Where's Baby

Dear Little Miss

Happy 2ND Birthday.

I can hardly believe it has been two years since you were born. Those two years have simply flown by. That time is now a blur of happiness, laughter, tears, extreme tiredness, despair, absolute delight, boobas, nappies and the routine we enforce (with total commitment) of bath, milky, story, bed, songs, cuddles, kisses and finally SLEEP. (and at last you are regularly sleeping through the night)

But where has my baby girl gone?

My 2 year old Little Miss loves to say "No" to me.

"No kisses"
"No sleepy time"

You also love to assert yourself

"I do it" you say to all manner of tasks. Shoes, zips, buttons, hats, getting in and out of the car. Your determination is extraordinary.

I love how much you love your brother. B is the one you want. You follow him around the house. Squabble over whatever he has. Collect treats for him. You unpack his school bag, give him his hat. You are such a helper. And he loves you back calling you his little sweetie.

You like nothing better than playing with your babies. Shaking out their bedsheets, patting and rocking them while you sing. You love to wash them and share your drinks with them. What a great mother you already are. I am so impressed that you like "pack up time" happily tidying away all the toys even B's.

But please don't grow up too fast.

You have been my delight these past two years, my joy and my purpose. As you grow up and I reluctantly let go, know that I love you so much my little daughter.

Love from Mummy XXX

Mum

Dearest Mother,

I just wanted to say some stuff to you that is easier to write down. (and apparently share on the Internet) If I say it to you I will choke up with tears and embarrass as both.

You have heard this before but you should know again that, I love you so much.

I try everyday to be the Mum that you are. You have been totally devoted to your children all your life, you have an unfailing devotion that is totally full of love. A love that is visible in all your actions.

When I think back to the way you mothered me as a child, I feel an overwhelming feeling of love. I hear you singing to me and it bringing me immense comfort.
I know you have worried about us all and will never stop worrying. I understand that worry. It comes from love. A love that you never want interrupted with disappointment, a love that makes us all vulnerable. A love that pulls at your very insides and makes you behave in ways that surprise you. A love that makes you let go when you really want to hold on tight.

Today when you love B and Little Miss, I feel that love for me all over again and it is really very special.
Thanks for being my Mum, the Mum I aspire to be.

Love your daughter forever. xxx

Image from ginnerobot

Sparkly shoes

What does a toddler and Sir Winston Churchill have in common?

























































































Determination

“Never give in, never give in, never; never; never; never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.” Winston Churchill

Not a box

Not a box by Antoinette Portis is an awesome kids book we own and love. It captures the simplicity of fun with a cardboard box, coupled with the vividness of a child's imagination. Read a much more detailed review of it here. Available to purchase from Amazon

Out of the wash

You would of thought I had learnt by now to check the pockets of clothes I am putting into the wash...but it seems I have not.

Tissues we all know are problematic and coins are a bonus. There have also been sticks and assorted rocks. Little pom poms were cute and a series of washers had me thinking the machine was falling apart. Today however this find was rather unexpected and for some reason amusing.

It made me think of little people everywhere picking up brightly coloured special finds. They quickly stow away their treasure in those handy pockets, only to forget about the loot in the busy rush and play that is a child's life.

These finds do make the washing slightly less tedious.

Silence is golden

Or is it?

A special moment when all is quiet.


Time to think.


Noisy interruptions have ceased.


I can hear my own thoughts.


Consider my own feelings for a change.


Take a deep breathe and relax, my shoulders drop.


Tension lifts.


Peace.


Calm.


Screaming? Yes screaming, it's B I run. I find him lying on the ground outside. He's next to the cubby house, he is crying. He has fallen off the cubby house roof. He's all intact, no blood, lots of sand though. Sand? Why sand? Then I notice the bucket of sand laying beside him. There is sand on the roof of the cubby. OK? OH NO! Little Miss is inside the cubby also covered in sand. B has been raining sand on her. She has it all over her head, face, down her back. Damn! Is it in her eyes?

Thankfully no.

What was I thinking?

Silence is danger Mum, wake up!!



Image from Atlantic Ave.

