Three Ring Circus

Maddy: Who won the last America’s Next Top Model?

Lily: Wasn’t it Kylie Booby? (Australian Princess winner)

Immy: (Indignant) No! It was Nicole!

Maddy: Nicole who?

AJ: Nicole Kidman! Der - er!

 

Umm… I think they have their TV stars a bit mixed up…

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Noah having a tanty, wanting to go in the car…

N: Want to go in car!

David, pointing to Noah’s ride in car: there’s Noah’s car, do you want to go in there?

N: No! That’s not No - No’s! Want to go Daddy’s car!

David: What about the bus?

N: No! That’s Mummy’s, want to go No - No’s car!

David moves to put Noah in his push along car…

N: No! (get’s down from David’s arms) This one! (Points to David’s car)

David: I thought that was Daddy’s car.

N: Daddy’s car IS No - No’s car!

David learns the toddler property laws apply to vehicle ownership as well.

Have you heard about Pediacast?

It is podcast for parents, by "Dr Mike" an American based paediatrician.

I love it. He talks about alot of different issues. He breaks all the medical jargon down into eaily understood terms.

You can find him on itunes or you can go to Pediascribe and click on the link in the upper left hand corner to listen. (Pediascribe is Karen’s baby and a great read too).

I find his podcasts really interesting.

I’m not sure whether it’s the nursey in me or that I have sick children and I am some sort of freak who finds comfort in medical knowledge… probably a little bit of both.

Anyway.

If you like that kind of thing, perhaps you could listen to him and if you like what he has to say and if you have an itunes account perhaps you could give him a review. It won’t cost you anything but a moment of your time to listen and type a few lines about what you think.

I’m only asking because he has a personal goal of 200 reviews by the new year and I would like to see him get there. He is at 160 at the moment.

Go Dr Mike!

Ok. I’m gonna come clean.

She’s sick again.

Am I ashamed that I can’t keep my girl well? YES!

Do I hate having to call the paed on his week of parental leave? Yes, yes, ok yes.

Am I shattered every time she cries that sad, help me cry? Yes, oh Lord Yes.

I don’t know what to do for her anymore. What’s more is I don’t think anybody else does either.

Heard in the house recently…

2am

wifey to hubby;

W: "Have you seen Ivy’s dummy"? (Searching frantically in and around bed)

H: "Wah"? (half waking from man sleep ie; not waking at all) "It’ll be around somewhere"…

Yeah thanks for that.

5am

Wifey sits up from restless dozing with Ivy, something lumpy growing from her back…

H: Peels thing from wife’s back and cries triumphantly: "I found the dummy"!

W: Sizes up dummy… "I ain’t no princess"!

********************************************************

At breakfast;

H: "Don’t pinch me there, I’m manstruating, you know"!

W: "I am so blogging that"!

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Why is it that dogs wait until you have visitors and everything is quiet before they break wind with the most putred post No Frills dog food smell and why do the kids all snigger uncontrolably and then blame the parents?

My eldest is growing up. FAST. Two minutes older than her sister but oh, so different. Socially, emotionally and physically.

I can’t stand it.

She’s not allowed to move into that next stage.

I feel… old.

Last night she was in tears because the dress we bought for her to wear to the year six farewell, two months ago, no longer fit her. Her body has changed. She is not overweight, in fact she is just right for her height but because all her friends are small, because her twin sister is too, she feels out of place, frumpy, fat.

I know how she feels. Although I was overweight amongst my peers and the brunt of everyone’s joke, the feelings of hurt are the same.

That feeling of not quite fitting in, that thorn amongst the roses feeling. *SIGH* I so didn’t want that for my girls. I wanted… well, I wanted conformity. I wanted them to blend in. I wanted them to have beauty, grace, a great fashion sense. I wanted what I lacked in the school environment for my girls.Not so much popularity… oh, ok, I wanted that too. ALL the things I never had.

Today my Mum took Imogen to the shops and she picked, for herself, a new dress. The sales people were lovely and Imogen’s self esteem flourished under so many people telling her she looked beautiful.

Of course, I know she is gorgeous but she is at that terrible stage when all that little girl confidence just flies away, leaving in it’s wake the insecurities of adolescence.

While she was shopping I started thinking about whether it was so terrible to stand out from the crowd. She has a wonderful nature, my Immy. Wise beyond her years. That in itself is beautiful.

As a pre teen, being different sucks. It does but looking on it as an adult, was I really that different and is she?

Why are children so horrible to other children? Why pick and tease and make their peers feel small and insignificant?

Probably because they feel the same way; Are the same.

Is it a learned thing, something that they see their parents do? Or something that is just part of the make up of some kids?

