Lay All Your Love .. ..Somewhere Else!!

Even Boombah can reduce us to a rolling, crying ball of laughter. And he's not yet 5 months old!

The Rooster and I recently watched Mama Mia, and (shhhhhh) loved it! Corny, feel good and a great way to wind down and enjoy some Abba classics whilst pretending to catch up on a recent DVD release!

And the next day, Abba songs were whirring through our minds, and frequently popping out our mouths.

Until Boombah woke up and shared his skilled musical expertise on all music of Abba, in particular "Lay All Your Love On Me".

I'll post the photos because in this situation, a picture is worth a thousand words.

Watch closely as our bright and smiley baby boy manages to communicate clearly and perfectly, with no verbal skills whatsoever, to share with the world his personal musings on Abba.

Department Stores

Not only do our kids' verbal communication skills make me smile (cringe) and laugh (cry), their actions and antics have a similar effect.
Either that or we try to wander by anonymously and pretend they don't belong to us!

When Tubby was a little one, about 3 or 4, we temporarily misplaced him in Target. Whilst the Rooster and I were frantically searching the store for him, he was apparently wandering the store at leisure, stopping to look at the items that took his interest.

And then we heard him - a fearful, confused and desperate wailing coming from somewhere in the children's clothing. The Rooster and I legged it over there and followed the cries until we were stopped short by the site of our small son : holding onto the now-detatched arm of a store manikin.

I think at this point the Rooster began laughing so hard he wasn't able to be of much assistance and so it was up to me to teach our little one that destroying the store property is not acceptable.

"Tubby!" I said as firmly and calmly as I could in such circumstances. I wanted to reassure him that we were there to help him, and decided to deal with the discipline issue of running away and destruction of property later.

He wheeled around to look at me, the wayward arm still firmly in his grip. It belonged to a older child-sized manikin and was still held within the Tshirt the manikin was modelling. When attached the hand would have been about Tubby's head height, but right now it was dangling down near his legs and, from the strain on his little arms, it was becoming quite heavy.

"What are you doing?" I asked in my very best mummy-will-fix-it-all-and-then-you're-in-big-trouble-mister voice.

He looked at me with tear filled eyes and I suddenly realised he wasn't scared or worried - he was mad!
"I tried to say hello to her, but she didn't answer me" he replied, in a voice brimming with indignity and disgust. "So then I shook her hand and she bloody hit me on the head!" And he threw the arm back at the offender, aimed his boot and gave "her" a good hard kick in the shins.

And stormed off as I lunged at the toppling manikin and tried to catch "her" before she fell.
Although perhaps I could have let her fall and land on the Rooster who was, by this time, almost doubled up with laughter.



And just to prove that one of our parenting priorities is consistency, we've also lost the Rabbit in a department store. (Kmart this time I think!) We'd flown interstate to visit family, and had gone on a shopping trip with Tubby and the Rabbit, who at this time, was aged about 20 months old.
As we were flying and travelling with as little luggae as possible, we'd taken along the umbrella stroller and left the bigger, heavier (but far more comfortable!) pram at home.

And regretted the move the entire trip. Because every chance he had, the Rabbit would wriggle out of the straps and get out instead of allowing us to push him and know his whereabouts!

In Kmart we wandered the aisles, and paused in the baby goods section. (because, as is often the case, I was pregnant and clucky!) We then moved onto clothing, electrical and bedding departments, and at some point amidst the sheets and doona covers I noticed the Rabbit was no longer in the stroller.

We panicked and the Rooster, his sister and I ran through the store searching desperately for him. I notified the store assistant at the front door, described him and asked them to watch out for him, and returned to trace my steps.

And found the Rabbit. Back in the baby goods section.

He had perused the prams and chosen the most padded, comfortable and reclining one, climbed in, attempted to do up the harnass and was patiently waiting for us to begin pushing him in his new "wheels"!

I think since then we've managed to not loose anyone for any length of time, in a department store. Or I haven't been aware they've been missing anyway!

Out for a Treat

We took the family out for a culinary treat tonight - McDonalds followed by Cold Rock Ice Creamery.

Yes yes, I know I know - not exactly a healthy nutritious meal, but after surviving the hairdressing salon where the 4 eldest had their hair cuts with a minimum of screaming, kicking andf fighting, we felt a reward was in order. The Rooster and I really HAD been well behaved, and an evening off cooking and cleaning is about as exciting as a reward gets these days.

