Snickerdoodle bars
10 years ago
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
Home
At around 5 this evening, C's mum passed by with one of Téo and Lukan's cousins, N, whose family moved to the village today. N (who had been with her grandparents all day) wanted to see her new house. Would we like to come to?
So off we all trooped, on a 5 minute kid-paced stroll to the new house, stopping along the way for Téo and N to splash in a fountain. C's mum, Téo and I had a snoop around the house, and N proudly showed off her new room. Then we left C's brother and his wife to finish unloading stuff from the car, and went to C's parents' house I as needed to steal some of their collected rainwater for the fly-eating plants. Téo swung with N and her brother M on a swing hung on a big walnut tree, picked raspberries with N, and kicked a ball around with M. Lukan pointed at cows and somehow wasn't hit by the ball.
And then it was getting towards dinner time so we said goodbye and meandered home.
This is exactly the life I wanted for my kids.
(If only all of you were here too!)
So off we all trooped, on a 5 minute kid-paced stroll to the new house, stopping along the way for Téo and N to splash in a fountain. C's mum, Téo and I had a snoop around the house, and N proudly showed off her new room. Then we left C's brother and his wife to finish unloading stuff from the car, and went to C's parents' house I as needed to steal some of their collected rainwater for the fly-eating plants. Téo swung with N and her brother M on a swing hung on a big walnut tree, picked raspberries with N, and kicked a ball around with M. Lukan pointed at cows and somehow wasn't hit by the ball.
And then it was getting towards dinner time so we said goodbye and meandered home.
This is exactly the life I wanted for my kids.
(If only all of you were here too!)
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
One year
From this:
To this:
Happy first birthday my beautiful boy!
Happy first birthday my beautiful boy!
(I'll load more photos from his party to flickr when I get the chance...)
(Oh, and photos from Scotland are now there - some stolen from Bronnie and Marcus)
(Oh, and photos from Scotland are now there - some stolen from Bronnie and Marcus)
Sunday, August 24, 2008
The fly killers
When we were in Scotland, Téo watched my friend Bronwyn gently shoo a fly outside. In our house we squash them he said solemnly.
And squash them we certainly do. Multiple times a day. Every day since we moved to the fly-infested countryside.
C's prefered method is to whack them with a tea towel, but I've gone for the the barehanded method. I stalk them from behind, bringing my hand slowly closer and closer, then whack, I trap them, pick them up, and squash them in the bin to make absolutely sure they're dead.
At first Téo would bounce around excitedly, scaring the fly away. But now he knows to stay still. He freezes and stage whispers There's a fly mummy! Kill it!
His excitement increased after I bought these on Saturday:
And squash them we certainly do. Multiple times a day. Every day since we moved to the fly-infested countryside.
C's prefered method is to whack them with a tea towel, but I've gone for the the barehanded method. I stalk them from behind, bringing my hand slowly closer and closer, then whack, I trap them, pick them up, and squash them in the bin to make absolutely sure they're dead.
At first Téo would bounce around excitedly, scaring the fly away. But now he knows to stay still. He freezes and stage whispers There's a fly mummy! Kill it!
His excitement increased after I bought these on Saturday:
Fly-eating plants!!!
We all probably enjoyed a bit too much trapping a fly, then releasing it in the Venus Fly Trap and watching the "jaws" snap shut.
It would be nice to think these plants will solve our fly problem - squashing flies is certainly effective, but it gets a bit depressing to kill five of them first thing in the morning before I've even had a cup of tea.
But I'm not that naive. I know the plants are ornamental and that we need a better solution. I actually bought some fly paper last week, but I don't know where to put it. I don't really want to watch stuck flies struggling while I'm cooking or eating. And I refuse to go the chemical route.
So for the moment we'll stick to squashing and feeding our plants... and take heart in knowing that summer is ending and so the flies will soon be gone. For a few months at least.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
I can't wait to hear why he hasn't done his homework
Yesterday Téo went with J, the au pair, to pick blackberries for dessert.
- This one is too small to take home.
