A long, long time ago, Saturday nights were all about going out. It didn't matter if we went to a movie, or for dinner, or to a pub - the only reason we would stay home is if one of us was unwell. Now, obviously when you have small children you must expect to spend fewer evenings out on the town (let's be honest...once in a blue moon is more truthful!!). For the last few years, a typical Saturday night for us involve a bit of telly or a DVD, a takeaway if we're being really decadent, and a break from folding washing. And I've been perfectly happy with this - I would not trade my children for anything, least of all a glittering social life (however, there have been times when I've wondered if clean hair and a t-shirt free of baby spew would be too much to ask...) Tonight, though, it would seem that even this was too much to expect. The only thing that could salvage tonight is the hope that you might get a giggle out of our misfortunes...and you must realise that the only reason I am blogging right now is to avoid going back to the mess...
I spent the majority of today staying pretty quiet as Jack, Maisie and I were all battling the joys of colds, coughs and conjunctivitis. Yes, we're a charming lot. I actually fell asleep in my chair this afternoon while feeding Maisie, and my darling husband left us there for a good two hours. It was quite nice actually, just snuggling up with my baby and dozing while Jack and Phoebe played around us. Jack had invented a terrific game with his ninja turtles, I'm not quite sure but I think they were saving the world from the cast of Stuart Little. Phoebe was wrapping pieces of wooden train track in scarves and serving them up as ice cream cones. She proudly presented me with one, and I asked her what flavour it was. "Chicken nuggets, Mummy", she replied solemnly. "But you can't eat all of it, only a taste, ok?". Absolutely.
So, a fairly quiet Saturday afternoon for Team O'Toole, right? In fact, I was beginning to think I would have nothing noteworthy for my blog tonight. And then it happened. First of all, I fed Maisie a puree of blueberries, banana and apple for her tea. It was while she gnawed on a piece of bread after her fruit that she gagged, and brought up a purple deluge all over the highchair. We cleaned her up, put the highchair cover in the washing machine, and put her on the floor for a kick while the big kids finished their dinner. When I went to get their pyjamas ready, I came back to find Jack sitting on Maisie's tummy, and hitting her playfully with a piece of wooden train track (it is the most diverse toy, I cannot tell you!). Now, Maisie was gurgling away happily so I was sure that no damage had been done. But of course I needed to stress to Jack the dangers of squashing and smashing little baby sisters, so he was told off, and began to cry. Crying turned to coughing, and before we knew it, there was a stream of chicken, peas and soy chocolate ice cream pouring from Jack's throat. The kitchen floor was awash with vomit. The walls were splattered, it went up the kitchen cupboards, and in the middle of it all, Jack stood crying and coughing. We just begged him to stop spewing, and ducked every time he gagged!
Many paper towels and buckets of PineOCleen later, Christian and I had cleaned up the worst part of the mess, and the big kids were tucked up in bed after being comforted that they were loved despite their vomitting habits. By this point in time, my eye was completely scarlet and nearly closed, and my nose was streaming, but at least I had forgotten about being sick for half an hour!! Of course, the irony is that it is now 11pm, and I feel as though we've been through the wringer. In the olden days, 11pm would be when the night was just getting started!!! The difference is that back then, I would have had several vinos by now. Could it be possible that that's the answer to my problems? Perhaps if I had a couple of drinkies, this would have been a very amusing episode?! Hmmm.....
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
Advent of the sippy cup
Maisie reached a small but significant milestone this morning - she had some water from a sippy cup with her lunch. She was so excited to see this new toy, she grabbed it with glee and admittedly, most of it went straight down her front. But this tiny sip of water signified for me yet another step away from babyhood and breastfeeding, a move which you know I am not at all prepared for!
Breastfeeding is an extremely emotional, divisive aspect of motherhood, of which I have experienced all manner of highs and lows. I hate the way people make judgements about mothers based on whether they provide nourishment through a breast or a bottle. I have done both, and been censured by strangers in both instances. When Jack was born I knew very little about breastfeeding, only that I wanted to try it. I was extraordinarily lucky that Jack fed quite well from the beginning, however I still had to supplement feed him from a bottle to treat his jaundice. I also had no idea that he wasn't attaching properly until a nurse told me at the 2 week check-up that toe-curling agony was not normal or acceptable. Thank goodness for her!!! Jack fed brilliantly (and greedily) until he was ten months old, when he weaned himself quite dramatically and I discovered I was pregnant with Phoebe!
After such a successful breastfeeding relationship with Jack, the nurses in hospital assumed I knew what I was doing when Phoebe was born. That may have been the case, however poor little newborn Phoebe had never breastfed before. We were sent home way too early, and by the time she was five days old, I had been massacred in the mammary region (to be perfectly truthful!) and my darling baby was starving. (Actually, a visiting midwife told me "You're starving that baby", which as you can imagine was music to the ears of a post-partum woman) We battled it out for six weeks, until a very kind midwife told me I would never be able to breastfeed again if I persevered, so great was the damage. Phoebe had formula from that point on, and despite my massive mother-guilt, appears to have been unaffected by the experience. If anything, she is an exceptionally affectionate little girl, so we must have done something right during those bottle feeds!!
