The "Where do babies come from?" conversation

Just after I had Master 1, Master 4 was sitting on my knee just chatting and completely out of the blue he says "How did Master 1 get into your tummy?"

Oh S**t.

I wasn't prepared.

He caught me off guard.

"Ummm, well, ummm...he just grew there"

"But how did he get IN there" he says

A million things run through my head.  It needs to be age appropriate, don't traumatise him, don't say something lame like the stork bought him or we found him in the cabbage patch or ask your Daddy.  Ok, deep breath, THINK OF SOMETHING GOOD TO SAY

"Wellllll....he grew from a little egg" 

Pause.  

I am waiting for his short attention span to take over and for him to start talking in detail about what shape his poo was this morning or something... please....anything. I'm not ready for this yet.

I can see his little brain ticking over and he is looking at me expectantly.  I contemplate distracting him but I know he won't let it go so here it goes...

"Mummy has lots of little eggs inside her and he grew from one of those eggs into a baby"

Please let that be enough

He is thinking thinking thinking

"Can I eat those eggs?"

No my son, you cannot.

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He was quite happy with this response and for quite a while proceeded to ask every female he met whether she had "eggs inside her" followed by "but you can't eat them, you know"

Image courtesy of www.stockfreeimages.com

Technology has replaced "I spy"

BC (before children), I would look at parents in restaurants whose children were playing hand held games and say to Mr Jones indignantly "Why don't they have a conversation with their children, instead of playing video games at the dinner table? When we have kids, we won't be doing that".

I was such an extraordinary parent before I had kids.

Recently we took a long weekend and went to New York City on the train.  It is a four hour journey. It's a nice ride because you can look out the window and see lots of interesting things as well as being able to get up and move around.


This is what our train journey to New York looked like:

No looking out the window, no seeing interesting things and no moving around.

When I was young, we went on lots and lots of driving holidays.  We drove from Melbourne to Queensland and across the Nullarbor a few times to Perth.  We had some amazing adventures and saw some pretty cool stuff.

On these long drives, my brother and sister and I would play family car games, listen to Dad's "Australian" tapes (I can recite 'The Man From Snowy River' - its my thang), sleep, eat Fantails, read, annoy each other, listen to books on tape (remember the Disney ones that you followed along with a book and the music chimed each time you had to turn the page!), stare out the window for hours watching the scenery go by and of course play "I spy".

We had no DVD players, hand held game units, iPhones or iPads.  

This is not a "it's not like the good ole days" rant because if DVD players and iPads were available back in the "olden days", my siblings and I would have been all over that.

Now, before handing over the electronic devices, we did try to engage Master 4 in a game of "I spy".  He hasn't quite grasped the idea that you have to be able to "see it" in order for us to guess.  So once we have exhausted all the obvious things beginning with "T" (train, tractor, tracks, trees), we are also guessing every other word that he has in his vocabulary beginning with "T" (T-Rex, tiger, trampoline, trumpet etc).  Consequently, he thinks we are pretty crap at it.

In my book, any thing that I can use to my advantage to make my life as a parent just that bit more bearable on a long journey is fine by me.

Did I think that I would hand over the technology so easily?

No.

But I'm over being hoighty toighty and judgemental about it.  

To technology I say...


Bring it.

Public toilets and kids: a germ recipe for disaster

I am not over the top about germs or anything but public toilets are just GROCE.  Admittedly, some are worse than others.

Now that I have two little kids, using a public toilet has a completely new set of obstacles for all of us to overcome.

Master 4 has been toilet trained for some time but he is still not germ trained.  Master 1 thinks germs are delicious.

This is usually how it goes.

"Come on boys, lets go to the toilet before we leave"

I have each of my boys by the hand.  Ok, choose a cubicle.  I usually go to the one nearest to the entrance because I was once told that this is the cleanest.  The theory being that everyone else thinks that the first one gets used the most and go to the second or third cubicle.  Now that I write this, that seems like a load of crap and it makes no difference whatsoever, but it makes me feel better.

I usher both of them in.

Stepping in front of them so they don't both rush to touch the toilet seat, I lift up the toilet seat with my pinky finger so Master 4 can go.

"Off you go, bub", I say to him.  "Remember lean forward, watch what you are doing, don't rest your willy on the toilet bowl and don't touch ANYTHING". 

