Lines of communication

I have always thought it was hilarious (in a very unfunny way) when people say that babies become "interesting" and "develop personalities" when they are 6 months old, or older. Call me a biased mother if you will, but I reckon my kids have all been fairly 'interesting' since the two little blue lines appeared on the pregnancy test. And as far as personalities are concerned, in my humble opinion, anyone who thinks that tiny babies are born without personalities has clearly not had one rolling around in their womb, or spent any time with a newborn! As far as a jolly eight month old is concerned, the personality traits are positively bursting from every orifice...!!!!!

Some kids crawl and walk early, others chatter away from a very early age. All three of our kids share a very distinct personality trait in that they all enjoy the sounds of their own voices. None of them move anywhere until around 11 months, which suits me perfectly!! But as far as chat is concerned, we have the market covered (any idea why my children might be chatty?? Anyone??) Jack was a very vocal baby, jabbering away in his own little language. I think he began 'talking' (by this I mean, using words which had a clear meaning for him, regardless of the strange pronounciation!) at about 10 months old. Certainly at this age I understood him perfectly when he was hungry, tired, or wanted something really badly! Phoebe topped Jack's grasp of vocabulary by beginning to talk when she was 8 months old, and I was particularly pleased with her efforts as her first word was 'Mum'. Clever girly!!! And even though I try not to compare my kidlets, I was certainly not expecting Maisie to speak even earlier than her sister. However, there is absolutely no doubt at all that Miss Mouse has been trying to speak since she was roughly 5 months old. She now routinely greets Christian with something that sounds distinctly like "hello, Dad!" (and come to think of it, she doesn't say it to anyone else...) Today, on a trip to the city, it struck me that simply by using one word in different ways, Maisie is able to communicate exactly how she is feeling. With this one little word, she can portray her sunny little personality to the world, so that there is no doubt what she is saying.

For example, while eating her lunch sitting in her pram and people-watching in Australia On Collins, Maisie kept up a stream of quiet little "Dad-dad-dad-dad-dad-dad"'s, interspersed with blurty raspberries in response to Jack's antics. She was clearly happy with the world but not overly excited, just content to let her brother and sister be the clowns for once. When we had been in the menswear section of Myer for a little too long, the "Dad-dad-dad-dad-dad-dad"'s developed a growly edge, became louder and a bit sooky, and it was obvious to all and sundry that she wanted out of the pram! Once safely ensconced in the Baby Bjorn and strapped to Mum's front, the "Dad-dad-dad"'s were joyous yelps at passing strangers, conveying relief at escaping the confines of the stroller, determination that we should go faster, and the discovery that simply by leaning backwards in the sling, she could grab Mummy's face for a big wet kiss. A trip into Borders saw Maisie Mouse back in the stroller next to her big sister, and it was there that her attentions were captured by a little hardback Maisy book. I noticed that the book was being examined very closely (and gummed, and drooled upon...), and she was very, very quietly singing "Dad-dad-dad-dad-dad-dad" to her new possession (which I had to buy because I didn't think Borders would appreciate a thin veneer of spittle on their products...). She was so clearly delighted with the tiny book, and was taking such pleasure in discovering the pictures and textures that her voice had dropped to a soft little baby whisper, with a melodic message that said she was completely happy. Minutes later when I removed the book from her clutches to pay for it, the gentle baby song became an angry how-dare-you-take-my-special-chewing-toy "DAD-DAD-DAD!!!", which wasn't improved when I laughed at her...whoops!! I managed to get her laughing again once we had exited Borders, and thought I would test the waters as far as her new word went. She looked at me and began a conversation. "Dad-dad-dad-dad-dad?" I replied, "Mum-mum-mum!" She eye-balled me, smiled, and then screeched, "DAD-DAD-DAD!! Hahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!" Uh-huh. Nice one, Mais.

I know it won't be long before she learns other words (goodness knows I wish Jack and Phoebs had smaller vocabularies...I seem to be followed by a running commentary most days!), but it's a bit cute at the moment, using only one word for so many different emotions. With just one syllable my baby can display her already distinct personality to whomever cares to interact with her. Spending only a short period of time with Maisie reveals a very interesting little girl, who has strong likes and dislikes, recognises and loves different people, and who very clearly has her own personality. My only issue is her particular choice of first word, and so tomorrow, the coaching begins...her second word will most definitely be Mum-mum-mum-mum!!!!!

