Showing posts with label B. Show all posts
Showing posts with label B. Show all posts
16.8.12
How much screen time?
My Mum used to say,"Variety is the spice of life" and "Enjoy a little bit of everything" She was referring to food not screens, but it has been helpful to apply the same principles. I've had to make some hard decisions about how much gaming screen time is enough for a 4 and 8 year old. On the one hand games can be addictive, singular and antisocial, but on the other they can be creative, fun, educational, social currency and children are learning to use the tools of their future.
So how much screen time is B allowed right now?
During school term:
During school term:
Friday after school 30 mins of Minecraft (we use the microwave timer).
Saturday 1 hour total with no more than 30 mins of Minecraft.
Sunday 1 hour total with not more than 30 mins of Minecraft.
However he is allowed to watch movies or television after school if his homework is done and on the weekend. I am quick to warn him that screen time will be taken away for inappropriate behaviour, so it's a valuable currency now it is limited.
Little Miss is allowed the equivalent so a total of 2.5 hours over Friday, Saturday and Sunday of screen games. She prefers the ipad over the computer and often chooses to watch Playschool episodes on the ipad over any other type of game. It will be interesting to see how that changes as she matures.
Is 2.5 hours gaming enough a week?
Not according to B. But when I consider the amount of time he plays sport a week (3 hours per week) or reads books (4 hours), or creates/draws/crafts (2 hours), then I think that the screen time is in balance with everything else. I am often reminding him that variety is what makes life enjoyable. A range of interests and skills is what makes you an interesting person.
12.5.12
Letting go....again
B reached a milestone in the last school holidays that makes me really happy and a little bit sad at the same time. He's riding a bike.
At eight it might be a bit late on his list of achievements, we haven't intentionally held him back. His late learning to ride has been a consequence of situation. Living in a house with no backyard close to busy roads then moving to a house on a hill. But over the holidays we stayed in the beach shack with its wide long driveway and safe esplanade bike path round the corner. B has been scooting for a while now so we hoped it wouldn't take too much, just so long as he would give it a try.
Getting kids to try new things can be tricky. They don't want to fail, so a lot of encouragement is needed. With the new bike in the car we talked to him about practising something before its perfect. We told him stories of how we learnt to ride. Our embarrassing bike crashes that had me caught up in a rose bush and his father in a creek, complete with wet newspapers he was meant to be delivering. So when he came to trying out the bike and not getting it straight away he would know its a process.
But I need not have worried, whether it was the balancing practise on his scooter or his mature 8 years, he was riding that bike within an hour. As proud as we were I couldn't help feel like I had just lost a hold of him. Now he has his own method of transport, his own wheels.
After a big bike ride along the esplanade, I asked him, "Did you taste the freedom?"
B said, "No Mum you kept calling me back."
At eight it might be a bit late on his list of achievements, we haven't intentionally held him back. His late learning to ride has been a consequence of situation. Living in a house with no backyard close to busy roads then moving to a house on a hill. But over the holidays we stayed in the beach shack with its wide long driveway and safe esplanade bike path round the corner. B has been scooting for a while now so we hoped it wouldn't take too much, just so long as he would give it a try.
Getting kids to try new things can be tricky. They don't want to fail, so a lot of encouragement is needed. With the new bike in the car we talked to him about practising something before its perfect. We told him stories of how we learnt to ride. Our embarrassing bike crashes that had me caught up in a rose bush and his father in a creek, complete with wet newspapers he was meant to be delivering. So when he came to trying out the bike and not getting it straight away he would know its a process.
But I need not have worried, whether it was the balancing practise on his scooter or his mature 8 years, he was riding that bike within an hour. As proud as we were I couldn't help feel like I had just lost a hold of him. Now he has his own method of transport, his own wheels.
After a big bike ride along the esplanade, I asked him, "Did you taste the freedom?"
B said, "No Mum you kept calling me back."
6.2.12
Eight
I can't help but look on my first born's birthday as the day I became a parent. B's birthday is not only a celebration for him, but a huge milestone in my life too.
I never thought I would have a son who is eight. When I first held my new born son in my arms eight years ago I was so relieved. Relieved that the labour was over, relieved he had all the right bits in the right places and relieved to put all that IVF process behind us. Finally I was a Mum at last with my real live baby in my arms.