Pop, into his mouth it went.
- This one isn't ripe enough.
- This one is too big for Lukan.
- This one is broken.
And so on.
No blackberries made it home for dessert.
- This one is too small to take home.
Pop, into his mouth it went.
- This one isn't ripe enough.
- This one is too big for Lukan.
- This one is broken.
And so on.
No blackberries made it home for dessert.
Just like their mum
When I was at preschool, I didn't like singing. So I would put my hand over my mouth to hide the fact that I wasn't singing. I never understood how the teachers could tell.
When Téo wants to do something he knows he shouldn't, he says don't look at me mummy. So I don't look, but I tell him not to do what ever it is I know he's about to do. And every time he says, kind of surprised, but you can't see me.
-------------------------------------------------------
My mum tells me that when I was about one, I suddenly refused to eat anything. She eventually realised I wanted to feed myself, so she handed over the spoon.
Last week Lukan suddenly refused to eat. I wondered if maybe he wanted to feed himself. He did.
When Téo wants to do something he knows he shouldn't, he says don't look at me mummy. So I don't look, but I tell him not to do what ever it is I know he's about to do. And every time he says, kind of surprised, but you can't see me.
-------------------------------------------------------
My mum tells me that when I was about one, I suddenly refused to eat anything. She eventually realised I wanted to feed myself, so she handed over the spoon.
Last week Lukan suddenly refused to eat. I wondered if maybe he wanted to feed himself. He did.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
My oh-so-exciting life
Why hello there. Sorry for not showing up for any cuppas lately - I would have preferred to be here, but the more pesky parts of my life got in the way.
Like cleaning seventy gazillion m2 of windows late into every night, ahead of our house-warming party last Saturday. And then killing seventy gazillion flies that mistakenly thought they were invited to the party as well. Combined with a baby who normally gets up early and then decided earlier would be even better - like 4.30am. And a mix of deadlines thrown in as well.
I still have a few deadlines to work through, but I promise I'll be back soon!
Like cleaning seventy gazillion m2 of windows late into every night, ahead of our house-warming party last Saturday. And then killing seventy gazillion flies that mistakenly thought they were invited to the party as well. Combined with a baby who normally gets up early and then decided earlier would be even better - like 4.30am. And a mix of deadlines thrown in as well.
I still have a few deadlines to work through, but I promise I'll be back soon!
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Will we or won't we?
Around the time Téo turned one, we started getting The Question. So when are you going to make him a little brother or sister? We were a little taken aback at how many people asked, including complete strangers. Well gee, you're right, we should get on to that immediately! If you'll just excuse us...
Lukan turns one in a couple of weeks, but we're not getting The Question this time. No, that's not quite true - a couple of people have asked if we'll try for a girl. I have quashed my sensitivity to real or imagined criticisms of the make up of our family and simply said I don't know.
Because I really don't.
Part of me is very very relieved to be over the baby stage - the total dependency of a newborn, the breastfeeding, the broken nights, the isolation, the crying. This part worries about money and long plane trips with three kids and how I'll find time to do everything I want, given that I can't manage it with just two kids. This part sighs, and thinks another two or three years is just too long to wait before we can do fun stuff as a family, like go snorkelling and ride on rollercoasters. And pregnancy was never my favourite state.
But.
Another part of me wants another child. This part can't quite believe I'll never again hold a tiny, slippery just-born baby. This part glosses over those lonely, hard first few months. This part sees the love we have for Téo and Lukan, the fun of seeing them grow, and wants more love and more fun (and ignores the increased potential for bickering and fighting). This part is also having a very hard time giving up on the other names we came up with before deciding on Lukan - like they'll be wasted if we don't use them. Because a cool name is all that having a child involves, right?
So I don't know. All I do know is that neither C nor I are willing to undergo any snipping or tying. We haven't gotten rid of the clothes Lukan's grown out of. And neither of us is insisting on contraception.