Maisie goes to the movies

I was really dreading today, as we had an appointment with the paediatric allergy specialist for Jack and Maisie. He is a lovely man, and a brilliant doctor, but the skin prick tests they have to do to check the kids for allergies is pretty painful. We left Phoebe with Grandma for the day, and they went for a trip to Melbourne. Lucky Phoebs!! Meanwhile, Jack, Maisie, Mummy and Daddy had a quick coffee at Maccas before heading off to the doctor's. (Jack entertained the breakfast crowd at the Golden Arches by dancing and singing in a terrible Scottish accent, "I'm an Irish dancer!" - he's so shy, my son.) I was so proud of both of them, as they endured the test very bravely. Jack only squirmed briefly, and Maisie didn't cry at all! The great news is that Jack is slowly growing out of his allergies, and might be able to sample cow's milk soon. The bad news is he has developed a new allergy to peanuts - boo hiss!! Maisie's good news is that she only has asthmatic airways and sensitive skin...and is allergic to peanuts! Peanuts??? We have been a dairy and egg-free household for so long, what am I going to do now?? I'll have to completely overhaul my pantry and take forever reading every label in the supermarket to make sure we are dairy / egg / AND peanut-free. But at least I might be able to start eating wheat again soon, as long as Maisie's skin and rattly chest clears up. Cross fingers!

We had planned to do something special for Jack after the specialist, just to take his mind off a yucky morning. Even though it was a bit risky, we took Jack and Mais to the cinema to see 'Despicable Me', and we had an absolute ball! I couldn't believe it, but Maisie sat up next to Jack and watched the entire movie - I didn't know whether to be proud of her, or worried about her square eyes! She only stopped briefly to have a quick feed and a cuddle, but for the most part she watched that screen as though she understood every word. Jack laughed his backside off, and I must say Christian and I enjoyed it too. I was so prepared to miss the movie, simply because I didn't think Maisie would make it through two hours in the dark and noise, that it was a nice surprise to see the whole thing. We might even try and do it again!

After having dinner out at La Porchetta with the family, we are back at home for our last night at the Wild's. The chickens greeted us in the dining room with loud chirping (and one bewildered escapee, who had jumped out of the box in our absence and looked as though he wished he hadn't), and the roosters crowed long and loud. The kids are fast asleep, worn out by a long and emotional day, and I am currently ignoring the packing I need to do! We have had such a magic time here, the kids and I have loved every minute - right down to extinguishing fires in the lounge room and being attacked by rampant roosters. I want to thank Anna, Adam, Aiden, Harper and Aurelia for allowing us to inhabit their wonderful farm this week. I hope we have cared for your animals properly - goodness knows they have been "loved" in spades! You have a beautiful home, and if there are no objections I think we may be frequent visitors, if only to come and play with Sunny and Flancy! (I'm not too sure about the roosters, though...)

See you all back at home! xxx

New shoes and toothy pegs

Another jam-packed weekend for Team O'Toole...

We were still recovering from our day at the Show yesterday morning, and being a Saturday the natural urge to go a bit more slowly was way too strong to fight. I allowed the kids to loll around in their jarmies for most of the morning. Apparently, jumping on the trampoline and playing with the dogs is way more fun when you're still in your pyjamas! I ignored the dirt and mayhem and enjoyed the happy vibes of my kids...until they discovered the garden hose. All of a sudden we had two sodden children in the house, dripping all over the floors and giggling, "Mummy, I'm soaked!!" As I already had a string of washing flapping around on the line all the way up the hill (strung between the trees, it's brilliant!!), I didn't really want any more washing, so I made them dry off naturally before letting them go back outside again - is that bad parenting?

