Friday, February 27, 2009

in which poo is mentioned, but only briefly

It’s been busier than Wollongong on welfare pay-day around here.

With one toilet-training toddler and one puree-guzzling baby in cloth nappies, the washing is threatening to engulf us all. Four loads in a day isn’t unusual. Piles of laundry are everywhere. If I’m not cooking the food, I’m wiping it up, shopping for it, or dealing with its resting place after a long alimentary journey south.

This is where we are spending a lot of time.

And also here. No, Teddy. My Thomas.

T-Bone was grizzly today – he’s getting a tooth and had his vaccinations. Not a happy chappie. His new measurements are in – he’s in the 80th percentile for fattiness, the 95th for height and the 50th for head circumference. So he’s going to be really tall, pretty fat, and sport a tiny head. Ladies, start your engines!

I was in my usual training for the Multi-Task Olympics today, during the 6 o'clock crazy hour. I had just done a nappy tackle when I crossed past the kitchen and a little rabbit pellet of poo leapt into the Tupperware drawer and disappeared. So in the middle of all the usual chaos I had to empty a tower of containers and cups onto the kitchen floor in an unscheduled poo-hunt.

And here I had promised myself (and my mother) I would stop writing about poo.


Sunday, February 22, 2009

I shot my mother in the heart with a poisoned dart when I called myself a fraud

I had a cup of tea and a good lie down after that last post. I always go all Holden Caulfield while writing a first draft. Also in the period between sending it off and waiting for a response. Thoughts of terrible grammer, pretentious ideas and flowery language fly through my head as I wait for the call that says 'Sorry, but what is this horseshit? '

The story is filed and it's all fine.

Poor Mum got a bit upset though.

Theres a Seinfeld episode where Jerry talks about somebody not liking him. His mother is horrified. 'Not like you, Jerry? How could anybody not like you, Jerry?' she shrieks. 'How is that even possible?'

This is exactly what my mum is like.

I hope to be just the same.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

in which Ivy remains relaxed about potty training

Today Keith noticed Ivy had that thousand-mile-stare as she leaned against the couch.

'Are you doing a poo, Ivy?' he said.

'No, daddy, I just relaxing,' she replied, and then looked shamefaced as a little nugget fell out of the leg of her pants.

Just then I came home from the shop.

'What's up?' I said.

'I did a shorts in my poo, Mummy,' she said.

Last night Keith dreamed that he was at a conference in Hamburg when he realised that he wasn't wearing any pants. He walked around for a while trying to cover himself with his hand before he thought 'Hang on, I'm in Europe!' and decided just to let it all hang out.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

victorian firestorms

Australia is a country of weather extremes, and we're used to nature wielding awesome power. But the recent Victorian fire storms have left us all reeling - it's our worst natural disaster on record. Whole communities have been wiped out, entire towns are closed off as crime scenes and the TV is flooded with images of people sitting in groups looking dazed.

So far nearly 200 people have died in the most horrific circumstances: trapped in their cars fleeing as the fire turns and chases after them at terrible speeds; or staying to protect their homes and losing power and water to fight.

Innumerable birds and animals have lost their lives.

It's heartbreaking. Mum said to me: Imagine that Coledale was wiped out and all your nieghbours killed. I'm holding my babies close this week.

Can you imagine your neighbourhood?

You can make online donations to the Red Cross Bushfire Appeal here.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

a word from the second banana

Tiny Teddy doesn't get much of a look-in on these pages. Overshadowed by his all-dancing, all-singing big sister. How can his delightful chubbiness compete for air-time with theatrics like this: today Ivy sat Grover on the potty and said 'Now just 'elax Grover... is that a poo? Oh no, just a fart in it.'

The spotlight might be stolen, but he's my ever-present little buddy - on my hip, at my feet, on the breast. His serene litle face is like my talisman. All day, he gives me little joy injections.

Teddy is busily going about the business of growing up - too fast, if you ask me.

He's a beautiful fatty, still smiling all day long. His favourite thing to do is chew on my face, wrestle with his feet and propel himself backwards at speed. All day long I turn around and find him disappearing under the couch.

Or the television.

He's sleeping through the night, eating all sorts of veges and nearly sitting up. He and Ivy share singlets, nappies and a love of fun.

Stop it, Teddy! Stay little. I'm begging you.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Ivy blogs about her day

No-Nappy Sunday started well. I did wee on all my Thomas underpants. All of them! By 10am! Teddy looked pretty impressed. I managed to get one wee in the potty after lunch though. It was by accident but you should have seen Mum and Dad. They started cheering like idiots and did this whole happy dance. I don't get it.

Mum seemed to do a lot of washing today.

I had a lot to do myself, like putting Teddy's cot together. I let Dad fool around with some nails and things. He's easier to live with when he feels like he's been useful.

Man, raking the grass is a back-breaker though.

Needed a little afternoon tea to recharge.

It was seriously hot. I had to work hard to cool the baby down.

Sure, there were a few moments of existential angst.

But at the end of the day I went for a swim with Dad. The car wouldn't start at the beach so he had to walk up the big hill with me in the sling. He said he wasn't that happy because he was really, really tired but he's crazy. It was great! I laughed all the way home. I love it when Dad is my donkey.

Tomorrow I think I'll try hiding some puddles in funny places, like Mummy's bed.

See ya!