The downside of an articulate toddler

I really like that Lukan is a good speaker. He can explain what he wants, he tells stories, and it's maybe the reason he rarely has tantrums.

But sometimes he's just a little too clear. Like the other day, for example.

I don't like [family member name].

Or this evening.

You annoying me mummy.

Oy oy oy.

24 hours, 16,832 km, and a hemisphere apart

The squeals are the same though.

We forgot the SD card adapater so you'll have to imagine the punchline

- Do you think we need to pack warm clothes?

- Nah, it's pretty much always hot this time of year in Sydney.

- What about umbrellas and raincoats?

- No, I don't think so, it never rains any more.

[picture of 2 children in grandma-sized raincoats, in pouring rain, outside our holiday cabin at the beach]

Nothing to say

So, yeah, hello. Sorry I haven't been around lately. I keep coming here, knowing I should write something, but then I just stare blankly and cannot think of a single interesting thing to say.

I mean, I could tell you that Téo is having almost daily meltdowns, like he's the one who's 2 instead of Lukan, only ... what more is there to say than that? It's a part of my life, a part that is wearying, yes, but doesn't get to me like it used to. I just put him in bed, where he falls asleep and then wakes up in a much better mood.

I could tell you we put up a Christmas tree. Just like a good many other people lately, most of you included I imagine.

I could tell you that our babysitter - the 5th since we moved to the village - quit with 4 days notice. But then you might think there's something wrong with us that we have such a high turnover. (Really, it's not us, it's them! Every time!)

I could tell you that with being on my own for 25 evenings (and a good many nights) since November 1, I feel like I've become a bit of a recluse. But that makes me even less interesting.

I could tell you that on the one hand, I never want to hear "Love love me do" ever again, but on the other it's so sweet when my kids sing it over and over in the car, but you really have to hear it for yourself.

I could tell you that the briefing paper I wrote for a major organization, the project that was stressing me out, was well received at an international conference, and may be turned into an actual publication from that organization. But that seems like boasting.

I could tell you I made a kind of advent calendar, spent hours crafting a tree and birds and hedgehogs and nests out of pine branches and leaves and seeds collected from the village forest, with trapdoors to hide chocolate in, one for each day that we are here in December. But then I'd have to admit that each night, without fail, I forget to actually put any chocolate in the next day's hiding place (I didn't dare put all the chocolate out at once) which kind of ruins the intended magic.

This minutiae is my life, but it doesn't make a good story.

Leaf dance

The other day, coming home from the shops, I walked quickly from the garage to the house, to get out of the cold wind as soon as possible.

Lukan dawdled behind me.

After a couple of minutes, when he hadn't appeared, I went back outside, and found him standing entranced in the driveway.

Did you see? he said excitedly, pointing to the masses of swirling leaves.

Like this! And he twirled around and around, showing me how they were dancing.

Knives and priorities

One night last week while getting the kids ready for bed, I wasn't very patient. They were mucking around, C wasn't home, the dishes still needed to be done, the washing needed hanging, I was tired, I was stressed by a looming work deadline, I knew I'd have to work all weekend, I wanted a bit of time to unwind and escape before having to go to bed and then get up and repeat everything the next day.

The upshot was that when I said for the sixth time, Téo put your pyjamas on NOW and added, or there will be no book tonight, well, I didn't say it very nicely.

Téo looked at me and said You know mummy, when I dream at night you are always only mean to me.

That would be the knife reference in the title of this post.

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I've taken on way too much work this year.

At first, it was because of the recession. I wasn't sure I would even have any work in the second half of the year when new, possibly drastically reduced budgets came into effect, so I took on pretty much everything that was offered. The result: long hours.

My fears about reduced budgets did not come true - I've been offered even more work in the second half of the year. And from new clients too, including a big one, that I felt it would be unwise to refuse.

