Our Playgroup Is Awesome

I just seen the funniest advertisement for a new sitcom. A bunch of mothers sitting around in a sort of playgroup vibe, babies on their lap and singing... Watch the Video on YouTube by clicking here...

This is how it goes...

Alright Mummy's let me hear you this time

(Singing)

The people on the bus go up and down

Up and down

Up and down

The people on the bus go up and down

accountability-central.com

All over Town

A man and a baby girl are sitting too, they aren't singing.

We don't know this song.

She just got out of prison.

The prison bus had bars on the windows

And if the people got up they got shot.

They got shot,

They got shot....

Laughs! Ok now you really have a good insight into my twisted sense of humour.

The reason this caught my attention is because Will and I had been to playgroup recently. Our playgroup doesn't have a baby just released from prison, well that I know of. I'm sure if we did they would be very welcome, however.

playgroupplanner.yolasite.com

The first few weeks of playgroup were more like an exploration of the surroundings for William. He was up running around circling the group of mums and bubs, climbing on the stage and weaving in and out of the rows of chairs to get to the lady operating the powerpoint presentation of songs. He wasn't very interested in singing, clapping and dancing. I felt slightly disappointed that we weren't joining in the circle.

Now that we've been going for a while he's started to settle down and we get more group time with everyone else. Will absolutely loves this time of week. He gets excited when I tell him we're going to dance, he's just learnt was dancing is in the last few months. His style of dancing is swaying from side to side and lifting his arms up alternately which was originally “The Monkey” that his Pa had taught him.

Last week we had the 'Circus Theme'. Our fantastic organiser had put a huge round colourful tent canopy on the ground and we sat around it, danced along the edges and tight-rope walked over a rope on the top. I made clown costumes for Will and his little friend. They had floppy little happy pants that had shoulder-straps so they were kind of like overalls. I dressed Will in a green checked shirt, painted lipstick on his nose and cheeks and sprayed his hair red. My friend made the bow ties and the two boys were set. Very cute little clowns

(Clown costume will not upload. 

Check next time to see if the picture is here)

The advantages of playgroup for us is huge.

*William and I get to interact with each other in a creative environment

*I have an outlet to socialise with others in the same stage of life, going through the same milestones, achievements and hardships

*William can learn to interact with other children and respond to other adults

*I am able to make ties to the community and feel as though I am part of a group

*Will gets to run around and stretch his legs in a big hall and play with things that we don't have at home

* I can watch William developing in a way that you don't get to witness while he is at daycare

* I get to sing and dance and look completely ridiculous and it's expected of me

* Its cheap and people only go who want to be there so its a really friendly place to be

And most importantly we have volunteers that make awesome cuppa’s and snacks.

How Now Brown Bovine!

Growing up in a family where I spent all my time with my two wild, rowdy Brothers, swearing became ingrained in my everyday language. As a child/adolescent it was a defence mechanism against bullying and made me appear tougher then I was. As an adult I realise how vulgar I sometimes sound when I forget to make a conscious effort not to use inappropriate language.

The reason I am making such an effort is because I don’t want my son to grow up with the same attitude to language. During work hours and when I'm with my son it becomes easy to not use bad language, it with other adults in social surrounds when I forget to be “proper”.

The issue can sometimes be, what do I replace -bleep- with. Because the “f”, “c”, “s”, and “p” words are so ingrained in my make-up, my vocabulary has become limited and I'm left looking like I'm trying to be overly politically correct, which is something I've never really been "into". Here, I'll try a few to clarify my point.

How, now, brown BOVINE

It's really, PLASMA AND BLOOD CELLS, hot today

Don't be a COPULATING RECTUM SPHINCTER

She's always such a FEMALE PUPPYDOG to her husband but he is also guilty of being a SILLY PORK SAUSAGE to her.

The two consenting adults were …. PLAYING CHECKERS..?

I mean how far exactly do you take it. My hedging, describing words have always been creative. But lately I've been getting more and more creative...

“SWISH SWASH FLUFFIN BUCKET!”

“CRACKEN- SNAFFLE- BACK!”

“CRUDIE-SLAV!”

“FLOSH- LA-KOFF”

Anyone close at the time would be mistaken in thinking that I am studying some sort of foreign language. I've been told it takes 21 days to break a habit. We'll see how it goes.

Halloween, Such A Douche!

Halloween such a douche. Halloween first entered my life 2 years ago. As an Australian, Halloween is not really celebrated like it is in America. A little girl and her parents knocked on my door and yelled “Trick or Treat!” I felt really bad that this little girl would leave my house empty handed. I scrounged around for a packet of fruity Mentos that I knew was hidden in the bottom of my hand bag for a sugary hit during my pregnancy. The little girl still did not seem impressed with my effort.