Poor kid - what a ridiculous set of instructions.

Meanwhile, I have Master 1 pretty much pinned against the cubicle door so that he can't touch anything.

After Master 4 is finished and pretty much before I can stop him, he grabs the toilet seat, not with his fingertip (like I have asked him to do a million times) but with both hands wrapped around the seat and slams it down. 

I tell them both to stand against the cubicle door and "Don't touch ANYTHING".

It gets infinitely worse when I need to go as well.  I start to do my business without touching any part of the toilet. But whilst I am hovering the following is happening:

Master 4 finds a bit of cream cheese on his hand left over from lunch and begins to lick his hand.  Master 1 has two hands on the toilet floor and is trying to look under the door. 

"Don't lick your hands", "Stand up please", I say.

Master 1 wanders past me to get a good look "back there" to see what's happening.  

Master 4 is playing with the lock.  "Don't..." too late, the door starts to swing open and I grab it from underneath with my foot, just in time, before I have more witnesses than one generally needs when peeing.

"Mumma, why do you have to sit down to do wee's?" Master 4 asks.  Still with one foot under the door, I cringe, do we have to do the differences between boys and girls talk right now?

I finish and stand up, trying to sort myself out.

Like a lightening bolt, Master 1 has squeezed past me to the sanitary napkin bin.  "Bang bang bang", he says grinning, opening and closing the lid.  

"No touching", I hiss, between clenched teeth.

Please get me out of here.

It amazes me that in the space of a couple of minutes, they have touched, wiped, stuck their fingers in or licked pretty much every part of that cesspool that they could.

Eeewwww....  I think I need to carry those chemical protection suits for each of them.  Bit far maybe?

I proceed to soap, wash and dry their hands.  Then sanitiser spray (just for good measure).

I think I might be a germaphobe after all?

Ready to go? Not with a toddler in tow!

Its date night! Yippee!

Dinner is booked. We have our babysitter coming. Can't wait.

Right, now to get ready.

The trick is to allow the exact right amount of time.  

Too little time and I am running around the place in my undies just as there is a knock at the door.  Too much time and I have my dress tucked into my undies so that it won't get snot/yoghurt/other sticky mess on it that little boys, with fingers pointed in the air, present to me "Mumma, yucky".  Either way, there is too much undies.

I am on schedule tonight.  I start the process at 4.30pm.  Have a shower and wash my hair.  Kids are coming in throwing books, cars, lego in the shower and Master 1 is incessantly playing with the toilet brush but hey, this is all normal.

Get the kids their dinner early so if they fuss and carry on, I have enough time not to get cranky about it. 

Ok, dinner went well.  Its now 5.30pm, babysitter is coming at 6.00pm. I am feeling smug at this point.  Got this getting ready thing all wrapped up.

Now I have 30mins to dry my hair and put my makeup on.  Normally this takes me about 15mins so I have double the time to make everything look a bit more special.  All good.

I slink off into the bathroom whilst the boys are playing on the floor.   

Then it all goes pear shaped.

I hear them starting to fight over a toy, I ignore it and start drying my hair. Over the hairdryer I can hear the fighting escalating and resist the temptation to go and referee.  "They are just going to have to work it out themselves" I say to myself.

Then I hear the thud thud thud of angry little feet. Uh oh. 

In they both tumble "Mumma, he took this...", "Mumma, he's not playing nicely..." "Mumma, he won't share...".  Here we go.

A tear streaked face comes between me and the bathroom cabinet "Mumma, up, up, up peeease".  I look down at him and brush in one hand, hairdryer in the other, give him a cuddle.  Oops forgot to turn the hairdryer off and my hair goes flying into the hairdryer, ripping about ten strands out of my head. "Owwwww, shhhiii....vers", I say.

I start to put my makeup on.  Master 1 goes into the bathroom cabinet drawers, gets out my stick of deodarant, pulls the top off and starts licking it. "Nooooooo, yucky" I shout.  

I put one knee against the drawers.

Master 4 starts with questions "How many stories is she going to read me?", "Is she going to give us a bath?" "I am going to tell her how to put the tap on, like this Mumma, look, MUUMMMMMAAA LOOOOOKKKKK" I ask Master 4 to go and choose the books for the sitter to read.

