Tigger and Owl's Unbouncy Halloween

I'm ashamed to admit I tried to get Berry to be something frilly for Halloween, like a fairy or a princess. Last year she was a forest fairy, and I suppose I pushed the fairy theme two years running because my own childhood suffered from a serious lack of tulle.

But no, Berry was hellbent on being Tigger. Occasionally she toyed with being a monkey, but mostly it was Tigger. She and Nathan are slowly making their way through my Winnie The Pooh Complete Collection of Stories each night, so Pooh, Piglet, Roo, Eeyore, Christopher Robin, Owl and Tigger are her stars.


So I found her an excellent Tigger costume and, since Kickbaby can't push his own agenda yet, I made him be Owl. That's what he gets for looking so serious.

Sadly – and unbeknownst to us – both kids were coming down with a big old dose of the flu, so we found ourselves with a listless Owl and a decidely un-bouncy Tigger on our hands.


Berry made a big effort to rally, though, and a little while after we got back from trick-or-treating she came out of her playroom and said, "Thank you, guys."

"For what?" Nathan asked.

"For Halloween," she said, and wandered off with her pumpkin.

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Monkey

On Wednesday, my brother turned 31 and got bitten by a monkey in India.

Aaron – you should know that when Mum called with the news, I gasped, and Nathan laughed. I trust this leaves you ample time to adjust your Christmas list.

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Do It a-MYSELF

You don't have to look too closely to see the down-side to Berry's new insistence on putting on her own shoes.

Invariably, offers of help have been met with a fierce "I do it-a-myself!" – so she spent a few days walking around like a duckling with a problem.

You know who else has a problem? Me.

This whole self-sufficiency kick (okay, "important developmental stage", whatever) is seriously slowing things down. I'm a girl with a List Of Things To Do and, even on the best days, I barely manage to stick to it. Throw in this three-foot-tall Miss Independent, and it all falls in a heap.

The extra time it takes for her to pour her milk by herself, put on her shoes by herself, clean her teeth by herself, mop up the spilled juice by herself, climb up into the Pilot by herself, get into her car seat by herself .... it nearly drives me round the twist. Naturally I put on my happy face and my encouraging voice and support all but the most outrageous endeavours (no, you may not pick up Kickbaby by yourself), but occasionally I indulge in a bit of a whinge when she's out of earshot.

I was having a quiet complain about it in the classroom the other day, watching Berry turn endlessly in tiny tippy-toed circles trying to pull up her shorts by herself. When I'd finished, Ms Yvonne tipped her head to one side and said benignly, "Well, I guess you just need to leave some extra time."

On the one hand, she's right. On the other hand – lady, they're what we call fighting words. If I have to factor in "extra time", we need to leave for preschool yesterday.


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Oh so terrible

Berry's birthday is in September and although we haven't really been talking about it, she's lately taken to announcing, "I not three yet. I not three. I not big."

I wonder if she's trying to dampen any hope that the end of the Terrible Twos might be sight, or if she's just heard people saying things like: "Three is the new two" and "They should call it the Terrible Threes".

I get an urge to kick people who say that. First of all, "Terrible Threes" has no alliteration, so it doesn't count.

Second of all, I've had enough terrible. Don't tell me it needs to last another year – I'm done.

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Evans Family 2.0

I used to think it was a pretty odd decision, on my parents' part, to have five kids. Now that I have two of my own, I've changed my mind. They're officially insane.

I really have nothing to complain about; two kids makes an average family, and we're actually adjusting to this new life quite well. At home, Berry likes to kiss Kickbaby on the top of his head, stroke his arm, say "Are-you okaaaaay, little man?" and "Kickbaby hungry?" and generally mother-hen him in her own two-year-old way. She reads him books and draws lots of pictures of our new-improved family. At preschool she has photos of Kickbaby to show her teachers, and she likes to tell people about her little broy-er.

For his part, Kickbaby likes to sleep (it's still Week One, so I'm not assuming this will last) and eat and eat and eat and eat (this will last). He also likes to be carried around constantly and not be put down during his naps, thankyouverymuch.