This year I was prepared. I brought 3 packets of cheap sugary treats and put them in a mixing bowl. There are a lot of kids in my neighbour hood and out of them all I had 8 knock on the door and only one bothered to go to any effort. Lipstick was smeared over her face in an attempt at fake vampire blood. She helped herself to the bowl and between her and her brother, that was a third of the bowl gone.

The thrill of my night was being able to update my facebook status to say that a stranger was handing out candy to little kids, “yep that's happening in my house,” I wrote. Even that felt lame. So although Halloween is a huge thing in America here in Australia it has been adopted as a huge candy hunt for kids who don’t even bother to put in effort. My cousin in a town 400km's away was dissapointed that those who come to his house trick or treating in costumes chose costumes that were not scarey or frightening in any form. Superman turned up, "Argh, watch out or Superman might save the world from imminent destruction". Nightmare-ish!

Why did I participate? Well it's simple really. I live near the “cheaper” end of town. (I'm not really being politically correct, I just don’t want to put myself down too much, by association.) I was scared that if I didn't give out free candy then the kids would throw eggs at my house, toilet paper my car or blow up my mail box. And did it work? Well everything appears intact. Maybe coincidence? Maybe not?

Apologies to the People

Its been a week since my last post. William is still laughing at his "pop-offs" and entertaining himself and everyone around him with his increased amusement at his bodily noises... 

The week in short: hectic!

Our week begins Monday. Up, shower, breakfast, clean the house, clean someone elses house, lunch, put will to bed and do some sewing. Sew, sew, sew. I make two clown costumes for the Mainly Music Circus theme day. Will gets up, visit a friend and her kids. Continue tweaking coustumes. Dinner, bed.

This is exactly how I look While I sew

Tuesday: Up, shower, breakfast. Dress Will in his costume. Drive to Tuncurry, pick up friend, arrive at Mainly Music. Sing, Dance, Play, Coffee. Visit Pa at work, visit Nan at home. Lunch. Put Will to bed. Washing, folding, sweeping, cleaning. Will wakes up. Visit another friend with her new little Bubba. Home, dinner, bed.

Wednesday: Up, shower, breakfast, pack bags for work and school. Phone Call. Dad taken to hospital in ambulance. Crud. Take Will to school. More phone calls. Crud. Work, crud. Dad is ok and comes home. Finish work. Phew. Pick up Will and visit Dad. Home, dinner, shower, bed. 

Pretty Please can you turn the siren on

Thursday: Up, shower, breakfast. Go the school, wait for the photographer. Play with Will. Photographer's late. Watch Will play and call work. Photos done in 20 secs. Work. Pick up Will. Go to the Mall. Will's school wins a competition for $3000. Jump up and down histerically. Throw Will in the photo. Buy a beer. Drink a Beer. Dinner with my parents. Home, bed.

Our Cheque was Bigger than his..

Friday: Up at midnight. Bed. Up at 12:30, bed. Up at 2am, bed. Up at 2:15am, bed. Up at 2:30am, get Will a bottle, bed. Up at 3am, change Will's nappy, bed. Up at 3:15am, put Will in my bed, bed. Up at 4:30, change another nappy, give Will panadol, bed. Up at 5:30 am, Will goes back into the cot, bed. Phone call 920am, crud slept in, get out of bed. Shower, breakfast, take Will to school. R.T.A organise car registration. Work, yawn, coffee. Get Will, visit Dad. Home, Dinner, NCIS, Blog post and Go Girls (the best thing to ever come out off New Zealand.

Mummy I'm having nightmares

Hmmmm, almost forgot to breathe this week.

Everyone Likes A Good Fart Joke!

Yes I am Going There...!

"Did you Fart?"

"No!"

"I can see the Bubbles!"

How does a seventeen month old, who cant speak learn to tell a good fart joke? I'm puzzled.

Every adult gets to stop taking themselves so seriously when someone “lets one fly”. Its a moment when our bodily functions bring attention to ourselves and humour is often the easiest way to deal with the embarrassment.

William has always brought a lot of attention to himself when he farts. The sound his bowels produces could be compared to a fully grown man and have done since he was born. The only thing that is different these days is that he puts a little bit more effort in to play up to his audience. After the moment of impact, he turns around cheekily and throws his head back to laugh.

That's how a 17 month old tells a fart joke.

Where's Bear????

William goes down for his last bottle of the night. While he's drinking I change his nappy, get his dummy ready and … no Bear! Damn I must of left him downstairs. I look at the amount of milk left in the bottle. Right I've got approximately 2 minutes and 37 seconds left until he's throwing the empty bottle, looking for his dummy and looking to cuddle Bear, otherwise: chaos.