Don't get too excited by this - it took a monumental effort for us to conceive Téo, the embryo that didn't make it, and Lukan, and we are not making anywhere near this effort at the moment. Plus I think another miscarriage would end any thoughts about a third child. And the older and more independent Lukan gets, and the older I get too, the less I want to go back to the start.
But you never know.
Lukan turns one in a couple of weeks, but we're not getting The Question this time. No, that's not quite true - a couple of people have asked if we'll try for a girl. I have quashed my sensitivity to real or imagined criticisms of the make up of our family and simply said I don't know.
Because I really don't.
Part of me is very very relieved to be over the baby stage - the total dependency of a newborn, the breastfeeding, the broken nights, the isolation, the crying. This part worries about money and long plane trips with three kids and how I'll find time to do everything I want, given that I can't manage it with just two kids. This part sighs, and thinks another two or three years is just too long to wait before we can do fun stuff as a family, like go snorkelling and ride on rollercoasters. And pregnancy was never my favourite state.
But.
Another part of me wants another child. This part can't quite believe I'll never again hold a tiny, slippery just-born baby. This part glosses over those lonely, hard first few months. This part sees the love we have for Téo and Lukan, the fun of seeing them grow, and wants more love and more fun (and ignores the increased potential for bickering and fighting). This part is also having a very hard time giving up on the other names we came up with before deciding on Lukan - like they'll be wasted if we don't use them. Because a cool name is all that having a child involves, right?
So I don't know. All I do know is that neither C nor I are willing to undergo any snipping or tying. We haven't gotten rid of the clothes Lukan's grown out of. And neither of us is insisting on contraception.
Don't get too excited by this - it took a monumental effort for us to conceive Téo, the embryo that didn't make it, and Lukan, and we are not making anywhere near this effort at the moment. Plus I think another miscarriage would end any thoughts about a third child. And the older and more independent Lukan gets, and the older I get too, the less I want to go back to the start.
But you never know.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Singing pom pom pom
Singing was a big part of my childhood. Mum has a beautiful, beautiful soprano voice. She still sings in a choir. Dad sang in the choir too, but I remember him more for the Aussie bush songs and funny songs and melancholy songs he'd sing on long car trips and on bushwalks.
Sadly, I did not inherit any singing abilities whatsoever. From age 12 to age 35, the only time I ever sang willingly was at clubs and concerts, where the music was too loud for anyone to hear me anyway.
And then I had Téo.
From the first night I had him with me in the hospital, the only thing I could think of to try and settle him was to sing. And the only songs I knew were those that dad had sung. So that night, and many, many nights afterwards, I sang Waltzing Matilda, and Road to Gundagai, and Five Miles from Gundagai, and Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree. And then songs about old Jindabyne being flooded when the Snowy River was dammed. And then one about careless love leading to pregnancies out of wedlock, and another about calves being easily slaughtered. And finally, one about a lobster that grabs hold of a woman's pink bits and is then whacked to death by the husband, giving the wife quite a thrill.
I had never sung so much in my life. My throat hurt. I struggled to hold the tune on some. But I kept singing.
I'm still at it. My reportoire has expanded to include more traditional nursery rhymes and lullabies, but still, on long car trips, I fall back on the songs my dad sang to us. They're even less relevant to my kids than they were to me, coming from both a different time AND a different place (although a line from one song about damming the Snowy River, Give me bulldozers and tractors and hoses and diesels to ease all your troubles away, is still pretty perfect for Téo) - but it's all I can offer.
And I can't help thinking how proud dad would have been to hear Téo today:
Singing pom diddly om
pom pom pom
Never let your pom poms pom pa pom pa pom
(I know this means nothing to most of my readers, sorry. It's the chorus of the song about the lobster, which Dad was famous for. It's a bit crude, and he sent my parents' generation into hysterics singing it with the rude words replaced by "pom". Lyrics to one uncensored version (not exactly Dad's) are here.)
Sadly, I did not inherit any singing abilities whatsoever. From age 12 to age 35, the only time I ever sang willingly was at clubs and concerts, where the music was too loud for anyone to hear me anyway.
