Escape

Man-show's new strategy for avoiding sleep: at high speed, he jumps off the bed, shouts, "I be right back!" and vanishes down the darkened hall on his new kick-scooter.

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Does not play well with others (sometimes)

Little bear has Man-show's toys.

Oh wait.  Nope.

[Scrabble scrabble scrabble grab.]

Little bear had Man-show's toys.

Sigh.


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Optimist

Dad lifted Man-show up on to the giant antique McCormick-Deering that lives up the back paddock.

Man-show grasped the steering wheel with both hands. 

"Okay!" he said, "Now push."

. . .

Finalist

Berry just bounced in and said, "Mommy, you're so cute!" and instantly earned herself my Kid Of The Day Award.

Very prestigious. Very temporary.

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Affection

For a while there, Man Show's little friend Zack would surprise (ok, startle) him with sudden and enthusiastic hugs. I guess now he's decided it's time to return the favour...

She ruins everything. On purpose.

Life is so, so hard when you have a heartless mama who won't let you spend the entire afternoon climbing in and out of a large hole in the garden, over and over again, clutching handfuls of dirt.

So hard!!!

Raiding the liquor cabinet

Well.... this happened at least 14 years earlier than I expected. Next I'll find him trying to take his daddy's car for a spin...

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A twist in the tale

Berry brought me a book to read to her before bed.

"It's about bugs," she said. It was actually "My First Book About God" – but it had a tiny bug on the flower being held by the girl on the front cover.

So I read.

"...and God gave us the sun and the flowers and the rivers and the sea..."

"And – candy!" she exclaimed.

"Oh! Really!"

"Yep. [pause] They got good lollipops."

"Who has?"

"The Baby Jesus. All kinds of lollipops and fruits in a bowl."

She made careful little sprinkling motions with her fingers.

I hope the Baby Jesus knows how lucky he is.

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Advantage receiver

Over the past month Berry has taken up tennis, giving Nathan the first outlet for his coaching urges since waaaay-back-when he worked at Fair Oaks in Dallas. She has quite a fierce forehand, and is extremely proud of her "tie shoes".

She has also learned to do somersaults, or flips, as she calls them. She doesn't do them while playing tennis, but maybe one day....

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WHOA.

Almost overnight, he's turned into a little boy.

He's busy all the time. He's into everything. He specialises in emptying drawers, throwing toys and shoes into bathtubs, obsessing over things with wheels, and climbing into baskets of laundry to stir the clothes with kitchen utensils. Don't ask, I don't know. But it seems to be very important work.

He's running everywhere – arms tucked behind him for more aerodynamic performance, and head tilted forward so his feet have something to catch up to. He comes a cropper sometimes (you should see the grazed lump on his forehead from yesterday) but on the whole he just careens crazily from potential disaster to potential disaster, saying "whoa!" at every near miss. An average minute is "whoa ... whoa ... WHOA ... whoa, whoa ... whoa."

He climbs everything – getting up on top of (unstable) boxes, the coffee table, the TiVo, Berry's toy shopping trolley, and once – heart-stoppingly – he clambered up the stairs, after the safety gate popped back open after being closed too hard. When I heard the music of his Imaginarium activity block floating down from upstairs, my heart froze. That's never happened again.

Most times, he helpfully scolds "ahh-ahh!" as he climbs on to a forbidden chair or overturned Tonka truck – just in case I fail to notice independently that he's doing something naughty.

I never dreamed that they would be so completely different – that she would be so careful and orderly and particular, and that he would be so bent on destruction-though-investigation, and so skilled at giving his mother mini-heart-attacks. Chalk and cheese, sure – but he adores his sister and she adores him back.

Yeah... I really need to keep my camera on a sports setting or something...

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And a P.S.

"Mommy, you know what my daddy say to me? My daddy said Jacob can't marry me!"

"Really! Why did he say that?"

"Because my daddy said, 'ANYONE CAN'T MARRY MY GIRL!'"


So. I guess that's how he's going to play it....

Weddings, princesses and outlandish threats

Berry's latest threat, when life (or a parent) doesn't let her have her own way: "YOU NOT COMING TO MY WEDDING!"

It is absolutely delivered in all capitals, and in a voice that means it.

Apparently, Berry's wedding is imminent and invitations are in great demand. When I went to pick her up from preschool the other day she was wandering around the playground alone, so I stopped and watched a minute. She wove around trees and posts, in and out of crowds of kids, oblivious to all of them. Even after she looked my way, it took her a moment to come out of her dream.

When she came running over I said, "What were you doing there, honey?"
"Just telling me a story."
"What was your story about?"
"About I get married."
"Oh. Who are you marrying?"
"Just Jacob. Jacob like to get me married."

It's all about weddings and princesses these days. I really don't know where it comes from, since we have banned the Disney Princesses in this house (Berry doesn't know it; we just 'mysteriously' retain no Disney Princess paraphernalia), and her main information on weddings comes from asking questions about our wedding photos on the wall. She believes that all weddings take place in Italy, of course, because that's where mommy and daddy got married. She has a 'princess wand' that she got at Brooke's birthday party, which she can barely go anywhere without and which has given me some (possibly ill-advised) leverage in the battle of wills.

We were out for a walk the other evening, the four of us, and Berry was trying on several varieties of whining and defiance. Our usual disciplinary measures were failing (it's hard to follow through with a time-out on a road with no footpaths) and she was getting worse and we were getting fed up.