After a quick trip to the supermarket, the kids had an afternoon kip and awoke just in time to watch the Grand Final. Actually, if I am to be completely precise, they woke up just in time to run back outside while Christian and I watched the footy. Apart from one little incident involving an umbrella (Phoebe's brand-new Dora umbrella she received in her solid-gold show bag on Friday) and the trampoline, they played exceptionally well with Sunny and Clancy (or Flancy, as Jack calls her!), our two adopted dogs, for the entire afternoon.

All three kids were in bed by 8pm last night, and I should have taken advantage of this unusual situation. Instead, Christian and I watched three episodes of 'The Royle Family' and only got ready for bed just in time for Maisie to wake for her late feed. Silly, silly Mummy! I took her into our bed with the idea of feeding quietly under the warm doona, so that I would be able to get her back into her own cot with a minimum of fuss. Wrong. After a massive feed, she had a coughing fit and launched a deluge of breastmilk and pureed vegetables all over the bed, Christian, myself, herself and the floor. Apparently she felt marvellous after this episode of purging, as she then started laughing and kicking and blowing raspberries. We got Maisie to sleep after another cautious breastfeed. Mummy and Daddy eventually went to sleep on towels, after mopping up the rivers of vomit and taking showers to rinse away the stench.

After a very late night, Christian and I were not prepared to be woken this morning by a little voice whispering, "Mummy, Daddy, the dogs ate my shoes" Despite the kids bringing their shoes in every night after being outside, they forgot after their hose-induced glee yesterday. Sunny and Flancy must have thought they had been given a special treat, so believe me, I don't blame the dogs at all. As far as dogs are concerned, I reckon if you leave something outside in their reach, it's fair game! The only trouble was, I had only packed one pair of shoes each, plus a pair of gumboots for the kids. So off we trooped to our swimming lessons clad in gumboots - quite the fashion trendsetters!

Jack and Phoebe had a great time at the pool, while poor old coughy Mais watched from the side. It was while I was sitting with her watching Jack's torpedoes that I discovered her very first tooth had come through! I know it wasn't there last night, as just before she spewed everywhere she had bitten me quite hard and laughed uproariously. But at the pool this morning, I tipped her backwards in a game, and in a split second when the drool spilled sideways out of her mouth and her tongue rolled back, I saw the ridged little edge of a brand-new pearly white!!!! (Can anyone predict delicate moments in breastfeeding coming my way...???)

We had a golden afternoon with Pa and Aunty Miffy, running around in the sunshine and collecting yellow 'daisies' in the yard behind my Dad's shop. It was so nice just to sit and chat while the kids explored and only answered to Dora and Diego. After a couple of hours, we packed three very tired kids into the car and let them sleep all the way to K Mart. I must say, the replacement shoes we purchased were exceptionally popular - Ben 10 runners for Jack, sequinned Tinkerbell runners for Phoebs, and the cutest little sandals for Maisie Mouse (absolutely no use except for decoration, I know!) And the new shoes are now proudly lined up INSIDE the front door, ready for another jam-packed day tomorrow!

Our Royal Melbourne Show Debut

Yesterday morning, we farewelled the chooks, packed the car with Vegemite sandwiches, and headed off to the Royal Melbourne Show. It was a first for our little tribe, and even though they had no idea where we were going, they were very excited! Going to the Show was a childhood tradition for me, something I looked forward to every year. When I suggested to Christian that we take the kids to the Show this year, I knew there was a chance that the crowds and noise (not to mention the long and tricky trip to Flemington) could make our day less than pleasant. However, I was willing to give it a shot, and I am so glad we did!

Once we'd made a quick stop to K-Mart to buy sun hats and a bike pump (I wasn't prepared for a 21 degree sunny day when I packed to go to the Wild's, and the pram tyres were flat!), we found our way into the city, along with a couple of thousand other people with the same idea. We decided to park in my old neighbourhood and catch a tram, which (apart from hoisting the pram up the tram stairs) was a triumphant success. I have no doubt that had we decided to turn around and go home at that point, the kids would have been happy. A trip on the ding-ding!!!! How excitement!!

