Forget Rorschach - My kid, the visionary

What do you see in this image?

Snowman? Round tummy? Two sticks for arms? Hat and all that?

Yes. Yes, that's what you would see. That's what we all see.

Now, you could go testing yourself online and whatnot to see where you're at psychologically and you'd be closer to understanding any underlying disorders of the mind.

Me? I prefer to take the Bliss Bomb test. It's far more satisfying.

Step 1. Take a small preschooler.
Step 2. Hand her the most obvious-looking shape around at Christmas time.
Step 3. Place it in front of her the right way up (and everything).
Step 4. Provide an assortment of crafting "things".
Step 5. Step back and watch the majesty unfold....


That's no snowman.




Is it a bird?







Is it a plane??









No.











No,


It's a.....

Superhero alien likeness of herself.

Of course. Pssscht. If you didn't see that, then, well...... have you had your head read lately?

Questions! Always with the questions!

Over recent months, I have had all of these levelled at me:

"Does Jake the Peg really have an extra leg, Mum?" (why yes, if the song is to be believed, he does)

"I really, reeeeeeally want a baby brother." (but babies take a long time, darlin', they take ages to grow... and anyway, they have to be ready to join a family before they get in a mummy's tummy)

"Goldilocks and the Three Bears isn't real, is it?" (why do you say that, Lol?) "Because how can the three bowls of porridge be all different? How can one be cold and one be hot and one be just right all at the same time?" (.......... err..... ask your father)


"How does a baby get in your tummy?" (sigh... the Daddy puts it there... *I cringe at the over-basic and technical inaccuracy of my reply*) "Can I watch?" (you most certainly can not. Now keep eating your lunch!)


"How does Jake the Peg do wees if he has a leg in the middle where his giney goes?" (I haven't the foggiest.... anyway, Jake is a boy....*my voice trails off, she's in fits of giggles at the whole concept of a man with an extra leg and how his anatomy can possibly handle it. There's an obvious line, but I don't use it*)


What are some of the most favourite curly or deep-thinking questions you've been asked or heard? I just adore how kids think.

Cracking jokes: How the egg lost its head

The other night, I was asked by the LGBB if she could have a boiled egg for breakfast.

So I boiled some eggs in readiness for the next day. 

As is my penchant, I drew faces on them once they were done because I find this a quick, easy (and let's face it, enjoyable) way to differentiate between boiled and raw eggs when they're all together in the fridge. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can tell by spinning them on the counter top or by their weight or ... yada-yada-yada. My way isn't scientific but it gives me an amused little kick when I open the fridge and see sights like this:

Completely cooked, as they say...

Now, I didn't realise until I took the egg out of the fridge and placed it in Lolly's egg cup the next morning that I had possibly used the wrong choice of facial expression....

"But... you told me it wouldn't hurt a bit!"

But it was too late. I had already used the other two eggs. This could go either way, I thought to myself as I heard her footsteps running up to the kitchen.

The LGBB was delighted to find an egg in her egg cup. She giggled at the silly face. I started to whack the top of the egg with a knife to open it up for her, wondering if I ought to tell her to avert her eyes, when she started to talk in ... well, an egg voice, and said:

"Oh no! I can't look! Quick.... turn me around," and then proceeded to swivel the egg cup so the egg was now facing away from us. I nearly peed my pants at that point but then she started commentating on my cutting ability, in the same egg voice:

"Ummm.... hairdresser?  You're not a very good hairdresser.... You're cutting my brain!"

I thought, Well, at least she's not mortified, and joined in with a "I just wanted a little off the top and sides..."

By the time her egg looked like this, Lolly was excited that the shocked mouth had turned into a smile.

She thought I was magic.

I hadn't the heart to tell her she was looking at the nose, not a little smile. I had inadvertently been clever with my artistic license.

All's well that ends well.

Shuffling, the Running Man... whatever you call it, she's all grown up now

Yesterday, I stood with the other new prep parents as we waited for the doors to open. It's just lucky for me that I got in a kiss of Lolly's squishy, plump cheek and a hug of her waif-thin frame before the teachers came out to start them on their first day of school transition (a process that will take the remainder of the month) because after that, I was eating her dust.

