WWJD?!

Pants is going to become a preacher I think. And I don't want to miss even one of his sermons - he has an interesting interpretation of some basic Biblical concepts.

Over dinner he and the Honey Girl (who sit beside each other at the table because, until 3 days ago, they were best friends) were having a bit of a tussle over ..... actually I don't know what it was about. Quite frankly, I didn't care - I was watching them with my cranky eyes on, waiting to see how long it would take for one of them to notice I was watching.

First the Honey Girl pushed Pants a little. So he pushed her back a little. So she pushed a little harder, and he did the same. Then the pushes turned into fake punches, and eventually the fake bit got forgotten and the real fight started.

I eventually accepted that staring at them with a disapproving expression on my face was doing pretty much nothing, and stepped into parenting action. Is it ironic that just this afternoon while I was preparing dinner, I was imagining how our family would show up on "Super Nanny"?! I was picturing horrific scenes of the baby sitting on the bench alone, beside the carving knife and a bubbling saucepan; the 3 year old running naked down the driveway and onto the road; and the older children slouching on the couch doing nothing but staring at the TV. In reality, I was right beside the baby, who was only open to two options - being held in my arms or screaming endlessly, so I plopped him on the bench beside me while I finished preparing dinner. And the Naked 3 Year Old Sprint was closely pursued by the Fully Clothed Mother Dash, which overtook said Sprint and hauled the only competitor back up stairs and secured the gate so there would be no repeat. And the children were watching TV because they'd been told to stay out of the kitchen, out of my way and not to fight no matter what, and of course staring at a screen achieves all three of these in one easy activity! But I'm sure we'd make awesome viewing on reality TV!

Anyway, there I was, staring hard to no avail, so I interrupted the tit-for-tat with a verbal reprimand, stated that it was to end now and mentioned that Time Out would follow any further hitting or pushing. (Super Nanny would be proud!)
Pants and the Honey Girl looked at me dumb founded, like I was interrupting the best sporting event this century has known. So I tried to explain suitable ways of expressing anger at your dinner companion that don't involve your hands, fists or any swear words you picked up recently.

Still no comprehension. Pants wanted to know what he was meant to do is his sister pushed him or hit him, if hitting her back was not an option.
In exasperation, and knowing it was Chapel Day at school today, I asked "Well what do you think Jesus would do if the Honey Girl was hitting HIM?"and sat back, triumphant, that Pants would know the Bible said something about turning the other cheek.

"This" he replied - and held up his hands in her direction and very clearly mimed, with sound effects, the zapping of someone with a lightning bolt.

I think I might need to change careers. Where do I go to resign from motherhood?!

How to Give Thanks

I really should stop letting my children say grace before dinner, and just mutter a quick prayer before we eat and model how to properly thank God for the meal we're about the enjoy. (or endure,depending on who you ask and what's on the plate!) It rarely ends well.....but we persist!

Really, you'd think we'd have learnt years ago, when Bah! was a little guy. We were invited to my brother's house for dinner, to share a special meal with his family, my mother and a special guest who had traveled some distance to speak at a local church. She was very much the guest of honour for the meal, and since she was a generation ahead of me, I was anxious to offer her all the respect and hospitality she deserved.
As a special touch, I thought it might be nice for one of the children to say grace before we ate. And since our one and only son at that stage was the centre of our universe, I was quietly chuffed that he volunteered enthusiastically to give thanks. Publicly.
In hindsight, that should have been my first warning sign.

Anyway, my sister in law and I rounded up our clean, groomed and well dressed children and ushered them to the dinner table. We served their meals, and waited for the adults to be seated. Bah was whinging about wanting a drink but in true "perfect mother" style, I smiled sweetly at him and gently suggested he wait until he'd eaten some dinner.
He nagged a little more and I smiled a little more, and repeated myself through teeth more clenched than smiling now.  And I suggested he say grace now, so we could all start eating.

He glared at me, furrowed his brow a little and closed his eyes (perhaps my second warning) . As did our dinner companions, including our special guest. He paused for a moment to concentrate on speaking clearly (while I silently cheered inside that I was raising such a mature and grateful member of society who was confident speaking publicly at the age of 4)
"Thankyou God" he said "For this dinner. And for our family and friends. (a little more inner cheering from me.) Thankyou for this meat. And the potato. And the peas and pumpkin. (I was tempted to take a peek at our dinner guest to be sure she was hearing all this and fully comprehending just how thorough my boy was in being thankful.) And thankyou God, for our drinks. Even though WE HAVEN'T EVEN BLOODY GOT THEM YET AMEN!"

So, like I said, you'd think I'd have learnt long ago to say the grace myself. But it's such a good habit to develop, expressing gratefulness for the meal before you. And it provides regular amusement for the Rooster and I, as we compete to choke back our laughter and encourage our children in their earnest prayers.

