The perils of Dora

Despite only having seen it on TV once to my knowledge, Fainjin is very enamored of Dora.  We have some Dora toys and books, and plates too, come to think of it, so he has inherited this love from his big sister.  I think he’s just envious because she (Dora) has a monkey.  This came up today because at the school fair we saw some schoolbags, and he really liked the pink Dora ones.  And as we walked around, he said “Fainjin monkey!  Ooo ooo aah aah! Mummy Dora!”

The Dad and I both collapsed in helpless giggles.

For, you see, Pearl at about the same age also assigned us characters in Dora.  And for this, you have to know that I was quite familiar with the series, while the Dad had only a superficial knowledge of it.

So we were sitting at the kitchen table and Pearl, aged around 2 1/2, was drawing and talking.  I think she was Dora.  “Mummy, you are Boots”.  “OK”.  “And Daddy, you are Swiper”.  Suddenly, he was furious.  “What did you call me?!”  We both looked at him as if he’d grown another head, he’s usually soooo mild-mannered.  “You-you-you are Swiper!” she said.  I stared, baffled, as he said “Don’t ever call anyone that.  It’s very rude!”

“She’s saying you’re Swiper.  It’s another character, a weasel, I think”, I clarified, still bemused at his reaction.  Immediately he relaxed and apologised to poor Pearl.

“I thought she said, ‘You arse-wiper!’”

And now we can’t watch Dora without getting the giggles.

First-weekend-in-December madness

This morning, Pearl played in her end-of-year concert.  A year of battles over practice and lessons has paid off, and she played beautifully.  She was in a group playing “Jingle Bells”, standing right in the front row.  A year ago, she was so shy she sat in the wings to play rather than be where people could see her, so it was great to see how her confidence has improved, too.

Immediately she was finished, we headed to a working bee at daycare.  Pearl scrubbed walls, the Dad mulched the gardens, I scrubbed a cubby-house, Babess played peek-a-boo with me and wandered around carrying a red bucket and wearing far-too-big green rubber gloves, and Fainjin helped by dumping random toys in my cleaning bucket, thus ensuring they did indeed get cleaned.

This evening we have watched their cousins’ end-of-year dance show, which was brilliant (well done, you guys!!!).  Babess was singing and dancing along for the first half, but fell asleep in the second half, soon copied by her big brother.

Tomorrow there’s a school fair and a kids’ Christmas party, and if I’m lucky I’ll get to go to church in the evening.

There are some weekends when I find myself looking forward to Monday…

Contrary Miss, Party Animal

Babess is giving up her evening feed.  She’s just not very interested in it any more.  I was unprepared for this, because both the other two gave up their morning feed  first.  Babess still comes looking for me in the mornings, although I suspect if we had her toast ready early enough she’d be satisfied… but I don’t know if I’m quite ready for that yet.  One at a time.
A small part of me is sad and wistful.  On the other hand… Hey, maybe we could leave the house one evening and a babysitter could put them all to bed for us!

—

Fainjin, in his pyjamas, about to have his evening milk (cow milk), jumped out at me with two large cushion/beanbags.  “This is.  A .  Party!” and he was dancing around the room.
“No, it’s not, it’s bedtime.”
“Oh.  OK”, and he sat quietly(ish) to drink his milk.

Why do I feel like I just had a close shave?

Herding cats would be easier

We wanted a family photo, or at least one of the children, to put into our Christmas cards.  (Yes, I know it’s already December, and 90% of my cards have to cross at least one ocean.  Think of them as a lovely mid-January surprise.)  So we looked through our recent archives and sure enough, no family photos, not even one of all three children together.

Time is marching on, and we decided that we’d just have to take one tonight.  In the absence of a spare pair of hands to take a family photo, it would have to be kids-only.  As soon as we got home from work/daycare/after-school care, we looked for a setting.  In front of the flowering red roses looked good.  We stripped the children of their coats and jackets – it’s summer, let’s pretend it’s more than 10′C (50F) outside, kids! – and shepherded them out.

Pearl and Fainjin were more-or-less in place, but Babess immediately took off across the lawn to get a ball, and the other two followed her, laughing.  So we rounded them all up.  I put Pearl in place and begged her to stay put.  She did, pretty much.  I scooped up Babess while their Dad grabbed Fainjin.  Fainjin was standing nicely but oh-so-briefly next to Pearl while I tried to get Babess in place.  She cried and struggled and kept walking off, so I lifted her into Pearl’s arms.  They were both thrilled with this arrangement and were wreathed in smiles.

But now Fainjin kept wandering off, he wanted to see the camera.  He would not stand beside his sisters, and kept begging to be picked up.  Babess, seeing me occupied with him, protested at not being the centre of attention.  She wriggled, and poor Pearl was in danger of dropping her.

The Dad was hovering with the camera the whole time, hoping for a miraculous clear shot.  Finally I decided that, given the chilly weather and light clothing, and the fact that it was dinnertime, we needed to get it done.  I went down on one knee and Fainjin sat on the other knee.  Babess lunged and I caught her, propping her up against Fainjin in front of me.  Pearl, bless her!, moved around so she was directly behind all of us.

You’d never know from the photo just how much yelling and wailing and face-pulling had immediately preceded it.  The Dad certainly timed it just right.

But with all the manoeuvring to get everyone together and looking at the camera, we had moved.  We’re not in front of the flowering red roses after all.  And of course the Dad is missing from the picture.

Nonetheless, there was no suggestion of making another attempt.

Name your tipple

Fainjin has recently started specifying that his before-bed drink be “cow milk”.  This is possibly to distinguish it from the “Mummy milk” that Babess gets, but I think it’s just that he’s learnt that milk (at least the kind we buy from the supermarket!) comes from cows.