BIG Bunny

From the Artists Gelitin, a BIG knitted bunny lays wounded on a mountain side in northern Italy.
Gelitin's press release:
The things one finds wandering in a landscape: familiar things and utterly unknown, like a flower one has never seen before, or, as Columbus discovered, an inexplicable continent; and then, behind a hill, as if knitted by giant grandmothers, lies this vast rabbit, to make you feel as small as a daisy
The toilet-paper-pink creature lies on its back: a rabbit-mountain like Gulliver in Lilliput. Happy you feel as you climb up along its ears, almost falling into its cavernous mouth, to the belly-summit and look out over the pink woollen landscape of the rabbit’s body, a country dropped from the sky; ears and limbs sneaking into the distance; from its side flowing heart, liver and intestines.
Happily in love you step down the decaying corpse, through the wound, now small like a maggot, over woolen kidney and bowel.
Happy you leave like the larva that gets its wings from an innocent carcass at the roadside.
Such is the happiness which made this rabbit.
I love the rabbit the rabbit loves me.

Take a look from google maps

Chicken legs

Dearest B,

Roast chicken has been a firm favourite dinner choice of yours in the past. This makes me happy as not only do I find it fairly stress free to cook, but I have found all of us enjoy it. Little Miss and you are more than happy to clutch a leg each, eat roasted carrot, roast potatoes or as we call them ‘chunky chips’ with tomato sauce and be bribed with a sweet or lolly if you consume some greens too. I come away feeling mildly successful as a parent when this balanced meal is completed.

Admittedly though, you do love the fatty salty very unhealthy skin. Being the mean mother that I am, I wanted to stop this hogging fatty skin habit so I served up roast chicken this week with only a little skin. You were disappointed, but clutched onto your chicken leg happy enough.

After your first mouthful you examined the leg and said “Yes Mum I can see the fat under the skin here” pointing to your chicken leg. You then continued to eat, with a thoughtful look on your face. You then had a really good look at the food in your hand and said, “That’s the bone there with the skin at the end, Mum is this really a chicken leg, did a Chicken walk on this?” Stupidly I answered, “Yes B it’s a chicken leg, but the chicken has had it's life.” Daddy looked across the table and gave me a look that said,”STOP!” But it was too late.

You put down the leg and ate something else. A very wistful look was on your face and when I asked what was wrong you said, “I don’t want to eat a chicken’s leg.” Rather than pushing it, Daddy and I could both see that you had just put two and two together. The hard realisation that this was a chicken, a clucking bird served plucked and roasted on the table to eat. I offered you some breast meat, no skin, bones or fat, and you thankfully continued to eat.
It might be a while before we have a roast chicken again.

Tonight’s dinner raised the question, “What’s this red stuff in the meat?”

I replied, "It's steak, just eat it."

Love you B

Love from Mummy.

XXX

The tree of life

One night I noticed a tree's shadow on our back fence. It was eerie and surreal to see this moon shadow. At first I couldn't understand where the light was coming from, wasn't this night? How bright the moon can be.

I have a new appreciation for the big tree. Not just any old big tree, but big gum trees in particular. Living next to one whopper we always considered it with respect. The occasional dead branch would drop on our deck, gum leaves filled our gutters year round and would turn our rain water into unusable eucalyptus tea.

Chats with neighbour Mr Wood would reveal that they don't use their back garden due to the dropping branch problem and that they wanted to remove the tree. However, as it's a substantial tree of note the Local Council has deemed it "Significant". In recent months Mr Wood has since applied with success to remove the tree and has been waiting for his tree man to attend to it.

The big gum shades our second storey from the heat of the setting sun in summer and an entire Eco-system inhabits this big tree, my favoured white plumed honey eaters that come every summer, possums that party on our roof at night, Adelaide Rosellas in the spring and as we have since found out a huge white ant's nest.

One recent windy day at 10am the huge gum tree fell smack bang on the house behind ours. I saw it with my eyes, it was only about 6 metres away from me. The tree kind of sliced through the roof of the house, red dust flew up in the air as did corrugated iron, wood and fascia board. I don't remember the noise it made, I just remember my screams.