The only other kind of "reward" we manage seems to result in yet another child for our family, so McDonalds it was!

Being an evening in the weeks leading up to Christmas, right about when parents across the country are finding ways to wiggle out of preparing and serving the dinner meal - McDonalds was pretty busy. So the Rooster took the kids to the playground area, while I ordered our food.

I learnt about 2 kids ago that the quickest way to order for our family is to write it down on a scrap of paper and hand it over to the person serving me. that way I don't have to repeat things multiple times and end up confusing myself AND the operator. So I gather the trays of food, and find the family who are either playing loudly or sitting at the table waiting, ravenously.

When we're out and about, people tend to notice us. I don't think a family of 7 is all that big or noticeable, but clearly I am in the minority in this thinking. And when we take up most of the party table on our own - well, it looks like there are a lot of us!

So we attracted some attention, sat down to eat, attracted some more attention, and the kids ran off to play.

A little more attention came our way when the Rabbit came hurtling out of the slide with an older child in hot pursuit. Both boys screeched to a halt in front of the Rooster, who paused between mouthfuls of Quarter Pounder and looked questioningly at his son.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yes Rabbit?"

"You do Kung Fu don't you?"

"Yes I do" replied the Rooster, looking somewhat puzzled.

"See?" the Rabbit said, turning to the child behind him "I TOLD you my Dad does Kung Fu.

Now hit 'im Dad! Hit 'im!!"

After a brief chat about how his Dad DOES train in Kung Fu but does not and will not use his skills to beat up the kid who called the Rabbit "Spiderman freak", playing and eating continued and attention began to be drawn away from the super sized family with Spiderman and Kung Fu Panda in their midst.

But not for long.

The Rooster and I were having a quiet and somewhat serious chat when Tubby calls our names. He'd been eating quietly but his voice is quite loud and carries quite clearly and we learnt long ago to acknowledge him the first time he requests, or else he will keep going and going (and going and going and going and going!) until we DO respond!

So we paused our conversation and turn our attention to our eldest - as did most other diners in the restaurant, due to the previously mentioned loud, clear voice this boy has.

And we looked questioningly at him, waiting for him to share a fascinating and obscure piece of trivia he has just remembered, which is something that happens often during mealtimes with Tubby.

"I was just thinking" he announced, in that fore-mentioned loud, clear voice.

"Sometimes I come to talk to you and I see you with Dad, and Dad has his hands on your bottom and sometimes even down your pants. Like this..!" and he stood up to demonstrate.

We finished our meal very quickly and hurried out of the restaurant.

And I have no idea what the other diners were doing after that because I was not prepared to look at a single ONE of them.

Although perhaps Tubby was also aware of the attention and was simply providing the on-lookers with a reasonable and slightly subtle explanation for our family size!!!!

Some things just cannot be explained. We figure he'll work it out in about 10 years time!

Shopping with Daddy

The Rooster, bless him, prefers not to take all 5 kids shopping alone. He's willing to do it if I'm there as well, or another adult - but something about the idea of 5 young children all running in different directions and grabbing at different items on shelves, and quite possibly ending up with those shelves on top of them and then being pursued by an angry store manager ............... well, it seems to give him chills. .

He is, however, quite willing to take a couple of the kids with him. Especially if it means he can head for the nearest supermarket under the guise of buying bread, and "just happen" to pass the cold section and pick up an Ice Break (iced coffee) while he's there! I'm not sure but I suspect his addiction to these regular shots of caffeine and sugar have something to do with being a Dad of 5??!!

Sometimes, even being the Dad of just 2 is a struggle! Like his recent outing with a couple of the youngsters. .......

He headed into town with a short list, his wallet, his mobile phone and the Honey Girl & Pants. According to all sources they had a pleasant morning together, collecting the items on the list, coming up with new items which just happened to be over by the *ahem cough cough* COLD section, and chatting together. They paid for their purchases and after loading the car and preparing to head home, Pants made the announcement that he needed the toilet.

Now given we've taken over 12 months to toilet train this boy, when he says he needs the toilet, he NEEDS THE TOILET! So the Rooster grabbed both kids by the hand and headed for the parents room/disabled toilet.