Anyway, I’m getting away from myself.

She bought a dress. She looks beautiful and she feels beautiful too.

I just want to make it an easy transition, if I can’t stop this hurtling into the teenage years…is that too much to ask?

I have had severe internet withdrawal for the last three days.

We had a storm. There was thunder and scary blue lightening.

The lightening blew up my phone line. It blew up my modem and it melted the insides of my laptop, and my computer.

Lucky for me I posted my last November post early and lucky for me my husband is a computer nerd. What? It’s true.

This evening I have the internet back and my blog and my comments (of which I crave for I have very little adult company and as much as I love them, listening to the gentle (and sometimes not so gentle) babbling of the toddlers, is not adult conversation).

I have my lovely winged monkeyboy (Fly my pretty, fly. Bring back the girl and her little dog too) slave husband to thank for saving my sanity.

Briefly;

The party was a success, even though it was pouring with rain. Ivy and Noah had a great time.

They got lots of bootie (thank you every one).

I’m glad it’s over. I’m so tired.

We are currently putting up our Christmas tree.

Bring it on!

Ivy and Noah were born on the 30th of November 2005. (Two hours shy of the 1st of December).

Our caesarean was originally booked for the 23rd of December and their estimated date of delivery was the 12th of February.

They were born at 30 weeks gestation.

On this day the Feast of Saint Andrew is celebrated. Interestingly the first day of advent.

Our good doctor’s name was Andrew. (Coincidence, fate oR just plain creepy, you decide).

This has been on my wish list for a while. I love it. I want it. I need it.

Today we set about trying to find someone in Australia, ‘the lucky country’, who sells them.

Not so lucky, it seems. Nobody does.

Gutted am I. No toddler B - double for me.

Before Noah had his tongue tie snipped, he said very little. He had a few words but not alot was comprehendable. Afterwards he was trying out every sound possible. It was great. Until he pottered up to us one day…

He patted the lounge…"sh*t" he said

My eyes boggled and my jaw dropped. I looked to David, whose reflection mirrored mine.

"What did you say"? I asked him.

He repeated his action and the statement… "Sh*t". "Sheit".

He couldn’t be… David stuttered.

No, he doesn’t know the meaning, where would he have heard that word? It has to be something else.

Noah was getting frustrated. " Sh*t, Sheit, Sheit, Sh*t"! he exclaimed over and over.

Then it dawned on me.

Sit!

He’s trying to say sit!

Phew!

That was okay.

"Sit, sure, buddy you can sit", I said and pulled him up to the lounge.

He practiced hard to say sit but had not quite mastered it by the time we found ourselves in the doctor’s rooms with gastro.

"Sh*t", he muttered after the doctor had finished examining him, pointing to the chair at the desk. (Not now, Noah, not now).

"What did he say"? the good doctor asked, alarmed.

"SIT", I cried, "he said S.I.T."

"Sure he did" the doctor chuckled.

"Sh*t" said Noah as I sank lower into my own seat.

"That’s what you’ve got"! retorted the doctor and laughed, as my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

 

It’s a good thing that doctor has left town now because when Noah tried to say bucket today, it didn’t come out quite the way it was supposed to…

Who knew you could mistake the ‘b’ sound with an ‘f’ ?!?!?!?

Oh what a weekend we have had, my friends!

On Saturday evening we took part in a fundraiser for Belmont Birthing Service. This is the second year the kids have sung in the choir. It was lovely sitting on the grassed area as the sun slowly set, listening to the beautiful voices of the children reach into the evening sky.

We packed a picnic dinner and talked with friends. So nice and relaxing. So different from our day to day. Time with the family all together, yet as one.

Arrival home was well into the night and so this morning when the children woke with the sun, their eyes were bleary and their faces drawn with exhaustion. Maddy has been battling a cold which had turned into tonsilitis and was feeling a bit worse for wear.

There was no time to rest though because Sunday brought with it the dance concert and there was make up and hair to be done. Costumes to be repaired and last minute rush arounds to make sure all clothing and shoes were packed.

The concert was lovely, the girls wonderful. Our seats were disappointing but you win some, you lose some. The boys behaved well, the babies danced, some slept (not mentioning any names…David, Pop) some wept.

So now we are done for the year. Finally, a time of rest. There are just a few more weeks of school before Christmas.

We travelled home, the light fading fast, tired but happy. My little entertainers having danced their way into our hearts. Memories to hold, photos to cherish, a fleeting moment in their lives.

Thank you my sweet girls. You have given me so much.

Why do babies wait until you’ve put a fresh, clean nappy on them before they do the foulest, sloppiest poo known to man?