Little did I know. That shoulder dropping relief didn't last long at all. Within 2 hours of his birth baby B started to struggle to breathe, instead he made a grunty noise that worried the midwife. So B was taken away from me and examined. Next thing we knew he was in intensive care and a machine was breathing for him.
I was left empty and without my baby B in my arms.
The next 48 hours are a bit of a blur. My pure new baby was now in the hands of strangers. He lay connected to machines that bleeped. Tubes came out of him and wires and tape were stuck all over him. I couldn't see his face properly for the ventilation tube. All the time I was thinking,
"After all that IVF we went through, how can this be happening to us?"
I wondered if I was ever really meant to be a Mum.
Doctors talked about brain scans and infections. Baby B developed a very high temperature. X-rays revealed mucus in his lungs and the brain scan showed swelling. They thought he got distressed during the birth. He was given various types of antibiotics intravenously, plus a paralysing drug to stop him fighting the ventilator. All the time he was inside me I hadn't had one drop of alcohol or even one paracetamol tablet.
Then he improved and breathed for himself. He came away from Intensive care and went into the special care unit. I got to hold him for little bits. I changed his nappy and saw his body for the first time. Thankfully he kept improving. We fed baby B via a tube. I expressed my milk for him then syringed it up his nose via the tube. I never imagined doing that to a baby. He kept improving and I got to attempt breastfeeding with baby B in my arms at last. But he didn't want to suck. With midwives looking on and coaching, B and I slowly learned to breastfeed. Days seemed like weeks, but eventually baby B left the special care unit and roomed in with me. Over the course of seven days we went to hell and back but finally he got the hang of being a baby and I really did get to be his Mum.
That shaky start to parenting has been the worst thing we have ever been through. Thankfully B has been quite drama free since his first week of life. A paediatrician did say to us,
"This is probably the most stress this child will cause you throughout your life."
And he has been right so far. B has been comparatively easy since then.
So happy Birthday my dear B. As we travel our journey together as mother and son I can't help but be so proud of you. Not only have you beaten all the odds of IVF and a dodgy birth, but you have grown up over the last eight years into a spunky kid who knows his own mind. An eight year old mind that is developing fast and shows so much promise. You delight all who meet you. I feel so lucky to be your Mum, eight years ago you gave me the best purpose in the world. I love you so so very much.
I never thought I would have a son who is eight. When I first held my new born son in my arms eight years ago I was so relieved. Relieved that the labour was over, relieved he had all the right bits in the right places and relieved to put all that IVF process behind us. Finally I was a Mum at last with my real live baby in my arms.
Little did I know. That shoulder dropping relief didn't last long at all. Within 2 hours of his birth baby B started to struggle to breathe, instead he made a grunty noise that worried the midwife. So B was taken away from me and examined. Next thing we knew he was in intensive care and a machine was breathing for him.
I was left empty and without my baby B in my arms.
The next 48 hours are a bit of a blur. My pure new baby was now in the hands of strangers. He lay connected to machines that bleeped. Tubes came out of him and wires and tape were stuck all over him. I couldn't see his face properly for the ventilation tube. All the time I was thinking,
"After all that IVF we went through, how can this be happening to us?"
I wondered if I was ever really meant to be a Mum.
Doctors talked about brain scans and infections. Baby B developed a very high temperature. X-rays revealed mucus in his lungs and the brain scan showed swelling. They thought he got distressed during the birth. He was given various types of antibiotics intravenously, plus a paralysing drug to stop him fighting the ventilator. All the time he was inside me I hadn't had one drop of alcohol or even one paracetamol tablet.
Then he improved and breathed for himself. He came away from Intensive care and went into the special care unit. I got to hold him for little bits. I changed his nappy and saw his body for the first time. Thankfully he kept improving. We fed baby B via a tube. I expressed my milk for him then syringed it up his nose via the tube. I never imagined doing that to a baby. He kept improving and I got to attempt breastfeeding with baby B in my arms at last. But he didn't want to suck. With midwives looking on and coaching, B and I slowly learned to breastfeed. Days seemed like weeks, but eventually baby B left the special care unit and roomed in with me. Over the course of seven days we went to hell and back but finally he got the hang of being a baby and I really did get to be his Mum.
