Once Again into the Breach...

I have been absent for a while. You could be forgiven for thinking that I must have been kidnapped by poachers who were trying to locate the whereabouts of my secret unicorn sanctuary so they could harvest unicorn horns to sell as hats for evil little garden gnomes. But you would be wrong.

I have been busy. (Yes, yes I know that's exactly what a secret unicorn savior would say, but it's still true.)

So, here's what's been going on:

#1: We brought a house.

The whole process - from finding out that our rental was going to be sold, to locating a place we wanted to buy and moving in, took about 6 weeks.

This was actually quite a fun process for me, (even through I wanted to build because I really don't like second hand stuff that other people have put their smells and general grubbiness on. Issues much? Maybe....)

So anyway, we saw several houses which were all decidedly average, and I gained great appreciation for real estate agents and their ability to make everything sound exciting. ("You'd just have to knock out those 6 walls and put in another bedroom and a bathroom, get a dishwasher installed, fix that hole in the floor and paint over the graffiti on the walls, then it would be perfect!" / "Who doesn't want four bidets in their house!?!" ) It was awesome.

Eventually we found our house. Like we literally walked through the front door, and knew it was our house. We put an offer in that day, and four weeks later we were living there.

FYI apparently when people sell their houses, they don't bother to clean them. I mean, they'd put in some token effort, but really.... is that my burnt up crumb mess in the oven? Is that my soap scum in the shower? Are those my 8 million sun faded stickers on the window? Well, yes actually, legally they all belong to me now. Splendid.

Also, it seems to be considered acceptable to just leave all your old garden accessories behind when you sell a house. I hate garden accessories. Especially gnomes. We're still finding ornaments and little "welcome" plaques stashed everywhere. I'm going to start a burning pile.

#2: Connah started school.

I know right!?! How is that even possible?!? He is a tiny, tiny child! Except that he's not. He's actually quite giant now.

I transitioned him for three days, which basically consisted of me sitting on a moppet sized chair for 6 hours a day watching him, and avoiding the disapproving glares of various faculty members.

I was politely informed that it was customary for parents to only stay for an hour or two when introducing their child to the school.

I was told that if a parent stayed for extended periods of time that it would only make it harder for the child to adjust.

I was asked if I was a teacher's aid / if my child had special needs / if I had a job. Because obviously only jobless wanna-be teachers with special-needs children hang out at school for three days.

I wanted to shake them. Because they so didn't get it. I don't care what has worked for the majority of children in the past, I don't care if I am not doing things in a way that they are familiar with, and I definitely don't care if it makes them uncomfortable to feel like I'm scrutinizing them for three days. 'Cause I kinda am.

I had made an agreement with Connah: I would stay with him for three days - in the background, not interacting with him, but just being there so he could feel secure while he acclimated to his new environment. I believe in what I am doing - short of hog-tying me and dragging me off to be cannibalized, they were not getting rid of me.

Since then he has been doing awesome. The kid just soaks up knowledge, it's incredible to watch.

#3: The Attack started childcare.

I spent three days helping him to adjust, and he took to his first week like a rock star.

Since that first week, he's gone backwards a bit, and now gets upset when I leave him there in the morning. This is horrible for me, because Ash is usually happy. Like, crazy happy. He is emotional - he cries easily when he's angry, frustrated, hurt or scared (mosquitoes are his latest fear, one just has to fly in his general direction and he's screaming like it's a 12 foot tall spidergater. With rabies.) but he doesn't often get sad. When the Attack is upset because he's sad, it's like something has turned his spark off, and you just want to kick whatever did it in the face, because the spark should never be turned off. And then I remember that it's all part of the learning and blah blah blah and I stop kicking inanimate objects in the non-existent face. But I still want to.

He bounces back from these episodes like you wouldn't believe. One minute you'd think the world had come tumbling down on his tiny little shoulders, and the next he'll be two inches away from your face dancing while trying to pull the funniest face in all the land. He is pretty awesome.

He is quite social at daycare, and interacts well with the other children. This week they have been collecting shells. He comes home with pockets full of shells which he says that he and his friends dig for in the sandpit. He gives these shells to me with the instruction that I must keep them. Forever.