My babies have worked out how to hold it in. I know this because I have tried waiting it out for their morning defication. I’ve tried waiting until the nappy is almost falling off them with the weight of the urine. I give up. I change them and then, within seconds, the grunting begins!

Why do husbands suddenly have to go to work/clean the swimming pool/ disappear when pooey nappies need to be changed?

My husband has a gift. A true gift for making himself scarce. I think he needs to rethink his vocation from computer nerd to magician. (He’ll want to disappear - or turn into something cute, when I get a hold of him)!

Lily has gone on school camp for three days. It’s her first time to camp and her first time away from us for any length of time. It was bad enough when the big kids went away to Canberra but Lily is on her own. There are no twin sisters or cousins to keep an eye out for her.

I’m sure she will be fine.

On a little tangent, someone once told me that using the word fine was an all encompassing description for feeling insecure, neurotic and emotional without giving anything away. Hmmm…

Anyway, she will be ok. She is a strong, independent, free spirited young girl who is going to have the time of her life but I will miss her. Alot.

Something a bit lighter for you after a couple of days of heavy stuff.

Noah is your normal rambunctious boy.

He likes to run and play with cars.

He likes to be outside. He rarely plays with stuffed toys, except for ‘Ted’.

He is two this month. (Both Noah and Ted).

Of all our children, he is the only one to be attached to a stuffed toy in such a way that Noah is with ‘Ted’.

Ted is taken to bed, he is stroked until his fur is gone. He has been dragged outside to play in the sand, had his ears sucked on and his clothes pulled off. Ted comes with us to the shops and is often found being pulled around by the boy in his wagon.

He is Noah’s best friend.

I bought Ted for his first birthday. He is designed by Kate Finn. Soft, brown terry towelling - like fur. Just the right size for a little boy. Dressed brightly in a red shirt and red, white and blue pinstriped pants.

He is the perfect companion. A boy and his bear.

 

Misc Mum, Karen, my super - blogging hero has tagged me for a meme!

I am the new meme queen around these parts, me thinks.

Here are the instructions:

Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.

Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself.

Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.

Let each person know that they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

 

So here we go; 7 random and/or weird facts about me.

 

1. My name was supposed to be Shirley, or something equally 70’s -  esque but my father renamed me after the 1972 September issue’s Playboy centrefold. I must say, I don’t think I lived up to his standards at all. If I was supposed to turn out like my namesake, I think he was sorely disappointed.

2. I can chomp out the tune of Baa Baa Black Sheep by gnashing my teeth together and shaping my mouth in different ways. (Well? It did say weird, I’m giving you weird).

3. I’m in the genetic group of people who’s second toe is longer than my first. This supposedly means I listen to my heart before I listen to my head.

4. I have phone phobia. I have real trouble phoning anyone and sometimes I struggle with picking the phone up when it is ringing. This started just after William died and is a weird little quirk that I am having trouble shaking.

5. When I was little I had a recurring dream that a funnel web spider was chasing me and no matter what I threw on top of it, it would always just throw it off, re - inflate and continue the pursuit.

6. The first birth I attended was that of my dog’s. Mosby birthed four puppies, the second of which was breech. I helped to ease the pup’s head out (and he survived)!

7.  At 35 years of age I can still do the front/back splits to the floor. I can also hold my heel in my hand and extend my leg fully to behind my ear. Although it is getting harder.

Now I have to tag 7 people, which is almost harder than having to think of 7 random facts. (My husband would beg to differ)!

Careful What You Wish For’s Mountainmama

Veronica from Sleepless Nights. Right back at ya, baby!

Mama Lee from Full Plate.

In The Life Of A Child’s Childlife

Joh Blogs from Because I Can.

The very funny X - Box 4 Nappy Rash man.

Mad Goat Lady, whose last couple of posts have been very thought provoking.

Woohoo peoples! I have been profiled here; On Blogging Australia

A little bit of fame for this humbled blogger. Thank you Andrew!

I was coming up to 28 weeks of pregnancy. I was scared and I was tired.

My doctor was optomistic that I would make it to at least 34 weeks, if not 36.

My iron levels were very low and I had pain. I was anxious, physically and emotionally drained.

My appointment with the good doctor was awful. I didn’t want him to see me so edgy, out of control, upset.

I considered him a friend as well as my doctor. (More about this interesting topic later).

I couldn’t look him in the eye. I had lost faith in my antenatal care.

David had to do all the talking for me.

I guess it is a hard thing to understand. Not many of you out there, who might be reading this, know how Ivy and Noah came to be with us but if all goes to plan, over the next few weeks, you will.

If I have the strength to tell you. If I have the strength to relive it.