I can do this, I can do this, I'm almost there - I am chanting to myself.

Apparently the cuddle wasn't enough.  A little face comes between me and the bathroom cabinet again. "Mumma, up".  "Sorry bubba, can't pick you up right now, how about you go and find some books too".  "Mumma, up".  He is starting to push me away from the cabinet and the mirror.

By this point, I have one knee against the cabinet drawers and am almost bent in half, straining to see myself in the mirror to get my damn mascara on.  "MUMMMA, MUMMA, MUMMA UUUPPPPP, UUUPPPP, PEEASE, PEEASE, PEEASE".

This is a nightmare.

Giving up, Master 1 walks out of the room.  I feel bad.  Time check, its 5.55pm.  Arrgghhh, I rush through the rest of my makeup, jump into my dress, just as the the sitter knocks at the door.  I manage to pull my dress out of my undies just as I open the door. Phew.

Mr Jones arrives home a few minutes later, "You ready to go?" he asks.

"Yep, all good", I lie.

As I walk out the door, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realise I have only put mascara on one eye...

I am getting a lock for the bathroom door.

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Image courtesy of www.stockfreeimages.com

Sometimes I'm just over it

To say that motherhood is a full time job is an understatement.

Today I am over it.

I have Master 1 upset because he bumped his head on the floor and Master 4 sitting in time out for causing it.  This is about the fourth incident today.  I have snot all over...well everything and I am on edge.

Right this minute, I just want to leave. Walk away from the chaos and the destruction of my house and the feeling that it is all getting on top of me.  Go for a walk, sit, do something - anything - that doesn't require a toddler or a pre-schooler.

Don't be alarmed, of course I would NEVER EVER just leave (just thought I would clarify).  But in these hard and intense moments, I imagine just walking away. "Let them sort it out", I say in my head (in between a whole lot of expletives - which I am also screaming in my head).

I need a soundproof room in my house.

So instead of a soundproof room, I am sitting on the toilet whilst they are in the bath (the toilet is right next to the bath - I am frustrated, not irresponsible!), with my laptop on my knee writing my frustration in a blog post that I may or may not publish because later I will read it and think "Geez - pull yourself together, woman".  But this helps.

Meanwhile, they are still whining and carrying on.  I have tuned out - just for a few minutes.

It's the constant...

"Mumma, can you..."
"Mumma, he did...."
"Mumma, I want..."
"But I don't want to..."
"But I caaaannnn't..."
"Mumma, I need..."

and me...

"Don't touch..."
"Don't do that..."
"Just do what I ask..."
"Please don't make a fuss..."
"If you do that again..."

I try and be a positive parent but it's days like this that I look back on the past 24 hours and find it hard to think of one positive interaction with the kids I have had all day.  Motherhood fail.

Not to mention the anaylsis that goes on in my head "How could I have handled that better?" "What would I do differently next time this happens?" "How can I help them to understand in a positive way?".

Its hard to be the teacher and guide when you're making it up half the time yourself.  We are all learning.  Motherhood and perfectionism just don't go together.

Master 4 just looked at me and said "Mum, I love you".  

Now that little face and those words are every reason in the world why I keep trying to be more patient and more positive.  He teaches me to be a better mother and a better person.

(Deep breath) Tomorrow is another day.

Do you have days like this?
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Thank goodness that day ended.  Later that night, I kissed my little sleeping angels on the head and thought how lucky I am to have been blessed with two gorgeous little boys.  I decided to publish this post for all the mum's out there that have had bad days too - I am pretty sure I am not the only one who has felt like this!

Help...my son is a squealer

And not the squealing in delight kind.  He is the high pitched, ear piercing, windows breaking, steam blowing, I'm not getting what I want kind of squealer.

I am mortified.

I don't know how this happened.  I don't squeal, his older brother didn't squeal, he is not around other squealing children - why does he do it?  BC (before children), I used to silently tut tut parents of children who were squealers "How can they let them get away with making that sound", "What a spoilt brat?" - I am ashamed I was so judgmental.  

I honestly can't seem to stop him from doing it.  He does it when he can't have his own way.  Being 16 months old, there are alot of times in the day that he can't have his own way.  He can't stick his fingers in the powerpoints, he can't pull his brothers hair, he can't press every single button in every elevator we get into, he doesn't want to get in his stroller etc.  Each time I tell him "No" he lets out a toe curling squeal.