Whatever sentimental lump-in-throat, emotion-choking moment that might have come was well and truly stamped out by her confident hand-flick wave behind her in my direction - it said "See ya, wouldn't wanna BE yaaaah" - and I was left standing there going, "So..... that was it then?"

My work here is done.

This divine little creature who only yesterday (ok, well, more accurately maybe it was over 3 years ago) was delighting in the post-euphoria of her very first ever plane ride by breaking into dance, barely aged 2:

... and was the most adorable tantrum-throwing twonager:

... and a rocket scientist in the making:

... is now a school kid. Even though she still technically has two months of kinder left for this year. But best not to mention it around these parts, it's a touchy subject.

The LGBB went off to kindy today determined to showcase her latest dance move for the kids and teachers. Today she headed off all full of excitement about the morning spent at her new school which had given her renewed self-confidence to perform and speak up in front of others.

This is it. It's her moment. She is ready to unleash The Running Man on her peers. I hadn't the heart to tell her that *yawn* we've already been there, done that, back in the '80s because she loves Party Rockers just so very much. A little... too much, in fact.

So first, her class. Then... the world. Look out.

Yes. My work here is done.

Love is surrender

I don't care what anyone says, Karen Carpenter is an utter musical legend. And I had to listen to the following song yesterday, no fewer than eight times in a row before even I begged for mercy, after I inadvertently introduced the LGBB to her first living-memory dose of The Carpenters. A band I was raised on as my mother was a huge fan.

There was nothing quite like putting on one of Mum's favourite records for her (I began to learn that it soothed the stressed-out, under-acknowledged side of my mother that if ignored for long enough would eventually turn into the beast - which I now very much appreciate). Once I was entrusted to very, ever so carefully raise and lower that needle onto the record, I took my job as DJ incredibly seriously. I ensured a regular dose of songs from the double The Singles album was served. Daily, if I could help it.

My favourites from this were Masquerade, Love Is Surrender and Sing

I was stirring something at the stove while Lolly made her own fun, hitting the "Back" button so that iTunes would restart her new Favourite Song Of The Day. And something struck me as quite familiar about the situation. Granted, there was no careful blowing of any record before it was set down on the turn-table. No crackle as the needle picked up any remaining hairs and fibres on the record. No need to reset the needle at the start of the track. Just a simple press of a button with her finger.

I appreciate this technology. I admire it and I love it for its convenience. But I am wistful for the days past when there was a certain dexterity and accuracy and, hell, just good "old-fashioned" patience to hear your favourite song.

But there was no denying some things will never change as I saw my daughter skip so joyfully around the island bench with Jazz and telling me with a gleeful smile that "I love this song, this song just makes me so happy, Mummy!" Mostly, I loved that she was listening to it because she was enjoying it. Something undeniable and perhaps unknown was stirring within her, willing her to move so that it became impossible for her not to express it with free abandon. I know that feeling. I respect and want to encourage that feeling in her, when it overtakes her in this way.

No matter where it next takes us, technology will not surpass or outdo the Masters of their craft. Brilliant songs are still exactly that, regardless of whether they're being played on a Nano, through a six-speaker stereo system off a digitally remastered CD, or on a wonky old mono-speaker radiogram with turn-table. I intend to keep this house retro and connected with those greats for as long as I live, with a balanced dose of modern good music, of course. That my appreciation for meaningful lyrics and clever musicians is being passed on to my daughter in this day and age of girating, unimaginative, unintelligent, tuneless commercial "music" makes my heart soar. NB: this is not to deny the countless excellent musicians still out there. Somewhere. Buried under the mainstream mess.

Although, ironically, I realise in a way this is not surrendering. Which is a tad hypocritical of me, given the title of my post. Ah, well. Baby steps.


Can you hear what she hears? Listen.