First port of call at the Show was lunch (home-made, of course - if they're still happy with "Bedgeemite sammiches" and a box of sultanas, who am I to argue??), a nappy change and a quick look at the map. We decided to head towards the animal nursery first, however, the little train ride at the entrance to the nursery stalled us...then the flying elephant ride distracted us...then it was the bouncy castle...the magic circus...and finally the spinning teacups...and by the time Jack and Phoebe had spun, bounced, danced, flown and toot-tooted their way around the littlies' amusement area, the queue into the animal nursery looked a little too long! Maisie, meanwhile, had sat in her pram patiently watching the big kids on their rides and smiling away, until she dropped off to sleep sitting up.

It was pretty hot work having all of that fun, so we stopped off at the parents' room to check pants (the kids, not ours!) and have a quick drink. We had a visit to the alpacas and the poultry pavilion, but the sight of hundreds of caged chooks was a bit distressing for young Phoebs so we moved on! Christian and I made the executive decision at this point to begin moving towards the front gates, as we could see frayed edges getting more prominent. However, we avoided disaster by two small but clever manouvres - we put Phoebe in the pram and Maisie in the Baby Bjorn, and we bought everybody icy poles. Crisis averted! The kids were so delighted with their icy poles that they stood (or sat) perfectly still in the middle of the crowd and ate their ices with big eyes. I got a running commentary from Jack about the colours in his icy pole, and what they tasted like. Phoebe didn't utter a word until the wooden stick was licked clean! Meanwhile, Maisie had discovered a new trick with fantastic results. She loves being in the baby carrier, both facing in (so she can snuggle me) or facing out (so she can see everything). Usually when she's facing out, she waves her little arms up and down and jigs her legs, so she looks and feels like an 8 month old Irish dancer on speed. Yesterday, the noise and sheer excitement must have inspired her, as she discovered how to scream...as in screech at the top of her lungs with joy. We parted the crowd effortlessly, my baby and I, simply by flapping arms and emitting eardrum-bursting yelps of happiness. The louder the music became, the more enthusiastic Maisie's screeching was!

The last treat we had promised the kids was a show bag, although at this point in the day we were pretty sure the icy poles had clinched our nominations for parents-of-the-year. But I just couldn't renege on our promise, and even the exorbitant prices (since when did show bags have an average price tag of $25???) didn't dissuade me. We told them they could choose one (and steered them away from kids walking past with five or six each...), so Jack decided on a Ben 10 bag, and Phoebe wanted the Dora one. Well, I must say those bags were worth every cent!! There was some fantastic gear in there, and they were so overjoyed at their prizes that it was worth it just to see their little faces (Classic moment: Jack was pulling everything out of his bag, and came across some 'punching' gloves and a body protector. My face fell, until he exclaimed, "Look Mum!! Cooker gloves!! Like the ones in the kitchen! I can use them to make cakes!!" Yes, my darling, you can absolutely use those toys meant for violence to bake anything you like!!). Clutching their show bags, with rings of icy pole-goodness around their mouths, we screeched and flapped our way to the tram stop to begin the journey home. Apart from dropping Phoebe's hat in the traffic and nearly losing Maisie out of the Baby Bjorn when I bent over to retrieve it, the trip home was fairly uneventful. All three fell asleep in the back seat, which meant they were full of beans when Aunty Bec and Uncle Chris came around for dinner. We had a lovely night with them, especially since Aunty Bec had baked a delicious dairy/egg/gluten-free chocolate cake (with strawberries on top!) After polishing off their fish and chips, Jack and Phoebe enjoyed a piece of cake so much that Phoebe declared proudly, "Mummy! I've got a chocolate t-shirt!" Not to mention a chocolate face, and chocolate fingers...

Eventually, the kids were worn out enough to go to bed (or to be more precise, they went to bed when the unusually high glucose levels in their bloodstreams had subsided) and the grown-ups sat up chatting. It was a lovely way to end a fantastic day, as we always love catching up with Bec and Chris (and they are always understanding when the extent of our 'entertaining' is to flake on the couch!) I am so glad our kids had fun today, and Jack already has plans about which rides he wants to go on next year! It won't always be as simple and inexpensive (?!) as it was today, but it's a special September holiday treat that the whole family can do together. It would be lovely if my childhood tradition could be perpetuated through my children, if only that it would mean I would have a legitimate excuse to go to the Show for a few more years (or at least until they are teenagers and I am too embarrassing for words...)

