Last week, we were talking about Christmas and it suddenly occured to me that I may have been neglecting a corner of Ivy's education about life.
'Have you heard of Jesus, Ivy?' I said.
'Genies?' she asked excitedly.
'No, Jesus,' I said. 'Little baby Jesus?'
'No,' she replied. 'Who's that?'
'Well, some people think he's excellent,' I said. 'They think he's the son of God and he was born at Christmas, so they celebrate.'
She was silent for a few minutes.
Is he like a genie?'
'No,' I said. 'He's a religous leader of great meaning to millions of Christian people.'
She mulled this over for a while.
'But can you tell me about genies, Mum?'
'Well, they live in tea-pots and if you rub the teapot they come out and grant you three wishes,' I said. Ivy's face took on the familiar fervour of passion. It was like Thomas, the Wiggles and the Jurrasic period were all delivered to her on a giant blueberry.
'Here are my grant-wishes, Mum', she said. 'A walking apple, a baby made just for kids, and a pineapple pie.'
Ever since, Ivy has refined and elaborated on her grant-wishes. I thought I'd explained that genies live in the land of imagination, but I forgot that the line between magic and reality for the four-year old is tissue-thin. Last night, she begged Keith to talk about genies, and so he wove a tale about an old, dusty teapot in the back of the cupboard.
This morning, Ivy jumped into the big bed. 'I know my grant-wishes, Mum!' she shouted. 'I want a yellow sewing machine made for four-year-old and five-year-olds, a real baby for me to play with and all the dinosaurs as a pet!'
Then she hounded me out of bed and made me search for tea-pots in the cupboard. I found two, and we sat on the floor and rubbed the first one. 'Genie, genie, talk to me,' I droned. 'Grant me wishes: one, two, three!' Ivy threw open the lid and looked inside. 'Not today,' I said.
Teddy did the next one. 'Genie, genie, what you do, wake up!' he sang. Ivy looked inside that lid too, desperately, and even checked the spout for a curl of dusty smoke, and then her little heart broke.
'Oh no!' she wailed as she threw herself on the rug and cried with the painful realisation that no pet dinos or babies were forthcoming. 'Ivy-cakes, genies aren't real,' I said. 'They just live in books and in games. But they are still wonderful.'
Two honey crumpets and a game of Snap later, she'd recovered.
Ah; four. I love it.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
My friend Lisa sent me this link today. I like. If I may explain myself briefly:
a. My camera is busted, and I'm slowly, surely losing the habit of recording small moments in daily life. Then I'm not reminded to write about them either. I miss it; especially since the weather has been so delightful lately, inspiring Ivy and Ted to constantly get their gear off and play the game they call Hug-Running (a game I'd like to offer as a potential key exercise in Middle East peace negotiations. )
c. Keith is still computer-less, so I don't have free access to Miz Scarlett the laptop.
b. Right now the feeding, cuddling and picking up after my little friends is taking all my available space. Life needs me for living, so I'll have to put off the record-keeping for a little bit. For instance Ivy told me her wish-list today: a walking apple, a baby made just for kids to play with and a pineapple pie. She found a dead caterpillar this morning, put it in a Tupperware container, called it I Love You and took it to bed. Teddy The Bear, meanwhile, is developing a comedic sensibility. This week he said to the fridge 'Knock knock. Who there. Dinner!'and every night he makes the same joke at the table: Ébby-body eat poo-bum!' Champagne comedy. I am so very proud.
I send you kisses and I urge you to add some Hug-Running to your life.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Fellas, I'm sorry I've been so silent. I don't have time to gather my thoughts right now. I hope you are all well, but I'm in the land of overwhelm this week. I'll recap Nerd-Vember for you later, but for now, it's a distant memory of a sweet, forgotten past.
Keith has gone back to work with a bang. The first week back he was gone for four days, taking my computer with him - his stupid one was busted and his pesky breadwinner status took precedence over my social networking and blog-whining.
So there I was with no husband, unending days of monsoonal rain, no radio (I can only pick up a good signal by Internet streaming), no DVD player to soothe the little monsters, I mean darlings, and none of the little mini-moments I take throughout the day to balance out what can be a crazy-making lifestyle of clutter-management and ruthless behaviour-modification-training, I mean calm and relaxed parenting.
See, even my sentences are overwrought.
I have spent this week losing my shizzle in small ways. When I packed the swimming-lesson bag last week I forgot the small but critical elements of a bra and undies for me to wear once I took off my wet cozzie. I had to put on my jeans and a light, clingy sweater with nothing underneath, and go and do the food shopping. I was flying free as a bird and it was pouring with rain. Let's just say that the small number of men who found themselves in the largely female land of Bi-Lo on a Weekday lunchtime got an unexpectedly graphic little show in the melon section.
I'm tired. I'm trying to keep organised and on top of the Christmas planning, making, shopping and list-refining. I'm hopelessly drowning in clutter as I try to simultaneously redecorate Ivy;s room, pack and sort the winter clothes, cull the toys and sew Christmas presents.
PS - A word of advice. If you have a t-shirt that reads 'always be reading something that will make you look good in case you die in the middle of it', think before throwing it on, because one of your friends will ask you and you will be forced to admit that currently you are revisiting Jackie Collins seminal work 'The Stud.'**
PPS - we have nits.
PPPS - First world problems, all. I know.