That shaky start to parenting has been the worst thing we have ever been through. Thankfully B has been quite drama free since his first week of life. A paediatrician did say to us,
"This is probably the most stress this child will cause you throughout your life."
And he has been right so far. B has been comparatively easy since then.
So happy Birthday my dear B. As we travel our journey together as mother and son I can't help but be so proud of you. Not only have you beaten all the odds of IVF and a dodgy birth, but you have grown up over the last eight years into a spunky kid who knows his own mind. An eight year old mind that is developing fast and shows so much promise. You delight all who meet you. I feel so lucky to be your Mum, eight years ago you gave me the best purpose in the world. I love you so so very much.
2.2.12
Self discipline
Self discipline is controlling yourself.
I use self discipline when I stop at one chocolate biscuit. When two would be much nicer.
I also try to use self discipline when the kids are going crazy. I might feel like screaming or hiding in a cupboard, but instead I try to be a reassuring calm Mum who reminds everyone about the rules.
The rules are not always explicit though, like our dinner time rules. I tend to think of the rules as a general code of behaviour that we learn through experience and consequence. Like if you make a big mess then you have to help clean it up or if you hurt someone you say sorry.
But the kids like things to be black and white, spelt out and written in stone. Perhaps it may have been unfair to have this vague notion of "the rules" and "appropriate behaviour"without really working the rules though with the kids and recording them for future reference.
So the other day when I was trudging up the stairs carrying a fully loaded laundry basket and B and Little Miss bombarded me with missiles over the stair banister I drew on my own self discipline to not go mental at them. Instead I had a talk to B, the instigator of the missile attack. I could see his eyes glaze over as I ranted on about the dangers of throwing things at people on stairs, throwing stuff in the house blah blah blah. There was a cheeky smirk in his face, every fibre of my being was furious. I was totally livid with him.
So what should I do? I think I even asked him that. I could see that talking wasn't working B was in one of those silly moods, he wasn't listening or following any thoughts through. Out of no where I told him to sit on the naughty stool and write out the rules. Little Miss was set to work cleaning up the missile mess.
After some time B presented these rules to me.
And I was really impressed as not only had he included a rule for not throwing and dropping things, but he had also included a rule for not running inside, not jumping on the furniture and no talk back. Much more than I expected.
After another incident where he gave me a lot of lip, his father sent him to the naughty stool to read his own rules. His dad asked him, "So what rule did you mess up on?"
"No talk back" was his response.
B can't argue with his own rules in his own handwriting. He is actually disciplining himself. I hope this is a breakthrough and a means to help B learn some real self discipline. Something we are all learning to draw on throughout our lives whether it be the temptation of another biscuit or a full blown melt down in a cupboard.
I use self discipline when I stop at one chocolate biscuit. When two would be much nicer.
I also try to use self discipline when the kids are going crazy. I might feel like screaming or hiding in a cupboard, but instead I try to be a reassuring calm Mum who reminds everyone about the rules.
The rules are not always explicit though, like our dinner time rules. I tend to think of the rules as a general code of behaviour that we learn through experience and consequence. Like if you make a big mess then you have to help clean it up or if you hurt someone you say sorry.
But the kids like things to be black and white, spelt out and written in stone. Perhaps it may have been unfair to have this vague notion of "the rules" and "appropriate behaviour"without really working the rules though with the kids and recording them for future reference.
So the other day when I was trudging up the stairs carrying a fully loaded laundry basket and B and Little Miss bombarded me with missiles over the stair banister I drew on my own self discipline to not go mental at them. Instead I had a talk to B, the instigator of the missile attack. I could see his eyes glaze over as I ranted on about the dangers of throwing things at people on stairs, throwing stuff in the house blah blah blah. There was a cheeky smirk in his face, every fibre of my being was furious. I was totally livid with him.
So what should I do? I think I even asked him that. I could see that talking wasn't working B was in one of those silly moods, he wasn't listening or following any thoughts through. Out of no where I told him to sit on the naughty stool and write out the rules. Little Miss was set to work cleaning up the missile mess.
After some time B presented these rules to me.
And I was really impressed as not only had he included a rule for not throwing and dropping things, but he had also included a rule for not running inside, not jumping on the furniture and no talk back. Much more than I expected.
After another incident where he gave me a lot of lip, his father sent him to the naughty stool to read his own rules. His dad asked him, "So what rule did you mess up on?"