I run down the 15 stairs, where did I last see Bear? We definitely brought him in out of the car after grocery shopping. I open the crockery cupboard. Will often hides things on the bottom shelf. I find a drink bottle and a set of measuring cups. I shut the door. “Ouch!” I step on a rogue measuring cup. “Damn! Why is there a measuring cup on the floor?” Where's Bear? I think. Just then The Wiggles song, 'Where's Jeff?' pops into my head. The Narcoleptic Wiggle goes missing for a while and becomes inspiration in my search.

Where's Bear? Did he go for a ride?

Where's Bear? Is he in the countryside?

I open the pantry, check the potato container and the recycling bin.

Where's Bear? Did he go and Hide?

Looking, looking, looking, looking....

“Argh!” I spin round and kick my shin on Will's ride-on Ferrari. I'm jumping on one foot holding my shins in the middle of the kitchen floor. I check the clock on the microwave. I'm running out of time. I have to move it up a gear. Hurry up, hurry up! Open the laundry door, shut the laundry door. Open the laundry door, walk inside, walk out, shut the laundry door.

Over to the kitchen bench, I pick up tea towels. Nothing. I step on a measuring cup. “Damn, who put that there?” I go into the lounge-room. I throw all the cushions off the lounge to check underneath them. I grab my handbag and tip it upside down. Nothing, nothing and nothing... I go over to the TV cabinet and check near the front door. Damn, nothing. I turn to run back upstairs. I trip over the cushions and go sprawling into the carpet, landing on my hands and knees! I pick myself up off the floor and take the stairs two at a time, run into the bedroom and Will is still drinking his bottle. I put his dummy on his pillow beside him, pick up my childhood teddy Theo, and tuck it under his arm.

I decide to do another quick lap of the house. I run down the stairs, check the kitchen, pantry, open the laundry, step on the measuring cup. I look on the dining table, jump over the cushions in the lounge-room and then run back up the stairs, two at a time. I run into William. The bottle is still in his mouth but he's fast asleep.

I take a deep breath and start to calm down. I take the bottle out of Will's grasp and replace it with the dummy. Theo is still tucked under his arm. I carefully tuck him in and walk out of the room leaving his door slightly ajar. I go downstairs to get myself dinner. I'm a little bit puffed after all the running so I get a glass out of the cupboard, bend down and pick up the measuring cup and get the water out of the fridge... Sitting on the bottom shelf... There's Bear!

Slobber Chops

William and Bear have gone to bed. It gives me an opportunity to tell you about our visit today from Miss B*, lets call her Brooke, and Miss C*, Chelsea. The two beautiful, twenty year olds, arrived on cue as William woke up from his afternoon nap. I quizzed Chelsea on her recent practical assessment with a Year 3 class and got bundles of information ranging from littlies wetting themselves to sounding out words by clapping to 'syll-a-bles'.

I gave Will some banana pieces for afternoon tea, he took the bowl and sat on his little sofa. Chelsea pipes up, “That's full of Potassium. Can you say Potassium?”

“Big word for a little boy.” I tell Chelsea. William looks up at Chelsea with confusion squinted in his eyes, Bear sitting beside him and dummy stuck in his mouth.

“Yeah I reckon,” Brooke agrees.

“He might try to say 'na-na' if you teach him that.” I continue. William looks to Brooke, back to me and then up at Chelsea. His eyebrows furrow closer together. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

“Potassium! Po-tas-si-um,” clapping her hands to the syllables. “ Po-tas-si-um!” Brooke and I look at each other and break into giggles...

“Ta for your dummy.” Brooke asks Will. He holds his dummy out to Brooke with stringy spit on it.

“Eerr, yuk!” Says Chelsea, full of anti-spit sentiment. Why do kids always give you the slobbery end of the dummy?”

When you're a mother (or nurse), you deal with getting pooped on, puked on, pee'd on, spat on and bled on. ( Refer to All Fun and Games 10/10/10 ). Being pee-d on is rather frequent with little boys. Kisses come with open mouths and I often end up with slobber on my nose cheeks and chin. (Accuracy is obtained over time.)

Chelsea didn't deal well with slobber. I used to be like that. I likened baby slobber to dog slobber. Taking a dummy off a baby was the equivalent to taking a ball off a dog with a mouthful of drool. You wrestle and play tug 'o war until it's finally in your grasp and when it is, there is no way that you feel comfortable holding onto it in case the yucky bit touches your skin...

The “anti-spit sentiment” is not something that lasts forever.

“Give Chelsea kisses goodbye.” I tell Will

“No that's ok I'm good!” She waves goodbye...

Thanks for visiting us today Miss B and Miss C, it was fun. xxx

C'mon, gimme a kiss!