So I accepted up to the very limit of what I could do... without realising until too late that Téo's school schedule would be very disruptive. And forgetting that projects always take longer than planned. So, more long hours.

All up, I have worked 49% more hours this year than last year. And the year's not even over yet.

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Clearly, these extra hours have to come from somewhere. And without fail, it's been from time with the kids. Instead of working 4 days as planned, I have worked 5 for pretty much the entire year. Instead of finishing at 4pm, I've been finishing at 5pm. And lately, I've worked weekends too.

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I want to work, I like to work. I like having the money, I like the recognition, I like doing something I'm good at, I don't want to step out of the workforce and find myself unable to get back in, should I really need to.

But I also want to be there for my kids. That is, after all, the whole reason I decided to work from home in the first place, and not work full-time.

I'm not balancing this at all well. And I'm wondering - why do I always seem to choose work over time with my children?

Even last Wednesday - which should be my day off, when for once I only worked in the morning and not all day - I couldn't even sit down for 10 minutes with Téo, who wanted to do a jigsaw puzzle. All I could see was washing to fold, a floor to vacuum, dinner to start.

- OK, I'll fold the clothes while you do it.

- No, do it with me!

-No, I can't, I need to fold the clothes, but I'll do it right next to you!

It took an attention-seeking tantrum from Lukan for me to finally get out of seeing, thinking, being work and instead sit on the floor and just play.

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I've resolved before to be better. But I really need to. I'm going to.

Because it's not just time together that's suffering, it's also my attention, my attitude. A stressed Emma is not very playful, or patient.

The kids forgive me now, but how long will it be before they resent my choices? How long until they only remember a mean, snappy mummy? Until they start to think I actually prefer work to them?

How long will it be until I can no longer forgive myself?

Divining marshmallows

So there's this test, the marshmallow test, where you give a kid a marshmallow, tell him/her that you're going to leave the room, and that s/he can eat the marshmallow now, but if s/he waits until you get back then s/he can have another one too. And then you leave.

I've never been tempted to try this on Téo. I don't want to know now that he's going to end up a badly adjusted instant-gratification junkie with a major impulse control disorder.

Because I'm sure as hell that marshmallow would be down his gullet before the door was even closed. Before I'd even left the room.

We've had a few cases of him sneaking sweet things over the past year. Like meringues from the cupboard. One time he continued to eat lollies from a birthday lolly bag, after I'd said he had had enough for the day - and lied about it when confronted. Lied while still chewing the lollies.

I threw the rest away as punishment.

The lesson did not sink in.

Last weekend, after going trick or treating, the deal was that he could have some lollies after everyone had finished dinner.

He finished first (probably so he could have the lollies quicker), and left the table to play while everyone else finished. You know what happened next. Right down to lying with the lollies still in his mouth.

He was denied any more lollies for the whole weekend.

Apparently this was still not enough.

This week I had this great idea for his reading, to make a treasure hunt where he has to read each clue. He LOVES it. I was very pleased with myself.

The treasure is a lolly, and there's one for Lukan too.

You know where this is going too.

No impulse control whatsoever.

He's doomed.

But then... the other night, at 10pm, C interrupted my escape to Hogwarts to desperately ask me where the bag of un-handed-out Halloween lollies was. He left the room very sadly when he realised that yes, he had in fact already eaten every lolly in the house.

And then I remembered that he has eaten lollies that he knew were promised to Téo.

And that he even rescued the lollies I threw away as punishment, and ate them.

And that my dad could not leave an open bag of chocolates unfinished.

And that Dad also ate chocolate that was mine - my entire ration for a week-long hike, 2 days into the hike, after he'd finished his.

And I confess (Mum, don't read the rest of this sentence) even I, as a kid, stole milk money to buy lollies.

C and I seem to doing be OK, and Dad could hardly be described as a failure.

So maybe Téo's not so doomed. But clearly, any sugar entering our house is.

If you want a smile, have a look at these kids trying not to eat the marshmallow...