I instinctively grabbed Little Miss and ran to the front of the house. I happened to be on the phone at the time of the crash and my poor Mum couldn't understand what was going on. I noticed that my voice changed it was high and pitchy. I was clinging onto Little Miss and it seemed like I had to say seven or eight times to my mum that the back neighbours house had been wrecked by the big gum next door. She kept asking what's happened to Little Miss? (Grandmas often worry more than mothers she has told me) I repeated and repeated that Little Miss was fine. I had to call emergency what if someone was in that house? I was shaking so much, it was pouring rain outside like nails on the roof.

Time seemed to warp into slow motion, I couldn't use the phone as it was shaking, no that was me shaking. I wanted to run outside and make sure no one was in that house, but I had Little Miss on my hip. Torn - I had to do something. I rang emergency the operator asked, "Fire, ambulance or police?"
I panicked who would come? I spoke too fast in that high voice that belongs to someone else and said,
"A huge tree has crushed the neighbours house."
She said "That is the SES I'll put you through"
No, I got put onto an answering service giving me the SES's phone number to ring. What! I had to remember a phone number and ring it?? Somehow I managed it, but then I was in a hold queue. I waited and waited. This wasn't working for me, finding the land line phone I rang my husband's work.
I said, " I have an emergency and need to talk to D right now." again it wasn't my voice it was shaky and pitchy.
"OK, I'll find him for you." said the phone taking me seriously at last.
D couldn't work out what all the fuss was about,
"I thought you had run over Little Miss." he said
I wanted to scream, this had happened hadn't it? There was a huge tree and no roof on the neighbours house wasn't there?
I convinced him to come home I was in shock and needed him to contact Mr Wood. Thankfully he obliged.
I was still on hold for the SES so I hung up. Useless.
Little Miss was dressed in a coat and we headed outside in the rain. I had to make sure no one was in the house. D works very close to home so I knew he would be there in minutes.

Outside it was as if everything was alright, nothing changed, but I turned the corner walked down the road and looked at the house and felt sick. I wasn't going near it. A water main had burst and spilled water onto the footpath. The gum tree was so big that even on an angle it was touching the house next to it. The roof was crushed into the building. Oh, even the building, a stone bungalow had major cracks where the tree had made its initial impact. Mr Wood's shed was on an angle. Then I remembered he had dogs, three dogs. I couldn't hear them and his fence was too high to see over.

There was a man in the street sniffing about. I spoke to him, yes, no one was home, thank god. Another neighbour, a woman appeared she had called the fire department. At last I started to take some deep breathes. D arrived soon and he had called Mr Wood.

We all heard a dog bark and thought that sounded normal. Mr Wood arrived he unlocked his gate and the dogs were fine.

It seemed this problem belonged to him now. He rang his insurance agent and asked them what should he do? I asked him several times if he was OK? I stood next to him as he rang the poor owner of the house, she didn't believe him, thought he was joking. I was shocked that Mr Wood had not told his wife and that she wasn't there. He was protecting her.

Mr Wood showed us inside his garden. The tree base was hanging in the air, cut off from its roots. No, it didn't have roots, where the roots should have been was a white ant's termite nest. It stood rising up like an Antonio Gaudi building, intricate curves and windows forming a bronze cone. Standing in Mr Wood's back garden I felt like an intruder. An intruder and onlooker to his disaster that he had to clean up. I needed to go home.

It was just something I saw happening to other people.

But it wasn't.

I saw it happen and kept seeing it happen in my mind over and over again.

With the white ants living inside it that tree was a time bomb. How lucky was Little Miss and me, if that tree had fallen to the east we would be dead, crushed by our second storey. It made butter of a roof, and our extension was the same material corrugated iron and a timber frame. I felt like one of my lives had been used up.

D couldn't understand my feelings. He was happy it was down and no one was hurt. Yes I could see the logic of that, but still I refused to go upstairs. I hated seeing the tree there. I covered the windows with sheets so I my stomach didn't turn every time I saw it.

In the two days following nothing happened to that tree. It was too big for the SES. It kept raining into that house. Now it was not a home.

