4
Aug
2011
Craft is the only way you will truly feel like a real mother.
It’s finally happened. Today I did craft. I am sorry it has been so long since I have written a post. I am even sorrier that it has taken craft to get me to put pen to paper. Or finger to keyboard. But such is my life right at present that craft has actually done it.
Let me not offend those crafty types amongst us. I have the utmost admiration for crafty people, with their scrapbooks and fabric and natty little sewing machines, whipping up natty little crafty things. But craft is not for me. I don’t have a natty little bone in my body. My handwriting is so bad that I got extra time in my final school exams to rewrite my essays. And if my handwriting is so bad, you can only imagine what my drawing is like. It’s a combination of very little patience, even less of an artistic eye and a solid belief (grounded in reality) that anything I attempt will generally end in a bloody finger, lots of swear words and something that frankly, looks like crap that my three year old could have made. And this is from a child that thinks drawing a black dot on a piece of paper and sticky taping it to his chest means he is wearing a superhero badge.
10
Jul
2011
Top 5 Comments New Mums Would Rather Not Hear
I’ve just rounded out 6 months of new motherhood (actually the second new motherhood, if you know what I mean) and Kate 6 weeks, so I thought it would be timely to give you my list of top 5 things new Mums don’t like to hear.
- When are you due? I think we all understand why this is number 1. No need to draw a picture. Only marginally better than the straight out, not quite as innocent and far more direct, “God you’ve still got quite a stomach, when does it go down?”
- Is that your grandson? GUTTING. I saw an actual real life exchange of this very nature. “No, this is my son” came restrained answer through gritted teeth as veins visibly throbbed in the neck. As a helpless bystander to this train wreck I mentally tried to stop the words as they came out of the offender’s mouth and jam them back in from whence they came, visualising myself goalkeeper style diving to catch them before they reached the victim’s ears. Alas, there was no hope. Those words slammed like a freight train in to new mum’s stomach so hard you could almost hear the air knocked out of her.
5
Jun
2011
Newborn baby fug review – iBaby feed
Not me
No, I’m not actually writing a review of my new baby. Although if I was, it would be quite glowing at this point. Apart from her propensity to cause scream-out-loud-pain to my left nipple. (Sorry, that noise you heard? That was the sound of our twenty male readers rushing out the door – yes, you may run, but you can’t hide from the screams you can probably hear from West London).
So I’m pretty much head over nappy in the 10 day old new-born fug. Forgive me please if I cannot wax lyrical this week on the situation in Syria as I might usually do on these hallowed pink pages. And I fear my cutting edge wit has deserted me a little in a haze of washing little white bodysuits, sleeping bolt upright with iPhone in hand, lying on the couch eating reverse double choc chip cookies (how I loathe you so, your sweet sweet reverse white choc chip evilness) oh, and managing aforementioned nipple pain (keep on walkin’ guys).
24
Apr
2011
Mentalness – and why you should choose the old woman not the normal looking person
I have one important question I keep coming back to this week – does having a new-born baby mean you automatically go mental?
Would not have surprised
The standard cliché suggests that all mothers go a bit doolally. Which could be true. Apart from me obviously. And readers of this blog. But personally I think it’s just those who are inherently loopy to start with – I mean, I am sure I have my mad moments as a parent – but I SWEAR for some people, the meeting of sperm and egg totally rouses their inner craziness until it bursts out loud and proud at about the same time as their placenta.
I sat in an antenatal clinic this week for an hour. When sizing up the waiting room prior to taking my seat (something I like to do at length from a secret vantage point, such is my fear of a stranger smiling at me, or god forbid, striking up a conversation), I decided against the slightly ferocious looking grey-haired 50 year old woman (I’m not sure what she was doing in an antenatal clinic either) and chose the very normal looking woman in her gym clothes with a McLaren buggy at her side.
18
Apr
2011
And then there were two. Well four between us. No make that five!
We’re back! Refreshed and ready to go. Well, kind of still a bit sleep deprived and distracted, but less so and relatively speaking. I’m at the highest point of my game possible for the foreseeable future. I’m past the dreaded first three months of the second baby so I’m back on easy street – as easy as they get in the suburb of Two Kids (under two) on The Block. New baby is, by the way, completely objectively, very beautiful.
Kate on the other hand is about to pass through the choppy waters of another newborn. In case you missed it she and Captain Sensible have number three on the way. I haven’t told Kate yet but when a mother of three saw another mother of two cooing over my baby at the playground the other day, she warned ominously that a third was a whole other ball game. Two was difficult. Three was utter chaos. On the upside, after that, they say it can’t get any more difficult. Three, ten, all the same . We’ll see – Kate will be telling us all about it. In the meantime, I can report that for me two is on the one hand, not double the trouble, but not filled with many moments that permit you to gaze lovingly and tranquilly on the children that are your joyous good fortune to have.
