A lousy deal

Many thoughts came to mind when I first gazed upon Téo's crinkled, bewildered face, but "bringer of pestilence" was not one of them.

It should have been. Because while the kids might have come out sterile - or at least only inoculated with my own flora and fauna - they didn't stay that way. And ever since they started moving around and picking up their own beasties, they've been passing them on to me.

First it was a string of viruses, nicely spaced at 3-week intervals over Téo's first 6 months at childcare. Where did these microbes come from, against which I apparently had no immunity? No idea, but they found me a very agreeable host.

I thought it was all over once my immune system finally got to work and I was no longer constantly sneezing and coughing, but no. The transfer simply moved to higher life forms.

First it was worms. A whole family infestation. Twice. Just lovely.

Then, the weekend before last, lice. LICE!! Only this time the kids truly perfected the art of vector - one or both of them managed to pass a louse on to me without getting infested themselves. Which, on the one hand, great! More is most definitely not merrier when it comes to vermin! But on the other hand... wtf? It's their school- and childcare-mates who are chronically louse-ridden, but I'm the one with nits?

And you know what's even better than spending an entire weekend obsessively combing ones hair? Having the uninfested members of the family place the disgusting, wriggly insects in a kiddie bug trap, and then showing them to each any every visitor entering our doors.

Fun times people, fun times.

Birthday fun

Once upon a time, my father was part of a practical joke so good it caused Adelaide University to revoke his degree (only he was never caught).

A few decades later, my brother was part of a practical joke so good, it got reported as fact on the nightly TV news.

I myself have orchestrated a couple of practical jokes that, while not nearly of the same scale or notoriety, were nevertheless extremely satisfying.

And today, on his 7th birthday, Téo carried out his first practical joke:

Trick cupcakes.

Little man, I have loved hearing your chuckles and chortles over the last few days as we planned this prank, I delighted in your own delight when you saw the cakes this morning, and I am happy it all went perfectly at school, with the whole class believing your mother had made mashed potatoes with peas and carrots instead of cake, because you had not eaten enough vegetables this year.

It's just a shame you didn't believe I had run out of icing sugar and so been forced to use real mashed potatoes.

Happy birthday my lovely boy, and here's to lots more giggles, fun and trickery!

Nuts

This is Téo's 2011 collection of horse chestnuts. It would be much, much larger, only he's not allowed to bring any more home. In fact, this year C stipulated he was only to bring one home, but thanks to my ignorance of this, he managed to get away with one bag.

He'd spend the entire day under the school's horse chestnut tree if he could, picking them up and storing them in whatever's available - bags, buckets, pockets, rolled up in his T-shirt. He slides them down slippery dips, tosses them in the air, uses them as cargo for his cars and trains. He's supposed to pick them all up afterwards, and does so willingly, but nevertheless they fall out of his clothing, lie scattered in the garden, roll around underfoot inside.

It happens every year.

Given his unabated passion for collecting these nuts - his complete inability to pass one by without picking it up - you'd think he'd be an enthusiastic participant in the very similar annual event of walnut collecting.

Not so.

He might grudgingly pick up one or two if I ask, but then disappears to play with the somehow more beguiling horse chestnuts. Lukan won't pick up our walnuts either. Nor C.

This year they were a little more willing, but only because of the novelty value of C's father's handy new walnut-picker-upper-er.

Even so, their definition of being done is OK I've had enough now, as opposed to my definition of when each and every last goddamn one is picked up, and even better if there's time to get those from the neighbour's tree across the road too.

This difference can get a bit tedious when, just as I've finished, the boys decide it would be fun to knock and shake the tree to make more walnuts fall. The difference also gets a bit tedious when "had enough" refers to "had enough of running around with the walnut-picker-upper-er when the basket is full", an apparently very fun activity with the unfortunate side effect of emptying the formerly collected walnuts all over the place. Which, you know, is kind of the opposite of what I think the tool is for.

So. There I am most afternoons these days, in the back garden, the only one of my family compelled to pick up walnuts.

At least this year it's been warm and sunny.

(This was taken on Sunday - I've since refilled the two small white baskets.)

Snapshots: Harvest time

Finally ripened tomatoes.

Ever-falling walnuts.

Friend's apples. 

Left-over grapes.

Indian summer

Looking out the window this morning, I saw our birch tree is turning yellow. The mornings are foggy, the walnuts are falling, the light fades earlier. Autumn.

But.

The days are blue, the pink has arrived, we're in T-shirts and shorts, we're eating outside. Even at night.

I know it won't last, this bubble of warmth and colour between the cold, wet July and August that was and the chill, grey November and December to come. But while it's here? I am basking.