Talk about love
How it makes life complete
You can talk all you want
Make it sound good and sweet
But the words have an empty ring
And they don't really mean a thing
Without love you are not to be found
Not to be found 

For love is surrender
You must surrender if you care
You must surrender if you care

Shout about love
Then the wars will all end
You can shout "we're all brothers",
And even pretend
But you can't cover up the past
Just pretending will never last
Without love you are nothing at all
Nothing at all 

For love is surrender
You must surrender if you care
You must surrender if you care

p.s. Ummmmm..... but hands up who can see a tiny bit of Dexter in Richard, around about the 1 minute mark. No? Just me then? Ok, as you were.....

Fostering the Big Questions - moving on from the last ones

Today was filled with the kind of curly questions only a child can ask. And again - just as last time -  I was compelled to answer as truthfully as I could.*

It's like that when she looks me straight in the eye and squares her jaw; there is no getting around it any other way than honestly. The sort of tactful, metered honesty that shields from the gritty details yet doesn't shy away from the facts.

"What happened straight after I was born?" she asks me.
"Straight after?.... Well... your Dad and I brought you home and fed you and looked after you." I smile at her, remembering fondly.
"Yes, I know," she frowns, looking a trifle frustrated, "but what happened before that?"
She's getting her before's and after's mixed up at the moment. It's a stage.
"Before when?"
"Before, when Ella was born." 
I don't quite know what she's trying to decipher with her line of questioning so I can't guide my answers toward anything that will succinctly nip it in the bud for her. So we continue with the short answers-short questions.
"You want to know what happened just before Ella was born?" She nods.
"Well... when Ella was born, she was very little. I stayed in the hospital with her for a few days but then I had to come home. And when I did, she stayed in the hospital." 
She pouts sadly. I am certain I see a little look of sympathy in the way she tilts her head and makes a slight grimace. 
"But every day," I assure her, "I would wake up early and drive to the hospital and feed her my milk and talk to her and her nurses until it got dark and late at night. Then your Dad would drive from work and come and sit with me and we would look at Ella and talk to her together. She was a very lovely little baby."
My other very lovely little baby is sitting across the room from me, a range of emotions moving across her face now. I can't gauge if it's compassion for us or a sense of loss for herself, mixed in with a good dose of "I feel I've missed out on something you were all doing when I wasn't here". I daresay it's all of that. Then I realise she is trying to pinpoint where Ellanor is again. She does this, searching for her sister, a few times a year. I invite the conversations openly.... but they are still heart-searingly difficult.
"But... why did you leave her at the hostible?" she asks, her large blue-green eyes suddenly looking heavier, her little brow furrowing.
"Because she died, darlin', we had to."
Stated simply, just like that, it sounds callous and cold and hard-hearted. I know what she's thinking. I'm thinking it too now as we look at each other and the distance between us, across the rug and the arm of the couch to where she's leaning seems somehow suddenly further. If her father and I could leave our baby somewhere to be handled by goodness knows who, what's to stop us taking leave of our senses and doing it to her? I feel wretched for a turn, before my logical mind catches up and keeps me moving along before I get too morbid. That would not help either of us.
"Who has her now?"
"Nobody. She's not at the hospital any more."
"What kind of hostible did you leave her in?"
"A people hospital. Where doctors and nurses help sick people. You know, Lol, you wouldn't be here if Ella was."
"Yes, I know that," she answers me with a tone beyond her five short years. And she frowns again slightly, a pained, longing look on her face. She really does get that, I marvel to myself. "But why can't I see her? I want to see her." Ah. Getting it and living it are two completely different things, though, and it is this knowledge - that my child has been forced to remain permanently separated by her living from a sister she yearns for deeply - that really clutches at my mother heart.
"I know you do." Matter of fact. It's the only way. We agree it's shitful without saying any more.
"How did she get to Pixie Hollow?" she asks, changing tack slightly and mercifully saving me from the always uncomfortable "Well, why didn't any doctors and nurses save my sister" challenges.
This is the moment my heart swells to bursting. The Pixie Hollow explanation is something that Ellanor's sensitive little sister came up with quite on her own one day earlier this year out of the blue while we were driving. She told me that day decidedly that Tinkerbell and the fairies had taken Ella to live "on another planet because I think.... Yeah! That's where Pixie Hollow is!"
I hasten to quantify here that the LGBB is also very partial to the unabridged J.M. Barrie book, Peter Pan - the whole Lost Boys in Neverland premise fascinated our Lolly. What's more, I believe that Pixie Hollow (perhaps more due to the gorgeous name rather than the Disney-fied slant on "fairies" and, indeed, Tinkerbell herself) and Neverland are a mash-up of one and the same place in her imagination.
"You know what? That I don't know," I tell her honestly.