When I was pregnant with Maisie, I visited lactation consultants and midwives in the hospital in an attempt to be prepared (psychologically, if not physically!!) I knew that successful breastfeeding ultimately came down to my ability to produce milk, and Maisie's ability to attach properly, but I was not leaving anything to chance! As it happened, Maisie fed extremely well, especially considering she spent her first 24 hours in special care (and not "bonding" with me immediately after birth - more mother-guilt!!) One of the bonuses of getting septicaemia when Maisie was ten days old (yes, I know the bonuses are few and far between, but hey - I'm a glass-half-full kinda person!!) was that I had another week in hospital with midwives and lactation consultants who ensured she was feeding perfectly. (We won't mention the huge doses of morphine she was also ingesting through my breastmilk...) I must say Maisie has been a dream to breastfeed, and I know that this is not something to be sneezed at. Being my last baby, I have relished feeding her to sleep (even though I know it's naughty), watching her little eyelids get heavy, and her breathing become slow and deep.Her creamy, plump little hand starts every feed by grabbing my top, and gradually starts patting me, before curling into a tiny fist and snuggling into my skin. I love the half-smiles I get when she's halfway through a hungry feed, and she looks up at me as though we're sharing a private joke. I don't particularly love the nips I have received of late, but it's very hard to be cross when she snorts with laughter and then dives back for more.
So what did Maisie's triumphant drink from a sippy cup mean to me today? That my baby is happy and proud to be mastering new skills, and is one step closer to independence. That she is developing the way babies are supposed to, and that I am grateful for having a healthy, alert, enthusiastic baby. But just between you and me, I won't be in any hurry to wean her off the bedtime feeds. I'm going to be making the most of those late night snuggles while I can, even if it means the temporary decline of my social life (oh, who am I kidding?? My social life has been pushing up daisies for some time now!) And even though I know that sooner or later my bubby won't need me for her nourishment, at least I will still enjoy those delicious baby cuddles for a little while yet (at least until she's 21, right??)
Breastfeeding is an extremely emotional, divisive aspect of motherhood, of which I have experienced all manner of highs and lows. I hate the way people make judgements about mothers based on whether they provide nourishment through a breast or a bottle. I have done both, and been censured by strangers in both instances. When Jack was born I knew very little about breastfeeding, only that I wanted to try it. I was extraordinarily lucky that Jack fed quite well from the beginning, however I still had to supplement feed him from a bottle to treat his jaundice. I also had no idea that he wasn't attaching properly until a nurse told me at the 2 week check-up that toe-curling agony was not normal or acceptable. Thank goodness for her!!! Jack fed brilliantly (and greedily) until he was ten months old, when he weaned himself quite dramatically and I discovered I was pregnant with Phoebe!
After such a successful breastfeeding relationship with Jack, the nurses in hospital assumed I knew what I was doing when Phoebe was born. That may have been the case, however poor little newborn Phoebe had never breastfed before. We were sent home way too early, and by the time she was five days old, I had been massacred in the mammary region (to be perfectly truthful!) and my darling baby was starving. (Actually, a visiting midwife told me "You're starving that baby", which as you can imagine was music to the ears of a post-partum woman) We battled it out for six weeks, until a very kind midwife told me I would never be able to breastfeed again if I persevered, so great was the damage. Phoebe had formula from that point on, and despite my massive mother-guilt, appears to have been unaffected by the experience. If anything, she is an exceptionally affectionate little girl, so we must have done something right during those bottle feeds!!
When I was pregnant with Maisie, I visited lactation consultants and midwives in the hospital in an attempt to be prepared (psychologically, if not physically!!) I knew that successful breastfeeding ultimately came down to my ability to produce milk, and Maisie's ability to attach properly, but I was not leaving anything to chance! As it happened, Maisie fed extremely well, especially considering she spent her first 24 hours in special care (and not "bonding" with me immediately after birth - more mother-guilt!!) One of the bonuses of getting septicaemia when Maisie was ten days old (yes, I know the bonuses are few and far between, but hey - I'm a glass-half-full kinda person!!) was that I had another week in hospital with midwives and lactation consultants who ensured she was feeding perfectly. (We won't mention the huge doses of morphine she was also ingesting through my breastmilk...) I must say Maisie has been a dream to breastfeed, and I know that this is not something to be sneezed at. Being my last baby, I have relished feeding her to sleep (even though I know it's naughty), watching her little eyelids get heavy, and her breathing become slow and deep.Her creamy, plump little hand starts every feed by grabbing my top, and gradually starts patting me, before curling into a tiny fist and snuggling into my skin. I love the half-smiles I get when she's halfway through a hungry feed, and she looks up at me as though we're sharing a private joke. I don't particularly love the nips I have received of late, but it's very hard to be cross when she snorts with laughter and then dives back for more.