A decision was made between the two men that I would come in the following week for an iron infusion. That would bring me close to 29weeks. From there, it was established that I would stay for the rest of the pregnancy under observation.

With that in place, we knew we had alot of organising to do. With five children already at home and being the end of the year, we had to lay down some firm plans. Five weeks in hospital was a long time. For me, for the children and most importantly, for David.

My toddlers eat really well. Ivy especially.

Can you see my tongue pressed firmly on the inside of my cheek?

Today I made lunch, which Ivy and Noah pulled apart, smeared over themselves and then threw to the ground.

I gave them banana.

Noah told me, in no uncertain terms, that banana was only good for one thing; face masks (and not his own either, mine, in case you were wondering).

I gave them sultanas.

When I responded in the negative to Noah’s query of whether the fruit was chocolate he threw the offending brown pieces at me. Like a seal trainer offering up some fish, or throwing the dog a bone…maybe. That’ll teach me for answering honestly. I need to become a stealth Mummy.

I have come to the conclusion they are existing on chocolate, air and their beloved vanilla flavoured formula ("nilla shake - shake").

Linus the dog sits under the highchairs. He knows where his bread is buttered (pardon the pun).

There is nothing wrong with his appetite, nothing at all.

His girth is ever expanding, thanks to the six extra meals (plus snacks) he is getting.

Perhaps I should be more worried about what he is eating, rather than what the twins are not.

He was originally a mini foxie!

Find more Wordless Wednesday entries here

 

Early morning risers, kisses and cuddles in bed as the sun breaks over the mountains.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Debriefing and discussions about dreams during the night, good or bad.

Shiny, clean faces, at the breakfast table. Easy conversation.

Laughing at jokes that aren’t quite funny. Great big smiles that show teeth.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Standing on the verandah, with little bodies close to my side, waving good bye to school children as they walk up the street calling ‘I love you’s’ until they disappear over the hill.

Morning stories, dancing to The Wiggles, new words, new milestones met. Bright blue eyes and faces turned to the sun as they venture outside. Wonderment as the fluff from a dandelion blower flies into the sky, caught by the morning breeze.

Free spirited, loving life play.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Morning naps, angelic, peaceful faces. (Is any mother not grateful for this?).

Bleary eyed babies stumbling out of bed to climb up onto laps. Nuzzles and snuggles and drifting off again with the warmth of their special person. Deep, sleep filled breathing that relaxes the soul.

Emerging sentences, new understanding, watching them grow and learn through play.

New foods, new experiences, evolving personalities.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Excited faces at the gate, in anticipation of the big kids’ return from school.

Excited faces at the gate, happy to be home with the little ones again.

Stories of their day, their worries and their hopes, what made them laugh and why they felt sad.

The house feeling full, the chaotic noise of seven, the push and pull of siblings.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Squeals of happiness, backyard games of cricket, swimming, playing -  togetherness.

Hugs for no reason, an arm around my shoulder, playful banter, exclaimations of ‘you’re the best, Mummy!’

Sharing bath time with the little ones, even though their bodies are changing. Willingly helping when they see I am flagging.

Excited cries of ‘Daddy’s home!’ Little ones standing at the door waiting.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Dinner compliments, voices too loud, spaghetti sauce chins.

TV wind down time, everyone squeezed onto one lounge, when there are two, dogs between legs with furry heads resting on pyjama clad laps.

Talking while the show is on, asking questions about when we were children, interested wonders of ‘the olden days’. (I am constantly telling them I’m not that old).

Bedtime kisses and last minute, trying to stall, anecdotes, needs for a glass of water and one last call to the toilet before bed.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Slipping quietly into each bedroom, looking upon them, hoping they have a good life.

Pulling their blankets up under chins, tucking soft toys back into the arms of their owners, turning out lights.

Standing in hallways, listening to the house sigh with peace.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

My children.

They lift me up, fill my day, make everything worthwhile. It’s the everyday things.

I’m grateful for them.

 

This was written for Mamablogga’s November Group Writing Project. Why don’t you give it a try?

All I can say is thank goodness I don’t have to listen to that durge anymore.

Maybe go here or here for a more enlightening update on the Australian Idol elimination for tonight.

So long, Marty, my ears feel better already.

I have discovered a new blog, Wrapped Emotions, through In The Life Of A Child.

Each week there is a prompt to do something creative. This week participators were asked to enjoy their family;

"Go, spend time with your family. Do one little bitty special thing with your children or your spouse or your mother or your sibling or your pet. Even if it’s just a great big extra squishy hug…do it.

Enjoy your family in some small, yet tremendous moment. Then post a few words, a photo…whatever symbolizes the little joy you shared."