Our talk peters out at this point and I am left with a vacant but equally full feeling for the rest of the day. When we catch up a few hours later, Lolly is sitting playing on her bed with various tiny bits and pieces of some monstrosity that look like bottom-of-foot attractors if ever I saw them. Jagged and pointy bits everywhere.

She hands me a green glass-looking rubbed stone. "Is this a wishing stone?" she asks.
"I think it might (as) well be!" I exclaim.
"I've been making lots of wishes and they're going to come true," Lolly says nodding and glancing around her room before she launches into what I think is going to be her long list. But she only tells me one wish.
"I want a baby brother. And another sister." Again with the direct gaze and the square-set jaw. My goodness, but her eyes are beautiful. I'm distracted by them when I should be thinking of an answer. Fast.
"Wouldn't that be wonderful, to have both." I smile at her.
"Then I can have someone to play with," she says earnestly. Honestly. My loins don't feel any sort of stirring whatsoever, regardless of wishing desperately my only child was not an only child. We tried. Honest to goodness, her father and I tried.
"You know, though, babies take a long time once they're born to be able to play. Look at your cousin Blake. He's pretty little still, isn't he?"
She's unwavering. Her eyes look into me - through me - and I can kind of see she's not all here. I wait, watching her face, until she finally answers.
"I think they're not babies. Maybe they're older than me." 
Despite myself, I raise my eyebrows and nod in agreement. Yes, that's right. Perhaps they are.

I completely forgot until today that I have been tossing up foster parenting with Steve for some years now. It comes up once every year or so, since we said goodbye to Ellanor, but it never felt "right" to go ahead with it.

Perhaps? Maybe now? Lolly seems to know more about it than I. We shall see. If nothing else, I trust the Universe will advise, devise and deliver all in its exceptionally good, right time.



* (Just as an aside, that last Big Questions post is a really important read if you are dealing with them yourself - or trying to find a way through them with your surviving young, inquisitive children and wonder how the heck to start... also, take a deep breath in and just go with your best instinct! ;-)

Smile... no matter how awkward you feel.

She's ba-a-ack: When preschool's not enough

There is one new thing I am coming to adore about my child and that is.... the moments of time we spend apart.

So slay me.

In the name of full disclosure, in these past two weeks:
I've yelled
I've uttered, "Ohhh fuck, pleeeeease go away for just one minute, pleeeeease" under my breath more than I am a lady enough to admit.
I've cried like a toddler myself and stamped my foot and even uttered the words, in retort to the latest demand request of her dearest heart, "But I don't WANT to."
I wished away the last one-on-one time I'm going to get to spend with her before casting her out into the big wide world of school.
I have felt like the Pied Piper like never before in my life... EVERY single room I enter, behind me - guaranteed - is a chatterbox child, a cat with such a loud bell on her collar (to prevent bird "accidents") that we should have just bought her a doorbell and been done with it, a bouncing "Me-first" Labrador trying to push her way to the front and an aging, brilliantine stick insect of a dog who trips over nothing and causes a hallway block wherever she goes.

We're growing a special person here. I know that. During the holidays, she was lucky enough to attend a short little two-day dancing and singing workshop with a friend. The children were asked to draw a picture of someone they admire "because they do good things or are very good at making people happy." They were then prompted to draw a picture of themselves and this person.

This person can help them follow their dreams and believe in themselves, the words prompt.

The LGBB proudly presented me with her picture. I saw one face and she confirmed there was one person in her picture. I asked her who it was, hopeful it was me but sure it would be her Dad.

"It's ME!" she said, in perfect preschooler narcissism.