So I have been busy. Not so much physically busy, although it did take me an hour and a half to pack Connahs lunchbox the first time. I now have it down to fifteen minutes - I feel like that's quite an achievement. Also, my six minute drive to work has been upgraded to an hour because of the various drop-offs. No, my busyness is mainly mental, because inside my head it sounds like this:

*I hope Ash isn't feeling sick at kindy... he did say his ear hurt this morning.*

*Connah forgot his bookbag! No, he didn't, I put in in the front pocket. Yes he did! He took it out to read his story! No, no, I definitely remember him putting it back in when he put his sweater on.*

*Did we remember to switch the power company over to our new accounts?*

*How am I going to stop the dog from smashing his face against the aviary?*

*It's lunch time at school... I wonder if Connah has any friends to play with yet....*

*It's lunch time at kindy..... I wonder if Ashden is going to eat, or just starve because he doesn't like what they give him...*

*What the hell am I supposed to do with 16 garden gnomes?!*

*What if Connah is being bullied? I will fricken kill those bullies! No, then he might get bullied for his mother coming to save him... Maybe I can secretly kill them.... make it look like an accident or something..... *

*What if Ashden's hurt ear is actually some sort of exotic brain liquefying illness that's only symptom is ear pain until it's too late?!*

*What if our new house is haunted by evil, evil spirits who creep into our rooms at night and whisper evil, evil things directly into our minds so that we all turn into SERIAL KILLERS!?!?!*

You get the point. There is no room for pondering new blog posts when your brain is all full up of crazy. Fortunately, most of the crazy has gone now, and I'm just left with my regular amount, which I maintain is a perfectly acceptable amount to have.

So I will leave you there, with visions of sugar plums dancing in your head. Or more likely, with the thought that your own house might be haunted, and you too may become a serial killer.

Your welcome.

xox

Jingle Bells...

Did you believe in Santa?

I mean believe right down to your toes, to the point where you immediately dismiss that 8 year old who just told you Santa wasn't real as being high on crack, because any idiot knows that he is real.

Do you remember that feeling? That almost tangible feel of magic, the unquestioning faith in something unseen and highly improbable?

Everyone's Santa was different. One friend believed that Santa delivered gifts to the whole world in one night.

Another insisted that Santa only delivered gifts to one country, and his elves took care of the rest of the world.

Some were told Santa could only come when no one was looking, and others had Santa show up on Christmas day to hand out gifts himself.

Some Santas had their elves make all the gifts, other Santas went shopping.

Our Santa visited every house in the world in one night. He traveled via flying reindeer, and he entered our house through a window that we left open for him (we didn't have a chimney). He crept into our rooms and left a gift on the end of our beds for us to discover when we woke. He always had a bite of cookie and sip of beer before he left, and in the morning we would gleefully discover the half eaten remains of the carrots we left out for the reindeer.

Parents write the story of Santa. We weave it from our own experiences, adding in extra pieces that we find along the way, until we have created an intricate tale that explodes joy and excitement directly into the hearts and minds of little children everywhere.

Those of you familiar with my parenting style may point out that Santa is not exactly compatible with the whole "truth" thing I've got going on with the boys, I agree and seriously considered not including him as part of our Christmas traditions in order to keep the complete honesty intact.

But I remember the magic of my childhood Christmases - the wonder, the excitement, and I think that was in large part due to the Santa my parents created for me. I want my boys to have that, so in this case, magic trumps honesty.

There are so few years of Santa. By the time a child is able to really understand the concept, you've got maybe four or five chances to create that magic before they stop believing.

So we make reindeer food, and we receive personalized e-mails from Santa, and we ponder the possibility of catching a glimpse of a flying sleigh on Christmas eve.

And I watch them glow.

Magic. Totally worth it.

xox

Very Importaint Things My Three Year Old Has Taught Me Recently...

#1: It is entirely possible to exist on a diet that consist solely of toast and candy:

(actually, I already knew that one... did it myself for years.)