Nathan and his dad have picked up the slack on paying attention to Berry while I'm pinned to the couch, and I've managed to persuade her that the reason I can't carry her around anymore is because I have a sore back – I showed her the band-aid left from my epidural as proof. That's one doctor's order that actually makes me a bit sad, despite all my complaints about how heavy Berry's getting. And despite the fact I have no free hands anyway.


I was lucky – so lucky – this time to have a perfectly smooth labor and delivery. As horrendously botched and traumatic as Berry's birth was, this was the other end of the spectrum. I love the Keesler Medical Center L&D department so much, I think someone should marry it.

I'm waking up with Kickbaby several times a night, as opposed to the hundreds (oh, I'm sure it was hundreds) of times I woke up each night with newborn Berry, and he's very easily settled. I'm not frightened of breaking the baby this time either (Berry was born five weeks too soon, weighed 4lbs 15oz, and had serious medical issues).

So all of this is making the transition to mother-of-two about as bump-free as it can be. I still have mind-wanderings in the middle of the night where I worry about how I'll share my attention between them, how I'll make them both feel loved enough and, to a lesser degree, how I'll handle working plus two kids. But since everyone else seems to have figured all this out, I'm pretty sure I'll get there too.

But when I extrapolate all this to five kids, I can't actually wrap my head around it. I'm deeply grateful for my brothers and sister, but my Mum and Dad were nuts.

So, note to all the grandparents: we're done. This is it. Enjoy.

Rejection

Driving Berry home from preschool, Thursday afternoon...

"Berry, guess who's at our house?"

"Grandpa!"

"Right. Grandpa and Daddy!"

"I don't wike him."

"Don't like who?"

"I don't wike-him Daddy."

"Aw, I like Daddy!"

"I wike Grandpa."



Ouch.


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Bit sad...

Kickbaby's in the middle of a vigorous workout, Berry's finally, finally, upstairs in bed, and I'm feeling like a mediocre excuse for a mother again.

(All together now: feign surprise!)

I've been feeling so tired and unwieldy and overwhelmed and irritable these past couple of weeks, struggling with the big big baby, with being 37 weeks pregnant in the Mississippi heat, and with the polyhydramnios (for sensible normal people who have no reason to know, that's just the medical term for having way-too-much amniotic fluid).

I had been fervently wishing that Kickbaby would just come out already, until the other night I was lying on the bed and it dawned on me – when Kickbaby's born:
1) I'll have to look after him, and he'll be more exhausting out than in; and
2) Berry won't be an only child anymore. It won't be just us.

Both of these things would have occurred to a sensible-normal person a long time ago, but for a moment I was genuinely caught off-guard. And in that instant, I felt the resurgence of the bizarre feeling of sorrow for Berry that punished me when I first found out I was pregnant again: "Oh, I've betrayed you! You're my little girl, you need all my attention! I'm so sorry! What have I done!"

It doesn't matter that intellectually I know Berry will love her little brother, it doesn't matter that I can't even begin to imagine my life without my sister and brothers – somehow, I feel like a terrible traitor. I hope it's just the hormones.

In the aftermath of my little revelation on the bed, I've been trying to focus on spending good, fun times with Berry in the last days where it'll be "just us" – with play-doh and drawing and painting and gardening (she loves to water plants) and reading stories... Unfortunately, things aren't exactly coming up roses.


I don't know what I expected from a two-year-old, but in the midst of all this positive attention Berry has actually seemed more needy and jittery and demanding and prone to unbearable frustrations, which in turn is making me agitated and snappish. It's so very far from the effect I wanted to have.

Tonight, after a long series of small battles that I didn't handle well, she finally cuddled up on my shoulder saying, "I bit sad, I bit angry, Mama. I not happy-again. I sad. Sing me, Mama..." And so I sang to her, feeling like a great big failure who just wanted to cry too, until she fell asleep.

I'm sure there are a hundred answers to the little mess I'm in – relax and back off probably chief among them – and I imagine it'll all work out in the end. But for now, I just want to sit at the end of my sleeping two-year-old's bed and tell her that I really want to get it all right, that I really am trying, and to tell Kickbaby that I hope I'll be truly nice by the time he gets out here.