Finally I snapped, "If you don't do as you're told, I will take your princess wand and give it to a dog!"

We don't have a dog. I have no idea what I was talking about. It was just a stream of pure frustration, and Nathan looked at me in surprise and said, "Awesome", and we both started laughing. And Berry laughed too and said, "I just kidding!" and she was fine after that. Maybe she believed me.

The princess obsession continues unabated, with Berry making imaginary cinnamon rolls at breakfast because "that's what Belle makes" (huh??) and nearly passing out with excitement when she sees a Disneyland ad on TV: "Looooooook! PRINCESSES!"

I think Jacob fell out of favour in the marriage stakes across the weekend because I heard some other little boy's name mentioned when we were threatened for the 37th time with not coming to her wedding and when I think of how many boys are going to be in and out of favour over the next two or three decades, it just wears me out. I won't even mention it to Nathan. He might not have thought of that yet.

But with a view to the future, I have a thought... Allow me to take this opportunity to say, Berry, if you read this somewhere down the track when you're older, I'd like to make one thing perfectly clear. I am going to try my hardest to be a good mother, and a sweet mother, and a kind and supportive and constructive and not-too-interfering influence as you grow up, and I absolutely love you to bits. But if, when you do actually decide to get married, you so much as think about not having me there at your wedding, so help me I WILL TAKE YOUR PRINCESS WAND AND GIVE IT TO A DOG.

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Winkin Wogs

Berry got a set of Lincoln Logs for her birthday, but she's sure they're called Winkin Wogs. She plays with them constantly, usually leaving it looking like a tiny colonial village has exploded on my studio floor.

I had both kids in the studio while I was working the other day and (cue "should've known better"-type music) I turned my back for a few seconds. Almost immediately, Kickbaby gave a startled yowl.

"I did poke him in the head," Berry said matter-of-factly.
"What!!"
"I did poke him in the head with a Winkin Wog."

Of course. Clarification makes it all better.

Good mamas like parties, don't they?

I don't care what anyone says – kids' birthday parties are sent to test us. Even the best of them are noisy and tiring and full of little battles. They hurt. They make me want double espressos and wine and a quiet corner, and perhaps a sleep.


The fairies and princesses were cute though. And everyone was gracious enough to put up with Kickbaby's sporadic teething-related yowls. But oh, afterwards I just wanted to hurl myself into bed.


(Before you feel sorry for me, I wasn't even the one hosting the party.
I know. I really am that fragile.)

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Unforeseen

A new parenting discovery: it is miserably hard to stay firm about a time-out when your toddler sits in the corner calling out tearfully, "I still love you guys! I still love you!"

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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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Yo-ho-ho (uh-oh)

There's a new twist in Berry's bedtime routine – one I never saw coming.

"Goodnight mum-mum. I love you mum-mum."

"Goodnight honey, I love you too. Have a good sleep."

"I love you. Them pirates no can get me?"

Pirates. Right.

"I no like-them pirates. They no get me."

Berry has just moved up to the three-to-five-year-old class at preschool and when I picked her up last Tuesday, her group was being 'covered' by another teacher who had them listening to an ocean adventure book-on-tape. What I heard of it sounded downright boring, actually – a bit too dreary for kids that age.

On the way home, though, Berry unravelled a story about "them scary mans" who "sing a growly song" and ever since then we've been on a fear-of-pirates kick.

This morning at breakfast: "You have a good sleep, mum-mum?"

"I had a good sleep sweetheart. Did you have a good sleep?"

"I did. None them pirates did get me."

"Honey, we have no pirates here. No pirates will ever get you."

She nodded sagely. "My daddy look after me. Get them pirates. He a big man."

So now you know. If you have a pirate problem, call my husband. He's a big man.

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Correction

"...and then I realised I was under investigation too," Nathan was saying, "and I thought, I am so hosed."

"Oh, that's an awful dream!" I said, taking a t-shirt out of the laundry basket.

Berry stopped beside me. "That not a awful dream!" she exclaimed, "That a shirt!"

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Nen-nak-idis!

"Wook Daddy – nenakidis!"

That's Berry-ese for: "Look Daddy – gymnastics!" ...and we've been hearing it a lot this week. We've mostly been catching the swimming, the diving and the gymnastics (my favourites, all on at once! after this my interest will wane...) and Berry has been mightily inspired by some of the gymnasts' floor routines.

She's been doing her own flourishy performances – a lot of capering around and some hand-standish things with a lot of, er... potential – all ending in a seated pose with dramatic arms.

Ta-da! So medal-worthy.

Berry will have to work on her form, though. After all, she's only a couple of years younger than those little girls on the Chinese women's (ahem) team... she's got some catching up to do.

Love and little fingers

I stretched out on the couch for a nap (it had to be the living room, because that's where Kickbaby was sleeping) and as soon as I started to drift off, Berry climbed up next to me.

"Mum-mum?"
Yes honey...
"I lie down next to you?"
Okay. Lie on this side.
"Mum-mum, I share you pillow?"
Yes, you can share my pillow...
"Mum-mum, that you eye?" [poke]
Ow! Yes that's my eye. But we don't poke eyes.
"Mum-mum, [poke] that you other eye?"
No poking eyes! That hurts!
"I love you mum-mum."
I love you too, sweetheart.
"I love you too, mum-mum. I love you very much."

Well.

I suppose it's worth the eye-pokes.

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