastised.
Ummmmm, I think I’ll go with … yes … I’ll go with a strong skinny latte, me thinks!
Toddlers and manners and stuff
Posted by: | CommentsIt always brings a smile to your face when your just-over-two-year-old finally, finally clicks with the manners.
With the “pleases”.
And the “thank yous”.
Why, just this morning, I was eating and handful of grapes and he snatched one out of my hand. Ready for his next attack, I held tight, and responded to his “gi’ me a grape, NOW!” with “say please”.
I, too, can be stubborn. Stubborner than a toddler, even.
Eventually he did.
Seemingly worn out from the exchange, he ate lunch and went to bed and slept for ove rthree hours.
Nice.
He arose to house, devoid of siblings, the elusive and forbidden LEGO trains set up in the toy room and no one to carry him off and lock him out. Understandably, he made his way in, gently sat between the tracks and started playing.
Awwww. It’s one of those moments you want to just while away time and watch. That, or I was walking past and forgot what I was on my way to do, so paused for a moment to regain some sort of brain function. I stopped at the door. And watched for a second or two.
“Please go ‘way, Mummy,” he calmly, and very politely says to me.
Now I recall it, I think he even asked me to “please shut up, Mummy” just last night.
*sigh*
At least he’s asking nicely.
And, in fairness to him, I was singing at the time he asked me to “please shut up”.
That’ll need more explanation
Posted by: | CommentsThis post is dedicated to the lovely – albeit geeky and not-sure-how-they-ended-up-inmy-life-but-glad-they-did – Pete Aldin and Alana Murray Phillips. I hope they like it. It’s all they’re getting from me for their birthdays this year.
A Family Day was planned, thus the morning was filled with some mayhem. Mostly convincing the kids that, yet again, we are actually trustworthy, and until we take them to a really boring abatoir, they are not to whinge about not wanting to go and how boring we are and blah blah blah.
Also, there was this:
Yes, the inevitable LEGO Star Wars galactiron, deathstar, air wing, some such thing on the kitchen table.
“Move this off the table, NOW!” is the, also inevitable, polite request from GrumpyPants.
Followed immediatley by the incredibly articulate, informative and compelling (and also inevitable) response of “It’s Bobba Fett!” from Monkey Boy.
As though “It’s Bobba Fett!” explains absolutely everything.
(According to some friends of mine, whom I love to bits, except at times like this when I have my doubts about how we even crossed paths, “It’s Bobba Fett” apparently does explain all that needs explaining as, according to one “Yeah Bobba Fett is a badass. You don’t mess with the guy that crawled back OUT of the Sarlacc!!”, and according to the other “You got it. Dad’ll have to wait until Fett is good and ready to move when he wants to.” – yeah, I’m confused, too, but apparently this says it all)
Anyhoo, off we go for the day, to a steam train thing, which I have come to accept is now a part of my life, and would now like some photography lessons so I may hone my “taking photos of steam train skills” and take some decent photos of, well, stream trains and my family. Figure I may as well take advantage of the situation and niche a little.
Also, as I’m sure some of you will be thinking, I’d LOVE some “Take decent photos of LEGO bits taking over my house” photography lessons. Just saying.
Nicheing.
Anyhoo, it was a lovely day, except for the bit where we passed the rail yards and someone stupidly pointed them out to Chippie who had a full on screaming tantrum for something different whilst we found a place in which to safely do a U-turn, bypass the rail yards again, upping the intensity of said tantrum, finding a park, and watching in fascination as the full on kicking screaming turned, just like that into squeals of delight and yelling “TRAIN, LOOK A TRAIN!” and running off, skill pointing and yelling.
Oh, and same again when we left the rail yards. But he was alseep mere seconds later so it was easier to contend with. Also, I fell asleep moments after.
Arrive home and it appears my geeky, Star Warsy friends were correct. Bobba Fett remained on the table.
Bobba Fett, however much crawling out of things I can’t pronounce, let alone have any clue as to what a Sarlacc may or may not be, is not match for an over-tired Mum who has been out trainspotting all day, with dodgy photography skills and no wine awaiting me as I walked in the door.
Bobba Fett was pretty much having a bad day … and he quickly got himself off the kitchen table. Just in time for dinner, too …
Carelessness of the worst kind & RIP Ponyo
Posted by: | CommentsPonyo has finally succumbed to whichever higher being was calling him towards the light to welcome him to fishy heaven.
Or he just eventually died. Whichever sits better with you.
He may very well have done so overnight, but I was rather busy this morning what with Grumpy having to leave disgustingly early for his first day of work and children continuing to do that thing where they sleep in because it’s a school morning.
Pumpkin the Shebunkin almost sufferred the same fate when Godzilla scooped Ponyo up with a soup spoon, catching Pumpkin on the way. (Mr Moo, the zebra fish escaped all such trauma).
Pumpkin also hasn’t been looking too crash hot for a few days, interspersed with moments of spritely fishiness. Or is that fishy spriteliness?
I can’t help but feel somewhat … responsible. You see, I topped their water up from a cup I was drinking from (definitely not Dummy Water, I checked) a few nights back, and it was since this incident that they have been looking poorly. I have pondered the scenario that perhaps the water was, in fact, a freshly prepared and half drunk (as in consumed, not pissed) vodka and tonic that I had made in a moment of high stress. Did I actually top the tank up with vodka and tonic? If so, is this carelessness of the worst kind?
I mean, really, what a waste of vodka and tonic!
Thus, it was this evening that Ponyo was unceremoniously buried in the garden out the back, under the lemon tree where he will undoubtably be pee’d on, partially dug up again by Chippie, whom I can’t decide if he was overexcited about “PISH GOME!” or traumatised, and reburied as the “Can we go and get another fish now?” rites were read over his dead body.
Then it was time for dinner.
And I spent all that time today, researching how to discuss death with children. Apparently, you just need to assure them that you’ll pop up to the pet shop sometime tomorrow … then cook the pasta.