In the meantime, I just wish my mind and body would do me the kindness of being quiet, and still, until all this is done.



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Home, James

Berry's been missing her London visitors, and she's given her detailed "Uncle Jules, Aunt Shey-yey, go big airplane, back own house, not fall down" commentary pretty regularly. She's also been busy variously declaring herself "a imp" and "a cwown" and "a caggywag" (that's scallywag – she'll get it right one day). Her new comic routine: interrupting her own stories mid-sentence with "MOO! I a cow!"


After they left I became even more acutely aware (as if I wasn't already) of how completely great Jules and Shelley were with her. They're an exemplary uncle-and-aunty team. The first day after their departure was quite the challenge because Berry was really missing the full-on attention of her super-patient playmates, and I was realising anew how completely constant she can be when no one else is around. I guess it also doesn't help that the endless discomfort and sleepless nights (thankyou Kickbaby) are starting to make me the teeeeensiest bit irritable.


Fortunately two-year-olds are as appealing as they are exhausting. In the end, an imp and a caggywag will make you feel it's all worthwhile...


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The Deep South Tour – 2008

In general, the Americans were quite dismayed when they heard that Jules and Shelley would only be seeing Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama and a teensy edge of Florida on their first visit to the States.

It reminded me of my first six months in New Orleans, when people would ask, "So where else in the US have you lived?" and I'd say, "Louisiana is the only place I've lived since I left Australia."
"Oh," they'd say gravely, "I'm sorry. The rest of America is Really Not Like This." (Trust me, I could hear the capitals.)

If I had limitless funds and a nanny for the two-year-old and someone else to haul Kickbaby around under their shirt, I would've loved to take Jules and Shelley to other cities I love, like Portland and Seattle and Santa Fe and Atlanta and New York, and to places I'd love to see – like Savannah and Charleston and Chicago and Washington D.C.

But with Berry and Kickbaby in tow, we improvised our own itinerary – one that will never quite be replicated by anyone else, ever.


We made Jules sick with the American Breakfast at Waffle House; we made Shelley sick with rich soul food at the Praline Connection (Australian stomachs just aren't built for Southern fare); we stalked the wedding cake house on St Charles Avenue in the Garden District so Shelley could get the perfect picture (the upside-down one just didn't cut it); and we compiled a veritable photo essay on the hazards of New Orleans' crazy footpaths.


We sat out a pouring should've-been-sunny Saturday in Perdido Beach, we built sandcastles with Berry, we went all over New Orleans' famous French Quarter by day, and by night Nathan (a French Quarter bar expert if ever there was one) took Jules and Shelley to some of his favourite haunts. There was jambalaya at Napoleon House and a streetcar ride down St Charles and frisbee in Audubon Park and the best Southern-diner food ever at Camellia Grill. And last but not least, I enthralled Shelley with the appalling-ness of Wal-mart. She berated herself for leaving the camera at home at least 18 times in that one trip, especially when she spied the jumbo jar of pickled pigs' ears. You think I'm joking; I'm not.

It was an unconventionally action-packed two weeks – certainly not the way Fodor's or Rick Steves or Lonely Planet would've done it.

And all I can say about that is: thank goodness.

Waffle House – or how I made my brother sick

Torrential rain ruined our sun-and-sand plans for our first morning at Perdido Beach, so we did what any insane family would do – we went to Waffle House.

In my defense, I'd only been to Waffle House once before in my life – at 3am in Mississippi, with a worse-for-wear Justin and Nathan, and a fight had broken out the second we walked in the door. Glass bottles were thrown, fake maple syrup splashed everywhere, police were called.

Wait – that's not sounding much like a defense.

How's this: Shelley wanted to go. She wanted a "real Southern experience" and my word, if the sheer number of Waffle Houses in the South are any indication, it's an experience the Southerners really embrace. Seriously (and sadly) you can't go three blocks without running into one.


So in we went, brave and foolish. Shelley thought the thing to do at Waffle House would be to have waffles. Berry and I stuck with scrambled eggs and toast, while Jules (with my encouragement, I'm ashamed to say) had some version of the American Breakfast.