So what did Maisie's triumphant drink from a sippy cup mean to me today? That my baby is happy and proud to be mastering new skills, and is one step closer to independence. That she is developing the way babies are supposed to, and that I am grateful for having a healthy, alert, enthusiastic baby. But just between you and me, I won't be in any hurry to wean her off the bedtime feeds. I'm going to be making the most of those late night snuggles while I can, even if it means the temporary decline of my social life (oh, who am I kidding?? My social life has been pushing up daisies for some time now!) And even though I know that sooner or later my bubby won't need me for her nourishment, at least I will still enjoy those delicious baby cuddles for a little while yet (at least until she's 21, right??)
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Sharing
I have only myself to blame, I realise that. I thought I was teaching my children a valuable lesson but it would seem that my lessons have come back to bite me on the bum! What am I talking about? Sharing.
Like most pre-schoolers, Jack and Phoebe have been learning how to share since Phoebe was old enough to grab. That's the magnificent thing about having siblings - you have an automatic opportunity to practise sharing about, oh, a thousand times a day. The classic scenario replayed on a daily basis (and sometimes on an hourly basis) in our lounge room is that one child wants the exact toy that the other child has, and to avoid the spilling of blood, we "take turns" playing with the prized item. (Usually Phoebe holds it for roughly 10 seconds before discarding it blithely - she knows how to push Jack's buttons!) Now, before you assume that my children have only a handful of toys in some sort of attempt to avoid spoiling them...no. They have enough playthings to fill a Toys'R'Us (or they did before I did a massive cull when we moved in with Grandma and Grandpa...but if you won't tell, neither will I!!) Now, it may be because I am continuously asking someone to give the other a turn, or for someone to remove the other from a headlock, but I didn't think my children were ready to graduate from lessons on sharing. However it seems that I may have underestimated the sharing abilities of our children, and for that I apologise profusely.
There is one area in which my darling sprogs have learned to share supremely well, and that is the realm of germs. Jack came home from pre-school approximately three months ago with a little sniffle. By wanting cuddles from Mummy (and a few surreptitious wipes of the nose on the back of his hand), he shared his sniffle with me. I demonstrated admirable sharing skills by passing the sniffle onto Maisie whilst sneezing during breastfeeding. Maisie amplified it and shared both the sniffle, and a cough with Phoebe. Pheebs insisted on crawling into bed with Daddy when she felt poorly, and coughed in his face. This little sniffle has morphed into an ugly, phlegm-producing, snot-encrusted, room-clearing hacking cough that has done the rounds of the family twice, and is heading into it's third dose. How? Sharing.
Phoebe loves to share her used tissues with me, and has even been known to slip one in my pocket when I'm not paying attention (often enough, I assure you). Phoebs also likes to lean in close, and whisper so that you lean in too, only to receive a face full a cough-spray. An excellent tactic for the efficient sharing of bacteria.
Maisie likes to chew on things (toys, wooden train tracks, clothes, etc.) and thus shares her cute little baby pathogens with whomever chooses to clean up. (Generally, moi.) She is also an expert in-your-face-sneezer, having the added advantage of being so cute you naturally lean into her, even when she's full of boogers. Jack's method is slightly more advanced, as it is one only those in the know would ever suspect. Jack shares his germs with his teddy by rubbing his nose on teddy's fur. Teddy then travels onto the kitchen bench, into my handbag, onto Maisie's playmat...
And so, I sit here typing one-handed (yes, Maisie is on my lap for a late session again!) with a box of tissues and a rotten, stinking, head-thumping cold. I suppose one good thing is I can share some lovely cuddles with my mini snot-monster without fear of passing it on to her...however if Maisie thinks she's sharing my bed again tonight she's got another thing coming!!
Like most pre-schoolers, Jack and Phoebe have been learning how to share since Phoebe was old enough to grab. That's the magnificent thing about having siblings - you have an automatic opportunity to practise sharing about, oh, a thousand times a day. The classic scenario replayed on a daily basis (and sometimes on an hourly basis) in our lounge room is that one child wants the exact toy that the other child has, and to avoid the spilling of blood, we "take turns" playing with the prized item. (Usually Phoebe holds it for roughly 10 seconds before discarding it blithely - she knows how to push Jack's buttons!) Now, before you assume that my children have only a handful of toys in some sort of attempt to avoid spoiling them...no. They have enough playthings to fill a Toys'R'Us (or they did before I did a massive cull when we moved in with Grandma and Grandpa...but if you won't tell, neither will I!!) Now, it may be because I am continuously asking someone to give the other a turn, or for someone to remove the other from a headlock, but I didn't think my children were ready to graduate from lessons on sharing. However it seems that I may have underestimated the sharing abilities of our children, and for that I apologise profusely.