"No talk back" was his response.
B can't argue with his own rules in his own handwriting. He is actually disciplining himself. I hope this is a breakthrough and a means to help B learn some real self discipline. Something we are all learning to draw on throughout our lives whether it be the temptation of another biscuit or a full blown melt down in a cupboard.
16.12.11
While the cat's back is turned....
The mouse will play with the cat's camera.
The cat then gets an insight into the games a certain mouse likes to play...
Constructive games
Shockingly violent lego games
Spying on mother and sister in garden game
Following sister around game
Tormenting sister game
Locking sister on balcony game
The cat then gets an insight into the games a certain mouse likes to play...
Constructive games
Shockingly violent lego games
Spying on mother and sister in garden game
Following sister around game
Tormenting sister game
Locking sister on balcony game
and typing on the computer game.
What the???
Better keep a closer eye on that cheeky mouse!
25.11.11
Happy haircut
To say I have been anxious at B's haircuts in the past is probably an understatement. I really don't like B having a short back and sides, its not him and it changes his appearance so much. But to get a haircut that isn't short back and sides on a boy is not easy, let me tell you. So when I picked up B from school and said we were going to the hairdressers he was not happy.
"I like my long hair Mum" he informed me.
"So do I," I said, "Thats why I'm taking you to my hairdresser." I thought it would be worth a try.
On all the occasions I had been to my hairdressers I had been blissfully unaware of a special area equipped for the little people. So I was amazed and very pleasantly surprised with the set up. The kids area is just off to the side of the main salon, so any noisy children wont disturb the vibe, and it contains kids seats with mirrors plus lots of toys, entertainment and even a lolly machine.
B was more than happy to sit and watch a DVD he chose, while Mel styled his hair. I was really impressed as B didn't fidget and B didn't complain.
Little Miss had plenty to occupy herself with too.
And what a great haircut he got.
Thanks Mel.
Smooth Hair is located at 241 Unley Road Malvern. Phone 8373 0444
Please note that Smooth Hair has not sponsored or endorsed this content in any way.
"I like my long hair Mum" he informed me.
"So do I," I said, "Thats why I'm taking you to my hairdresser." I thought it would be worth a try.
On all the occasions I had been to my hairdressers I had been blissfully unaware of a special area equipped for the little people. So I was amazed and very pleasantly surprised with the set up. The kids area is just off to the side of the main salon, so any noisy children wont disturb the vibe, and it contains kids seats with mirrors plus lots of toys, entertainment and even a lolly machine.
B was more than happy to sit and watch a DVD he chose, while Mel styled his hair. I was really impressed as B didn't fidget and B didn't complain.
Little Miss had plenty to occupy herself with too.
And what a great haircut he got.
Thanks Mel.
Smooth Hair is located at 241 Unley Road Malvern. Phone 8373 0444
Please note that Smooth Hair has not sponsored or endorsed this content in any way.
2.9.11
Its okay
Its okay that he runs when I want him to walk.
Its okay that he never listens and is distracted by everything around him.
Its okay that he eats loudly and never closes his mouth.
Its okay his room is a mess and his stuff litters the house.
Its okay that he has emptied a bottle of conditioner in the bath and used three towels to dry.
Its okay that he calls Little Miss "Pisster" then pushes in front of her.
Its even okay when he says he doesn't like me anymore and that I am "Mean Mum."
And its probably even okay that he leaves urine in the toilet and sometimes number 2s.
Why?
Because he is my living, breathing, healthy, happy child and I love him unconditionally.
Its okay that he never listens and is distracted by everything around him.
Its okay that he eats loudly and never closes his mouth.
Its okay his room is a mess and his stuff litters the house.
Its okay that he has emptied a bottle of conditioner in the bath and used three towels to dry.
Its okay that he calls Little Miss "Pisster" then pushes in front of her.
Its even okay when he says he doesn't like me anymore and that I am "Mean Mum."
And its probably even okay that he leaves urine in the toilet and sometimes number 2s.
Why?
Because he is my living, breathing, healthy, happy child and I love him unconditionally.
6.6.11
Boys and girls
Are boys and girls really all that different?
Yes, or so I thought.