Sleep peacefully, little chick

Last night I spent a few hours cradling a tiny baby chick in my hand in the vain hope that I could make it better. Even though the logical part of my brain knew that it was too little and weak to survive, the mothering part of me was trying desperately to convey enough love and warmth to help the baby either come back to chirping life, or pass away peacefully. As long as she was breathing I held some hope she was just really, really tired - at one point she even gave a few little cheeps. Ever the optimist, I sat with Christian on the couch, held my chick and watched telly, but I couldn't tell you which program was on the box. Around 11pm, Maisie began to cry and she was quite distressed as she appeared to be coming down with a cold. Daddy's cuddles wouldn't cut it, so I had little choice but to relinquish my feathered baby and snuggle my blonde, blue-eyed baby to comfort her. Christian held Chick for a while, and in the end her breathing was pretty stable and she seemed calm, so we put her back into the box with the other chicks and watched her be surrounded by her brothers and sisters. They all seemed so big and energetic compared to our little one that I wondered had there always been such a huge difference? Or had she diminished so much that she would never catch up?

With all the chicks huddled under the heat lamp and Maisie feeding hungrily at the breast, I tried to sleep. But the snorting and snuffling of my baby with her snotty nose, and the thought of Chick slowly dying outside my bedroom door prevented any real rest. Maisie was so disturbed throughout the night that I gave up on trying to settle her in her own cot and just let her sleep in our bed all night - something I had never done with any of our kids. By doing this, I did not get out of bed at all, and therefore did not check on Chick between midnight and 6am. By the time Christian got up for work, Maisie was breathing easily in the middle of the bed. My poor little Chick, though, was not breathing any more.

When I went to check on her and feed the other chicks, her tiny, fluffy little body was burrowed down into the sawdust. Her eyelids were closed and she was cool to the touch. The other chicks were no longer huddled around her, but were avoiding her body. Jack came over to the box and asked if the others had stood on her. I asked him, "Do you know how you think, and feel things, and love people? You know how you decide to do things, and like things and make your body move and run and jump?" "Yes, Mummy," he said gravely. "Well, that's your soul," I replied. "And when you die, your soul leaves your body and goes to Heaven." He considered that for a moment, looked carefully at the dead chick, and said,"But then you come back again, right?" "No honey, once you go to Heaven you can't come back. But she's not in pain anymore, she can't feel anything. It's like being asleep but you don't wake up" I said. He looked once again at Chick and exclaimed, "Oh Mum! Her leg is dead too!" I explained that all of her body was dead and didn't work anymore, but it didn't hurt. "Mum?" "Yes, Jack?" "Can you make breakfast now?"

Later on this morning, Jack asked if the chick had come back to life again. I said no, she hadn't, and did he remember where her soul had gone? "Sydney?" he said, hopefully. "Ah no, darling, not Sydney. Her soul has gone to Heaven." "And she won't come back again?" "No sweetie. Once your soul has gone to Heaven, your body doesn't work anymore. " It was at this point I realised that we might need to have a little burial for our baby chick, if only to illustrate how death can be dignified and gentle, if you are lucky. I told Jack we would wait for Daddy to come home and then we would bury our chick. "In the floor?" he asked. "No, in the ground outside" I said. "And then she will be alive again!" he said cheerfully. I sat him on my lap and started to explain again how she wouldn't feel any pain anymore, and that she was in a happy place, but she was dead and wouldn't be coming alive again (I thought I might leave conversations about reincarnation for another day...). "Mummy?" "Yes, Jack?" "Can I go outside on the trampoline?"