There is one area in which my darling sprogs have learned to share supremely well, and that is the realm of germs. Jack came home from pre-school approximately three months ago with a little sniffle. By wanting cuddles from Mummy (and a few surreptitious wipes of the nose on the back of his hand), he shared his sniffle with me. I demonstrated admirable sharing skills by passing the sniffle onto Maisie whilst sneezing during breastfeeding. Maisie amplified it and shared both the sniffle, and a cough with Phoebe. Pheebs insisted on crawling into bed with Daddy when she felt poorly, and coughed in his face. This little sniffle has morphed into an ugly, phlegm-producing, snot-encrusted, room-clearing hacking cough that has done the rounds of the family twice, and is heading into it's third dose. How? Sharing.
Phoebe loves to share her used tissues with me, and has even been known to slip one in my pocket when I'm not paying attention (often enough, I assure you). Phoebs also likes to lean in close, and whisper so that you lean in too, only to receive a face full a cough-spray. An excellent tactic for the efficient sharing of bacteria.
Maisie likes to chew on things (toys, wooden train tracks, clothes, etc.) and thus shares her cute little baby pathogens with whomever chooses to clean up. (Generally, moi.) She is also an expert in-your-face-sneezer, having the added advantage of being so cute you naturally lean into her, even when she's full of boogers. Jack's method is slightly more advanced, as it is one only those in the know would ever suspect. Jack shares his germs with his teddy by rubbing his nose on teddy's fur. Teddy then travels onto the kitchen bench, into my handbag, onto Maisie's playmat...
And so, I sit here typing one-handed (yes, Maisie is on my lap for a late session again!) with a box of tissues and a rotten, stinking, head-thumping cold. I suppose one good thing is I can share some lovely cuddles with my mini snot-monster without fear of passing it on to her...however if Maisie thinks she's sharing my bed again tonight she's got another thing coming!!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Is it Wednesday yet?
Have you ever read a story called "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day"?? I thought I may have earned some good karma after enduring yesterday, but it would seem I still have a fair bit to do before reaching enlightenment. Although nothing tragic occurred today, it was probably not a day I will look back on as one of my favourites! So rather than following in the steps of Alexander, I decided to look for the good in every situation today, even when the bad slapped me in the face.
Good: Maisie slept for the entire night without waking for a feed. It's amazing how close to human you can feel after 6 hours of unbroken sleep!
Not-so-good: Phoebe woke up in such a bad mood that she curdled the milk in her seer-we-woll.
Good: Phoebe went down for a sleep at 9am, which meant that we had a hope of turning her mood around before heading off to Mornington.
Not-so-good: It was raining so hard when we got to Mornington that the three of us (pram included) were completely saturated!
Good: We had an appointment with my beautiful friend and naturopath extraordinaire, Holly. Thanks to Holly, Maisie's eczema has cleared up completely and I have never felt better. Also, the girls were absolute angels while we were at Holly's clinic - thank heaven for small mercies!!!!!!
Not-so-good: My elimination diet is working so well for Maisie's skin that lasagne and tiramisu will remain off the menu for some time to come...curses.
Good: After a quick stop at the health food shop and the purchase of a pink yoghurt frog, Phoebs was a much happier little Vegemite.
Not-so-good: On our return home, Feral Beryl reappeared with a vengeance. Phoebe spent six consecutive visits to the naughty spot kicking and screaming (and I'm still not quite sure what the problem was!)
Good: After calming down with a cuddle, Phoebe curled up on the couch to watch Mickey Mouse allowing me enough time to discover that Maisie is VERY ticklish under her feet. She was so delighted with this new game that she kept sticking her little tootsies into my face so I could do it again!!
Not-so-good: Arsenic hour. Enough said.
Good: I managed to get the girls fed and into the bath in record time. I thought I was on the home stretch. I've told you before I was stupid.
Not-so-good: Phoebe did a wee in the bath, which meant I had to drain the water and fill it again. While the bath was running, Maisie decided to have a genius moment and discovered if she stuck her foot under the running water, she could give Mummy a bath too!!
Good: Jack and Christian came home, we wrangled all three kids into bed, and nobody sustained any permanent injuries. Yay team.
Not-so-good: Realised at 10pm I had washed lots and lots of baby clothes but none of Christian's business shirts. Whoops. (The washing machine is now thumping it's way through a cycle)
Good: Tomorrow is Wednesday!!
Good: Maisie slept for the entire night without waking for a feed. It's amazing how close to human you can feel after 6 hours of unbroken sleep!
Not-so-good: Phoebe woke up in such a bad mood that she curdled the milk in her seer-we-woll.
Good: Phoebe went down for a sleep at 9am, which meant that we had a hope of turning her mood around before heading off to Mornington.
Not-so-good: It was raining so hard when we got to Mornington that the three of us (pram included) were completely saturated!
Good: We had an appointment with my beautiful friend and naturopath extraordinaire, Holly. Thanks to Holly, Maisie's eczema has cleared up completely and I have never felt better. Also, the girls were absolute angels while we were at Holly's clinic - thank heaven for small mercies!!!!!!
