Once upon a time, there lived a mouse. She was the finest mouse in all the land, with long golden fur, and shiny red eyes, which surprisingly did not make her look creepy at all.

Her name was Cinnamon.

Cinnamon was best friends with the young prince, who loved her dearly and carried her about with him for over half of his life. They played royal games such as "Spider mouse" and "Flying in a rocket ship". The prince told Cinnamon stories of his travels around the kingdom. and they went on many adventures to far off lands like The Bathroom, and The Couch.

All was well, and the days swept by in a blissful haze of laughter and happiness.

Until one day the young prince was teaching Cinnamon how to drive his truck, and Cinnamon did not want to. She tried to get out of the truck, but the young prince wanted her to stay in, and shut the trucks door.

On her neck.

Cinnamon did not survive this ordeal, and the young prince learned a harsh lesson: When you squish a small mammals head, it dies.

The End.


I hate that this happened.
I hate that this is part of his history now.
I hate that this is my fault.

He did not intend to hurt her, of that I am sure. He has been carting around tiny fragile animals since before he could walk, and the only damage he's done is stand (repeatedly) on a cats tail, (but in his defense, that cat is evil, and I think it deliberately puts it's tail under peoples feet so it can then feel justified in scratching the crap out of them,) and occasionally asking if he can hold an animal "like a pants" (which he has never actually done.)
I had grown accustomed to trusting that he wouldn't harm them. Which sounds a bit ridiculous really... He is only two, and he really wanted Cinnamon to drive that damn truck. The outcome was fairly predictable in hindsight.

I took this a lot harder than The Attack. Cinnamon was his constant companion, but if we had obtained another mouse for him, he could have switched his allegiance quite easily - he doesn't yet possess the cognitive ability to really understand pets as individual entities, they are still like toys to him, and therefore interchangeable. But he doesn't have a new mouse, and so he misses his old friend. He still asks me everyday "Where's Cinnamon gone?"

And I have to explain. Again.

I think this is the only thing I can do to help him understand - let him feel her absence.

The image of my two year old son running up to me with wide eyes and the limp body of his pet mouse in his hands, is one that is now seared into my memory. Not because it was so horrific (though it did kind of feel that way at the time... your child holding the corpse of his pet is hardly pleasant,) but because I recognized immediately what had happened, and that this was a lesson that he had to learn - I shouldn't interfere to make it easier for him. And that is hard.

So, there is no happily ever after for this tale, just life, and learning, and growing from it.

Goodbye Cinnamon, you really were a good mouse.


xox

Get a Real Job...

Join me, would you, for a mild rant? It'll be fun... promise.

Somebody said something to me the other day that raised my hackles and almost brought about a Connah-sized hissy fit.
It was said in sympathy, because I am currently sick and tired and I look sick and tired, (seriously, I'm a bit of a train wreck) and this person was obviously trying to make me feel better - she had no idea how offensive her words were to me.

So what was this thoughtless, inexcusable statement that made me want to choke her a little?:

"Oh well, at least you don't have to work in the morning."

I know, right?!

O.k, let me explain myself so I don't come of like a total shrew.

Since having children, I have stayed at home with them full time, I have worked full time, and am currently working part time. I do actually have to work in the morning, but that's not the point.

The point is, I hear this statement all the time, most often in reference to fathers who really shouldn't be woken to attend to the baby during the night, as they have to get up for work in the morning.
So, what then? If you do not get sufficient sleep, you are not able to preform your duties at work?
But, if you are staying at home with children, it's OK to do a sub-standard job due to over-tiredness because...

You are not getting paid?
You will not get fired?
Those in your care are unwilling, or unable to complain?

Taking care of children is physical. It is fraught with emotional and intellectual difficulties as you try to find your way through the minefield of growing little people into big people, and you do not get breaks. Ever.

It is awesome. And it is terrifying. Every day.

To have this woman - a mother herself - belittle what so many of us do on a daily basis, made me want to smack her upside the head. If parents don't even understand the value of what they are doing, no one else is going to either.

So next time some kind-hearted person decides to drop that empathy-bomb on you, you need to turn to them, smile sweetly, and say:

"If you find it easier to stay at home and parent your children when you are sick instead of going to work, then you are probably doing it wrong."

And that concludes today's rant.


xox

Like a Pants...

Pants is a hilarious word to me. Not because pants are an excessively amusing item of clothing, and not because of any sort of entertaining situation that has arisen whilst I have been wearing pants, but because of The Attacks use of the word.

Whether it has come from misunderstanding something he has seen or heard, or whether he just feels that this is the correct way to hold your pants, I don't know.

It started with a water balloon, which as he picked up, slipped halfway out of his hand. He stared at it for a while before the epiphany hit him and he held it up in front of him and announce triumphantly: "I IS HOLDING IT LIKE A PANTS!" Whereupon he starting plucking each balloon out of the bucket and telling it "You is like a pants" "Pantsy Pants Pants."

And if you've never seen a two year old dancing around half naked with water balloons, singing about pants, you're really missing out. Here, I'll give you a definition so that you can properly visualize it:

Definition: "Like a pants" To hold something 'like a pants' is to grasp it firmly at it's very top most region using ones whole fist to grip, and then it must be held up and out from the body so that it dangles downwards. The item may or may not be waggled. See also: "Like a pantsy"

There. Isn't your life more complete now? You're welcome.

Almost anything can be held 'like a pants', toys, curtains, plastic ware, rugs, giant inflatable furniture ect. Food seems to be a favorite choice for pants holding, as apparently it's way more fun if stuff flings off of it while it's waggling.

So next time you are feeling stressed, grumpy, or just need some amusement in your day, think of a small boy holding out a barely hatched pigeon, asking in a hopeful voice: "Hold him like a pants?" and you will smile.

Pants.

It's a funny word.



xox

A Message for Christchurch...

You have been dealt a huge blow today. A blow that is resonating throughout the country invoking shock and disbelief wherever it touches.

I have no inspiring words of comfort for what you have lost. There is very little comfort to be had after having your sense of security torn asunder, so instead, I will write what I have seen.

In the last eight hours, I have seen images of brutal death and destruction. I have seen buildings leveled, and streets carved into pieces. Buses buried beneath rubble, and billowing smoke and dust rising to the sky.



And I have seen people.



Devastated people. Blood soaked people. Broken people. People wandering aimlessly, in disbelief over what they have lost. People pulling themselves from crushed cars, and demolished buildings.

And those same people returning to the buildings they have just escaped from, to assist others still trapped. People wrapping shell-shocked strangers in blankets to keep them warm. People holding hands while they wait to hear word of their missing loved ones. People offering what little they have left, to those who have lost everything.



There is strength here. And vast amounts of courage.



Tonight will be a long night for many of you. The following days filled with confusion and uncertainty. But also with hope, and bravery, compassion and philanthropy.



And though it seems incredibly inadequate, we are all sending our thoughts and our love to you during this time.





xox