While the kids played happily, I put the chick's cold little body into some tissues and a paper bag. I decided to wait for Christian to come home for the burial, as I didn't fancy keeping the two dogs and the feral roosters away while I dug a hole with three kids in tow (although I'm sure the possibilities for the comic side of this would be many!!) I'm not sure how well I dealt with all of this today. I knew I wanted to be honest with Jack without scaring him, and to be very truthful, I'm a bit relieved that his first experience of death was with a little animal as opposed to a beloved great-grandparent. However, when I held Chick in my hand last night, I knew she was dying, and I think the person who had the hardest time of all, was me. I had absolutely no control over Chick's life or death and just had to let Nature take it's course. Her death was not violent, and did not appear to be painful, and I know that many small animals die in the first few days of life simply because they are not born strong enough. But it's not often that we have absolutely no control over a situation, and in this case I knew that explaining what had happened to our chicken to my young son would possibly be the hardest part.

I'm still not sure exactly how much Jack understands. I know that when the time comes to bury Chick tonight, most likely I will cry a little. I don't think that's a bad thing. And as sad as I am for poor little Chick, I am grateful that my children's first knowledge of death was quiet and gentle. They have not had to grapple with strong emotions of separation, or watch their parents deal with horrendous grief. (Actually, I mentioned to my husband last night that we were lucky this was the first time we would have to explain death, as I was very fortunate to survive post-natal complications after Maisie's birth. He must have been thinking about this, because he said, very quietly, "I know.") I know we will show our children how to handle the little body with kindness, and bury her with dignity. We will tell them why it is important to bury our dead, and to learn from their deaths. And with any luck, we will avoid having to do anything like this again for a very, very long time. And when we do, I hope that I will have learned how to deal with it better than I did this time. Sleep peacefully, little chick. Thank you for sharing your little life with my children and I. We are the richer for it.

KFC

I have used the phrase "running around like a headless chook" many, many times in my life, but funnily enough it has never applied to me more appropriately than in the last two days. We have been housesitting at the Wild's place since Sunday, caring for the chickens and dogs (not so keen on the roosters, but the kids were very much entertained by Daddy pulling out some ninja moves on them!) Jack and Phoebe were absolutely loving the baby chicks in the living room, especially as another one hatched yesterday morning. It was while I was feeding and watering them that I noticed the lightbulb in the heat lamp had blown, which sent me into a tailspin. It was already cold and the chicks were huddling up which meant they were cold too. My first thought was "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod the chicks are going to die!!!!"

Ok, keep calm, I thought, you're a grown-up. What do I do? Phone my mum?? Nope, wrong emergency. O-kay - phone my sister! I took the chicks down to Maisie's room and put them next to the little heater in there, covered the box with a blanket (?) and shut the door.  I phoned my sister who used to be a vet nurse and is just amazing with animals, not matter what species they are! She knows absolutely everything there is to know about animals, will handle anything at all with aplomb, and is my go-to person for any beast-related crisis. Unfortunately I caught her commuting to her job (well I suppose I couldn't really expect her to drive from Keysborough to Boronia to take care of the problem, could I? Could I?) so she suggested I just get a replacement bulb as soon as I could and keep the chicks in a warm room until then. So far, so good. I then checked with the Wild's, who said exactly what my sister had said! Excellent. I chucked the kids in the car, found a replacement red lightbulb, and spent the rest of the day checking the chicks for signs of their ill-treatment.  Apart from one very quiet little chicky, they all seemed happy enough.

This morning I was woken by Jack lifting my eyelids and telling me very excitedly that another baby chick had hatched! We left the new little baby in the incubator while we went out for the day, and only returned in time for the children's bedtime. Pyjamas were put on, teeth were brushed, dogs were fed, hens locked away, chicks fed and watered, you know, the usual. We were in the midst of the usual bedtime chaos ("No, you may not stay up and play Lightning McQueen" "Yes, you can have a story but only when you're lying down" "Maisie, for goodness sake, the boob does not stretch that far") when I noticed the smoke billowing in the living room. The heat lamp to keep the chicks warm had fallen down onto the sawdust in the box. The entire clamp that held it in place had disintegrated!! The sawdust was already smoldering and the room was full of smoke, and the poor little chicks were huddled in a corner of the box cheeping very, very fast! I swallowed a swear word, grabbed the lamp out of the box and threw the water bowl onto the sizzling sawdust. Christian ran around opening windows while I grabbed another box and threw the chicks (gently) into the new box and took the old one outside. Jack kept asking, "Are the chicks all dead? Are we going to die?" (Did a swear word pop out without my knowledge?) Phoebe kept running around in glee, as I think she thought bedtime had been postponed indefinitely. Maisie kept on eating her toy monkey, so obviously she had been traumatised by the whole experience. Once we had the chicks safely ensconced next to the heater (again) and the kids in bed, I cleaned out the scorched sawdust, and Christian drove to a 24 hour KMart to buy a new lamp!