Not-so-good: My elimination diet is working so well for Maisie's skin that lasagne and tiramisu will remain off the menu for some time to come...curses.
Good: After a quick stop at the health food shop and the purchase of a pink yoghurt frog, Phoebs was a much happier little Vegemite.
Not-so-good: On our return home, Feral Beryl reappeared with a vengeance. Phoebe spent six consecutive visits to the naughty spot kicking and screaming (and I'm still not quite sure what the problem was!)
Good: After calming down with a cuddle, Phoebe curled up on the couch to watch Mickey Mouse allowing me enough time to discover that Maisie is VERY ticklish under her feet. She was so delighted with this new game that she kept sticking her little tootsies into my face so I could do it again!!
Not-so-good: Arsenic hour. Enough said.
Good: I managed to get the girls fed and into the bath in record time. I thought I was on the home stretch. I've told you before I was stupid.
Not-so-good: Phoebe did a wee in the bath, which meant I had to drain the water and fill it again. While the bath was running, Maisie decided to have a genius moment and discovered if she stuck her foot under the running water, she could give Mummy a bath too!!
Good: Jack and Christian came home, we wrangled all three kids into bed, and nobody sustained any permanent injuries. Yay team.
Not-so-good: Realised at 10pm I had washed lots and lots of baby clothes but none of Christian's business shirts. Whoops. (The washing machine is now thumping it's way through a cycle)
Good: Tomorrow is Wednesday!!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Monday Mourning
Ah, Monday. A long, long time ago I used to love Mondays. Freaky as that sounds, it was a fresh start, and no matter how yucky the previous week had been at work, or in terms of a diet, or exercise, whatever - Monday meant you could start all over again, refreshed and relaxed after the weekend. That was BEFORE Team O'Toole included the kids.
On Mondays, rather than being rested, the kids are exhausted from a weekend of activities...birthday parties, swimming lessons, visits to friends, going out for lunch. Even if we stay at home and do nothing, just the excitement of having Daddy home for two whole days is enough to raise the roof. We usually get out of the house on the weekend for two reasons, the first being that by Friday night I am climbing the walls, and the second being that if we didn't go and do stuff like swimming lessons on a Sunday, we'd never do it. Every weekend, Christian and I say we'll have a quiet Saturday, and occasionally we'll stay in our jarmies until an obscenely late hour. But it's much more fun to pack the kids up and go do something outside, don't you agree? So as a result, a typical Monday in our house revolves around tired kids having Daddy-withdrawals, and a Mummy who SHOULD have caught up with the housework on the weekend, but was having too much fun to care!
Today encapsulated everything that I don't like about Mondays (cue mournful Bob Geldof with stringy hair...) We began quite well, with a load of washing on during breakfast time. Stupidly I felt a bit ahead of the 8-ball at this point, as Maisie had woken for a feed at 5am and I thought she might sleep a bit longer than normal....but no. My darling baby girl began her day by projectiling all over Mummy, and then smiling widely. We cleaned up the milky vomit, and began catching up on weekend washing. The first load sat in the machine while I cleaned up breakfast that had gone uneaten ("Mummy, I need lots of Panadols" "Why, Phoebe?" "Because my tummy hurts" "Oh possum, why does your tummy hurt?" "Because you made breakfast"). I should have gathered from this small exchange that the day was not going to be a good one, but instead I stumbled blindly ahead.
My beautiful grandmother, whom we call Argie, is always ready to receive our visits with open arms. Having had four children under five herself, she is more than able to cope when my children are being less than charming. Today was definitely not a day to expose ourselves to the general public. After a second load of washing, pegging out the wet stuff and bringing in the dry, dressing, brushing teeth and breaking up several bouts of biffo, Team O'Toole descended on Argie at about 11am. Jack was in fine form, but Phoebs had progressed by a tummy ache to all-out bellyaching. She followed me everywhere, whining, "Mummy, I waaaaaaaaant you", even when she was firmly planted on my lap. She had a continual stream of snot running down from her nose, mixed with sad, sad tears. All the Kleenex in the world couldn't help my poor, messy, wet little daughter today.
I'm sure that Maisie decided to get in on the action too, because she spent most of the day wailing if I even thought about putting her down, or handing her to someone else. She was a real toonkynunk today. I'm sure she's just reaching the clingy stage but it felt as though the sisters had joined forces today to whinge Mummy into a bottle of vodka! Never to be beaten, Jack decided that mimicking Phoebe would be funny...needless to say we packed up a bit earlier today and left Argie in peace. By the time we left the outskirts of Balnarring, all three were asleep...they snored all the way home (the entire ten minute journey!) and woke wonderfully refreshed in Hastings...Mummy on the other hand was distinctly worse for wear. Phoebe came to me around 4.30 and said "Mummy, I'm hungry". "It's ok sweetie", I said, "I'm cooking tea right now." "I don't want tea!!" she cried, and she flounced off to be cross at someone else. Yep, I hope someone is getting a laugh out of this...