A specialist came eventually with a 25 tonne crane, but that was too small. A massive crane lifted the trunk off the house after a guy in a cherry picker chain sawed off the branches. It took all day to get it off. Even the experts took photos of the white ants nest and showed one another

After another day a tarp had been secured to the house.

It took two more days and Mr Wood's shed was removed

The day after he got a new fence put up.

The sheets are down and now I only see the image of the tree falling when I think about it.

I am still refusing to sleep upstairs.

My heart goes out to the home owner, so so glad she was not at home.

Colourful stuff

Confession time...

In our home we have lots of books. Lots and lots of books. We have lots of children's books, lots of coffee table type art, gardening, architecture and graphic design plus far too many business books. My man loves them. He cant get enough. They inspire him, teach him and drive him constantly forward in business.

Living with books is all very interesting and good, but book storage is always a problem. We have had various custom bookcases built to house the ever growing collection. However once we discovered we were also collecting bookcases, we got one whopper bookcase built inside the dining room. The bookcase is awesome. Floor to ceiling, 40 open square shelves are anchored to the floor by cupboards. It's white and quite minimal with the uniform square shelves offering your eye a pattern but interest. The scale is BIG.

Next problem was how to organise the books within the bookcase?

I used to work in a Library so initially our books were categorised according to subject. Just like the Dewey decimal system. This was all fine and good until a house guest, who also worked in a library, suggested colour. This got me thinking and doing a little research. All the images I found looked awesome. So I got to work.

I started to put white spines in the centre with black at the ends, warm colour one side and cool the other. I was amazed to find that the colours were so much more vivid and alive when grouped together. My eye would travel back and forth across the row of books, where as before it just stopped. I was also surprised at the colours I found. The purples, lime greens, hot pinks and pale oranges originally lost in a sea of books, when grouped together started to sing.

On seeing his mother's handiwork B commented, "Wow isn't Mum clever?"

Our book case

(note the very top shelf is unsorted)

I am not the only one who has done this as the following images show...

School holidays

Dearest B,

School holidays are over and you are back in the routine of school. I am glad but also a little sad. Despite my initial anxiety about the holidays I really enjoyed it.

I tired really hard to make your holidays fun and full of entertainment. It was a bit nerve racking at first, I was worried about how I would entertain you. The list that I wrote myself helped. It contained a myriad of ideas, outings, and activities for us all to do.

Daddy by B.

I'm guessing that some of the highlights for you where:

Kids choice day - you got to choose what we did till dinner time. You chose going to the ball room at Ikea, lunch with Daddy, playing in the sandpit making sand bricks, and watching Scrapheap Challenge.

Making Pasta - this was exceptionally messy, flour went everywhere, but you adore the pasta machine.

Waterfall - we walked in the pouring rain to Morialta waterfall. We all got sopping wet you loved holding the umbrella. This was Grandma's crazy idea.

Being Crafty - we kept the recycling for a week and you made some awesome stuff, a birds nesting box, an elephant, a remote control and a nasty weapon thing.








Remote control by B.

By the half way point I forgot about my list. I was impressed with your abillity to entertain yourself. A little free time these holidays only made your imagination stronger. You played with the furniture, making a castle out of the couch. Amazing drawings were produced, we made lego together. Not once did you say you were bored.

I did find the noise level irritating. And I learned to walk away from the arguments between you and little Miss. I got so sick of the sound of my own voice telling you both off, that in the end I left you to it. You worked it out, no one got hurt and I kept my hair on.

Little Miss loved having you around all the time.

My favourite thing about the holidays was being with you. I asked you one afternoon,

"B what are you thinking?"

Your reply delighted me

"I'm still thinking it."

I love you B.

Love Mummy XXX

Bunnies

Dearest Little Miss,

Every morning you ask to wear your favourite bunny top, but you have grown out it. Darling, it is only a 00 size and now you are nearly two so its really far too small. It does fit your doll "Baby" though, but you seem upset she is wearing it and not you. I find her naked and the bunny top is in your cot.