*Names changed to protect Miss B and Miss C's privacy... ;p

Road Rage in a Front Loader

Bear is taking another ride today. He's the passenger in the scoop of Williams front loader. “Vroom, vrooOM, VRoooOOooOOM!” Goes the bright yellow, Caterpillar front loader. Will is naked on all-fours pushing it around. He scoots the front loader around all the toys strewn on the floor like they are an intentional obstacle course.
“William, come and put your pants on.” He's fresh out of a bath and his curly frizzy hair protrudes at the back and is plastered damp on his forehead. I'm worried about him getting a chill but he loves the nudie run too much to give in to me. It becomes a battle of wits and determination every bath and change time. This time his tactic is well thought out....

“Vroom, vroom, vroom.” The front loader circles around the top of the room and sweeps back in my direction. “Vroom, vroom!” Its path is clear and William lines up my ankles. “VROOOOM!” I jump back to get out of the way just in time and almost feel as much relief as if it was a near miss from a full sized Caterpillar Loader.

“William be careful,” I remind him looking at the sharp metal scoop and wondering how much it would hurt if it had of hit me. But the front loader isn't finished. William's bare bum waddles as he, still naked on all-fours, turns the loader and himself around and lines up my ankles again and again. He takes half a dozen swipes at my ankles and has me dancing around trying to avoid his deadly road-rage escapade with Bear all the time, travelling in the scoop of the front loader.

I tackle William, hold him down and get his nappy on with an outburst of squeals, clawing and pushing to show his contempt. Before I can do anything he rolls onto his stomach and out of my hold. “We're not finished yet.” I tell him. “You have to put your singlet on.” He disappears out of sight around the door of his room. “Stop being a pain William...” I decide to let him have a few moments to calm down. I sit quietly on the floor with my long legs out in front of me and let my thoughts wander.

Having a child can be painful. Its my reasoning behind women having higher pain thresholds then men. We're wired to deal with all sorts of pain. Before conception there's period pain. During pregnancy there is morning sickness pain, stretch-mark pain, hips moving pain, 'baby head-butting your ribs' pain, 'Oh-my-god-there-is-a-foot-in-my-bladder' pain, sore feet, sore back pain, 'stop boxing my kidney's' pain, can't sleep this way, cant sit that way pain, contraction pain, dilating cervix pain. Then, the almighty mother of all pains...! Enough said? Not quite. Stitches pain, swollen boobs pain, contracting uterus pain, latching on to the nipple pain, 'dead on your feet' exhaustion pain, recovering vagina pain, leaky boobs pain. 'Not tonight I've got a headache' pain....

“Vroom, vroom!” Bang! Bang!
Just been run over by a front loader. “Arghh William!” Ongoing pain...

All Fun and Games

“It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye!” It was the favourite saying of my primary school sports Teacher. Today the full velocity of what he was trying to teach us finally hit me full on. Except in this case it wasn't an eye, it was a tooth. Well half a tooth. Ok so a crescent shape out of the bottom of a tooth. But that tooth is in the middle of the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. It won't ever be the same again.

Today my little boy, his blue bear and I took a trip to the Doctor. I had set up a racing course in the loungeroom. It was an activity that may have come from my recent urge to overcompensate for being a 'single parent- only child' family. I thought more 'male' activities would help Williams development and keep things exciting around our house. William had accidentally rolled off the arm chair he had been sitting on and fell hitting his head on the ground. I was on the phone to my best friend who lives 700kms away. “I gotta go,” I told her as William let out an incredible howl and hung up the phone. I scooped my boy of the ground and held him to my chest in a big mummy bear-hug. “You silly-duffer” I called him. William was a climber. I wasn't worried about him on the chair because he had really good balance and coordination and because he always climbs up on things.

He quickly stopped sobbing and started trying to squirm his way out of my hold. I stepped back a few paces and took in the image of my son to see the total damage. Blood was blotched around his mouth and pooled on his shirt while I had been holding him. Stringy mucous infused blood stretched out to his hands that were already busy playing in the mess.

I started to panic and stopped myself. A mouth injury, I thought. I can do this. I picked up my 16 month old and held him like a newborn. I cracked the ice tray and fed him ice to stop the bleeding and cold water to clear the blood.

“Beep, Beep.” My phone, a text from Bec.
“I hope William is ok,” she wrote. “Talk to you tonight.”
“He's already ok”, I replied. And he was, as far as he was concerned. I didn't want her to worry all day about him.

The bruise was forming on his head and it was confirmed that his tooth was chipped. I held his arms down while William held Bear for support and the doctor examined the extent of the damage. The dry lump come from my stomach got stuck in my throat. It made me feel sick and upset all at once. The adrenalin subsided and the guilt took over. My poor little boy with the cheeky grin just added another stack to his list.