#2: You can make almost any animal into a loyal companion simply by lugging it around relentlessly:

Endurance is the key here people. You can not give up when the creature struggles, kicks, scratches, bites or pecks at your eyes. Just push through it and eventually you'll have a life long friend.

#3: Remember everything that has ever happened to you. Ever:

This is a vital skill for when you need to find your stuff:

The Attack: "Where's my truck?"

Me: "Ash, you have a billion trucks, which one are you looking for?"

The Attack: "The white one with the red roof."

Me: "Off the top of my head I can think of 6 white trucks with red roofs, can you tell me anything else about it?"

The Attack: "It's a big one, and I can fit lots of my little cars in it 'cause it's got gaps for them, and it drives really good down hills, and it's still got some dirt stuck on the tyres from when I drove it in the dirt patch. Oh, and I jammed Cinnamon's head in it one time and she died."

Me: "Oh, that truck. Yeah, ummm, I banished that one to the top of your closet."

#4: Scaring people is funny:

This can be accomplished simply by jumping out from behind a door while growling like a rabid monkey, or by strategically placing a giant inflatable Tyrannosaurus-Rex just inside a doorway so people pack themselves when they come around the corner. Either way: Funny.

#5: Be very specific when asking for what you want:

Use as many words as necessary. If you want a small grey possum with white on the ends of its ears and a black nose that has a basket with a green bow on it so you can carry it around and it can sleep in there, ask for that. It doesn't necessarily mean you're going to get it, but if you're not specific enough, you'll end up with a stuffed possum teddy in a box and you will throw a tantrum. Seriously, you will.

#6: Jump, spin and balance on random objects just for fun:

Even when you're supposed to be sleeping. Especially when you're supposed to be sleeping.

#7: Pick flowers to give to those you love:

This makes people happy.

#8: Underwear is overrated:

Declare your underwear wet or uncomfortable at 7am, ceremoniously discard it, and gleefully go commando for the rest of the day.

#9: Playing on other peoples competitiveness can get you what you want without upsetting anyone.

The Attack: *after looking longingly at Connah's cookie* "Can I play on the computer when I'm finished?"

Connah: *jumping up so fast he chokes a little bit* "I'm finished first! Can I play now?!"

The Attack: *Slyly shifting over to Connah's place* "Connah doesn't want his cookie, can I have it?"

#10: Get excited:

About pretty much everything. Going to the pet store? Found a ladybug? Time to take a bath? Celebrate by breaking into an impromptu dance. Squealing is optional.

#11: Look around:

Seriously, there is stuff everywhere that is worth seeing. Have you ever noticed how children have no concept of hurrying? It's because they are (usually) living completely in the moment. What possible reason is there to hurry when the most important thing in the world is what's happening right now? So stop and watch the sun rise. Literally smell the flowers. Take notice of what's around you and start actually living the life you have right now instead of constantly looking forward and just being dragged along for the ride.

There you go, the keys to happiness according to my three year old. Go forth and incorporate them into your life.

At the very least you'll up your awesome level by several degrees.

xox

In Sickness and in Health... But mainly Sickness...

Doctors suck.

I don't say this in an off the cuff, blase kind of way, no, I say it vehemently. And loudly. Possibly coinciding with some sort of kicking tantrum.

I didn't really think a lot about doctors before I had children. I probably averaged going about once a year, so I had no need to think about them. I went, they gave me goods and / or services to attempt to make me feel better, I left. It was splendid.

Fast forward a few years, and I'm sitting in a doctors waiting room at least once a month.

First on my sucky list, is the Health-lines that you can call.

What is their purpose? To "assess your health needs, and give information and advice to help you decide on the best level of care".

This is usually information that you already know 'cause you've been googling symptoms for the last half hour. They always end the call by saying "If you are concerned at all, go and see your doctor." This completely negates any reassurance that they have given you, because it's obvious that they are just insuring that it's not gonna come back on them if they say you're child is fine and then everything turns to crap AND OF COURSE I'M CONCERNED OTHERWISE I WOULDN'T BE ON THE DAMN PHONE!!!!