So that’s what I did. Being away from everyone for over three days I wanted to have some quality time with the children this weekend. I needed to get some things done too, like make Ivy and Noah’s birthday party invites and send them. So I printed them off and we all sat around colouring them in. Even David and the littlies joined in. We talked about the up and coming party and coloured in too. It was fun and the kids appreciated the time we spent with them.

Here’s a photo that Dave took as we were all hard at work;

 

and here’s a photo of one of the coloured invites;

 

note the beautiful squiggles of colour artistically placed on the page by Ivy. An artist in the making!

I have always read Sydney’s Child, for as long as I have had children. Actually, before I had kids because I worked in child care before I became a nurse. I loved the services promoted in it and the articles.

However, when we moved up to the Coast and then further north still, into the Hunter region, Sydney’s Child just didn’t hold the same importance as everything was encompassed within the Sydney area. It was really disappointing because at the time of moving, the girls were small and I could have used some guidance in what was available in the area.

I longed for something just like it specifically for our part of the world.

A couple of weekends ago we went shopping and I found this:

 

A whole magazine, in the style of Sydney’s Child, just for those of us living on the Coast, in the Hunter or in the Newcastle areas!! I was so excited to find Sunny Days! See how the mag looks all rumpled and dog eared? That’s because I have spent hours leafing through it, drinking in the articles and the services available to us. It is a fantastic little paper, only in it’s infancy; this was the third issue.

I am looking forward to the next one. They are looking for people to write articles too (talking to you Mary, Tracey), I might even give it a go.

If you live in any of these areas and you have children, you should search it out. I think you’ll enjoy it as much as I did!

This is in no way a paid post - I just wanted you to know how good this was!

This is part of a writing project from Thailand Girl, Chani.

As I often use this blog as a place to air complaints, I thought it would do me good to think about some of the positive things that have happened…

 

"Don’t you people know what a TV is?"

I thought if I heard that question one more time I was going to scream. It had been a long, hot Summer and with six weeks of having the children home for the holidays, it was starting to wear on my nerves. It wasn’t so much that the kids were home. It was the constant judgements, that people would pass when I ventured out with family, that got to me.

Ok, there are alot of us. Seven children seems like a crowd in today’s society. I guess people are overwhelmed by our size.

Why make those comments though? Why say anything? My mother always taught me, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

"Are those all yours?"

"Gee, you must have your hands full!"

"Why would you have more children when the little one (referring to Malachy, who is a foster son and not biologically mine) is obviously not right in the head?"  Oh, yes, they did say that! To my face!

"Your husband must be on a good salary for you to keep on having kids like that." Another favourite of mine.

All these things had been said to me during the Summer break. To top it off, I had one of the babies sick and one of the big kids with a suspected problem with her thyroid gland. Both required a blood test on this particular day. It was hot and as I had no one to look after the others, they were all grumbling about having to come to the pathology unit.

To say I was stressed was an understatement and then that -  the TV comment by this grouchy old man, walking along the footpath in the opposite direction to ours.

I could feel the tears welling up as we entered the small unit to have the blood drawn. Confined spaces seem to accentuate our family size and cause people to comment all the more. So I prepared myself for the questions and comments.

Luckily there was nobody waiting and the children were as good as gold while Ivy and Imogen had blood taken.

As we were walking out, the receptionist asked if all the children were mine. Here we go…

"Yes." I answered, preparing myself for another negative comment.

She smiled, "Christmas must have been wonderful at your house, and birthday parties too!"

I smiled with her, "Thank you." I replied and herded the children out the door.

That one positive statement, made by a stranger, put everything into perspective for me that Summer. Yes, we were a big family but we enjoyed each others company. Our lives were full and rich because of it’s size, it did not hinder us. I made the decision that day that I was not going to let those negative comments get to me anymore. That one positive statement spoke volumes to me.

*Thinks to self: I should know not to bag out my paed (ever) because karma has a way of teaching you a lesson.*

Ivy is sick again. *sigh*. Will this never end?

With a tummy bug and a very sore bottom, my poor little girl, the one who is usually constantly on the go, has been very still today.

Get well baby. One day Mummy will learn that what goes around comes around.

 

 

On the weekend we bought and decorated Ivy and Noah’s new pottys. Ivy’s has stickers of handbags and shoes all over it and Noah’s is adorned with pirates. (Yes, they are waterproof stickers, friends).

With the other kids, we introduced the potty slowly. Imogen and Madeline went shopping and chose their own and their first pairs of undies. Lily was more or less the same but she didn’t like the potty, so she chose a toddler seat.

