What Happens Here?...

Not neccessarily a "parenting blog," just an honest account of my day to day.
My two partners in crime, my Son William and his favourite toy Bear!

Friday, October 29, 2010

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.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Everyone Likes A Good Fart Joke!

Yes I am Going There...!

"Did you Fart?"
"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.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

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!

Monday, October 18, 2010

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

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

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...

Sunday, October 10, 2010

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.