B is so active, he thinks on the run. B jumps with a great big leap into whatever takes his fancy. He never walks, but runs to get where he wants to go. B strives to figure out how something works, he'll take it apart, examine the mechanics, look, spin, touch, test, stretch, bang and hammer components then move onto the next mystery at a gallop.
Whereas Little Miss is happy to sit and be focused on one task. She will sit and be still. Her attention is focused on the one skill she is practising like beading, dressing a doll, or colouring in. Little Miss will get absorbed, she will be intricate with her task and examine the details, quietly and gently making her mark, nurturing the objects to her satisfaction and is she happy to do the same thing over and over again.
So I thought my boy and my girl were very different, but last weekend all that changed. I found out something they are both really good at and have in common. We went to watch B play at a football carnival on Saturday, then attended Little Miss's ballet demonstration on Sunday.
Saturday
The boys were running around going crazy wearing their special foot ball guernseys. B was so excited, he loved socialising with all his footy mates, they ran around, kicked the ball, and played their matches together. It was all going well until they had a 30 minute break until their next game. They took in water and fuel, and then started to ham around on the stairs to the grandstand. The coach told them off, the grandstand was out of bounds.
"When is my next game?" B asked and I said it was soon. Then I had to remind B to get off the grandstand stairs a second time. But when my back was turned he was up there again, like a dog with a bone. Disaster struck, and he came tumbling down, hitting the concert hard. Football boots are not designed to be used on concert, so he slipped. B is bruised and badly grazed, but he will live. He was much too sore to play football though and missed the next game, as well as training on Tuesday.
But B learnt a valuable lesson - listen to your Mum.
Sunday
At the ballet demonstration the girls were dancing around going crazy wearing their special ballet costumes. Little Miss was so excited to be a part of it all. Waiting in the audience she pointed out her friends and waved and giggled. Little Miss was wide eyed as she absorbed the concert, watching every act with wonder.
"When will it be my turn?" she asked
"There are three more groups to go on stage then its your turn, now would be a good time to go to the toilet."
"I don't need to go to the toilet" she stated
She fidgeted around. And I tried again suggesting earnestly that we go to the toilet NOW, while we had the chance
"I will miss the dancing" she insisted
"But doing a wee before you go on stage is a really good idea." I explained
"I DONT NEED TO GO" she shouted at me. So I left well alone, but I wasn't convinced.
It was her time to go on stage. She joined her group and ran behind the side curtain. We had to wait 15 minutes while another group did their performance. As soon as she came on stage I could see something was wrong. She crossed her legs and pulled her tutu up and up moving her feet all the time. She danced as best she could.... considering. Then she did the tell tale crutch grab and we worried a puddle may emerge. She had to do a little solo fairy run and it was very rushed, as urgency was written in her body language. All her beautiful fluid movements were gone. I was in agony for her. She came off stage and immediately said, "I need to wee now."
I rushed her to the toilet where a long line of little ballerinas greeted us. I took her to the unused disabled toilet around the corner and she finally relieved herself.
I said "Next time lets do a wee before we go on stage."
"OK Mummy" she said.
But Little Miss learnt a valuable lesson - listen to your Mum.
Yes, or so I thought.
B is so active, he thinks on the run. B jumps with a great big leap into whatever takes his fancy. He never walks, but runs to get where he wants to go. B strives to figure out how something works, he'll take it apart, examine the mechanics, look, spin, touch, test, stretch, bang and hammer components then move onto the next mystery at a gallop.
Whereas Little Miss is happy to sit and be focused on one task. She will sit and be still. Her attention is focused on the one skill she is practising like beading, dressing a doll, or colouring in. Little Miss will get absorbed, she will be intricate with her task and examine the details, quietly and gently making her mark, nurturing the objects to her satisfaction and is she happy to do the same thing over and over again.
So I thought my boy and my girl were very different, but last weekend all that changed. I found out something they are both really good at and have in common. We went to watch B play at a football carnival on Saturday, then attended Little Miss's ballet demonstration on Sunday.
Saturday
The boys were running around going crazy wearing their special foot ball guernseys. B was so excited, he loved socialising with all his footy mates, they ran around, kicked the ball, and played their matches together. It was all going well until they had a 30 minute break until their next game. They took in water and fuel, and then started to ham around on the stairs to the grandstand. The coach told them off, the grandstand was out of bounds.
