Why Nell Went to The Dentist.

(alternative title : More Reasons to Stop Smoking)

Cherub to Nell : (having just noticed some nicotine stains)
"Have you got poo on your teeth?"

*********

How a 6-year-old's brain works.

Fixit : (barking at Climber as he tries to chivvy him into getting dressed for school) Why are you hopping?
Climber : (hopping energetically towards the bedroom) I'm pretending I've got a broken foot.

Oh.

Bad Moments in Parenting

We are still playing Kid-Swapsies on a daily basis with our nice new neighbours. And we're still trying to work out the ground rules and the boundaries of it all. The other morning I heard Next-door-Dad exhorting Next-door-Boy (5) not to be a serial pest. This because Next-door-Boy hoists himself atop the fence and yells out Climber! Climber! ... It's me, Next-door-Boy! Climber? If that doesn't work he calls out Stomper! Stoooooomper? Can you get Climber for me? or Can I come over and play? My Mum says it's allright. And of course, Climber does it right back too.

So, the rules we've established involve always checking with myself or Next-door-Mum if it's convenient. Letting the Mums know if you wish to leave the premises to go back home so that you can be walked back to your front door. And NOT bringing toys over. Because you don't want to lose them! Neither Next-door-Mum or I run spotless establishments. Both houses look lived-in, in the sense that they are lived in by young children with waaaay too much lego and other crap, and the general pick-up of detritus probably only happens after the children are in bed and if the detritus is not in a walkway or an area where the grown-ups inhabit sometimes not even then.

But yesterday Cherub slipped though the loop. For a start I don't always notice if he has a small toy clutched in his hand. Despite the fact that I should know HE ALWAYS has a small toy clutched in his hand; it's like a security blanket with him. The favourite toy (see left), Lightning McQueen aka Stickers from the movie Cars, is not even his, it was a Christmas present to Climber. But poor old Climber has lost the war on this one. Cherub knows in theory that the toy belongs to Climber but he ain't nevah gwine give it up.

Anyway, at some stage after Cherub has returned back from a play Next-door, he realises Stickers is missing and a right old hue-and-cry ensues. And after a while the noise is annoying enough to send me over Next-door to hunt it down. But I want to be quick so I just run out, shutting the front door behind me, while the kids are occupied - Climber with the lego, Cherub in the toilet. And I'm over there hunting high and low and I can hear Cherub doing more carry-on but I figure he's safe and it's just because he can't see me. What I don't know is that there's been a smudgy-undies episode which has distressed him a lot. And what I also don't realise is that while Cherub is too short to let himself out the front of our house, his big brother can do it easily and will apparently do so without qualms when asked.

When I give up on the hunt for Stickers and walk out onto our street the first thing I see is Cherub running up and down the footpath next to the road. (back and forwards in indecision like a duck in a sideshow alley game).

And he is:

Naked.

Crying hysterically and calling out Stomper ... Stomper, through streaming tears.

And holding a pair of smudgy-undies.



As my sister says. Sometimes there are no words.


PS. Stickers was found that evening at our house.

Weird and wonderful.

No I'm not talking about the 6 Weird Things Meme that has been sweeping the corner of the blogosphere that I inhabit. Although that has been fun to read.

Its this damn interweb phenomenon. It's wonderful because you make friends, you can share your life with people who don't see you often and you can have your own little soapbox.

But as 2 recent communications to myself demonstrate, it can lay you open to some weirdness.

Firstly. The sms I received recently:

Carol contact me if your [sic] single and looking 4 a good time

I'm assuming this person found my mobile (cellphone) number via my business website for my tap dancing. As well as my name (he/she didn't actually get it right but we're in the ballpark here). And I think he or she has seen the nice flattering photos I have of myself on the site (well only a fool would put up the ugly photos of themselves, right? And they're not raunchy pics or even the littlest bit come-hither. They are pics of me looking like a dancer.) And this person may have thought that tap chick is totally hot, I'll just leave a message and see if she's up for it. Like my sister says: If ya don't ask, ya don't git.

Honestly, though! What are the chances of a chick receiving an anonymous request 4 a good time and thinking what the hell, could be fun?