And so, as another Monday draws to a close, the big kids are asleep and Maisie is still fighting the good fight. You can't blame her - after all, the only person she has to fight for my attention right now is Daddy!!! Here's looking forward to Tuesday...
On Mondays, rather than being rested, the kids are exhausted from a weekend of activities...birthday parties, swimming lessons, visits to friends, going out for lunch. Even if we stay at home and do nothing, just the excitement of having Daddy home for two whole days is enough to raise the roof. We usually get out of the house on the weekend for two reasons, the first being that by Friday night I am climbing the walls, and the second being that if we didn't go and do stuff like swimming lessons on a Sunday, we'd never do it. Every weekend, Christian and I say we'll have a quiet Saturday, and occasionally we'll stay in our jarmies until an obscenely late hour. But it's much more fun to pack the kids up and go do something outside, don't you agree? So as a result, a typical Monday in our house revolves around tired kids having Daddy-withdrawals, and a Mummy who SHOULD have caught up with the housework on the weekend, but was having too much fun to care!
Today encapsulated everything that I don't like about Mondays (cue mournful Bob Geldof with stringy hair...) We began quite well, with a load of washing on during breakfast time. Stupidly I felt a bit ahead of the 8-ball at this point, as Maisie had woken for a feed at 5am and I thought she might sleep a bit longer than normal....but no. My darling baby girl began her day by projectiling all over Mummy, and then smiling widely. We cleaned up the milky vomit, and began catching up on weekend washing. The first load sat in the machine while I cleaned up breakfast that had gone uneaten ("Mummy, I need lots of Panadols" "Why, Phoebe?" "Because my tummy hurts" "Oh possum, why does your tummy hurt?" "Because you made breakfast"). I should have gathered from this small exchange that the day was not going to be a good one, but instead I stumbled blindly ahead.
My beautiful grandmother, whom we call Argie, is always ready to receive our visits with open arms. Having had four children under five herself, she is more than able to cope when my children are being less than charming. Today was definitely not a day to expose ourselves to the general public. After a second load of washing, pegging out the wet stuff and bringing in the dry, dressing, brushing teeth and breaking up several bouts of biffo, Team O'Toole descended on Argie at about 11am. Jack was in fine form, but Phoebs had progressed by a tummy ache to all-out bellyaching. She followed me everywhere, whining, "Mummy, I waaaaaaaaant you", even when she was firmly planted on my lap. She had a continual stream of snot running down from her nose, mixed with sad, sad tears. All the Kleenex in the world couldn't help my poor, messy, wet little daughter today.
I'm sure that Maisie decided to get in on the action too, because she spent most of the day wailing if I even thought about putting her down, or handing her to someone else. She was a real toonkynunk today. I'm sure she's just reaching the clingy stage but it felt as though the sisters had joined forces today to whinge Mummy into a bottle of vodka! Never to be beaten, Jack decided that mimicking Phoebe would be funny...needless to say we packed up a bit earlier today and left Argie in peace. By the time we left the outskirts of Balnarring, all three were asleep...they snored all the way home (the entire ten minute journey!) and woke wonderfully refreshed in Hastings...Mummy on the other hand was distinctly worse for wear. Phoebe came to me around 4.30 and said "Mummy, I'm hungry". "It's ok sweetie", I said, "I'm cooking tea right now." "I don't want tea!!" she cried, and she flounced off to be cross at someone else. Yep, I hope someone is getting a laugh out of this...
And so, as another Monday draws to a close, the big kids are asleep and Maisie is still fighting the good fight. You can't blame her - after all, the only person she has to fight for my attention right now is Daddy!!! Here's looking forward to Tuesday...
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Gobbledegook
Have you ever listened to a child speak complete gobbledegook and been absolutely clueless as to what they had uttered, only to see the child's mother understand instantly? I have always loved the funny little words my kids would use when they were only beginning to get a grasp on language. I wish I had kept a record of them, rather than relying on my exceptionally dodgy memory. Like most kids, Jack had some very cute first words, like gog (dog), gink (drink), gilk (milk) and narna (any food of any description!!). When Phoebe was born, Jack called her Fifi, which stuck until she named herself Beebee and wouldn't answer to anything else! Phoebe was obsessed with our beautiful ginger cat, Ernie, and subsequently one of her first words was 'Nernie', which she would repeat in a breathy little mantra. While she now speaks quite well, Phoebe still mangles some words magnificently so that only those around her on a daily basis have any hope of understanding. For example, a singlet in Phoebe-speak is a 'jinglick'. Why? Because it is! Sudocrem (the nappy-rash cream) is called ice-cream (no I'm not kidding). All breakfast foods are 'seer-we-woll' (you have to say it out loud!), and she won't eat it if you say Corn Flakes or Weetbix, it has to be cereal! Dora the Explorer is 'Splora', Play School is 'Circle', and she will often hand me the "mote" to turn on the Wiggles so she can watch Ant-ney, Wuwwy, Tham and Jepp. If you are ever babysitting my kidlets, be warned: if Phoebs asks for munch (lunch), wubbing tea (morning tea - yes, I'm serious!) or sumpin else (something else), don't stress if she wants 'Megemite' or 'thorth' on everything...it's normal! Oh, and if Phoebe ever tells you with great glee that Lucy has 'blut' on her, don't dial 000 - it simply means that her beloved dolly is recreating the scene when Phoebe broke her nose jumping on the bed, when there was so much blood everywhere that Mummy had a hard time finding it's source. Yep, Phoebe is pretty much the expert on 'blut'!!