As they entered the small cubicle, they stepped back for the woman hurrying out of the same room, and heading for her nearby car. Upon entering the toilet, the Rooster and kids were knocked back by the overpowering odour of cigarette smoke, and pile of ash beside the actual toilet was a clear indicator of what the previous occupant had been doing in here!

So with breath held and a little spluttering, the Rooster tended to the children, and when finished they rushed for the door to breathe some fresh air again. At this point, the Rooster decided to call me at home, perhaps to boast a little about his successful and pleasant morning with his charming and co-operative offspring.

But no sooner had he finished telling me just how delightful these children were, I heard him mutter "No, don't do that".

Followed by a hushed "Honey Girl, stop it." and then a slightly louder "Pants, NO!" and rounded off with an "I've got to go.... ..... Kids, GET UP and GET in the car...." And the phone disconnected.

I waited as patiently as a knowing mother who has just witnessed the destruction of her husband's smugness concerning the behaviour of our children in public, can possibly wait. And eventually they arrived home, with full details which the Rooster managed to deliver after several deep, long swigs of the Ice break he appeared to desperately need!

On leaving the smoke-filled change room, Pants and the Honey Girl had spotted the previous occupant of the toilet, in her parked car, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. The Rooster noticed that she looked a little scary, a bit rough around the edges. So he rethought his previous intentions of perhaps suggesting to her that smoking in the confined space of a toilet cubicle whilst relieving yourself, when other people are going to need to use the same smoke-filled room, was not such a smart idea. Better to leave well enough alone.

Just as they passed in front of her car, this woman began coughing - that awful, hacking, bringing-up-a-chunk-of-your-lungs cough that smokers develop.

And being sensitive little souls, the children went out in sympathy with her. First the Honey Girl gave a little cough. Then Pants gave a louder, longer cough and reached for his throat. Within seconds they had a complete and dramatic demonstration going on - coughing and spluttering, hands gripped on their throats, eyes bulging and both in death throes on the footpath.

It was at this point the Rooster abruptly ended our chat on the phone, scooped up both children and bolted to the car.

We still haven't worked out how to abbreviate "We really shouldn't pretend to be the nice lady who smoked, by rolling on the ground pretending to die with your hands on your throat and your eyes popping out. It might hurt her feelings"

Perhaps they'd have a spot for these two budding young starlets in the next anti-smoking campaign?!

How did Jesus ............?

Tonight I watched a Christmas DVD with the Rabbit. It was given out at school last week : a 20 minute movie of the first Christmas.
Once every week or so I try to spend an evening with one of the kids alone - an hour to stay up later than everyone else and watch a DVD or play a board game, eat something special and have alone time with Mum and/or Dad. It's a time I treasure as a chance to get to know one of my children better on their own without the usual family dynamics affecting behaviour and dividing attention. And each of the kids loves it too - undivided attention for one whole hour!


So tonight was the Rabbit's turn. And we watched the story of the first Christmas in cartoon. It was lovely and just when I thought the final carol had faded into an easy transition to bedtime, the questions started.

How did Jesus get into Mary's tummy? (this one was suprisingly easier to answer than the recent "How did Boombah get into YOUR tummy Mum?!)

How can God be Jesus and still be the Father as well?

Does Jesus have power in His hands?

We headed through the nativity, straight through the miracles Jesus performed and ploughed right into the Ascension. Which I thought the Rabbit grasped suprisingly well given his age and the subject matter. He seemed to calmly accept that, at the appointed time, Jesus said goodbye to all His friends and went up into heaven, into the sky.

At this point the discussion stopped, and I quietly gave myself a High 5 for fielding intense questioning from all sides and managing to teach this little one some important faith truths, and explain the power of God and the Ascension of Christ in a manner which sat so well with my nearly-6 year old. The Rabbit was clearly a child of deep religious understanding and spiritual insight - he had just heard of the Ascension and was not questioning it at all. In fact, he seemed quite in awe of the concept. That's my boy!

And then my bubble burst.

"Mum?" he asked excitedly
"Did Jesus fly like an angel or did He have rocket boots?"

