For Our Friends in France

This was once our local Woolworths supermarket. I believe they've yanked it down to make way for a bigger, better and newer version. I didn't mind the existing one but the car park was a major pain in the behind and if you had a car that fit more than two people in it you couldn't park there.

I miss that supermarket. I miss the staff that worked there that we came to know and who always asked after Henry. With a bit of luck they'll all be back before Christmas but progress will be slow and somehow I don't see how it can happen.

And guess what else??? Right now it's raining. For some of you who read this you will be saying "big deal". But for us it is a HUGE deal. It hasn't rained in like twenty years. When we look out our window across the city the trees that were once all nice and green seem like sad silhouettes against the skyline. It's so dry that even the weeds won't grow. We've been limited to four minute showers, been told to do one less load of washing a week, feed all the grey water to the garden etc, etc. People have stopped talking about the weather as a matter of small talk because there's only been one thing to say and that is - "gee it's dry isn't it?" Of course because there are really no other subjects for small talk people just stop talking. Talking about the dry gets boring and there's no variation on the dryness to even discuss. It's just dead, bone dry.

Right now the birds are singing and dashing between the trees like all their Christmases have come at once . It will probably only last two minutes but those two minutes will be enough to provide small talk amongst the family for a good hour.

Kitty Cat Dance

We found this on youtube. Apparently so did hundreds of thousands of others. Henry thinks it's hilarious and I suspect that 100,000 of the hits it's received are from us.

Couch Parent

Why is that father's are able to successfully parent from the couch? Ben can simultaneously watch television and instruct Henry on exactly where to place his cars and how to operate all his toys. What bothers me the most is Henry accepts this and listens without complaint to the instructions that are handed out to him. He NEVER does that for me. I have to be participating at all times with my eyes on him and my hands on the toys.

In my next life I'm going to be a father. It seems so much easier.

The Big Three

Henry turned three yesterday. We didn't do much in the way of celebration because when you're three you really only care that someone has provided presents and cake and candles. That's all Henry wanted. For days leading up to his birthday he kept saying "I'm two, for my birthday I want presents and cake and candles." So we obliged.


I had tried to make a cake (using a packet mix because while I can cook I can't bake) and I failed. In the words of Ben's mother - it was a bad mix. It must have been out of date or someone had tampered with the ingredients. It was a miserable excuse for a cake and so I rang my mother. She who has the answer to everything came up with this. Just whipped it up in two seconds flat.



When it came time to eat it though he wasn't really interested. He just wanted to blow out the candles and sing Happy Birthday about ten times over because at the end everyone cheered for him and it made him feel ten feet tall.


There was no huge party, only family around to share in the excitement with him and that was more than enough. He was exhausted by 5.30PM and took himself to bed after declaring that he was tired and needed to sleep. I wasn't far behind.

Happy Birthday Henry!

We're all Normal

I recently read this post on Dr Mama's blog in which she wonders if she is doing something wrong as a mother because her son is, well, by the sounds of it, completely normal.

All parents ask that question at some point. I know I do each and every day. Not so much with Henry as I did with Maya but I still wonder sometimes if I was a different kind of parent would I have raised a much quieter, less willful, and more co-operative child. I know the real question should be - won't somebody take this child away from me for half a day so I can breathe quietly and concentrate on one thing, such as using the lavatory.

Dr Mama says her child needs to be with her constantly. Well that sounds fairly normal to me. Henry NEVER. LEAVES. ME. ALONE. EVER. He needs to have me with him at ALL TIMES doing whatever it is he happens to be doing. No one else will do. It has to be me. I should be flattered that he thinks so highly of me and sometimes I am. Sometimes I just want to be able to pick the hairs out of my nose, all alone, without having to pretend I'm driving a fire truck at the same time.

I've often told expectant parents to have someone follow them around 24 hours a day tapping them on the shoulder and calling their name every ten seconds in order to prepare themselves for the fact that they will never, ever, be alone again because that's just what it's like. It's like having your subconscious sitting right on your shoulder, watching that you don't ever let yourself slip into a state of idleness. Watching that you don't misuse your alone time and that you keep your toilet breaks to a minimum of two minutes.

Just this morning to kill some time and get some exercise Henry and I walked to the local shops to run some errands. It started off ok but quickly turned into an outing (like all others) that I wished I'd never attempted. He can't stay still. Not for one second. He cannot simply stand in one spot or sit on a chair for more than a second or two. In the few minutes it took me to hand over the prescription to the pharmacist he ran up and down the aisles, rearranged all the neatly lined nail polishes, moved the Vitamin C bottles into the Fish Oil section, opened a few boxes of tissues and pushed the pram into a lovely display of facial moisturisers and knocked them over. Then we had to wait for the prescription to be filled. I tried to encourage him to sit still in the chairs that had been placed there for waiting customers but that didn't work. He'd seen some lipsticks that had not been nailed down. Before I could get to him and save them he'd opened them all and changed the lids around on some of them.

We left there all apologetic and made our way to the butcher. While I was being served he had to open and close the door several times to make the customer alert bell ring just because it sounded like a fire alarm. I was going to attempt the supermarket but I was too exhausted. Instead I headed for home. But as Henry knows the way to the supermarket and had heard me say earlier in the morning that I needed to go there he threw an almightly tantrum when I continued on past the street that would have led us there. I had to bribe him by telling him he could help me make his birthday cake when we got home. He didn't forget that and as soon as we neared home he ran up the driveway and into the house and had the oven open before I'd even had a chance to put down my shopping. "Come on Mum, we need to make my birthday cake". Every day is like this. I have to, as many parents do, continually think about what I say before I say it because he has a memory like an elephant. If I don't follow through on a promise, he throws a tantrum strong enough to wake the dead. The good thing is though, when he does this at home, he realises his mistake and takes himself to the naughty corner.