Cute lisping and mispronounciations aside, the king of nonsense words has to be Jack. In the past six months he has realised the value of the ridiculous, and delights in making up insane words and phrases. One of his most versatile words is 'toonkynunk', meaning a silly person. Our entire family now use this word extensively (which is probably quite scary to outsiders!!). Another favourite is 'sliggen', which means to slip on worms or ice. (Yes, you read that right!). Jack's vocabulary also includes 'sneeze cabinet', 'shooting skatchel' and 'scone flyer', all of which have amazingly strange meanings associated with them. Only last night Jack asked if we could watch "Wallace and Gromit", however he asked for "Horses and Vomit" instead!
There are so many more words and phrases I've forgotten, neglectful mother that I am. Luckily, in a few months Maisie will start creating a whole new vocabulary for our amusement!! I'm going to leave you with a hearty rendition of an O'Toole family favourite (oh yes, we strangulate the lyrics of songs, too!), the alphabet song (sing along everyone!): abcdefg, hijk, elanema p, due r s, tee vue eeeee, w, wex, wye and zed, now I know my abc, next time won't you sing wis me!
Cute lisping and mispronounciations aside, the king of nonsense words has to be Jack. In the past six months he has realised the value of the ridiculous, and delights in making up insane words and phrases. One of his most versatile words is 'toonkynunk', meaning a silly person. Our entire family now use this word extensively (which is probably quite scary to outsiders!!). Another favourite is 'sliggen', which means to slip on worms or ice. (Yes, you read that right!). Jack's vocabulary also includes 'sneeze cabinet', 'shooting skatchel' and 'scone flyer', all of which have amazingly strange meanings associated with them. Only last night Jack asked if we could watch "Wallace and Gromit", however he asked for "Horses and Vomit" instead!
There are so many more words and phrases I've forgotten, neglectful mother that I am. Luckily, in a few months Maisie will start creating a whole new vocabulary for our amusement!! I'm going to leave you with a hearty rendition of an O'Toole family favourite (oh yes, we strangulate the lyrics of songs, too!), the alphabet song (sing along everyone!): abcdefg, hijk, elanema p, due r s, tee vue eeeee, w, wex, wye and zed, now I know my abc, next time won't you sing wis me!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Maisie Maisie Mouse
Seven months ago tonight, I was in hospital regaining the feeling in my legs. Maisie Elizabeth Rose (or Maisie Maisie Mouse, which is her official title according to Phoebe) was born at 9.08am, a perfect 8lb 8oz bundle with sticky-uppy hair and a great set of lungs. When I was pregnant with her, people continually warned us that after two exceptionally placid babies, we were in for a screamer with the third. (In retrospect, they were the same people who predicted I was having a boy because I was carrying out in front, and the same people who thought 3 babies so close together must have been a happy accident...) Nobody predicted that Maisie would be the easiest baby imaginable, sweet, happy, and a fantastic sleeper. She even made breastfeeding easy, and even now makes me laugh by diving under my blouse and looking up with big blue eyes, while one little hand clutches on tightly. I haven't been in any hurry to wean her onto solids, although she has now discovered the joys of spreading vegetable puree all over her face and pieces of banana squished between her fingers!
I must admit we were a little concerned about jealousy and roughhousing from the big kids when we brought her home from hospital. However, Maisie has adored Jack and Phoebe since Day 1, and greets them with outstretched arms and a big open-mouthed dribbly kiss every time she sees them. I think the fact that Phoebe has named evert single one of her dollies 'Baby Mais' is an indication of how much she loves her little sister! And only Jack can get away with practically sitting on top of her while she growls and squeals with laughter at him. We have discovered that her shoulders are ticklish (weird, I know!!), and the laugh that comes out of her when you tickle her comes right from her boots. She loves her dolly, Ruby, and Phoebe's pink WotWot, and readily shows her affection by chewing their feet! Yesterday we discovered a new beloved toy - a piece of Jack's wooden train track. Give Maisie a piece of track, and you've got entertainment covered for at least 20 minutes!