And I thought, hell yeah! YES! She gets it. I love that she has drawn herself as the person she sees as believing in herself. My wish for her as she navigates the next 13 or so years of school is that she remembers she believes in her dreams. Her Dad and me, we always will too. It's a given. But sometimes, we forget to keep that faith in ourselves as adults. Have you forgotten?

I love my girl. I watch her a lot. I gaze at her without even realising I am. And yes, despite everything in my history... I know I take her for granted. I get frustrated with her, sometimes openly so she sees it, sometimes covertly so that it's just my internal organs that take a beating from the pressure-cooker stress I don't express.

I yearn already for the lost days of her childhood innocence. Before the big kids or her peers with the older siblings tarnish herr. School is approaching, fast. But for the past two weeks of school holidays (she went back to kindy for 6 glorious hours today where I spent half my time wading in delirious, lush sort-of-Me-time*), I couldn't care WHO takes her as long as she gets some mental stimulation that doesn't rely solely on me.

By far, these have been the hardest holidays to bear yet. I'm telling you, if I didn't know better, I'd guarantee you that I could put up with sibling fighting on the hour every hour (with pop-fights every 10 minutes in between) if only it means I am not the single, solitary focus of her attention.

I am not enough.

I am enough.

Both of these realisations have occurred to me as I have clawed my way back to the relative solace of these 2-day-a-week (NOT ENOUGH ANYMORE!) preschool breaks we have from each other. We're at the pointy end of the year here and she needs more.

You know when you get to a stage where you are equally wistful about the end of an era and more than ready to start your new life? That's where I am right now. Have you ever been there with something in your life, on the precipice but not looking forward to the end either? Tell me about it in the comments!






*Me-time, my definition: Not having to respond or react or be answerable to a motor-mouthing preschooler while you pack a dishwasher, sort some washing, peg out 1,000 acres of new washing, take a conference call, handle an order or three for the business and ponder the direction of your book's characters.

Where I get all sentimental over a lost tooth

Since the age of six months, the LGBB has been sporting teeth. I remember so well the day Steve pulled down her bottom lipso I could take this photo:

Look Ma and Pa, I done gone and grown a toof! Or two...

We were so excited to see this milestone. She was so excited we were within her vicinity. In fact, her ability to be chuffed at herself hasn't ever really been an issue for our LGBB.

The first tooth became wobbly about a month ago. It felt like it still had a lot of staying power to me.

But what do I, her mother, know?

Our little Lolly lost her tooth yesterday at preschool and didn't even realise. I was greeted by her gapless grin when I came to collect her. "It must have just happened!" the teacher said. "They were just outside eating broccoli from the garden..."

The culprit vegetable eaten and swallowed, the options are obviously that she either swallowed it or it fell out somewhere, never to be recovered for her scrap book. I have my first tooth. I thought it was a bit eugh growing up. But now I have my own child, I appreciate that my mother did that. It was more special to her than it ever will be to me. I get that... now.

I'm sad. I'll admit it! I am a sentimental sap, I am really quite glum about it. Of course, in the grand scheme of the state of the world, hey this is nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Still... we will never get to keep the first teeny, tiny, marvellous wonder of a tooth that was the first to grow and the first to fall out.

Our teeny, tiny, marvellous wonder. She's growing, she's growing, slow down, my tiny love, my beautiful growing big girl! Mummy has got to catch up and try to get used to this.

Complete with a big teardrop for good effect.
Awwwww.

Conversations with friends: The beauty of keeping it short

I am limping, guys.

I'm on a slow dongle (settle down) that's giving my laptop some pissy lame excuse for "internet connection" while we swap providers. I hereby solemnly declare.....

TPG, I promise, we will never leave you again

We left them at Christmas time because Steve grew indignant that we couldn't get ADSL2+ here with them (they took their time rolling it out) so we changed providers. WELL. Hasn't that been haphazard, to say the least? Let me just say, I know why their plans were so cheap. Down-time was a lot higher than what we'd previously experienced with TPG.

Now we're moving back to them and changing a few other home services around as well. But this interim period is going to be around twenty days long. I reached 50% of my limit in a DAY, folks! This does not bode well for blog posts (or visiting yours).

