Ivy Does A Happy Dance

I've made a decision not to write much here about my big girl Ivy. I'll talk more about that sometime when I have two hands to type with. But she is loving kindy- term one is nearly over! - and today was a big day, celebrating 100 years since her little school opened. The whole school 'family' has been planning and working towards their centenary celebration for a long time. It's really the first event that Ivy has been part of with her new community, and she is so into it.

I made a cake for the afternoon tea. I left it on the bench and Ivy disappeared into the garden. Some time later I saw she had decorated it, with her own special touch.

This morning, she dressed in her old-timey outfit (a lovely, nostalgic moment for Keith and I - it's her bridesmaid's gear from our 20's wedding). She performed 'Land of 1000 Dances' with her kindy class (I cried) and said it was the best day of her life.

Tomorrow night is the parents turn to celebrate. This dinner is at the RSL down the road, one of the dads bands is playing, and a complex set of babysitting arrangements are leaving Keith and I child and even BABY free, to dance, cavort and go crazy, lampshade-on-head style. I am pretty sure it is going to be the best night of my life.

Please Release Me

Baby George has been bestruckled with the throat infection that laid Keith and I up last week. And by 'laid up' I mean 'required to continue running complex machine of family life with no pause.' Keith and I took to rubbing our eyes and replying 'wah wah wah' every time one of us complained. This was so, so funny to us that we cried with laughter. We have nice low expectations like that.

George, meanwhile, has been spiking some hefty temperatures and will not sleep unless in arms.

Any pair of arms will do.

My hip is aching like buggery. I need to put this baby down! The little fatty boombah is killing me.

Country Holiday

Small babelet George is going through a bit of a stage where she is only happy being cuddled. Ted is having a bit of a three-year-old crisis and needing lots of special attention. Ivy is loving school but the five-day-a-week hauling of three kiddos back and forth to school is quite intense. Keeping the clan fed and watered, the laundry under control and the floor free of large obstacles makes for a busy day.

In my spare moments I delight in watching cooking shows on the laptop and swimming in the bath to relieve my back from the creaking caused by constant motion and lots of baby-on-hip.

Not much time to keep up with writing.

But we did take the whole tribe on a road trip into country NSW last weekend to a family party in Narromine and my sister's gang in Cowra. It was so much fun.

Here, George pulls Uncle Chris' beard while my sister Sammy finishesthe puzzle we bought at the Dish in Parkes (such a great spot for a family visit. Ivy has decided she wants to be an astronaut, but Ted still plans to specialise in cakes.)

I don't know what Keith has told the kids here but he is cracking them up, big time.

Hotel room, Narromine.

Little George with me on the beautiful farm for Dot's 60th.

With Grandpa.

Ivy listening to Creedence on my iPod. This pic is blurry but I am drawn, over and over, to gaze at it. I can see Ivy as a teenager here. It's magical.

In a Mudgee park, she's back to being my gorgeous five-year-old.

Geoge got some good hair-eating in.

And Ted taught George a few Greco-Roman wrestling moves.

Sleepy girls.

Georgette and the transporting views at Katoomba's Three Sisters.

We are all well and happy here. Hope you are the same.

x

Just One Thing

Dear Georgie,

Mummy is very proud of how enthusiastically you can kick your legs. A Riverdancing career may be in your future. But can Daddy and I ask you to keep your crazy leg-kicking parties for the daylight hours?

Last night you kicked so much you worked your nappy off and when I turned on the bedside light with shaky, sleep-deprived fingers I found you beaming with pride, nappy dangling around one ankle and a sizeable poo nugget on the bed.

I found another one this morning on the loungeroom rug. Specifically, my foot did. It must have been from one of the times I rocked you back to sleep while watching New 24 (incidentally, Georgie, wasn't The Hub from the BBC a good show? I felt like I was in a hotel in Frankfurt.)

Starting the day with a shit-foot is not the route to happiness, George. Keep that in mind because Mum's happiness is closely linked to the quality of your mashed banana and the number of games she will play with you.

Best foot forward tomorrow George.

Love

Mummy

Can I Get A Witness?

Hi!

How've you been?

It's been ages.

Perhaps I owe you a phone call or an email or an essay I said I'd write. Perhaps I haven't said hi on your blog for ages and ages.

Forgive me.

I have been spending my days in an endless loop of turning this

into this.

Care for a different angle? Here. War has broken out! Babies are stuck in the middle of it! It is insanity.

And then peace. Or rather, ceasefire. A child calmly plays Lego. How sweet and how idyllic. Previously, this small child was wearing a chair on his head, an act that made sense in the context of the chaos surrounding him.

Back soon! And by that I mean twenty or so years.