I have to admit I'm at a little bit of a loss for the correct thing to do in this situation. What I'd like to do is call the cops. (In a perfect world they would have a neat little register of phone numbers where you could report anyone leaving unsolicited requests 4 a good time. And then if I were found dead in a ditch at least the cops would be on to them. Of course, it wouldn't help me that much but at least I'd have some knowledge of justice coming to bear at a later date.) But I think realistically my options are (a) trashing the message unacknowledged. (b) Sending a return message along the lines of Thankyou for your offer but the truth is I am an exhausted and harried mother clinging desperately to the last days of her 30s who hardly ever bothers with make-up , rarely brushes her hair, is regularly seen out in trackie-daks and whose interest in gratifying the needs of complete strangers is non-existent. Better luck next time. I'll probably choose option (a), though, as I don't want to be seen to be entering into a dialogue on this matter.

Now for freaky internet thing #2.

One of my previous posts was obviously accessed by a google search and as a result I received a very peculiar email. Now I don't want these people coming back so I'm going to talk gibberish at you for the next bit. The phrase from that previous post that attracted the l0onies (whoever they are because I WILL NOT be visiting the loony website they want me to just in case it's under investigation by Govt. Furniture Items of Checking Out People** or equivalent) rhymes (badly) with Irrational Maturity Skirt* and the loonies have a website devoted to Irrational Maturity Skirts and they accessed my blog as someone who might be interested in Irrational Maturity Skirts and exhorted me approximately 30 times in the email to check out the Irrational Maturity Skirt website. And NOW I see via my sitemeter stats that I have been visited by a BLOCKED REFERRER which may mean the Govt Furniture have already checked me out OR that the loonies are seriously scarey.

The previous post that I assume led the loonies here was a joke! Not even a political one.

I feel I need to say for the record. I AM NOT ESPECIALLY INTERESTED IN IRRATIONAL MATURITY SKIRTS.***


So. I am a bit slightly freaked out. I trashed the email.

I will try and end this post with a semblance of normality. A lovely birthday photo of the Birthday Boy and his grandma who made the trip especially to be with him for his birthday, something she doesn't get to do much. And who cooked us a truly magnificent Osso Bucco and who was quite clearly worried about the extreme over-decoration going on with his birthday cake! Did I mention Climber is a minimalist? I think these things tend to skip a generation.



* Go here if you need clues with the bad rhyming.
** See the comments box for clarification on the furniture ref.
*** Except on a need-to-know basis.

A birthday party and then back to school.

The No-Fuss Birthday Party went quite well, actually. Parties can get a bit more full-on once you hit Primary School. We've attended many fun parties with magicians or at Bowling Alleys or Play Centres and I had to resist the compulsion to keep up with the Jones' in this respect. So I baked myself into a stupor on the Saturday, then on Sunday morning we packed the car, staked out a spot at a local park with toilets, play equipment and room to run around, and let the kids play while the adults sat around with food and drink. Easy.

I think a fine time was had by all. The chocolate cake was decorated within an inch of its life and I have to take everyone's word for it that it was delicious because after my baking frenzy I really did not feel like eating anything sugary. I planned to taste some of the left-over at a later stage but somebody stood on it as it laid concealed under the picnic rug away from the feathered scavengers.

These are the boys' Birthday Party outfits. Some heavily discounted local designer threads for the 6-year-old, courtesy of the last day of the Myer SALE. (It was a bit of a happy accident that I was at Myer that exact day to take advantage of the 40% off all kids' clothes. I'd left present-shopping till the LAST minute, and this was n.e.a.r.l.y disastrous because the Lego shelves were practically bare this year. Must have been the toy of choice over Christmas. I did in the end manage to get him General Grievous' ship, which was a roaring success).

And the Cherub, in the aged and skanky Buzz Lightyear outfit from the dress-up box.

Cherub has recently decided to be Buzz, which is very amusing. He keeps hitting imaginary buttons on his belt or shoulder or chest and then spreading his arms to fly off. He likes to do the voice too.

Back to school today. More importantly, my first child-free day in 6 weeks. No-one interrupting me, or demanding food or drink, no place I have to be and only myself to chivvy into the car if I decide I want to go someplace. Peace and quiet. I hope I remember to pick the Climber up at 3.30.

So he's a big Grade One boy now. I'm only feeling slightly sooky this morning. I would have liked to have seen his new classroom and maybe exchanged greetings with his new teacher. Instead, I had to help the Climber navigate his way through the kerfuffle of 70-odd confused ex-preppies trying to sort themselves into their new assembly Grade One positions, and then hurriedly smooch his cheek as they followed their (new to the school and therefore not quite on top of everything yet) teacher into Room 1K. So at least I do know which door to wait outside for afternoon pick-up, providing I don't fall asleep this afternoon and miss it all together.