So I make the call to the doctor.

Me: "I'd like to make an appointment with my child's doctor."

Receptionist: "I'm sorry, that doctor has no appointments available for the next 4 days, would you like to make an appointment for Thursday?"

Me: "Well, no. My child is sick now."

Receptionist: "You really need to book at least two days before your desired appointment date."

Me: "I didn't know two days ago that my child would need to see a doctor."

Receptionist: "Well, that's unfortunate. We do have an on-call doctor if you'd like to come in and wait for the foreseeable future until he's available."

Me: "That sounds spectacular. We're on our way."

Off to the doctors we go.

GP's are an important part of our society running smoothly. They preform the valuable task of evaluating the usually benign complaints of the germ-ridden, mucus-hacking masses that flock through their doors every day. They are educated, fairly intelligent, busy people, but some of them seriously need to get some fricken people skills.

I understand that they are trying to keep the appointments to a 15 minute maximum.

I understand that they have probably already seen this in 60 other children recently.

I understand that they may be answering question that have been previously asked.

I understand these things, I just don't care about them.

These are my children. I have been granted the privilege of raising them, which includes protecting them from harm until they are able to do so themselves, and since I am not formally trained in medicine, when they are sick that requires a qualified assessment.

However, handing over that responsibility - even momentarily - to a condescending doctor who rolls his eyes at my various enquiries is terrifying.

I have been told by one doctor, when I contradicted his advice, that perhaps I should "stop consulting Mr Internet" and leave it to the professionals.

Another refused to answer any of my questions, instead responding with various ways of saying "you're paranoid":

Me: "What symptoms should I be looking out for?"

Doctor: "There's no need to worry about that at the moment."

Me: "Well, you said if he gets worse, I should take him to the hospital, so what does "worse" actually entail?"

Doctor: "Don't jump to conclusions, I'm sure everything will be fine."

Me: "I'm not jumping anywhere, I'd just like to know what to look out for."

Doctor: "There's no need to panic, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

Me: "I'M NOT PANICKING (well, maybe a little bit now...) I JUST WANT YOU TO PROVIDE THE INFORMATION THAT YOU ARE APPARENTLY QUALIFIED TO PROVIDE!!! ARE YOU A PRETEND DOCTOR? DO YOU NOT KNOW THE ANSWERS? OR ARE YOU JUST BEING DELIBERATELY VAGUE TO ANTAGONIZE ME!!! AAHAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

And then I kicked him in the face. Well, no not really, there were children present after all.

I have learned something throughout all my enforced thinking about doctors. They are human. They have bad days. They get distracted. They make mistakes. And I'm painfully aware that when one of my boys has a medical problem, a doctor is more capable at diagnosing it than I am, but if they can't / wont even answer my questions, I'm left with very little confidence in their abilities - are they having an "off" day? Are they going to miss the real problem because our appointment has run into their coffee brake? Have they recently broken up with their significant other and have Celine Dions 'My heart will go on' stuck on repeat in their head?

I don't know. I am trusting them with the health of my children, and I have no idea if they are even concentrating. And that sucks.

I know that there are good doctors out there, in fact, the one my boys are actually registered with is awesome. We just never get to see him because he's always booked for days.

So, I think the only option is to add an extra class to doctor-school about how to get some people skills. It could be entitled: "How to compassionately interact with a terrified mother who thinks her child may expire at any moment, without acting like an ass."

If I was a doctor, I'd totally take that class.

xox

(Picture courtesy of Connah while we were waiting for eleventy billion hours to be seen by a doctor. Yes, those are guns in his hands, apparently he was pissed off too.)

Party Time...

The Attack is turning 3. We didn't even attempt to have a party for him last year, as he was bang smack in the middle of what could politely be described as a "difficult phase". (Not particularly difficult for me, just for every other living creature on the face of the planet.) Jamming him in a room with 40 people all trying to talk and grin at him would have probably made his head explode.

With that being said, I still felt as though I had to make up for not throwing him a party last year, so decided to do a themed one this time.

This decision has become the bane of my existence for the past month.