"When is my next game?" B asked and I said it was soon. Then I had to remind B to get off the grandstand stairs a second time. But when my back was turned he was up there again, like a dog with a bone. Disaster struck, and he came tumbling down, hitting the concert hard. Football boots are not designed to be used on concert, so he slipped. B is bruised and badly grazed, but he will live. He was much too sore to play football though and missed the next game, as well as training on Tuesday.
But B learnt a valuable lesson - listen to your Mum.
Sunday
At the ballet demonstration the girls were dancing around going crazy wearing their special ballet costumes. Little Miss was so excited to be a part of it all. Waiting in the audience she pointed out her friends and waved and giggled. Little Miss was wide eyed as she absorbed the concert, watching every act with wonder.
"When will it be my turn?" she asked
"There are three more groups to go on stage then its your turn, now would be a good time to go to the toilet."
"I don't need to go to the toilet" she stated
She fidgeted around. And I tried again suggesting earnestly that we go to the toilet NOW, while we had the chance
"I will miss the dancing" she insisted
"But doing a wee before you go on stage is a really good idea." I explained
"I DONT NEED TO GO" she shouted at me. So I left well alone, but I wasn't convinced.
It was her time to go on stage. She joined her group and ran behind the side curtain. We had to wait 15 minutes while another group did their performance. As soon as she came on stage I could see something was wrong. She crossed her legs and pulled her tutu up and up moving her feet all the time. She danced as best she could.... considering. Then she did the tell tale crutch grab and we worried a puddle may emerge. She had to do a little solo fairy run and it was very rushed, as urgency was written in her body language. All her beautiful fluid movements were gone. I was in agony for her. She came off stage and immediately said, "I need to wee now."
I rushed her to the toilet where a long line of little ballerinas greeted us. I took her to the unused disabled toilet around the corner and she finally relieved herself.
I said "Next time lets do a wee before we go on stage."
"OK Mummy" she said.
But Little Miss learnt a valuable lesson - listen to your Mum.
26.5.11
Signs of the times
B is growing up so fast. Everyday he seems to be taller and that little bit wiser. Some mornings when Little Miss, B and I are all having a cuddle in the big warm bed together (an absolute favourite part of my day) we do the "foot check" to measure if their feet are as big as mine yet. B's are up to my toes already and he is only 7. I am a bit hesitant to imagine how big his feet will be when he is 16. I hope he will still do the foot check with me then, but I doubt the foot check would occur in the "family bed" as he calls it.
B's reading and writing skills are really improving. Excitingly reading is opening up new worlds for B. I can't tell you how happy I am to see him snuggle down into his own bed with a book. His favourite reads are all non fiction. B just cant get enough facts into his head about stuff, particularly space, transportation and machinery of any kind.
Writing is no longer a chore that I have to encourage B to do. He is writing unassisted for his own pleasure and for his own means. Admittedly he makes mistakes and his writing has interesting motives. But I am impressed. I am also continually surprised by this child. He really values his own space. He likes to have a bit of quiet time on his own, much to the disappointment of Little Miss who can't seem to get enough of him. I wonder if this is the beginning of them growing apart. The signs he makes certainly show a tendency to be left well alone.
B's bedroom door
The wall outside his bedroom
B is a stickler for rules and safety. He likes to make up any rules that go along with our loose household arrangements. Of course he can now express these rules with signs that I find attached to all manner of places.
No drinks in the lego room
Dangerous things
Keep away from the gas heater
Lots of literature about boys suggests that boys like to know the rules and have the rules be enforced. We try to respect this in the Chapter Forty house, however Little Miss is very good at reminding B if he is verging on the edge of one of his own rules. The Little Miss Police are not well received by B and conflict seems to be the natural state of our house at the moment. B likes to remind everyone,
"You are not the boss of me."
Then Little Miss says,"No Mummy is the boss."
B's reading and writing skills are really improving. Excitingly reading is opening up new worlds for B. I can't tell you how happy I am to see him snuggle down into his own bed with a book. His favourite reads are all non fiction. B just cant get enough facts into his head about stuff, particularly space, transportation and machinery of any kind.