Here you see the respective activities that MUST be completed by the boys when in the school grounds.

Right. Off to put my feet up for a while. Despite promptings from Fixit, I don't want to waste my first day off with boring housework. There's always tomorrow!

All About Six.

Six is cropping up this week for me a bit.

Firstly of course the Climber turned 6 this week. So we have a party to organise this weekend. I've gone as low-key as possible. It's in the park so I don't have to clean the house and I have kept the guest list to a minimum. Tomorrow is bake-off day; on Sunday I intend to sit on a rug watching the kids run around and amuse themselves while I sip an outrageously early glass of wine (morning party) and enjoy civilised chat with adults.

Secondly, Cherub has once again held on for 6 days, although he finally let go tonight thank the lord. I'M SO SICK OF HIS BOTTOM. I won't bore you with the details, suffice it to say our outings are curtailed when he's gone longer than 4 days, I'm wiping his bum more than is bearable and there are a lot of little smudgy undies soaking in the laundry sink, not to mention the stress and exhaustion of having to deal with his being fractious and difficult as well as this feeling that I'm probably handling it ALL WRONG.
(Bless his little curly Cherub head)

Thirdly, some blog-chasey ... you tag someone, they tags ya back. I made Tracey tell us about her blog, now she wants to know 6 weird things about me. Well, all I can say is I'll try but actually I'm very normal, and it's everyone else who is weird. I'm just saying. Or maybe I'm just tetchy. Just don't mention bottoms or constipation to me now because I may snap. Woman on the Edge.

1. I have weird little toes. The nail bed is about the same size as this [__]
I'm not showing you the photo,there's a lot of weirdos out there who are squeamish about feet.

2. I am moderately phobic about thunderstorms. I am twitchy and unhappy if I'm indoors and hysterical if trapped outdoors. Fixit looks bemused as he humours me in this but says there's nothing to be scared of you know. I do know. Phobias are not a rational thing.

3. I faint easily. A nurse told me this was weird (apparently she'd never fainted in her life!). She plainly suspected me of having an eating disorder. Actually I just have lowish blood pressure which can plummet dramatically.

4. When I faint I tend to have a little fit, even though I am not epileptic. Each fit is different, I've gone stiff as a board, I've thrashed around, but I do quite often scream when I'm out. And I can hear it too, even though I'm unconscious. Fainting is a strange feeling, its not quite as 'out' as sleep but your brain (well my brain anyway) feels like it's in a swirly drug-haze black eddy of noise and movement. And people always try to make you wake up! When I do wake up I invariably vomit. No wonder I never want to 'come to'.

5. I find it quite easy to stand on my points, even though I am not and have never been a ballerina. I can do it in sneakers, but it's best in my tap shoes.

6. I just love yodelling. It makes me happy to hear it and I would love to know how to do it.

I think you can't really proclaim yourself to be Another Nutter and not expect to get hit with a tag on this particular meme, sorry babe! I'd like to hear Lazy Cow too. I've met the girl and she seems normal enough but you never know with these Jaclyn Smith lookalikes. And I know it's only books all the time now, so you have my blessing to modify as you see fit.


Here is what happens when you allow your green-obsessed three-year-old help decorate the cake...

And here for good measure is the recipe for the Climber's Birthday Cake. It is delicious and fool-proof. It's famous in my Mother's Group.

Buttermilk Spice Cake

Sift together in bowl:
2¼ cups of plain flour
1 cup of white sugar
1 teaspoon of baking powder
pinch salt
¾ teaspoon bicarbonate of soda
¾ teaspoon of ground cloves
¾ teaspoon of cinnamon

Then add:
125g softened butter
¾ cup soft brown sugar (packed down)
1 cup buttermilk

Beat together for 2 minutes

Add:
3 eggs

Beat 2 more minutes.

Pour into greased and floured cake tins, either 2 x 9 inch layer pans or 1 oblong pan 13 x 9 inches.
Bake at 350° for 35 – 40 minutes for layers or 45 – 50 minutes for oblong pan.
Remove from pan. Cool.

Frost with EASY PENUCHE ICING as follows:

Melt in saucepan ½ cup butter. Stir in 1 cup brown sugar (packed). Boil and stir over low heat for 2 minutes. Stir in ¼ cup milk.
Bring to boil, stirring constantly. Cool to lukewarm.