Planning parties take up time. (I know, who would have thought?) I don't really have a lot of spare time, and when I get some, I like to use it for very important things, like thinking up extravagant unicorn scenarios to use in my next facebook post. But I was committed - birthdays are important, and celebrating the date of birth of one of the most important people in my world had to take precedence over unicorns.

First, the theme itself. What is Ash into? What does he like? What does he enjoy doing? Ummm, cars, cars, and playing with cars.

OK, "cars" is the theme. Do you know how hard it is to get anything car related without Lightning McQueens ridiculous grinning face all over it? It turns out: Very.

The Attack also very much likes small creatures, especially birds, so I got some chicken and quail eggs (thank-you trade me) and set them in the incubator so that they were due to hatch the day of the party. (Yeah, didn't really think that one through did I? Hindsight is a great thing...)

Invitations, party tableware, 200 balloons, flags, signs, food, a cake (thank-you mum!) party boxes, and a marquee were organized, and we were mostly good to go. But what to do with 16 children for two hours? I doubt they are going to want to stare at the 3 x 2 meter road play mat that I painstaking drew and then painted to hang on the wall. Even if it did take me three days to do.

So, things for kids to do revolving around cars? Fishing for cars? No. Pin the tail on the car? No. Musical cars? No.

Coin cars, peddle cars and an electric jeep (thank-you dad!). We got 50 billion tyres (thank-you Craig!) and built a mini race track in the back yard. FYI - tyres are dirty. And lugging around 50 billion of them gets old really fast. But everything was set up with about 6 minutes to spare before the children started to arrive.

My months worth of planning and organizing basically boiled down to a two hour play-date.

A chick and a quail hatched during the party, which was all adorable and fascinating until the chick tried to kill the quail, so an emergency chickectomy had to be preformed. We pulled him out and stuck him in the brooding box, only to discover that the heat lamp wasn't working properly, so I had to make a lightning trip to pick up another lamp before the chick froze to death. Moral of the story: Don't time your hatch for a day when you are hosting a birthday party. This can cause death.

It rained. Now, normally I'm all for rain. It should rain every day - pouring rain, thunder and lightning, hail, bring it on. Just not on the day that I have 40 people over to play in the back-yard.

Fortunately, kids don't care if they get rained on, so while all the adults stayed huddled in the garage, the kids played outside and got absolutely drenched. I'm expecting thank-you notes any day from all the parents who's children got hypothermia.

It has been pretty full-on, and I've had a few people comment on how Ash probably won't remember it, so I should wait until he's older to do stuff like this. That bugs me, so I need to explain.

Ash may remember, or he may not. That's kinda irrelevant. I am trying to create magical childhoods for my boys, and that means cramming as much fun and joy and possibility into their teny little selves as I can. And that is sometimes hard. And exhausting. And it is every day since the day they were born.

If they remember, great, if they don't then that's great too, because I know that it's all still there helping to make them into the awesome people that they will become.

Ash had a fun, exciting day, and that was the whole point.

Connah, however, also had a fun, exciting day, so much so that he has requested a dinosaur themed party for his birthday in a months time.

So it begins again. If anyone can help out with a giant dinosaur nest, or have any spare prehistoric bones lying around looking for a home, let me know.

xox

The Cotton Wool Club...

So, it's rant time again. Hold on tight, cause this might get offensive. In fact, if you're the type of person to get easily offended by other peoples opinions, you might just want to move along right about now........ We good? OK, let's go:

*This rant was sponsored by all the people who have implied that I am paranoid and / or that I wrap my children in cotton wool - without you, this never would have been possible.*


"My curfew was the street lights, I played outside with friends all day long, not online. If I didn't eat what my mum made me, then I didn't eat. Hand sanitizer didn't exist, but you could get your mouth washed out with soap. I rode a bike with no helmet, and the neighbors pool had no fence around it. And I survived. Re-post if you appreciate the way you were raised."

I have seen this quote in various forms splattered all over the internet in the last month, and every time I read it, it creates this visceral response:

Seriously? SERIOUSLY!? You survived? Well how fantastic for you. Want to know a secret?