And then I had Téo.
From the first night I had him with me in the hospital, the only thing I could think of to try and settle him was to sing. And the only songs I knew were those that dad had sung. So that night, and many, many nights afterwards, I sang Waltzing Matilda, and Road to Gundagai, and Five Miles from Gundagai, and Kookaburra Sits in the Old Gum Tree. And then songs about old Jindabyne being flooded when the Snowy River was dammed. And then one about careless love leading to pregnancies out of wedlock, and another about calves being easily slaughtered. And finally, one about a lobster that grabs hold of a woman's pink bits and is then whacked to death by the husband, giving the wife quite a thrill.
I had never sung so much in my life. My throat hurt. I struggled to hold the tune on some. But I kept singing.
I'm still at it. My reportoire has expanded to include more traditional nursery rhymes and lullabies, but still, on long car trips, I fall back on the songs my dad sang to us. They're even less relevant to my kids than they were to me, coming from both a different time AND a different place (although a line from one song about damming the Snowy River, Give me bulldozers and tractors and hoses and diesels to ease all your troubles away, is still pretty perfect for Téo) - but it's all I can offer.
And I can't help thinking how proud dad would have been to hear Téo today:
Singing pom diddly om
pom pom pom
Never let your pom poms pom pa pom pa pom
(I know this means nothing to most of my readers, sorry. It's the chorus of the song about the lobster, which Dad was famous for. It's a bit crude, and he sent my parents' generation into hysterics singing it with the rude words replaced by "pom". Lyrics to one uncensored version (not exactly Dad's) are here.)
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Button pushing
I am getting old. I find I am missing the old way of doing things once they've gone.
Take the car we hired in Scotland. It didn't have a key that you put into the ignition and turned, it had a card that you put into a slot and a big button you pushed to start and stop the engine. Very unsatisfying. It also had an automatic handbrake. Even more unsatisfying. It was more like an arcade car experience than a real car experience. What's next, no steering wheel and a joystick with buttons for left and right instead?
But at least the car had buttons. Our new stove has one of those touch thingamybobs that you press to turn the heat up and down. I only realised tonight, after several episodes of finger-jabbing frustration where I couldn't get the stove to work properly no matter how hard I poked it*, that you don't need to press or push anything, you just gently lay your finger on the touch thingy and voilà, the temperature changes. I can't say I actively miss turning a dial the way I missed turning a car key and pulling the handbrake on and off, but still, gently caressing the stove somehow doesn't feel right. Not physical enough. I'd like to press something and feel at least some movement, some sensation that I actually did something.
I'm sure there's people who still miss a choke, typewriters, eggbeaters ... probably even wringers. And I like modern conveniences, I really do. But the joy of button pushing and key turning and pressing things is innate - just look at how much kids like to do these things. So preventing us from carrying out these basic needs is actually cruelty. Cruelty, I tell you. It shouldn't be allowed. Youngsters these days, they just don't know what they've lost with these new-fangled contraptions. Everything was so much better in my young day!
Right, now I've got the diatribe, I'm ready for the nursing home.
* Just so you don't think I've been unable to work the stove ever since we moved in: it was only installed the week before we went away, and I've only used it a couple of times since then. So yes, that still makes me a slow learner, but not too embarrassingly slow.
Take the car we hired in Scotland. It didn't have a key that you put into the ignition and turned, it had a card that you put into a slot and a big button you pushed to start and stop the engine. Very unsatisfying. It also had an automatic handbrake. Even more unsatisfying. It was more like an arcade car experience than a real car experience. What's next, no steering wheel and a joystick with buttons for left and right instead?
But at least the car had buttons. Our new stove has one of those touch thingamybobs that you press to turn the heat up and down. I only realised tonight, after several episodes of finger-jabbing frustration where I couldn't get the stove to work properly no matter how hard I poked it*, that you don't need to press or push anything, you just gently lay your finger on the touch thingy and voilà, the temperature changes. I can't say I actively miss turning a dial the way I missed turning a car key and pulling the handbrake on and off, but still, gently caressing the stove somehow doesn't feel right. Not physical enough. I'd like to press something and feel at least some movement, some sensation that I actually did something.