Writing is no longer a chore that I have to encourage B to do. He is writing unassisted for his own pleasure and for his own means. Admittedly he makes mistakes and his writing has interesting motives. But I am impressed. I am also continually surprised by this child. He really values his own space. He likes to have a bit of quiet time on his own, much to the disappointment of Little Miss who can't seem to get enough of him. I wonder if this is the beginning of them growing apart. The signs he makes certainly show a tendency to be left well alone.
B's bedroom door
The wall outside his bedroom
B is a stickler for rules and safety. He likes to make up any rules that go along with our loose household arrangements. Of course he can now express these rules with signs that I find attached to all manner of places.
No drinks in the lego room
Dangerous things
Keep away from the gas heater
Lots of literature about boys suggests that boys like to know the rules and have the rules be enforced. We try to respect this in the Chapter Forty house, however Little Miss is very good at reminding B if he is verging on the edge of one of his own rules. The Little Miss Police are not well received by B and conflict seems to be the natural state of our house at the moment. B likes to remind everyone,
"You are not the boss of me."
Then Little Miss says,"No Mummy is the boss."
6.5.11
Wobbly tooth
It was an exciting day when I casually asked B if any of his teeth were wobbly, only to find that one was.
We were both really surprised and B became very excited. The wobbly tooth then became his occupation for several weeks. I could see him playing with it in his mouth, giving the thing no rest at all. He ate food a little differently careful not to knock or bump his precious wobbly friend.
Remember having a wobbly tooth in your mouth? I can remember my tongue constantly playing with it until it dangled, held on with an invisible thread, not quite ready to let go and make way for the adult within, restless to emerge.
But out it came, all of a sudden, one night at story time. We had a moments surprise then we all looked at that tiny tooth, set free, so small in the palm of his hand. The big gap in B's mouth became the new playground for his tongue. Of course the tooth fairy would come now so excitement interrupted our bedtime routine.
And as that tooth fairy came and left B a gold coin, I couldn't help feel like I was being forced to let go a bit too. My boy is growing up. His adult teeth are making their way. B will be ready for more challenges and responsibilities and I will be letting go little tooth by little tooth.
We were both really surprised and B became very excited. The wobbly tooth then became his occupation for several weeks. I could see him playing with it in his mouth, giving the thing no rest at all. He ate food a little differently careful not to knock or bump his precious wobbly friend.
Remember having a wobbly tooth in your mouth? I can remember my tongue constantly playing with it until it dangled, held on with an invisible thread, not quite ready to let go and make way for the adult within, restless to emerge.
But out it came, all of a sudden, one night at story time. We had a moments surprise then we all looked at that tiny tooth, set free, so small in the palm of his hand. The big gap in B's mouth became the new playground for his tongue. Of course the tooth fairy would come now so excitement interrupted our bedtime routine.
And as that tooth fairy came and left B a gold coin, I couldn't help feel like I was being forced to let go a bit too. My boy is growing up. His adult teeth are making their way. B will be ready for more challenges and responsibilities and I will be letting go little tooth by little tooth.
6.3.11
I love it when...
Children try their very hardest.
At lasts years sports day B tried so hard to win the race.
Not drop the egg, in the egg and spoon race.
Pull with all his might, in the tug of war.
And he also encouraged his other team mates to success.
It didn't matter who won.
At the end of the day I was so proud of how hard he tried,
and so was he.
21.2.11
Seven
When you turn seven aparently you need to have a spaceship birthday cake. It needs to be the Liberator from Blakes 7 (for obvious reasons if you know us and the 1970s BBC Sci Fi series) and it needs to be 3D chocolate. Of course.
We pulled off something resembling all of that to the best of our ability, because we are amazing parents, but unfortunately I cant show you a photo.... so here is a picture of the real Liberator.
Impressive machine yes? Now just imagine that as a cake and you get the idea.
I cant show you a photo because B didn't have a birthday party. He had the family around to eat the Liberator cake, but that was not a party. There were no party games, no party decorations or party loot bags - so it wasn't a party. He didn't have a party because his behaviour over a number of weeks (school holidays) wasn't appropriate. It seems when you are nearly seven you might think it is okay to lie about lots of things, hit and spit on your sister and do lots of talk back showing little if no respect to the parents who bought you into this world.
But he did get presents, we are not that cruel. And when you are seven your favourite birthday presents are Lego (no changes there) electronic devices and things you can fiddle with, like a model making kit, pin art, moneybox maze, solar powered car, and plaster block with buried treasure inside to discover. All of these great toys appeal to a seven year old's need to understand how things work and how stuff is put together and whats inside.