Being our last baby, I suppose I have held onto every baby moment a little longer that I needed to. If you pushed me I might even admit to inhaling the soft baby scent from her outgrown clothes before sadly packing them away to be donated to other families. (And if you pushed me even further I might let on about the secret stash of baby clothes that I just couldn't bear to be parted from...the 0000 suit all three of my babies wore...Jack's little blue booties...a little pink onesie that once swam on Phoebe....a pair of red-and-white polka dot shoes that I insisted Maisie wore at every opportunity until her feet protested...) I know I have carried her around more than I should, fed her to sleep when I should let her settle herself, and taken her into my bed for a cuddle more for my own comfort than hers. But I need to squeeze as much out of Maisie's babyhood as I can (and luckily for me, she's a Mumma's girl so she loves it as much as I do!!)
Like her big brother and sister before her, Maisie is not at all interested in rolling or crawling yet. Instead, she is already trying to talk. At the moment it's just random shouting (in glee, joy, frustration or simply to get our attention!) but I swear I've heard 'Ma' being called in the middle of the night...and the other day Christian came into the room to be greeted with a shout that sounded distinctly like 'hello!' I always find it funny when babies get to about 6 months old and people exclaim about their emerging personalities. As far as I can tell, babies make their personalities known in utero, and by the time they are born this amazing little person has very distinct likes and dislikes, and some unique characterisitics. Every day, I am asked whether Maisie is more like Jack or Phoebe. Personally, I think she is a perfect mix of the two of them - she resembles Jack very strongly, with Phoebe's facial expressions thrown in. Like both of them, she is funny, stubborn, determined and affectionate. Already Maisie can show love by grabbing your hair quite roughly (ironic, I know!!) and pulling you towards her for a kiss. She has a terrible addiction to television which I acknowledge is almost entirely my fault. She is also fascinated by trees being blown by the wind, lights on the ceiling, and her Winnie the Pooh mobile. She has just today discovered her toes, so I am sure they will provide much entertainment in the weeks to come!
Happy 7 month birthday, Maisie Maisie Mouse. Your mummy loves you to the moon and back again xxxxx
I must admit we were a little concerned about jealousy and roughhousing from the big kids when we brought her home from hospital. However, Maisie has adored Jack and Phoebe since Day 1, and greets them with outstretched arms and a big open-mouthed dribbly kiss every time she sees them. I think the fact that Phoebe has named evert single one of her dollies 'Baby Mais' is an indication of how much she loves her little sister! And only Jack can get away with practically sitting on top of her while she growls and squeals with laughter at him. We have discovered that her shoulders are ticklish (weird, I know!!), and the laugh that comes out of her when you tickle her comes right from her boots. She loves her dolly, Ruby, and Phoebe's pink WotWot, and readily shows her affection by chewing their feet! Yesterday we discovered a new beloved toy - a piece of Jack's wooden train track. Give Maisie a piece of track, and you've got entertainment covered for at least 20 minutes!
Being our last baby, I suppose I have held onto every baby moment a little longer that I needed to. If you pushed me I might even admit to inhaling the soft baby scent from her outgrown clothes before sadly packing them away to be donated to other families. (And if you pushed me even further I might let on about the secret stash of baby clothes that I just couldn't bear to be parted from...the 0000 suit all three of my babies wore...Jack's little blue booties...a little pink onesie that once swam on Phoebe....a pair of red-and-white polka dot shoes that I insisted Maisie wore at every opportunity until her feet protested...) I know I have carried her around more than I should, fed her to sleep when I should let her settle herself, and taken her into my bed for a cuddle more for my own comfort than hers. But I need to squeeze as much out of Maisie's babyhood as I can (and luckily for me, she's a Mumma's girl so she loves it as much as I do!!)
Like her big brother and sister before her, Maisie is not at all interested in rolling or crawling yet. Instead, she is already trying to talk. At the moment it's just random shouting (in glee, joy, frustration or simply to get our attention!) but I swear I've heard 'Ma' being called in the middle of the night...and the other day Christian came into the room to be greeted with a shout that sounded distinctly like 'hello!' I always find it funny when babies get to about 6 months old and people exclaim about their emerging personalities. As far as I can tell, babies make their personalities known in utero, and by the time they are born this amazing little person has very distinct likes and dislikes, and some unique characterisitics. Every day, I am asked whether Maisie is more like Jack or Phoebe. Personally, I think she is a perfect mix of the two of them - she resembles Jack very strongly, with Phoebe's facial expressions thrown in. Like both of them, she is funny, stubborn, determined and affectionate. Already Maisie can show love by grabbing your hair quite roughly (ironic, I know!!) and pulling you towards her for a kiss. She has a terrible addiction to television which I acknowledge is almost entirely my fault. She is also fascinated by trees being blown by the wind, lights on the ceiling, and her Winnie the Pooh mobile. She has just today discovered her toes, so I am sure they will provide much entertainment in the weeks to come!
Happy 7 month birthday, Maisie Maisie Mouse. Your mummy loves you to the moon and back again xxxxx
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