19
Dec
2010
Getting even more traditional – could yum cha be the key?
possibly my favourite tradition. I know, I'm shallow like that.
I saw this great post the other day on a website. It was all about the traditions this mother is starting with her family. Some of them were a bit ummm full on (compulsory family hikes are not really going to cut it in our family) but some of them got me thinking about what we’re doing in our house. I’ve covered some of these in earlier posts but for those of you who don’t immediately memorise and take notes (what is WRONG with you people? Don’t you know this stuff is gold?), here are some ideas we are planning on taking up in our little family. (OK, not so little our family as we currently stand at four and are soon to be five but DON’T REMIND ME, I HAVE THE FEAR.)
- Sunday family roasts – as per last week’s post, I am loving this new tradition. Granted, following the first week’s massive success, we can only go backwards from there (witness tonight’s event where daughter refused to eat anything but individual peas. One at a time. Very slowly. Until you wanted to throw each and every pea at the wall), but I am still loving it. Perhaps in warmer times it will become Sunday barbeque night. I love any excuse to break out the tomato sauce.
12
Dec
2010
New family tradition and a shameful confession
I have a shameful confession to make. Although I am boastful and annoyingly proud of my children’s eating regime, we *whispers* never eat as a family. I KNOW. HORRIFYING. I bang on and on about their table manners, I make them eat copious amounts of vegies, I supervise their eating at their little table, I am smug about their love of plain yoghurt.
But it’s not at the big table. It’s not with me and the Captain eating beside them (well, except for obvious shameful stealing of anything that looks good and doesn’t involve broccoli).
It suddenly struck me when we were discussing Christmas lunch – this will be the first year that son will be allowed to sit at the table with us all rather than banished to naptime in his cot – we never ever eat together as a family. Well, except for yum cha/dim sum, where getting food in as fast as you can, drinking juith with a bendy straw and spilling food at the table, is all positively encouraged. Not something I think aunt and uncle will appreciate at carefully laid Christmas feast table.
5
Dec
2010
Saying goodbye – and trying not to get caught looking shifty
There are a lot of goodbyes when you’re an expat. When you’re a young thing backpacking and travelling, it seems there is always
someone new arriving in town – ready to replace the last ones out. But as I drift towards my mid-30s (until I reach 38 I am in my MID THIRTIES so bugger off the lot of you), circles seem to shrink and getting replacements becomes trickier.
We said goodbye last week to two of the core members of our gang. I’m feeling very melancholy about it. I know their time was up. They arrived in this wonderful city single (ish) and fancy free 12 years ago and left married, with two children, home owners and undoubtedly with a dog in their future. (I predict a golden retriever and another child, but no-one has ever accused me of being Nostradamus so don’t hold me to it.) The leaving was painful – selfishly, I think those of left behind in the minus three degree slush are feeling it more than those of us headed to a couple of months off to play beach cricket. Slackers.
28
Nov
2010
In which I give you a warning and make an announcement
Sometimes I blame my husband – he said his next wife would do it if I wouldn’t – but mostly I blame my daughter.
There is a point at about nine months when your child, if lucky, is sleeping, eating, crawling, happy and content. Easy to get around, they sit happily in a pram for ages at a time, allowing you to shop, have coffees, shop… so you decide this parenting thing is a lark, may as well have another one.
And so you get pregnant.
And then she wakes up and you discover it was all part of an evil plan to lull you into a false sense of security and propagate the human race.
See, angelic daughter has decided she hates the pram. And the car. Not a huge fan of her cot either while we’re at it. And as for crawling round gently prodding her toys – she’d rather rip wine bottles out of the wine rack, pull appliances off the bench using the 1cm of cord you left dangling, launch herself out of her high chair, scale the stairs at 60kms an hour whenever your back is turned, and my personal favourite of which I never tire – empty out every drawer and cupboard she can lay her hands on. Especially neatly organised Christmas wrapping drawer, ensuring every single roll of ribbon is festively strewn around the living room and red tissue paper is poking suspiciously out of her mouth.
21
Nov
2010
Not a good week in the mothering stakes
with any luck, I won't end up in these
We had gastro round here last week. Or more precisely – I had gastro. Everyone else had a touch (clearly a touch was almost death’s door for husband) and got through with a day or so of feeling unwell. I, however, spent the better part of nine days lying prostrate wherever the moment took me – on the sofa, on my bed, on the bedroom floor, on the front step (much to the confusion of both the 90 year old next door neighbour and the Italian parking attendant).