I get so embarassed when I am out and about.  It is so loud that everyone can't help but look.  They must think I am torturing him.  All I can do is shush him or feed him...but I don't want to shove food in his face every time he does it - its not really a long term solution.  I don't want to not go out.  But after a particularly bad incident on the train the other day, I feel like I am at my wits end.

I have tried giving him the words to use, distracting him, putting him in a time out, ignoring him, getting cross, even putting my hand over his mouth - nothing seems to work.  I never give him his own way just to keep him quiet as this seems counterproductive so I am trying to work out a way of dealing with it that will help me in the long term.

I keep telling myself that it is just a phase - he will grow out of it once he has more language and can communicate better - I hope this is the case.  I think I am going to just keep ignoring it - its all I can do.

Have you had a child who is a squealer? What worked for you? 

Gee, he looks like Mr Jones

If I had a dollar for every time I heard this when Master 3 was born I would be a gizzillionaire!  I just nod and smile now saying, "Yes, I know but he has my sparkling personality".

To be honest, I was actually shocked at how little Master 3 looked like me when he was born.  He had really dark hair and a round little face with big, wonderfully squeezy cheeks.  This is pretty much opposite to me!  I actually hadn't given it a second thought that any child of my husband and I would at the very least look a little like bit of both of us.

I'm not saying its a bad thing to look like Mr Jones, far from it, Master 3 is completely gorgeous but I'm telling you, Mr Jones' DNA completely annihilated mine.  The only thing Master 3 has of mine is his eyeball colour (he has his Dad's thick eyelashes - as a side, why do so many boys have lusciously thick eyelashes - it truly is a waste!) and the thickness of his hair.  In every other respect he is a clone of his Dad!

When I was pregnant with Master 1, I really hoped that my DNA would finally stand up for itself.  It did - he looks a little more like me. Everyone sees something different with Master 1 - those who knew me as a baby think he looks like me and those that knew Mr Jones as a baby think he looks like him.  But I am claiming it!  Its funny though, the two boys still look very much like brothers.

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter at all does it?  I love that Master 3 is so like his Daddy, watching the two of them together with their cheeky grins and quirky mannerisms.

But I also love the feeling when people look at Master 1 and say "Gee, he looks like you"! FINALLY! Hahaha!

Who do your children look like?  Are they dead ringers for you? A mix? or like me, have you lucked out?! 

Vomit in a public place

My little baby boy vomited in a cafe today.

Not just a bit of baby milk spew but a whole lot of tummy bug vomit. This is groce, I know.  You don't probably want to be reading about vomit but the cafe owner had an interesting reaction...

To set the scene - it happened with completely no warning.  He was not really off his food or lethargic or particularly quiet - he seemed fine.  When it happened it went everywhere - all over him, all over me, all over the table, all over the chairs and on the floor - yuck - sorry again for the graphic detail.  I promise it will be cleaner from now on!

After it happened, the cafe owner came out with a disgusted, cross look on her face (like I can help it). I apologised profusely - I would never take my any of my children out of the quarantine of my house if they had a tummy bug.  I asked her for some paper towel.  The first thing she said " You will have to clean it up, we're not allowed to touch it".  I would NEVER expect someone else to clean up my child's vomit and was 100% prepared to clean it up.  In fact, I would not let anyone else clean it up for fear of spreading germs.  I didn't expect her to clean it up but what I did expect was 1. Some sympathy for my poor little baby boy who was sitting in his pram looking grey and 2. For her to be as helpful as possible to help me clean it up.

So there I was, with my baby wipes and a plastic nappy bag trying desparately to wipe it up.  There was no offer of gloves, mop, bucket of soapy water, plastic rubbish bag - nothing.

Finally after I asked she bought out some paper towel and a packet of antibacterial wipes.  Whilst I was on my hands and knees, she squirted disinfectant onto the floor in front of me.  I was mortified and beyond apologetic and whilst I was on my hands and knees for 20 mins covered in vomit and wanting more than anything to get my sick little man home - she and all the other staff went about their business.

I am completely appalled at the way we were treated and will never go back to that cafe again.

Am I expecting too much? I think she should have helped me more.

Have you had this happen to you in a public place?  What did people do/not do for you?