Gradually stir in 1 ¾ to 2 cups of sifted pure icing sugar

Place pan in iced water and stir icing until thick enough to spread.

Decorate at will and enjoy!

How do I love thee, let me count the ways

When I was One,
I had just begun.

When I was Two,
I was nearly new.

When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.

When I was Four,
I was not much more.

When I was Five,
I was just alive.

But now I am Six,
I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll stay six now
for ever and ever.

Our Climber. Six years old and growing more precious to us each day.
Happy, happy birthday!

This presentation blatantly copied from Lazy Cow,
(but you can't see hers now, she took it down).

Oh The Humidity!

Cherub's curls in the humidity. Ain't they sweet?

I'll start this by telling you that Fixit and I both have back problems. I have a slight scoliosis and just general pain and tension caused and compounded by wrangling/nursing babies for the last 5 years, and Fixit's back is basically stuffed from his big motorbike accident which was 10+ years ago. Last year we both started seeing Frank, who is a wonderful chiropractor, a family friend and the nicest man. I have a weekly appointment, Fixit goes twice weekly and we've both improved so much. I never thought I'd hear myself say stuff like this, but it is such a good thing to be able to turn my head to look over my shoulder again. If you're younger than 30, shut-up. Or enjoy it while you still can.

Anyway, what with Christmas and going to the beach for the weekend, it has been nearly a month since my last treatment so I was really looking forward to this morning's appointment. Fixit had to work so we were tag-teaming appointments and childminding via a nearby park; he left early and then I hauled myself and the kids into the car, minutes to spare. We made it maybe 10 metres down the road. The poor car limped out of the driveway and even I noticed it was handling like a dog, and I got out to look and there it was. FLAT TYRE. I nearly cried.

The pathetic thing is that it may have been flat-tish for a while, but I'm so unattuned to this stuff that I'll notice in an abstracted sense that something is wrong with the car, and maybe check to see if the overdrive has been switched on by small hands or if I'm in 2 instead of D ... and when I see that neither is the case I'll think well that's allright then and put aside the fact that the car is still handling like a dog and keep driving. If Fixit reads this he will sigh and shake his head (possibly you may be doing the same) and say This is why I worry, even though my driving record is not besmirched with any sins or accidents *touches wood* and his is.

Here's a thing. Yesterday, Climber and I had a discussion about how many wheels a car has; he said 5 counting the steering wheel. I said I'd show him the Secret Wheel, and did an educational explanation of flat tyres. Then I lifted the hatch, preparing to unveil the Secret Wheel and couldn't work out how to unveil it because there was carpet (which lifted) and then heavy cardboard (which wouldn't budge), so then in complete anticlimax I had to say well there is a Secret Wheel under there, but I can't show it to you at the moment.
YESTERDAY!!

One of the first things my father did when I bought my first car at age 17 was teach me how to change a tyre. I've done it a couple of times and it's not that hard, except the muscles bit. (My legs are strong but I never, ever win an arm-wrestle). Living with Fixit means my DIY muscles have atrophied. Why keep a dog and bark yourself, you know? And I already knew I couldn't lift the stupid cardboard, let alone do all the "find the jack, get the wheel-nuts off" ... I re-scheduled the appointment for the afternoon and poor Fixit raced home from a crappy day at work to change the tyre. I should probably mention here that he was also severely hungover from carousing on Friday night. At which point he discovers that the Secret Wheel spare tyre is flat. So he has to grab the foot pump and pump it up. I'm too old for this, he mutters.


At last, the tyre looks drive-able and although I don't have time to go via a service station to put the required psi into it, it looks like I'll make the re-scheduled appointment. But first we have to go through the pantomime of me backing the car up our very narrow driveway. I hate reversing, it makes me tense. Fixit starts saying unintelligible things to me about left hand down, which confuses me because I am driving one-handed and one of my hands is already at the bottom of the steering wheel so what the fuck does he mean? So then I lift my left hand in the air so he can see it through the windscreen and demonstrate what I think he means. Like this? I ask, turning my left hand anti-clockwise from top to bottom. He rolls his eyes and nods at me. Right hand down he says. What? Like this?

That was my day. I made it to the appointment and I feel MUCH better now, thanks for asking. But after such a heavy duty start, I think it only right that I take the night off from cooking, and as I type this our Vietnamese delivery has just arrived and I am about to pour my second glass of wine.

Here is what the Climber can get up to if you take your eyes off him for a minute.

Does he look worryingly at home on that motorcycle or what?