The said top was an Op shop find, brand NEXT from England, pale pink in colour and the bunny sewn on front is fluffy. It's been one of those heart racing finds. A find that makes me addicted to Op shopping. The top is so funky and its from a brand not available in Australia plus it was such a bargain. I like to think of Op shopping as recycling while helping out charitable organisations and getting a bargain too. A total win-win-win arrangement.

I wish I could make it big enough to fit you, but you have grown up.

With your second birthday coming up I've been on a search for bunny stuff for you, but have found nothing to match your favourite top....yet. However I have come across some very funky bunnies I would love to be living with....

Hare baby brush, comb and mirror set from Skip Hop

















Ugly dolls are available from K-mart










Red Angel Bunny and Farm animal mirrors available from Raw Space













Bunny Hop wall stickers from ellynelly





















We are all looking forward to your 2nd birthday party. B wants to know how long away it is everyday. He has picked out a present for you and is so excited. He even made you a birthday list of all the things he thought you would like from a toy catalogue.
You have asked for a pink bunny cake. Which you shall have. I ordered it yesterday. Daddy has point blank refused to let Mummy make another novelty birthday cake after the dragon cake stress. I thought it was great in the end, but it did work me up into a bit of a lather.
It is so much fun to live with a little girl who is nearly two. I love you so much.
Love Mummy.
XXX

Life afresh

I really enjoyed the following short film. I spent the whole time trying to figure out what everyone was doing. Its beautifully shot and the sound really made an impact with me. All the noises I made in the kitchen seemed louder and more significant immediately after I watched it. Its a great fresh view of life.

SURFACE : A film from underneath from tu on Vimeo.

Children also enable you to see life afresh. Their amazement delight and pleasure at the simplest of things has helped me realise the wonders of the world all over again.
Lately, during these winter school holidays I've noticed just how much Little Miss and B love to make noise. Little Miss has always noticed sounds and often picks up on a dog barking outside or a plane overhead. I've delighted in her simple astonishment of a plastic cup hitting the floor. It may happen by mistake the first time, but she will notice the sound. A sound I will preempt and ignore, but for her it is amazing. She will then make that sound over and over again. B loves nothing more than making noises with his own voice. The repertoire of siren sounds is worthy of recording. The pitch and volume are excruciatingly annoying, but his focus and delight is so pure.



















The wonder of water, of insects crawling, no fear inside. Lifting lids, opening drawers, how things work. Saucepan sounds. Sand, touching mushy mud, paint on your hands, socks coming off your feet. Falling leaves, cars rushing in water. Darkness and light. The moon in the sky and twinlkling stars. Torches on and off.

Seeing life with fresh eyes is so uplifting. Thanks kids.

Instant wonder

For the last month I have carried two instant sratchie tickets around in my wallet. I am not a gambler, nor am I a spend thrift. Purchasing these tickets was strange and uncommon for me.

I have resisted the temptation and NOT scratched them. I could win up to $40,000 instantly. I might have that money, but I haven't found out. I've been tempted, but I have absolutely relished the wonder of not knowing.

It's like an un-opened letter. You can see who its from so you have a fair idea about the content. But there are a few micro-seconds where you wonder what it says. When you open it and the content is all exposed. (On reflection, I am always longing for a personal letter, hand written containing some exciting news. Is this a fantasy Ive only even seen played out in an Austen dramatisation??)



Unopened presents are the same, though there contents can be anything, and I have to confess, as a spoilt westernised child I rarely opened a present that was exactly right, my sister always seemed to have done much better than me. So I have to admit, present unwrapping makes me a little uncomfortable...Its all tied up with expectations, gratitude, love, and value. Complicated wrapping.

When the home phone rings I have the same wonder, who is it? What do they want? Has something happened? My mobile tells me who is calling, the mystery is decreased in comparison to the wonder of the land line.

In an attempt to capture that wonder and suspense these two unused instant scratchie tickets have brought me so much pleasure. For $2 I am getting a lot of value. The best thing is that as long as I dont reveal thier true content, I can keep this wonder and mystery going as long as I like. (I have checked the expiry date though) Even great books and movies with thriller/suspense storylines come to an end, not so my scratchies.