Not tonight though.  He was feeling contrary.

“Ready for your milk, Fainjin?”

“Not want cow milk!”

“No?!”

“Want HORSE milk.”

Ummmmm….

‘inkle ‘inkle ‘tar

All of a sudden, Babess knows the words and actions to “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”.  Of course, I have sung it (and other songs) to her since she was born, and they sing it at daycare, but I checked – no-one has specifically “taught” it to her.

At the weekend, I was changing her nappy and singing to her as I often do, and she “twinkled” her fingers and sang along with me.  Her version is rather condensed, going something like this:

‘inkle ‘inkle ‘tar,
UP! high, di-i-ya sky,
‘inkle ‘inkle ‘tar,
hahahahaha.

She waves her fingers, then stretches up, and for the “diamond” she carefully brings her forefingers together.

It’s amazing the things she just seems to pick up along the way.

Monday, Monday

The end is nigh.  The end of the school year, that is.  And it shows.  Poor Pearl is showing signs of strain.  She’s missed quite a bit of school this term, with one thing and another, but it’s still taking its toll, especially with all the end-of-year kerfuffle that goes on both in school and out of it.  There are concerts and productions, recitals and parties, and some are sensibly at weekends but others are mid-week evenings, and it all gets a bit much (even for me, and I’m not seven years old).

Today there were temper tantrums and tears, a falling-out with a friend, a telling-off from a teacher, and life was just a misery.  A trip to the library on the way home was a bright spot, and the rest of the afternoon was spent curled up in the rocking chair with newly-acquired books.  Violin practice was grudgingly done (concert coming up at the weekend), and hair washed.

Hopefully tomorrow will work out a bit better.

Good morning Mama!

Fainjin has been able to climb out of his cot for a little while now.  Mostly, though, he hasn’t.  Only on the wildest nights has he “escaped” more than once, and had us put him back in.  He enjoys being able to climb in – with the side down – and we have discussed whether it’s time to take the side off completely and let him have a “big boy bed”.  I think he’d be reasonably good about staying in bed in the evenings, but we liked the way he stayed in his cot in the mornings most of all.  He and Babess share a room, and if they’re both awake in the morning they talk and laugh and generally keep each other entertained.

But this morning may have signaled an end to that.  Yesterday he appeared before we were quite prepared, but that was Saturday and we have to get up anyway.  Sunday is the only day we can possibly attempt to sleep in.  I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t come looking for us until after 6am, but I truly would have preferred 7:30 or even later.  I do not like hearing a chirpy “Hello Mama!” at that hour of a Sunday.  I try not to be too grumpy, but I did my best to stay asleep despite all provocation!

He cheerily climbed in beside me, his little feet apparently replaced by blocks of frozen nitrogen, and I think he chattered away.  I remember him going away to find a “truck stowy” and then coming back – feet still frozen – either to read it to me or possibly to put it on my head.  I burrowed deeper under the duvet, and he chattered some more before deciding to go and see his Dad.  Considerately, he got out of bed and walked around to the other side.  I was foggily grateful not to be climbed over.  I heard the Dad gasp as the icy feet made contact, then I think I nodded off again.

One benefit of Fainjin waking us up is that he didn’t wake Babess up, I suppose.  And I am much better at resolutely staying asleep than the Dad is.  Eventually he decided that it was worth getting up just to avoid those cold feet, and I was left in peace.  Guilt drove me out of bed, but not for some time, and by then Babess was up too, and enjoying breakfast with the men of the house.

I suppose there’s not much point leaving the cot side up any more.  Unless there’s some way we can put barbed wire along the top?

Where’s your nose?

“Babess!  Where’s your…  tummy?”

She grinned and pulled up her t-shirt, slapped her belly.  I had to laugh.  “You don’t have to undress!  Where’s your… foot?”  She patted her foot, and said “Toes!”

“OK, then, where are your toes?”  More grins as she wiggled them and pointed.  “Where are your… hands?”  She waved at me.  “Where’s your…  head?”  Hands right up top straight away.

“Where’s your… nose?”  With astonishing deftness and accuracy, and a cheeky laugh, she lunged and poked me on my nose.  I burst out laughing.  “That’s Mummy’s nose!  Where’s yours?”  She just looked at me, so I reached out and touched her nose gently.  “There it is!”

That’s how the game used to go, has gone, for quite a while now.  Until tonight.  Tonight she gave me her sly look and pointed to her own nose.  Another era passes.

It’s not even December yet

After school today, Pearl and I took the bus into town, to see the Christmas windows in the big shops and buy Christmas cards.  I used to make Christmas cards, but that was before I had three children I think.  Pearl was keen to make Christmas cards for me, and that’s a great idea but we should have started a few weeks ago – our cards all go overseas and I need to post them very soon.

The Christmas windows were a bit of a disappointment, every year the displays seem smaller and there are fewer of them.  Pearl was happy enough, though.  I suspect the ritual of visiting them is more important than the windows themselves, to her.  It means Christmas is on its way!  We decided to check whether Father Christmas was receiving visitors, I wasn’t sure as it was getting quite late by that point.  But sure enough, he was there, so she and he exchanged pleasantries, and she dropped the bombshell that she wants a kitten for Christmas.  Not a real kitten, but one of those toy ones that act real and creep me out.  Uh-oh.  Savvy Father Christmas didn’t even glance at me but said “I’ll see what I can do.  If I can’t manage one of those, I’ll get you a surprise,” and she seemed content with that.  Whew!

After that, it was off to the toy shop to scout for likely Christmas-morning goodies.  Pearl was pretty good at pointing out things that her siblings would like.  She was pretty good at pointing out things that she would like, too.  It was a fun way to spend the afternoon.