Initially we sat them on to ‘get a feel’ for using it before bathtime and progressed to them sitting on the potty when a parent was… sitting on the ‘great white throne’. For us, this worked really well (especially for the big twins) and they all trained quite easily. We had some cute little quirks along the way, like Maddy insisting she wear her pink sunhat everytime she needed to go but all in all, it went quite smoothly.

Summer is rapidly approaching, as is Ivy and Noah’s 2nd birthday and thoughts are turning to toilet training the toddlers (I think mum just wants to see me do away with my obsession with modern cloth nappies, just quietly) and I’m not sure this pair are going to be so easy.

For one, I have no idea how to toilet train a boy. I’ve never had to do it before. When Mal finally trained out of nappies he went straight to the standing position.

Secondly, we are almost nine years down the track from TT from scratch, I think I might have become rusty in my skills.

Thirdly, I have never had children sit on the potty and then proceed to race them down the hallway, scooching it along with their powerful legs, laughing at each other’s attempts to outscooch the other.

Finally, even though I spent a large part of today explaining to Noah, that you sit your bottom down on the potty he still insisted on wearing it as a hat. (Gives new meaning to the phrase ‘potty mouth’).

Truthfully, I am no hurry to have them using the toilet. Nappies are sometimes messy, sometimes they are inconvenient but having a two year old in undies brings about a whole new set of issues, let alone two toddlers in undies. I think the fact that the boy is wearing his as a fashion accessory speaks volumes about how ready they  are aren’t.

Oh - ho people! I found this in my blogging travels tonight!

I want him for our paediatrician, even if he lives in the States and has a moustache!

Seriously though, I do like our paed.

Every year we take photos and make our own Christmas card. We have done it since Immy and Maddy were six months old. Some have been better than others. Some years have been easier to shoot, the kids easier to pose, happier to oblige their photo junky mother.

Last year, Ivy and Noah were sitting… just. I had no idea what we were going to do, so I made it up as I went along. I ended up handcrafting an ‘H’ and an ‘O’ and taking a series of photos of the children. It worked out well and everyone seemed to like it.

This year… This year is different because the twins are not only walking, they are running and they won’t stay still for anything much. I’ve got my long lense and my steady hand ready but will that be enough? What are my chances of getting one of all of the kids together? Next to none, I suspect.

After the stress of last year, I wasn’t going to be doing any more Christmas photo cards. I was going to call it a day. (I say that every year). So why am I planning to do it all again? A very good question.

I’m crazy.

It’s a kind of family tradition now, I suppose and I can’t seem to stop it.  Every year, at about this time, my mind starts to click through different ideas.

This year I am stuck and I need help.

Any ideas? Anyone?

This morning I was disorganised.

Slow to get moving and generally dragging the chain. I wanted to stay in bed. I wanted to lie in and read. I wanted to pretend that I didn’t have to get up and get the kids moving for school, the babies dressed and fed…it was a stay in your PJs kind of day. It was raining, grey and the morning air was cool.

Of course at about 4:30 this morning my reality set in with the entrance of Ivy and Noah. Ha ha ha hahahahahahahahahaha (insert half crazed laugh here).

My little rays of sunshine!

Thank goodness daylight savings starts this weekend. I don’t know what I’m whinging about really. Getting up at 4:30 when you only went to bed at midnight is just so refreshing!

The key point in this story so far is that it was raining…alot.

What do you think I spent a large part of my day doing?

Can you guess?

Does the title give it away?

Sometime after breakfast Immy came screaming out of our bedroom.

"Mu - um! Noah has just found his birthday gumboots and he won’t put them back"!!!!! (Darn, I knew it was way too quiet)!

So what would you do? Would you insist on the (not very well hidden) wellies going back in their hiding place because it was still a full month until their birthday or would you just give them to the little guy, with eyes shining bright, because he had aquired his very first pair of gumboots?

Me too.

And if you gave those boots to the almost two year old boy would you then deny the almost two year old little girl because she hadn’t been snooping?

Me either.

So, here I was on a rainy day with twin toddlers and their brand spanking new (almost) birthday gumboots.

Gee, what will I do?

Of course, after a nap and some lunch we went outside and splashed in the rain puddles. What else would you do?

It’s not like I really had a choice.

I think if I hadn’t have released them into the yard, our house would be lacking a door right now because, you know, a glass door can only take so much rattling, head banging and smacking. You can only bellow at a door so often before it breaks, so you see, the choice was really taken out of my hands.

So we went outside, in the rain.

Ivy, Noah, my mum (who had arrived during nap time) and I. They had a ball. They got wet. They splashed around.

Did I mention they got wet?

It was fun and I took photos.