Reason and Chance

“Every living thing is born without reason and dies by chance.”- Sartre

I have this written on a piece of paper. Its been with me for a long time and gives me a sense of the order of life, of nature, of why shit happens. No reason and by chance. It helps somehow.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the grief that others must feel. It aches in my inner core. As a mother I often feel strangely connected through this vulnerable emotion. Sadly I can imagine all too easily how the mother of a missing child feels. It overwhelms me, its something to do with being a human, being a mother, being a woman, believing in your inner self, or intuition and feeling alone. That connection is powerful, its strong helpful, yet frightening. I feel only sadness like this. I am yet to experience the opposite and hope that wont elude me all my life.

However I am totally unsure of how being born without reason and dying by chance is fitting with me when I consider my own children, it doesn’t help me at all. This is because there was a real reason, and they didn’t get any choice in the matter. Not in the natural way of becoming alive and born. This is because they are IVF children, born through science and the desperateness of an infertile couple.

The core of who they are was mechanically put together, the egg chosen and the sperm collected. The reason they are here is because they were made in a lab, manufactured. Of course you cant tell, nor would you ever be able to guess. But in the course of nature is it ok? Have we messed about with the reason and chance of mother nature?

It was hard to face the infertility problem. I was desperate to fall pregnant naturally. It was really hard to admit that I needed help and wasn’t a perfect, functioning woman. That hurt, that was hard. Once we accepted how unlikely it was that we would not fall pregnant by the conventional method it wasn’t hard to go with IVF. Not for any ethical reason.

On the IVF journey we were proactively doing something to solve the problem and that felt like a step ahead, rather than doing nothing and staying in the same place. Don’t get me wrong, the IVF journey was gruesome, a rollercoaster of expectation and failure. There were such limiting odds against you all the time. You became a body to be controlled with only certain odds of success. Timings, injections, blood tests. Science controlling your human cycle you become an unnatural egg manufacturing plant. The number of how many eggs you can make at once becomes the goal, then how many become fertilised, how many grow into 5 day old blastocysts. How many will you implant back in and then how many will you have to freeze for your next try.

Waiting out the 10 days till your pregnancy test is horrific. I used to comfort myself by acknowledging that each second was getting me closer to knowing. Any symptom or sign of pregnancy or possible period was noted. Was that twinge period pain coming on? or does that nausea mean I’m pregnant? What does a pimple mean? Any book containing a list of the first signs of pregnancy is read, reread and then reread again. Mothers are questioned, when did you know? What did you notice first?

At this time you are on a 'Y' shaped road there are only two outcomes, pregnant or not, each offers such different paths, complete happiness and joy, hope expectation and the door opening to the next chapter of your life, or the same continuing struggle of failure and unhappiness.

The IVF process exposes the natural process that we usually don’t know about, the minute day by day detail of what is happening in the reproducing human at every step. There is still no reason that they can explain as to why it doesn’t work and it is a game of chance.

So with two perfect children of course I count my blessings. I am lucky it has worked twice for me. But the words that have given me comfort about life just don’t fit my own children. Because there was a reason they are here now born, alive, breathing. It is because they were chosen, an embryologist picked them. They have two frozen siblings in limbo unpicked. Not growing, life halted yet not dead, no chance.

The big question is, What do we do with them?

These are our choices:
1- Use them and potentially have two more children
2- Let them be used for research
3- Defrost them allowing their development to cease

What would you do?

SPECIAL NOTE: Thank you R for finding out about the origins of the quote for me. Human existence as such is equally meaningless. "It is absurd that we were born, it is absurd that we die" writes Sartre in Being and Nothingness. We do not know where we came from, why we are here, what we must do; or where we are going. "Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of the weakness of inertia and dies by chance" says one of Sartre's characters in Nausea.

Images from Wikipedia

Little Miss

Dearest Little Miss,
When you were born it felt like my finest moment. A baby girl, perfect in every way, ten toes and fingers, perfect little nose and perfect skin though it was a little red, well very red in colour, but the midwife assured me that was a great sign. You looked up at us with big wide dark eyes. You stared at Mummy and Daddy then you did your first poo. (At least the midwife had to deal with that one.)