So please know that's why I've gone quiet. Bad timing, really, given that Blogopolis is just around the corner. I can't very well keep up with what you're all doing. Ack. Ah well, can't be helped. If you think there's something monumentous that I haven't commented on.... fill me in if you see me on the day. Yes?

----------------------------

Now, to me being a winner:  No, really. I won something! From the very delightful and amusing Megan Blandford (she Writes Out Loud...). Thanks so much, I was very surprised to win the Coles Myer voucher. And very chuffed.

----------------------------

I have a cold. I feel like shite. That is all I can say about that.

----------------------------

My baby girl turns five on Wednesday. As with many of her milestones (and all of her birthdays), I am heading into the strange bittersweet balance-dance of being happy for her, proud of her (and us) and thinking about Ella. Not sad, not anything really. Just... holding her in my awareness more, I guess.

The other day, Lolly had a dear friend over. They played joyfully for five hours straight and both had eyes standing out on stilts when she went home. During the afternoon, I was doing dishes while the girls sat at the kitchen bench eating sandwiches.

I heard my daughter tell her friend, totally unrelated to anything they were nattering about.

"Before, in the hostibool, I had a sister. And her name was Ella. But her heart was a bit funny, so then she died in the ground."

I didn't turn around. Didn't weigh in at all, although I listened keenly to how her friend would respond. Lolly tends to throw this in at moments that don't seem to fit. But they do to her. And this is what I respect about her and the friends she will no doubt gravitate towards and learn to keep - for her friend merely said, "Ah" with a half-interested, half-"this-sandwich-is-yum" tone.


Simplicity, people. Simplicity is what I need to get back to. And ADSL2+.



So, I will see you when and where I see you! If you're wondering where I am, just imagine me under my pile of tissues, stalled by my grossly underweight data usage cap and struggling with my own self-imposed project to "keep it simple." Mark my words, though, I WILL be back with birthday cake photos some day soon.

The helper monkey: I've been cheating

I have a confession to make.

I am not really writing my book myself. I have been cheating. I've been using child labour. A gun typist. An Ideas Fairy. Someone who's using words like "PMT" and "Eminem" - listen really close right towards the end and see if I'm wrong about that..... Did you catch what she muttered?

When we went to visit Steve at work (who was there ALL weekend until 1am most nights), he set the LGBB up with the iPad and a little wireless Apple keyboard. Lolly was in bliss. And kept exclaiming that she was writing lots of words for me and writing my book. Awwww bless. And all I could think was, What if.... and Knock yourself out, chick.

Workin' 9 to 5 from Lolly Lovers on Vimeo.

I see this video and ask myself:  What must I look like? To her, I mean? Note to self: Stop bashing laptop keyboard and telling my daughter I "Must. Finish. Book" like some mad woman.

Here is a sneak peek at my next chapter:

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Gripping stuff, huh?


I love my helper monkey. She works at 105 garbled, nonsensical words per minute. Do you need one?

The longer jumper

Now this is my kind of sport.

The Casual Longer Jumper from Lolly Lovers on Vimeo.

Check it out: Video of fairies sleeping

There is a dim corner of the kitchen/dining area that I have wanted to brighten up for a while. We discussed a skylight. But at $300 plus installation and trying to save up to finish the backyard landscaping as it is, that was quickly ruled about a year ago. So one day recently, I spent $15 on a bunch of sticks with tiny fairy lights in them.

I arranged them in a favourite display vase and turned them on. When the LGBB came home, she almost lost it with excitement. We now have a firmly convinced little fairy spotter on our hands and I have been informed that a flock of fairies (what does one call a group of fairies?) has taken up residence in this artificial floral display indoors at our place.

I had no idea what it means when little flowers are lit up. Apparently, it's a very, very big deal. But I'll let her explain in the video (I think it's from a Tinkerbell movie?? Is it wrong/bad of me not to know?).

Untitled from Lolly Lovers on Vimeo.

By the time you read this...