Want to see?

I’ve hidden the rest of their parcels, again, so they will have something left come the end of November.

Find more Wordless Wednesday participants here.

when you try to do your best as a parent and your kids think you are horrible.

It hurts when they can’t see that what you are doing for them is so that they grow to be the best they can be.

It hurts when they think that they are hard done by, having to do chores and jobs around the house, when they question what you do all day and tell their friends that you are a slave driver.

It hurts, really hurts when your children don’t think you’re perfect anymore, when you’ve fallen from that pedastool.

It’s the hardest job in the world, this motherhood business.

Where are you going,  my little one, little one?

Where are you going, my baby, my dear.

Turn around and you’re two,

turn around and you’re four.

Turn around and you’re a young girl walking out of my door…

(Lullaby)

 

When Imogen and Madeline were little, way back in the Summer of ‘97, there was hardly a dress to be found. Unless you were in one of the higher income earning brackets and could afford boutique label frocks (don’t you just love that word, frock? It kind of just rolls off the tongue). I was not one of those people, so it was Best and Less and Target when we really wanted to dress up.

I’ll just pause here to say it still is mostly those shops that we frequent. Not because of income brackets but because they are affordable and nice and wear well.

Anyway, the best you could get were these sort of wash and wear sack like things. They were…functional but not pretty, girly dresses.

The majority of clothes available for little girls included shorts and t - shirts. Bike shorts were all the rage. (Sorry for anyone out there who still owns bike shorts and likes them). I think there were some denim overall type dresses but the girls claimed them too hot for our Summer and  would peel them off at the first turn of my back.

It was the same deal two years later when Lily was a toddler.

When I was a little girl, it was the 70’s. A time of gender equality. I did own some dresses but I was mostly in brown cords and skivvys in Winter and shorts and tops for the hotter months. I remember having a beautiful lime green number, which I wore with white knee high socks (are you getting a visual here? I looked luscious!). I thought I looked nice. I felt pretty but my peers didn’t think so. They thought I looked like a booger… in cork high heels and told me so, often.

So, when Ivy started to get past that growsuit stage and I cautiously looked out into the brave new world of clothing  for baby girls, imagine my glee (ok, I have been reminiscing my 70’s childhood, people, so I think I can use some of the  language of that era, just for tonight) when I found dresses, lots and lots of pretty, flowery, twirly, pastel shaded, gorgeous dresses! Since then, Ivy has been mostly clothed in them. With the exception of the middle of Winter days, frocks are her norm.

I love them! I have so many for her, I think her wardrobe is about to explode but I just can’t seem to get enough. David has tried to curb my buying them but it is no use. If I see a dress in the shop I like I have to have it. I don’t know what it is. Or maybe I do. Maybe I just explained my need for all things frock in the above paragraphs.

Ooooh, self analysis.

Scary stuff.

At first, I found Gymboree, through the internet. Their little dresses had me drooling onto my keyboard. Then the Spring and Summer range started to come out here. I discovered Cotton on Kids and a few other internet stores and went crazy.

Today, after waiting six weeks for a parcel, I was sure was not going to arrive, it landed on my doorstep containing the most gorgeous skirts and dresses I have ever clapped eyes on (I’m a freak, I know).

Today my mind is already ticking over with the different combinations that I might dress Ivy in tomorrow. Ahhh frock therapy… thank heaven for little girls, especially little girls who are toddlers in 2007. (Photos to follow. Ivy is not a willing muse most days).

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My friend Trish has given me this:

 

 

Nice matters. Oh yes, it does. In these times when everyone is rushing and some can’t stop to help others or offer a kind word, to me, nice is important.

Thank you Trish. She said that I was one of the nicest people she had met over the internet and I could say the same for her. So, right back at you, friend!

I’m going to share this with some people.

Triplets plus one mum, Michele S: for sticking up for another multiples mum. (See post above).

Meg from Dipping into the Australian blogpond because when you comment on her blog she always comments back. it’s like a conversation between friends. Something I need to work on, my commenting skills.

Finally to JohBlogs from Because I can…well, because I can really and because she wrote a very nice comment about my post on communities, that boosted me up, made my day and made me feel as though I had made a contribution out there in blogworld.

Thank you all for your niceness. Please pass it on.

For anyone out there who has followed my blog for a while, you know how I feel about doctors, in particular paediatricians (and ENT doctors). I have whinged and whined my way through Winter.

Today, though, I have vowed never to complain about the services offered to me by our paed…okay, maybe I won’t be able to keep that vow and maybe it is unrealistic, given the way I distrust doctors in general.