These first two years with you have been truly remarkable. You amaze me everyday. You have loved a steadfast routine and can tell me what will happen after dinner,
“Bath, milky, bed.” you say.
After childcare we go and pick up your brother, once when daddy had that task, you burst into tears as I pulled into the driveway screaming,
“Brother, brother, get brother Mum.”
You haven’t even turned two yet, but you know what is what and what order it should be done in.
Another amusing quality is putting “y”or “ie” on the end of things that comfort you- Milky, baggie, bickie. This is probably a natural progression from the other things that comfort you like dummy, teddy, baby, story, mummy and daddy.

It took some time for you to get walking, You preferred the commando style of crawling. With a nice slippery floor you actually slid around the house and did a nice job of picking up lots of fluff. This was A) good for your immune system and B) a help with cleaning the floor, but C) not so helpful with the washing, your clothes were disgustingly dirty all down the front.

Up till very recently you have always been a great little eater. All manner of vegetables have been consumed. This has been very helpful to get your brother eating them too. We give you over the top praise for putting a carrot in your mouth and then he says,
“Look, I’m doing it too.”
Thanks for that little miss. I would like to know though, what has happened to that good little eater? Now the eating fuss pot has taken her place. Peas are picked out and thrown away, only to spend the next few hours squashed under my shoes. Strawberries are meet with a NO. Meat is chewed then spat out too. You do like to play with rice, but I think you regard it as a fashion accessory, coating your hair and clothes with the nice sticky grains. You seem to think its bickie time all the time, telling me,
“Mum, bickie cupboard, Mum, Mum bickie”

I can sense that tantrums will be the order of the day with you, distraction has worked for now. In the future though my little one I will be saying “NO” and resisting the urge to give you everything your heart desires. Even though that’s what I really want to do, but its just not what is best for you in the long run. As your mother it is my job to bring you up to be a well rounded reasonable adult, tantrums are not acceptable. Adult tantrums are truly ugly and very shameful. See here if in doubt.

The journey with you so far has been so amazing, you love and adore your brother so much, I never considered that family dynamic when we planned you. You are amazing and I love you so much my little miss.

Love from Mummy
PS I would really like it if you stopped calling me Mum, I prefer Mummy thanks.

NOTE:
In my limited experience I have found that children and eating is all tied up in parental emotions. When you take your tiny baby to a health check she is weighed to make sure you are doing your job properly and feeding her. When she has grown you feel like you are doing well at this parenting game and are successful.

The food types change over those first years, but that emotional tie to feeding and nurturing your child doesn't. When a Mum friend has complained about a child not eating I have said so many times, “They wont starve themselves.”
But that’s the wrong thing to say. Mums have to let go of that emotional connection of success and achievement with what goes into their child’s mouth. Not completely, but little by little as their child grows. We also need to remember that their needs change over time too. Growth spurts mean more food and in the downtime less. Their tastes are still developing too so their likes and dislikes are going to change.

We ultimately have to let go of our children. My wise sister once told me that we don’t own our children they are just on loan to us. (This was also said by Dr James Dobson, he must have met my sister) In our paranoid society we moddle coddle our children with over protection. The sooner we learn to let go little by little the better off they will be, helping them develop into confident and capable adults.

Starting with my emotions, and little Misses eating, I’ve got to take my own advice and chill about the food a bit.

"Children are not guests in our home. They have been loaned to us temporarily for the purpose of loving them and instilling a foundation of values on which their future lives will be built." Dr. James Dobson. - A Dude.

Mystery Box

Window seats in restaurants are often coveted, they give the diners a view of the outside world. Enhancing the experience of going to a restaurant as the world goes about its work without you. You sit, eat, look, drink and enjoy. And lets face it going out for meals is a real pleasure. I love it. You are waited on, asked what you want, you have choice, what do you feel like? Fulfil your whim.