I'm sure there's people who still miss a choke, typewriters, eggbeaters ... probably even wringers. And I like modern conveniences, I really do. But the joy of button pushing and key turning and pressing things is innate - just look at how much kids like to do these things. So preventing us from carrying out these basic needs is actually cruelty. Cruelty, I tell you. It shouldn't be allowed. Youngsters these days, they just don't know what they've lost with these new-fangled contraptions. Everything was so much better in my young day!
Right, now I've got the diatribe, I'm ready for the nursing home.
* Just so you don't think I've been unable to work the stove ever since we moved in: it was only installed the week before we went away, and I've only used it a couple of times since then. So yes, that still makes me a slow learner, but not too embarrassingly slow.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Not brave at all
Whenever I have flown to Australia by myself with Téo, at least one of you has made a comment along the lines of You are very brave making the trip by yourself. I have always replied No, not really, Téo is very easy on the plane and anyway I wanted to see you.
After the two-hour flights to and from the UK, one by myself with both kids, I can assure you that really, I AM NOT BRAVE. If Téo had been like Lukan, I really don't know that I would have made the trip to Australia by myself so many times.
We call Lukan "little pest" and "little monster", but actually, Téo was the more abnormal one. We never even had to baby-proof our house once he got mobile - he was usually only interested in toys, and the few times he went to touch a non-toy, we just had to say uh-uh-uh, that's not a toy and he'd stop.
For the most part Lukan sees toys as pesky objects that must be swiped aside in order to get to everything else. Especially electrical items.
We have tried the uh-uh-uh, that's not a toy strategy, but all this has taught him is to say uh-uh when he touches forbidden items. And he really is a pest... in the hotel on our last night in Scotland, he dropped Téo's socks into the toilet bowl, then fished them out and played with them. Which wouldn't have been so bad, except that we hadn't flushed the toilet after using it.
Not being very interested in toys is bad enough for a long plane trip, but Lukan is also a wriggler. Ever since he was a baby, he has never once sat still in a lap. Téo is also usually very active, but there are two things that sink him into a happy, still stupor: Swampy and the television.
After the two-hour flights to and from the UK, one by myself with both kids, I can assure you that really, I AM NOT BRAVE. If Téo had been like Lukan, I really don't know that I would have made the trip to Australia by myself so many times.
We call Lukan "little pest" and "little monster", but actually, Téo was the more abnormal one. We never even had to baby-proof our house once he got mobile - he was usually only interested in toys, and the few times he went to touch a non-toy, we just had to say uh-uh-uh, that's not a toy and he'd stop.
For the most part Lukan sees toys as pesky objects that must be swiped aside in order to get to everything else. Especially electrical items.
We have tried the uh-uh-uh, that's not a toy strategy, but all this has taught him is to say uh-uh when he touches forbidden items. And he really is a pest... in the hotel on our last night in Scotland, he dropped Téo's socks into the toilet bowl, then fished them out and played with them. Which wouldn't have been so bad, except that we hadn't flushed the toilet after using it.
Not being very interested in toys is bad enough for a long plane trip, but Lukan is also a wriggler. Ever since he was a baby, he has never once sat still in a lap. Téo is also usually very active, but there are two things that sink him into a happy, still stupor: Swampy and the television.
So a long plane trip is heaven for Téo - he is allowed to have Swampy AND watch television for hours and hours and hours. On our flight to Dallas when he was 18 months old, he didn't even want to leave his seat once.
Lukan doesn't have a Swampy and is not interested in the television.
The flights to and from the UK were not fun for him. He wanted to crawl, he wanted to touch everything, he wanted to whack everything. Then he screeched when he didn't get his way.
This was bearable for 2 hours, but for a flight that's 10 times longer? Where I won't sleep for at least 30 hours? And with 2 kids to look after? I just don't know that I'm brave enough to do it alone.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)