When I read this story in one of my favourite blogs and followed the links to this blog, I admit I was thankful for all that our paediatrician has done for Ivy and Noah. I was also thankful that we don’t have the health care system that people living in the USA have to deal with.

Both of these mums have triplets, born prematurely and both have had issues with their paediatricians. Go and read for yourself.

If you are Australian, you will be gobsmacked. If that is not enough to peak your interest, how about ‘called security’,  ‘have us arrested’ and ‘dismissed from the service because the doctor didn’t like his tone’ for key statements?

If you are American… is this normal? Are these the kinds of things you have to deal with regularly?

Please tell me that all doctors do not have an etiquette policy. Please tell me that you are not all told that you will not be seen if you stink or if your children are too sick?!?!?!?

Like I said…speechless.

Luckily I can still type.

 

Don’t you all dread that question?

No, I’m not talking about the birds and the bees thing. My kids have known about that since they were little. (I guess it’s part of growing up with a midwife for a mother). No, it was nothing so…simple.

You know, that question, about the big guy in the red suit? Is he real?

I was asked today.

I felt so many things all at once, I needed to sit down.

My first thought was, Lord, how am I going to answer this?

Followed quickly by; you can just fall back on the ‘those who don’t believe, don’t receive’ line and avoid the topic altogether.

Next came the sad sinking feeling that my girls were growing up, that they were no longer part of that innocent age of wonder, they were jaded and had passed the point of believing everything David and I told them.

After that, I wanted to cry. Maybe I need to up the crazy pills, who knows but the thought of them not believing brought me down with a clunk!

It also reminded me of the year I questioned and found out for myself. I remember feeling deflated and my Christmas spirit was virtually gone.

I told her the story of Saint Nicholas. I reminded her of the true meaning of Christmas. I told her I believed in the spirit of the season and that for me it was more about family now and about the joy of giving.

She was very mature. She thanked me for being honest. We held hands and talked about keeping the spirit alive for the little ones and how important it was to me. She smiled and gave me a hug, in the middle of a huge toy store, where Christmas decorations have been out now for a couple of weeks and parents were casing the joint, watching their children play with prospective presents. (The very reason we were there).

But her eyes were sad. They had lost some of their sparkle.

Things will be different now. For her and for me. It might take her a while to find her Christmas spirit again.

Have your children asked you that question yet? How did you answer?

He stumbled into the room this morning and crawled into our bed. After some time he started grizzling for his bottle. His father asked him if he would like some milk. Noah sat up and cradled David’s face in his hands, looked directly in to his eyes and said…

"No, coffee".

Ahh, Noah-ry, boy, you’re in fine form today!

After his coffee…err, his bottle and all the children had finished their breakfast, we prepared for our morning walk. For the life of me I couldn’t find my shoes. I asked around with little response, except for Noah who started to look under my bed.

"Where’s the stinkys?" he asked.

After a bit more searching he produced first one and then a second sneaker.

"There’s the stinkys." he said and handed them to me.

Oh, my little guy, you were not wrong, I thought as I placed my odorous sneakers on my feet. It was a simple toddler play on words but you were not wrong at all.

Coffee and stinkys on a Saturday morning, what more could anyone ask for?

Trish from My Little Drummer Boys passed along this sweet treat created by Hootin Anni.

 

The idea is to pass it on to people who have popped in to look at your blog or left a comment for the first time, spread the blogging awards around to new friends but I’m going to give it to a couple of others too.

So, I’m going to give some sugar to:

Veronica from Sleepless Nights. She always leaves encouraging, sweet comments.

Domestic Goddess from The Bisdak Experience. A first time visitor. I went and had a look at her blog today. A new find for me!

Another new find and a new visitor to the circus is Dallas Meow.  I’ve enjoyed scrolling through her blog this afternoon too.

Magnetoboldtoo is a great Aussie blog and new read. She is having a terrible time of it at the moment - she got hit by a car and her mum didn’t care! I think she needs a treat too.

One more to a  friend but a new blogger; Tracey at Why Bother.  Hope you get some more readers!

There you go.  Spread it round, won’t you?

 

A friend of ours gave us the toddler property laws when Imogen and Madeline turned one. After a very full on morning with Ivy and Noah, I was reminded of how true they were.

1. If I like it, it’s mine.
2. If it’s in my hand, it’s mine.
3. If I can take it from you, it’s mine.
4. If I had it a little while ago, it’s mine.
5. If it’s mine, it must not ever appear to be yours in any way.
6. If I’m doing or building something, all of the pieces are mine.
7. If it looks just like mine, it’s mine.
8. If I saw it first, it’s mine.
9. If you’re playing with something and you put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
10.If it’s broken, it’s yours.