Grace

We say Grace at dinner time. And it can be a lengthy affair, especially since Pants decided that we should all have a turn. So now instead of a single (adult!) person giving thanks for the evening meal, each child offers his/her thanks -
Tubby prays a brief, thankful prayer which is accurate and genuine.
The Rabbit gives thanks "for the delicious meal Mum has prepared", and then often proceeds to tell me it's gross and that don't like it as soon as we say Amen.
The Honey Girl prays long prayers, most of which are not easily understood and presumably are in tongues
And Pants gives his thanks for each individual food item. Which is fine if it's french toast and not so fine if I've served up a casserole or stir fry of multiple ingredients.
But eventually grace ends and we can all eat/complain about the meal.

Last night I served rissoles, mash and vegies. I last served this meal some months ago, and I had neatly cut the rissoles up into small pieces, in the hope that the children might not look too closely and just eat them. Unfortunately it didn't work and I ended up with plates full of cut up and poked around rissoles which could not be used as leftovers because we couldn't distinguish between what was simply cut up and left, and what was cut up, chewed up, spat out and left.

So last night I served the rissoles whole. (albeit hidden under and disguised by tomato sauce!)
We sat down and started on grace and of course everyone took a turn. Sibling rivalry thrives during spiritual moments!

Now I'm not much of a chef. We eat varied, relatively healthy meals and snacks, and while I enjoy cooking, there is still much for me to learn. But only yesterday I was whipping up a batch of scones from scratch, without a recipe, and had commented to the Rooster how far my cooking abilities had come. How improved my kitchen efforts were to when we first met. How much I enjoyed cooking and believed I was doing pretty well with it all now. And he, being a smart man who rather enjoys scones, agreed.

So I was not prepared for Pant's heartfelt thanks when it came. With small head bowed, eyes squeezed tightly shut and lips moving to form his words with the cute slurred lisp he has, he prayed :
"Thankth God for my ninner. For my juith, for peath and cornth, for 'tato, and ..." he paused and looked at his rissole.
"For ....."
He raised one eyebrow at the rissole and eyed it closely.
"For...."
His brow creased, deep in thought over what word to use to exactly describe what was before him.
And then it came to him :
"Thankth God for thith BITHCUIT!"


I guess my rissoles need some more work.

Dishwasher Top Drawer Privileges

Amongst the daily chores the older boys do, is unpacking the dishwasher. It's not an entirely popular chore, and often the root of much ill-will and frantic negotiation. Apparently getting stuck with unpacking the bottom shelf is the absolute pits - because it means you have to unpack the cutlery and put it away. And no one, in the history of mankind, could ever posibly want to Put. The. Cutlery. Away.

Now if the Rooster packed the dishwasher all the time, I would almost understand the distaste such a duty might invoke. He throws cutlery into the dishwasher like he's throwing hoops in the ring toss, oblivious to where they land. So long as the door shuts at the end, it's all good.

I am quite the opposite. I group the cutlery by kind, and ensure everything is facing handle-down so they are properly cleaned. (except knives which, for safety reasons, go handle up) And as I usually pack the dishwasher, I fail to see the drama behind getting "stuck" with unpacking the bottom shelf.

Yet calling dibs on unpacking the bottom drawer continues, and on days when we do not have a completely balanced and just system in place for awarding the Top Drawer Privileges (ie the days I forget who darn well did it yesterday because I just DON'T CARE!!) there is much conflict in our household. Occasionally it comes to violence against the offending party, but more often it involves sly digs at one another in verbal form or in small deeds designed solely to rile up the observer.

Which is why I recently found myself telling the Rabbit that we DO NOT lick the clean plates we remove from the dishwasher before putting them away.

And to pull out all the plates he had thus far licked, and put them on the bench for me to rewash.

And why I rewashed an entire load of plates.

Apparently the Rabbit wanted to rile up his brothers, and both Tubby and Pants are quite particular about cleanliness of certain items - for Pants it is HIS personal items (ie any plate or cup that is yellow or has a dog on it somewhere) and for Tubby it is ALL items.

So apparently carefully and deliberately licking each and every plate he touched was guaranteed to earn sweet revenge for the Rabbit, on his brothers who had "won" Top Drawer privileges.

We like our plates UNLICKED thankyouverymuch!

Important Lessons

Just as I sat down to learn a little more about blogging and all it's extras, the Honey Girl came running in to me. She's just started toilet training - or rather I have started toilet training her!After a reluctant start, where we battled just WHOSE bladder it was and who would determine when and where it would co-operate (a battle I quickly and decisively lost, and then moved quickly into bribery territory which is far more effective anyway) she's doing well in the #1's department.

