Sunday, November 30, 2008

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?"

Monday, November 17, 2008

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.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

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!

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

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???

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

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.