It was a bad idea. I'd completely overlooked the fact that Jules doesn't have an iron-clad stomach like our brother Aaron (who's been known to eat, among other things, whole prawns with their shells and heads still on – yes, my stomach just turned over too).

The American Breakfast did poor Jules in. He spent the rest of the day turning various shades of green and saying valiantly, "Well, I don't think I'm going to be sick right now." I felt terrible for not being a more cautious tour guide, but not everyone minded so much. The waffles – and the whole Waffle House misadvanture – sat well with Shelley. "Despite everything, I'm very pleased we went," she said cheerfully. "It really was an experience."

Welcome to the USA

Berry has been tremendously busy organising her Uncle Jules and Aunt Shelley into various fascinating (for a two-year-old) activities.

They probably didn't expect their first-ever trip to the United States to involve so much paint and sand and play-doh, and so many conversations with stuffed animals.

Ridiculous Photo of the Week

Berry shares a special moment with, uh, one of her favourite people...

The Gap is more interesting when you have "company".

Talking to strangers

When the waitress enthusiastically complimented Berry's Autumn Girl outfit for the second time, my spiel about how my sister sent it from South Africa was interrupted by little thunderbrows glowering, "No, yady! No touch! My dress! Go 'way, yady, my dress!".

She would not be shushed until the "yady" did, in fact, go away. It was all very appalling.

Unnecessarily large

My eighth birthday present: my brother Jules.

This photo was taken on the third day of his life (see the hospital band still on his left arm) and if you think he seems abnormally bulky, you'd be right. He weighed in at a completely unacceptable 10lbs 10oz – and this is why I've been earnestly asking Kickbaby not to take after Uncle Jules just yet.

Sadly, I don't think he's listening.

My obstetrician ordered a growth-study ultrasound because I'm still measuring three weeks ahead of where I should be. Nathan got me an appointment yesterday and later he went down and looked at the images with the radiologist, who said the following:

Kickbaby's measuring fully 34 weeks and 4 days (I'm only 31 weeks, 4 days).
His head is 95th percentile.
His body is 95th percentile.
His legs are 50th percentile (so, at least that's normal).
And lastly: "He's huge. Are you sure your wife doesn't have gestational diabetes or something?"

No, I absolutely do not have gestational diabetes.

For pitiful comparison's sake, Berry measured in the 4th (yes, fourth) percentile all over at birth, and stayed at the bottom of the charts for absolutely ages. The doctors are estimating that Kickbaby already weighs more than Berry did when she was born... he's going to be a whole new ballgame.

I've warned our families to resist any urges to buy cute-tiny-baby-clothes. Because, you know, he'll probably need a scooter or something.



(A shout-out to our intrepid mother – all five of us weighed at 10lbs or more at birth. Did I say intrepid? I meant unwise....)

(Wait: Aaron proudly informs me that he was the "runt" at a mere 9lbs 9oz. Yeah, I'm sure that makes a big difference.)

San Antonio and Circleball

A toddler plus a pregnant girl plus a nine-hour car trip seemed like a bad idea, so we decided that Nathan would go alone on his soccer team's trip to the Air Force tournament in San Antonio.

A couple of days beforehand, though, I suddenly felt stir-crazy and thought maybe nine hours in the car each way would be better than staying behind in Mississippi. So we all went.


It's just as well, because it turned out Berry had so much to contribute to the soccer tournament (or "circleball", as she's convinced it's called). Come rain or shine – and there was a lot of rain – she "warmed up" with the guys, did all the stretches, and then objected long and loud to being relegated to the sidelines.


"I help Dadda!" she shouted at me over and over, "I help! I help circleball!". She was astounded that I couldn't see how useful she'd be, and beyond annoyed that I wouldn't let her on to the field.

In addition to being astounded and annoyed, she was also determined and fast – so that I spent most of our time at the games sprinting after a toddler on a mission. It's a non-amusing pastime when you're six months pregnant.


We gave up on two particularly rainy, muddy games and shopped instead (Mississippi makes even the most shopping-averse girl desperate for a decent mall... and oh boy, does Texas love malls). On the third day, the sun shone and we made it through a whole game – although the Berry sprints did prompt two toddler time-outs, where both of us sat, annoyed, in the car.