Parenting is tough, sometimes it even totally sucks. We're under much more pressure than ever to make sure our children are stimulated enough and learning enough and dressed well enough and eating a nutritionally balanced diet and are not exposed to any potentially psychologically harming situations and the list goes on.

Sometimes I deliberately ignore Henry when he's whimpering for my attention. Most times there's nothing wrong and he simply wants me to find the fire truck he can't be bothered to find himself. He usually only does this when he thinks I might be doing something that is not related in some way to him. The only times I'm not with him lately is when I'm at work and on the toilet. Anything else is impossible to achieve and there are some things I rarely attempt if I have Henry with me, like clothes shopping, shaving my legs, making a phone call, paying a bill, writing on my blog, catching up with friends because the pain that I feel when doing those things with him attached to me is not worth it. I'll do them when he's older. By then I'll need a tree trimmer to take care of my legs, my friends will have all disappeared and I'll be only be capable of singing the Fireman Sam theme song over the telephone.

Every child is "normal" in that they will, at some point, drive their parents completely insane. There are no parents however who would give their children back simply because they've been driven insane.

Tomorrow is Henry's third birthday. Three years ago today he started to make his intention to join the world clear to me. Despite being occasionally difficult he has been the most precious gift to all of us and we're overjoyed to know him. He can destroy all the pharmacies he likes and try to force me to play trucks all day because not being able to do that would be far worse than having to.

The Great Steam Train Ride

In honour of Henry's third birthday next week we took him on a steam train ride. It was just a short one hour but it would have been fine if it had taken a whole day. As we breathed in the old time smell of the coal steam we all imagined the stories those leather clad seats could tell if they could only talk.

Kan U TXT my score to me? Gr8!

How teenagers communicate.

Perhaps I've been feeling a little stressed

MT: Hello. Is this Mrs Mother?

ME: Speaking

MT: Hello Mrs Mother, this is Ms Teacher from Wagit State High School. I'm just calling to talk to you about your daughter's unexplained absences from school.

Me: I don't know anything about that. My daughter goes to school every day. I see her leave in the morning. She's a good girl. There's no way she would wag school, especially after I told her about what happened to me when I wagged it. God, I can't believe you're calling me accusing me of having a daughter who WAGS school. As if! Do you know how upsetting it is for me to hear you accuse me like that? Like I don't care. I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that my children should be taken away from me because they don't show up for school...I feed them you know, they eat every day. It might not always be good, nutritious food but they eat. I mean there's always bread and vegemite in the house. Lord above I can't believe this (starting to cry). Do you know how hard it is to raise teenagers these days? Well, do you? Probably not, all you teachers are the same. You get on your high horse and have the audacity to just call parents and tell them they're not good enough because their children don't bother showing up to school. I'm going to write to the Minister for Education you know and tell him how awful you've made me feel. You'll be hauled across the coals for this. You might even lose your job....

MT: Um, Mrs Mother. I just wondered if you or your daughter had an explanation, that's all. I'm sure there's a good reason for it. It's just that we don't have her on the roll for three days over the last month is all. Maybe she was just late and didn't get marked off. Perhaps you could...

ME: Oh sure. That's what you say but I know you really mean to spy on me and find out my business don't you? You people can't help yourselves.

MT: No Mrs Mother that's not what I'm trying to do. Look, would you just ask your daughter if she has an explanation and get back to us. We need to be able to account for those days. It's a legal requirement.

ME: Oh so now you're going to bring the law into it. Well I'm calling my solicitor.

MT: Ok Mrs Mother. You do that. But please just ask your daughter about the absent days and get back to me.

ME: Alright then I will but when this is all over you're going to be sorry you even called me.


Later...

ME: Maya. Come here please.

M: God. What! I'm trying to blow up my ear drums with my Ipod. This had better be important.

ME: Watch your mouth young lady. This IS important. Why weren't you at school on days blah, blah, blah.

M: Oh God Mum. I was at school. I was just late and missed getting my name on the roll.

ME: Well that's not what the teacher said. She said you were wagging it. She said you were drinking and smoking down near that creek bed near the sportsfield. You better not have been. You know I've got enough on my plate to deal with right now...

M: Mum. I was. God why don't you believe me. You go off at me all the time for nothing. I'm sick of it.

ME: Well if it's so bad then perhaps you should find a new family. One that lets you wag school whenever you want...

M: Ring up the school if you want and get them to check all my other lessons. I just was late for form that's all.

ME: Alright. I will. And I suppose you were late for form because you were kissing boys...

M: No Mum. I wasn't.

Later still...

MT: Hello. Is this Mrs Mother?

ME: Yes it is.

MT: This is Ms Teacher from Wagit State High School. I've checked the record of attendance at other classes and it seems your daughter was at school but she had missed her form class and so missed getting her name on the roll. I'm sorry if we caused you any distress.

ME: Yes well so am I. What with your ringing here and accusing my daughter of being a drug addict because she didn't show up for school. I told you she goes to school. Thank you for calling and straightening that out. Now I can let her out of the cage I lock her in when she misbehaves.



*Of course it didn't happen exactly like this but why the school couldn't actually check those records before calling me and sending me into a downward spiral of stupidness I'll never know*