Thousands didn't.

Children have very little fear. It is our job to protect them. It was not great parenting that allowed the authors of those posts to grow old enough to appreciate the way they were raised, it was luck.

Pools are now fenced because children died. Bike helmets are worn because children died. Supervision is required because children were abducted. These risks are admittedly quite small, and if you wish to take them with your children, then that is your choice, but it is callous to belittle or patronize those who are not willing to take those chances.

Car seats for babies and children were not mandatory until the mid '80's. Most people my age were either on an adults lap as babies, or roaming around the car as toddlers. We know how dangerous that is now. We learned, and we adapted. These changes have saved lives. How is that a bad thing?

Our society seems to believe that "wrapping children in cotton wool" is one of the worst thing a parent can do - kids need to be resilient, they need to "harden up" and apparently the only way to achieve that by exposing them to unsafe and / or emotionally upsetting situations.
Allowing children to be physically unsafe is only ever worth it if nothing happens to the child. Ask a parent who has lost a child in a car accident if they plan on using safety restraints with any future children, and I doubt the answer will be no.
Continuing to force a child into situations where they are clearly uncomfortable or afraid does "harden them up", but it does so by brutalizing their sense of self to the point where they put up a wall so they don't have to feel. This eventually comes out as insecurity, jealousy, aggression and/or bullying because they have never been taught how to deal with these feelings - their only tool is defensive behavior. But don't worry, they are "hard." Awesome.

The world is a spectacular, wondrous place. It is also a dangerous place. The dangers shouldn't be the main focus, but refusing to admit that they could pose a threat to us makes them infinitely more dangerous. The more aware we are, the better we are able to protect.

One in three girls, and one in five boys, are sexually abused before they turn 18 - and this is only based on the estimated 35% of cases that are reported. If your daughter has three friends, the chances are, one of them has been abused, and who are the prime candidates for that abuse?: The father / stepfather / mothers current boyfriend, the older brother, the uncle, the neighbor. Now, keep in mind that these people do not have "Pedophile" stamped into their foreheads, so meeting them will not help - Hell, the child's mother lives with them and is usually clueless.

Do you send your daughter to her friends house for a sleepover?

I can not control everything, I know that, but if somebody dares utter the phrase: "don't worry, everything will be fine," I will throw an award-winning tantrum. It is patronizing. It completely dismisses my rational fears. It is not true. So do not tell me that everything will be O.K. Unless you are psychic

So, for all the people out there who do not consider "survival" to be the only goal of parenting, for all the people who show respect and compassion towards their children and are ridiculed for it. For wanting their children to know that love should not be dependent on performance, behavior or whimsy. Who think the phrases "it was good enough for me" and "it didn't do me any harm", are laughable, because they want so so much more for their children. And for those who are aware that sometimes, even bringing the world to it's knees to protect a child is not enough, but never use that as an excuse to stop trying. To you I say thank you. You are walking a path that is mostly unbeaten and strewn with obstacles, but you are raising magic - the children that will make this world a better place simply by existing.

And that is something to be applauded.

xox

Lest we Forget...

Connah: "Once we have grown up, we can't go back to being little again aye?"

Me: "No. Do you think you'll want to?"

Connah: "I think I'll still want to be littler sometimes."

Me: "How big do you think you'll want to go back to being?"

Connah: "Exactly how big I am now."

And that, right there, is how I know I'm doing OK.

It's easy to get caught up in the worry and stress of all the dangers out to get our children - Are they watching too much T.V? Are they eating the right kind of food? Do they play independently and / or socially enough? Are their friends a good influence? Are they going to the right school? Should they be going to school at all?! What if their teacher is on DRUGS?!? Or is a PEDOPHILE!?! What if there is a NATURAL DISASTER?! HOLY CRAP THEY ARE NEVER LEAVING THE HOUSE AGAIN!!!!!!

I don't often doubt myself, however I do have a tendency to obsess over details.

But when Connah said that, it blew right through all the stress and exposed the simple truth:

My child is happy. And he is self-aware enough to recognize that.

I am doing awesome.

xox