The chicks are now happily cheepcheepcheeping around their clean box, under a new lamp that cannot fall on them, and Christian and I are sitting white-haired together on the couch. I am so very, very grateful that the lamp waited to fall until we were home, or this may have been a lot worse! And as for my poor quiet little chick? I moved her back into the incubator only minutes before the lamp fell as she was getting trampled by the others. She is sleeping a lot, and I don't think she will survive. I sat and held her for a while, trying to give a little comfort and love in the absence of her real mummy, and she curled up in my hand and tucked her little beak into my palm. I feel so completely helpless that I cannot do anything for this little baby. I know how helpless I feel when my own babies are sick, and this tiny chick is so fragile compared to my robust children. I can only hope that she gets the rest she needs in the quiet incubator, and that this will be enough to get her through the night. Or if she passes away, I hope it's quick and painless for the poor little mite. It's entirely possible I may be explaining what death is and where heaven is at breakfast tomorrow morning. I think the kids will probably deal with it better than I will! At least the other chicks can go to sleep without any fear of becoming fried chicken...oh lordy, who'd want a boring life?

Adventures at the Wild's

Day one of our holiday at the Wild farm:

* Jack and Phoebe polished off half a bag of lolly snakes very, very quietly in the loungeroom before Mummy and Daddy woke up. When they were questioned about it, Phoebe said very sweetly, "Sorry Mummy, but I did liked them!" Jack was slightly more suave, explaining that he only had three, while Phoebe "ate hundreds!" Neither of them ate much breakfast, funnily enough.

* Apparently Phoebe climbed the bunk to hop into bed with Jack, also very early this morning. We only found this out after she complained of a broken foot. When questioned about how she sustained this injury, she explained it happened when she jumped off the top bunk. At this point we were beginning to wonder if child restraints might be necessary to get a good nights' sleep...

* I copped a rooster to the back of the legs when we were heading off to the shops! Part of the appeal of staying at the 'farm' is the chickens (although, I must say I think the kids are more in love with the tiny hatching chicks in the house as opposed to the strutting hens and crowing roosters outside...) Even the rooster who decided it was time to get up at 4:30 this morning and shouted his stuff for an hour didn't dampen our enthusiasm. However, getting the c@#p kicked out of me on the way to the car this morning put a slight dent in my affection for the chooks. I have decided to rename this particular rooster "Agro". He should be very careful. I know lots of recipes.

* Maisie found an ingenious way to entertain herself today, with frightening results for Mummy! Whilst rolling around on the floor, she discovered that she could get under the coffee table (and thus hide herself from everybody...) After I recovered from my initial panic at losing my baby whilst in the same room, it was pretty funny. And she was chuffed with herself!

* Jack and Phoebe had a great time sifting through Aiden and Harper's toys, and have developed an unhealthy obsession with 'life savers'. No, not the round lollies with the hole in the middle but rather the light swords used in Star Wars. We tried explaining numerous times that they were actually called 'light sabres', but Jack would not be convinced. He now thinks Mummy and Daddy are complete toonkynunks.

* We have not yet caused any harm to any chickens (baby ones, hens, or roosters), although I can't promise anything if Agro keeps his macho act up. The puppy dogs are being absolutely gorgeous and very smoochy, which I love and which frightens the bejeesus out of Phoebs.

* So all in all. a pretty excellent first day!!! Tomorrow will be a fairly quiet one, I imagine. In fact, I don't have any intention of getting out of my pyjamas (an entirely plausible possibility, when you don't have any neighbours who can see you...!!!) The kids just want the weather to be dry enough to try out the trabobaline, and I reckon Maisie might give that coffee table another crack...