As I walk past I view the window diners with envy. There is an elderly couple leaning back and having cappuccinos, a woman with a child and all the paraphernalia of pram, mess, big bag and food. The two of them are sharing one bowl of pasta. I love the sharing food thing. When I grew up this never happened and as a big hungry family you didn’t dare leave your dinner plate abandoned. A hungry brother or sister was bound to steal your food. Mum made around 300gms of steak feed five of us by bashing it out flat. It was bigger, but thin, lean meals.

Once particular diner grabs my attention, a lone brunette who glances at her watch. She is obviously waiting for someone as she isn’t reading a paper like lone diners usually do. Plus there is something different about her, she has a great big pink present on the table, waiting. My attention turns to the present. It’s a box, large, taking up most of the table. A pink layer of wrapping paper is overwrapped with cellophane. Its shiny. Ribbons top it off. It’s a dream present. Large exquisitely wrapped and box shaped. Boxes can contain just about anything, but generally speaking its something precious to warrant a box.

As I continue on my walk and past the café my mind returns to the errand I am on. There are five things to purchase milk bread cheese bananas and sugar. Anymore than five and Id need to write a list. It is said that you can only really be close to five friends at one time. Five lives to enter, remembering and caring about details. Five fingers on your hand.

I wait at the traffic lights with the bleep beat. Looking at the pub across the road I think of the times I’ve spent there. Once they gave me a free drink just for saying please. I was shocked my simple manners were noticed.

Feeling the presence of another pedestrian I fiddle with my bag. The bleep signals its time to walk and we head across the road. The pub smells of stale beer and cigarettes. The smoke continues outside the TAB. My pace is faster than my waiting pedestrian and I am now near the hairdressers. Hairdresser noise escapes the doors, Hairdryers, and raised voices. Looking in I see women looking at themselves with women looking at themselves doing hair. Mirrors mirrors everywhere, Women reading about other women, Wet hair, towels, plastic tight necked capes. A kaleidoscope of hair bits on the floor, walked through, stood in, swept up.

A cafe strip with outdoor dining. I dodge an ‘A’ frame sign declaring a glass of wine and pizza for $15. Dannys Thai bistro, Gusto , Rain, Mannys. I feel like an intruder in the dining room of these lunch time patrons. Head down, I continue on my misson. The pavement looks grotty, blackened with food.

A bank with ATM waiting to dispense. Bored security guard next to opening doors. A men’s clothing store, empty and quiet, monochrome shirts hanging in the window, a sign declaring SALE. Old leaves gathered in a corner. Cars in a busy intersection, trying to turn, indicators on. People on the road, a big yellow bus, delivery van coming through. Another busy café with outdoor diners to be seen and look at. The happy noise of everyone talking at once. The clink of cutlery. A record shop, music flows onto the street, rows of neatly alphabetised music.

Finally my destination, the Supermarket. A red empty basket. Can I remember my five items? I am already lured to purchase strawberries they are on special. The bananas are green. The fruit is all laid out to pick. On display, origin stated.

Take a number wait your turn for sliced meats. Cold, dead, wrapped and weighed. Neat aisles of categorised packaged food. Brought together and displayed for convenience. Pick me, pick me. Organised labelled and priced. There is an abundance. Too much choice, too much food.
“Security check in area 3”
Easy dinners, Muzak. Wayward trolleys. Artificial light.
What is so super?
Strawberries, yogurt, Danish, juice, jam, milk, bread, cheese, bananas, and sugar selected, carried, bar code read, bagged and bought.

Outside traffic noise, two heavy bags to carry. Retracing my steps. Its downhill now, easier and its all been seen before. Then I recall the pink present. Was the brunette still waiting? What is in the box? The sun has come out it warms my face. I feel thirsty. The plastic bags hurt my hands. The lights are red. I wait….

Will the brunette be gone? Will the gift be on display stripped of its wrappings.? Is it beautiful? Will I ever know what’s in the box?

I reach them. The brunette and her new companion, a blonde, are all smiles. There are hand gestures. The brunette is talking with great enthusiasm, she is animated. The blonde reaches towards it, smiling. It sits before them on the table. The gift has been given. Open. I stare.

The mystery of possibility is more interesting than reality.