Unfortunately when you turn seven your behaviour is much the same as when you were nearly seven, but now Mum and Dad haven't got a birthday party to try and bribe you with, not that that even worked...I am trying to remember that my lovely first born baby boy is inside this seven year old B. A baby that needed his mother so much, but it appears as if there isn't much inside B at all, as he is often announcing,
"I am hungry."
To which I reply, "I am Mummy."
Despite the lack of a birthday party B has been really looking forward to turning seven. I asked him what he liked about being seven and he said,
"It's nice to be seven because you are tall."
We pulled off something resembling all of that to the best of our ability, because we are amazing parents, but unfortunately I cant show you a photo.... so here is a picture of the real Liberator.
Impressive machine yes? Now just imagine that as a cake and you get the idea.
I cant show you a photo because B didn't have a birthday party. He had the family around to eat the Liberator cake, but that was not a party. There were no party games, no party decorations or party loot bags - so it wasn't a party. He didn't have a party because his behaviour over a number of weeks (school holidays) wasn't appropriate. It seems when you are nearly seven you might think it is okay to lie about lots of things, hit and spit on your sister and do lots of talk back showing little if no respect to the parents who bought you into this world.
But he did get presents, we are not that cruel. And when you are seven your favourite birthday presents are Lego (no changes there) electronic devices and things you can fiddle with, like a model making kit, pin art, moneybox maze, solar powered car, and plaster block with buried treasure inside to discover. All of these great toys appeal to a seven year old's need to understand how things work and how stuff is put together and whats inside.
Unfortunately when you turn seven your behaviour is much the same as when you were nearly seven, but now Mum and Dad haven't got a birthday party to try and bribe you with, not that that even worked...I am trying to remember that my lovely first born baby boy is inside this seven year old B. A baby that needed his mother so much, but it appears as if there isn't much inside B at all, as he is often announcing,
"I am hungry."
To which I reply, "I am Mummy."
Despite the lack of a birthday party B has been really looking forward to turning seven. I asked him what he liked about being seven and he said,
"It's nice to be seven because you are tall."
10.11.10
Panda meander
Ever since Lola (from Charlie and Lola fame) had informed Little Miss that Pandas were in danger she developed a thing for them. Well its more than a thing, its like she is a magnet to all Pandaness in our world.
"There's a Panda" she would cry, as we wait for a lift at a shopping centre. We would all look about searching for some kind of Panda looking animal somewhere, eventually finding a tiny plastic keyring Panda creature on someone else's bag.
Admittedly we live in a city that has real Pandas so her cries are not totally crazy. No we are not in China, but our city Zoo has come to some complicated arrangement with China, so for the next ten years we have Wang Wang and Funi - real giant Panda's living with us.
Now in the past I have not been a huge Zoo fan. The Zoo was a fairly sorry experience, with too many sad animals looking bored and cramped in old fashioned run down enclosures. Couple that with a boy, namely B who is not really into animals at all, or in the past walking more than 5 steps in a row, and you can gather that going to the Zoo with him was a memorable experience for all the wrong reasons.
But B has grown long legs, the Zoo has had squillions spend on it and Little Miss is persistently on about Pandas, so we thought there was never going to be a better time for a Panda expedition.
I gather the necessary equipment-
Husband
Children
Pram
Map
We check out the Panda's food while we wait in line
Little Miss doesn't enjoy the sound of the noisy monkey neighbours
But the noise and wait are worth it. This is Wang Wang, Funi was asleep.
Wang Wang eats sitting up like a human,
wanders around this way
and that way
then poses beautifully with my kids.
Time to move on, so B consults the map.
We spy the noisy monkeys through the lush foliage
Discover fluffy babies balancing
and underwater wonders.
See tall animals and short ones trying to be tall.
Time to check out the map again
We find animals to touch
and feed
and talk to.
Then make some Panda purchases and call it a very successful day.
Explore the world of child's play at childhood 101
Adelaide Zoo is open 9.30-5pm everyday including Christmas and is located on Frome Road in the city.
Adelaide Zoo is open 9.30-5pm everyday including Christmas and is located on Frome Road in the city.
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