...I shall be busy packing to catch a plane to go and drink and network it up in Sydney on Monday night. At a cocktail party. Thrown by the good people at www.kidspot.com.au and Ford Australia, who not only saw fit to include me in:

...but also decided that a launch party in Sydney wouldn't be the same if I wasn't there.

Well no. Not really. I think my name just got plucked out of a lucky dip hat. But either way, I've been shouted a quick jet up to Sydney for the night. Huzzah!  Please excuse me while I skip-dance-clap on the spot a moment.

*pause*

Now, to consider outfits and hair and getting up the nerve to fly. Must I? AGAIN?!

I've packed black, black and a bit more slimming black. Required, because I've been informed today by my lovely little naturally slim LGBB that I have a "big tummy." I'd hasten to point out that she is the cause for giving me my pouch, but really.... I'd only be hurting myself more.

Ah, kids and their honesty. You can't match it for a reality bite, can you?

And now, at the 11th hour, I seem to have caught myself a mother of a cold. My Mothers Day gift to myself! So I will look nice and dim, and/or like a sullen teenager who's miffed at being up and with the world anytime before 1pm (as you do when you can only breathe through your mouth and have to squint at even the faintest of lights) in any event photos. Yay, me.

I have no connectivity while in Sydney, sooooooooo.... I'll catch you after Tuesday at which time I will be back composing heavily suggestive posts for you to spread the word and vote for me *ain't too proud to beg*




http://www.kidspot.com.au/MySpot-Top-50-bloggers-Sunny-Side-Up-...-Kidspot-Top-50-Bloggers-2011+5544+416+article.htm/

Up yours, Dad!

Here's what happens when you let a toddler choose a card for her father on his birthday.

I have had this card for almost a year, waiting for the day I could let the LGBB proudly hand it to Steve. See, she thinks this is him. Some artist's impression of her dear Dad. The hair colour, the manly hand and the work shirt collar has convinced her it is him.

In the shop last year, choosing a card for someone else, she grabbed this and would not put it away. Quite unlike her (and most unlike me, too, giving in to an impulse-buy demand of my child's) she insisted until she cried that it was Daddy's birthday card, despite the fact that his birthday was still nearly twelve months away. I had to buy it.

Steve was suitably tickled that Lolly thought him so suave, debonaire. And downright arrogant. Ah, the joy of birthdays.

Happy 39th Birthday, Lenny*!

* Lenny is Steve. Long story. Boring story. He's just Lenny, 'kay?

I love this girl

Walking home from kindy.

And I adore these Photoshop filters.

Pity I only had my iPhone handy...

Look up in the sky!

I'll admit I have been a tad concerned for our Queensland friends - namely, my two step brothers and their young families who are right in the path of this monster Yasi - and have had the national radar loop screen up more than once today.

The LGBB had a little friend over earlier. They played in the pool and then set about being superheroes, running around the house with their hooded towels on as their 'capes'. I left them to it. At least I wasn't getting roped in to be imaginative.

The friend went home, I went about getting dinner on and took a glance at the radar image again. And Lolly, flashing past me, requested that I look on the radar for Super Bunny.

"Oooooookay," I said, not clicking at first, distracted by what I was going to cook. So I went over to the computer and searched the skies for Super Bunny. Behind me, I heard strange and exotic "whoosh"-ing and "zschooom"-ing sounds. Lolly was no longer in the house. But strangely, at the same time I started to spot flashes of pink (towel... or was it cape?) on the radar! Super Bunny zoomed this way and that, from Western Australia, across to do loops around Tassie, then up north to the Gulf.

"I'm gon-toooo saaaave the worrrrld!" Super Bunny cried as she whooshed past. No doubt, I think to myself. It's no surprise this little bunny has called herself to action again, if the recent floods and the strange illness that befell her for the crucial period of time is anything to go by.

NO idea where Super Bunny came from, nor the desire to be a super hero. It's all new to me. In this house, it's usually pink sparkle, fairy glitter, Tinkerbell-my-little-pony World. But not today. Today, Super Bunny was on a mission, apparently.