Nathan's team lost in the semi-finals, but we all left happy. Nathan got his Mexican-food fix, I got out of Mississippi, we revisited the Alamo and the River Walk, and we all had some good – and rare – family time.

And Berry left confident in the knowledge that "her" team would've won, if only mama hadn't kept the star player off the field.

Brand new!

Paula and Ren (Nathan's brother) had their baby yesterday! A cute cousin for Berry, a niece for us, and a happy day for everyone.

I think the email from Nathan's dad – now grandpa to both Berry and little Parker – says it all:

"Parker Sumalee Evans. Born 10:02am. 8lbs 12oz, 20in. All doing well (Ren still in recovery)."

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Taking Charge

For anyone anxious about the outcome of the November elections, relax: Berry already runs the country. You just don't know it yet.

Well, to be accurate, she runs all the parts of the country that matter to her. Anywhere there's a grandparent, a parent, a cousin, a friend, a rival or a puppy – she's got it covered.

In addition to issuing little directions ("Si-down, Nanna!", "Wake up, Ga-gum!", "No touch my mama, Emma!") she's apparently taken on her own toddler-leadership role. After her preschool class field trip to the dental clinic yesterday, Berry's teacher told me that all the kids had been scared of the dentist's chair, shrinking into the corners of the room. That was until Berry climbed up on the chair, lay back and let the nurse put the special glasses on her. After that, all the kids wanted in on the action. "Little miss is the leader," her teacher said, "They just wait to see what she does."

I was painfully shy as a kid – terrified of public embarrassment, of saying the wrong thing, of looking silly or of making people angry. It's a revelation to see a child – my own child – comfortable in her own skin and confident that the world will accept her.

That's an enchanted little universe, and I hope at least part of it will survive her childhood intact.

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Ridiculous picture of the week

In the early '90s, my sister and I saw Parenthood several times (it's possible we had unreasonable crushes on Tom Hulce) and we were endlessly amused by the toddler who ran around with a bucket on his head, crashing into walls. We felt a bit sorry for his mother.

Now Berry's making me be that mother. She loves to put blankets, paper bags, towels over her head and crow, without a hint of irony, "I seeeeeeeeeee you!"

I'll say this for the Parenthood kid: if you're going to crash into walls, a bucket makes much better headgear than a paper bag.

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Adventures all over

My parents never stay for long enough – with five kids on four continents, it's tricky – and this time they were only here for nine days. Still, Berry managed to give her Australian Grandma and Grandad (or Ga-gum and Ad-dad, as she prefers to call them) a pretty decent tour of Louisiana.


We went to New Orleans for streetcars and shotgun houses, antique shops and jazz bands, Southern food, Uptown charm and dirty Bourbon Street.


We went to Breaux Bridge for swamps and sleeping alligators, Cajun music and Crawfish Town, and to see Berry's Grandpa and Tine as well as her great-grandparents who live there. Berry focused on the important things, like squirrels and balloon animals, murals in restaurants, eating, trying on Tine's jewellery, making friends with Woo-woof, and organising her various grandparents: "Si-down, Ad-dad!", "Draw, Papa, draw!".


She also took very seriously the job of keeping Grandma awake on drives: "Wake up, Ga-gum! Wake up!" over and over again. Knowing my mum the way I do, I could've told Berry it was a pointless task. Mum will be wide-awake at 2am, phoning her far-flung kids and answering emails, but daytime rolls round and she'll nod off at the drop of a hat. Driving around town on the second day of their trip, we were laughing at her extraordinary napping abilities. "I'm feeling surprisingly awake, actually," Mum said brightly from the back seat. Thirty seconds later, she was sound asleep. So Berry had a full-time job on her hands.


But sometimes naps catch up with even the best anti-sleep crusader. Family trips are exhausting, and although Berry fell asleep just in time to miss a Cajun music jam we knew she'd love, no one had the heart to wake her.

Not even Ga-gum.


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Ridiculous picture of the week

Here, Berry catches up on the latest national news.

But really – it's hard to feel too torn up about plunging markets and dirty politics when you're wearing yellow cupcake pyjamas.

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