Surely this face could cause no trouble?!

So, I sit down and take a deep breath and revel in the silence (the children are outside) and the Honey Girl enters at lightning speed.

"I do poo! I do poo! Outside Mum, come see!"

Now aside from the obvious lack of excitement and motivation experienced when invited to attend a Poo Viewing, the Honey Girl is yet to distinguish between #1's and #2's. So as enticing as a Poo Viewing is, examining a urine sample on the back lawn is even less so.

And so I attempt to decline, but am met with her persistance to "Come on Mum! Come ON Mum!'.

Then I try distraction and as I begin to ask to show me her "Stella Jocks" (aka Dora underpants) it hits me : they certainly are not covering her cheeky little butt.

So then I think perhaps I had better have a little look outside, so we can determine where she has wee-ed so we can have a little celebration and a banana lolly. (Don't scoff - #1 tip in Negotiation with Children is to find their currency and deal in it. The Honey Girl is most definitely swayed by banana lollies!)

So I wearily rise from my comfortable chair, forget my longed-for moment of silence online and step into Excited Mummy mode, ready to celebrate the achievement of urinating in the backyard.


Except whilst attempting to find my focus, the Honey Girl has disappeared.

"Where are you HoneyGirl?" I call

And she responds "Here I am Mum, in the toilet, getting paper so you can pick it up".


Sweet, HoneyGirl - thanks for that!

WHY is it my darling daughter has finally learnt to distinguish between #1's and #2's the one and only time she managed to dump it in the backyard? And how exactly does one navigate a 1 acre backyard of lawn, shrubs, sand, dirt and scattered toys whilst barefoot and desperately hoping she does not unexpectedly but irrevocably locate the anticipated landmine with her bare foot???

Where it all begins .........

The Rooster and I have lately found ourselves recalling things we've said to one of the kids, that we'd never imagined ourselves saying.
Most recently, it was "Don't wipe your boogers on the baby".

Loading our car - hereafterknown as the People Mover : Definitely NOT a Bus (the Rooster has iss-ews with being under 30, married with 5 kids and needing to drive a *ahem* bus!)- takes some time and effort. With one in a booster, 2 in full harnasses and one in a reverse facing seat, there's a lot of buckling to be done, and much arguing to be had.
I usually start with the baby - because he argues the least and seems quite entertained by the tomfoolery that goes on as I struggle to strap everyone else in.

So I take Boombah out to the car and buckle him in. I pass the Rabbit (5 years old) on my way back into the house and ask him to get into his seat, while I continue on and track down another opponent to carry and restrain. As I climb into the People Mover : Definitely NOT a Bus I notice the Rabbit sitting very calmly and quietly in his seat.

Which can mean one of 2 things - either OUR Rabbit has been abducted by aliens and replaced by an imposter who does not know how the Rabbit behaves. Or the Rabbit has done something he should not have done.

The Rabbit and his innocent look!

I go for Option 2, and start scanning the car for signs of sabotage.
Nothing.
Radio volume is not secretly turned up to deafening levels.
Blinkers, widnscreens wipers and hazard lights are not all switched on so when I turn the key all hell breaks loose while I try to work out which to turn off first.
Nothing has been done to any sibling's seat to antagonise them and thus innocently start yet another epic Car Wars battle.
Nothing.

As I begin to contemplate that perhaps there really IS life form out there and how likely it is that they HAVE taken the Rabbit for experimentation (and how quickly they will realise their mistake in human selection and hurry to send him back where he came from!) I gaze lovingly at my youngest.

Still strapped in his car seat, snuggled under a bunny rug and quietly watching me move around him. My eyes drink him for a short while - cute little sock-ed up toes poking out the end of his blanket. Chubby little fists clenched and being gently sucked. Bright blue eyes watching around him.

And a giant green booger planted in the center of his forehead.

Fancy marring this face !




And so it begins ............. after moving into detective mode and determining who was guilty (the Rabbit)and how to make him admit his guilt, (the age old - "If you tell me the truth you won't be in trouble. If you lie, you will be in trouble for lying AND for doing it. At 5, the rabbit has not yet worked out the endless lack of logic in such a threat and I plan to keep it that way for as long as possible!) I find myself giving a lecture on why we don't wipe boogers on the baby.

While the Rooster silently rolls on the ground behind me in hysterics.