And then, almost as suddenly as she disappeared, the LGBB reappeared. Freshly "uncaped" (at the floor by her feet) and with a nonchalant "hello, Mum", she positioned herself beside me and asked flippantly what I was looking at on the radar. I tried to tell her about Super Bunny but she wouldn't hear of it.

God, I love this kid. Have I ever mentioned?

p.s. There's a new one over at the private one....

OK, don't bust your boiler, Toots

We went for a big 4.5km walk earlier today. A round trip past Lolly's new 4 year-old kinder to see how long it would take me to walk it. The answer is: about 25 minutes and 2km's. Oh, the hills. How they are a-killin' my glutes right about now (the sweet, sweet burn, ahhhhh). I was already kind of puffed and feeling really out of shape by the time we were over half way there, but I knew the last part would be the hardest, having driven it and doing this one particular long hill in second gear in the car.

We made it to the foot of the hill. Steve took Jazz and started virtually skipping up the steep path. And that's when Lolly started with the questions, expecting me to answer. I couldn't even manage a sound. What a disgracefully unfit performance!

I would like to formally apologise now for any residents who may be reading this and were alarmed by the wheezing sound as I chugged up that hill (and the next one.... and the next) pushing 30-something kilo's of offspring, stroller and supplies in front of me. And while I'm at it, I'd better also apologise for my child who, at every peak and downhill run, put her arms out Leonardo-on-the-Titanic fashion and yelled, "WINNER, WINNER, CHICKEN DINNER! WOOOOO-HOO!" as if she was riding a rollercoaster.  Come on, kid. It wasn't that fast a ride down compared to going up. Or was it?

Anyway, then the LGBB started doing that thing I always warn her against:  grabbing and pulling at random vegetation that's hanging over fences and bordering the footpaths. 

Well. Today, what I had warned her about finally happened. She got that grass-cut. Ooooooooh *wince* I have done that so many times in my misspent youth, probably in spite of my mother's warnings. And so we had Lolly going into shuddering convulsions and hyperventilating overkill about the slicing of her pinky. "THERE'S BLOOOOOD!" came the shrieks, in that hysterical tone that you're sure is going to bring people out of their homes, dialling Emergency-000 as they come to save the little girl from the beastly parents. That was a fun walk home.

Then we had the trilogy of knocks. You know, when your kid bumps an elbow then miscalculates clearance under a metal rod and whacks themselves in the head and then manages to collect a foot with a coffee table leg that has always been there in that position of the room (let alone hasn't moved in the last 2 minutes of play)? Yeah. That all happened. In the space of less than half an hour. Dutiful rocking-hugs on the couch ensued after each incident.

To top it off, as if I wasn't already tipped off about a certain little somebody who may or may not have arisen from the wrong side of the bed this morning, I got challenged angrily just before by the LGBB after I moved around some dollhouse furniture. In my remodelling, I suggested, "The toilet might be a bit more useful off the front lawn", to which the snappy retort was, "We don't have toilets in bathrooms in this world".

Ok, Miss Four. Don't explode your noggin. I'm going to make a cup of tea.

Party: hard. Walking home: harder.

On her way back from the kindy break-up party *sob-sob* the LGBB's legs just couldn't work a step more. I love the dramatic ending the best. How could you not carry that cute li'l thing home the rest of the way?

Party hard from Lolly Lovers on Vimeo.

Caricatures of parents

I left this video playing on my laptop while I went to another room the other day. The LGBB gravitated over to it - as all children seem to do when there's something moving on a screen (mine does, anyway) - and began to watch.

Steve walked in at around the five minute mark and asked her what she was watching. Okay, now, I want you to watch it please and I then will tell you what she replied... Or, y'know, you could just cheat and scroll down and find out. Either way, it's horrendously embarrassing or telling or something. I feel the urgent need to earnestly plead to you that we haven't been through a drive-through more than a handful of times since our child was born. And it certainly didn't go like this.

Or did it?









So Lolly, after watching several minutes of this and being questioned by her Dad, turns to him and says rather excitedly, "I think it's a movie about you and Mummy!"

Head in my hands. It's fairly close, I'll give her that...