Tonight was Pant's turn. Pants likes grace to done in a particular way, with everyone following his instructions to the letter. This means eyes closed, heads down and hands clasped. And silence. Total silence. All very formal.....except he then proceeds to have a very casual, laid back chat with God which can go on indefinitely.

Tonight he issued his usual instructions and waited til we all assumed our correct positions. He began to pray :
Thankyou Father for this very yummy delicious meal Mum has made for us. *pause*  I hope it's delicious anyway. *sideways suspicious glance at me* (At this point the Honey Girl decided she preferred to hold hands than clasp them in front of her so she reached over to grab hold of Pant's hand. He paused again, shook his hand free and took a breath. She reached over again and grabbed him, so he shook a little harder and glared at her. She began to explain that she wanted to hold hands but was silenced by another glare and him gruffly stating she was to clasp her hands. He waited til she had resumed her correct position, took a deep breath and continued his prayer) Sorry about that God, I'm back. That was just the Honey Girl................................. Please let our sausages and vegetables be yummy. (the older boys have a  quiet snigger at Pant's apology to God) And please tell me what the boys are laughing at right now. Because my eyes are closed and I can't see.  *Pause* (At this point  I'm not sure if God actually told Pants what they were laughing at or not - but I suspect the older boys thought this is exactly what happened because while I quietly cried tears of laughter, my older sons stilled instantly and sat quietly) Anyway, thanks for this dinner.
 And by the way God, did you  know if you spell your name backwards, it says dog?! D-O-G. It's true! Just in case you didn't know. Amen.


Maybe it's time they learnt "For what we are about to receive ......."?!!

That's How He Rolls!

Gavin is a kid who knows what he wants and what he doesn't want.

Like tonight - he didn't want the chicken and mashed potatoes we all enjoyed for dinner.
He also didn't want the sandwich I offered as a substitute.
Nor did he want his water cup, apparently, since its contents are now spread across the dining room and kitchen.
And it would appear he also didn't want to sit in his high chair for the duration of dinner. I know this because
1) I am amazingly in tune with my offspring and we can often communicate on a deeper level than most humans, without the need for words of any language
and
2) he screamed and wriggled and twisted and contorted his body for the entire 3 minutes and 27 seconds it took  me to inhale the entire chicken and mashed potatoes dish  I served for dinner.

And then he wrapped his potato-covered little arms around my neck and squeezed the moment I lifted him out. Why does he never *need* a cuddle and some love when he is clean and fresh and, well, pleasant?!

Anyway, as I said, he is a kid who knows what he wants.
And he's a kid who wants cupcakes. He likes cupcakes and will go to extraordinary lengths to secure them.

Including locating said cupcakes in long-neglected locations, left to languish for many a day after the original owner has forgotten their whereabouts. Gavin has a real talent for sourcing such delicacies. (and I'll admit I have an equal talent for pretending to not notice some of the things he is consuming, since they keep him quiet and still for 5 minutes. If we're in public and I happen to catch a "look" - where all the judgement and condemnation for a negligent and useless mother such as myself is packaged up neatly into a single facial expression and a slight shake of the head -I try to grin and mumble something about natural immunisations. At home, I walk the other way and hope that a) the cupcake was one of the green-coloured ones I baked a few days ago which would explain its colour; and b) it buys me an extra minute or two to complete a task or errand.

Gavin found one of his favourite cupcakes tonight. I think it was a blueberry one. Either that, or it had turned purple and  spotty with age. But given it wasn't actually crunching, and is currently spread in small, sticky crumbs across my loungeroom floor and has some kind of moisture within it because it's stuck fast, I'm going to assume it's a fairly fresh one.

The delightful little soul waited until he was showered and dressed in fresh clean pajamas for bedtime. He waited until we'd endured the daily struggle that is brushing his teeth. (because he LIKES toothpaste, but not toothbrushes)
He waited until I was engaged in showering the Banshee (usually known as Boombah but when we refer to him combined with running water, Banshee is much more appropriate!) and then went off to discover his little treatie. He located his prize, had a little nibble and then toddled into my bedroom to show off his "Precious".

And precious it appeared to be. He wandered slowly into my room, and met my gaze slowly before lowering his eyes to his Precious, to ensure my eyes followed his and landed on his prize. Then he looked up again, with a smirk that only a cheeky one year old can fully master, and prepared to lean casually against the door jam and watch "The Show" that occurs nightly when the Banshee and running water actually meet momentarily.

Except he misjudged the location of the door jam. And since he's only new to walking, he then overbalanced. I saw him attempt to shift his weight and correct his stance but knew it was not going to end well at this stage of the evening when tired little boys don't take so well to bumping their heads.
In that split second I decided to detach myself from the Banshee by depositing him into the shower and freeing my arms from his vice-like grip (with the help of some slippery soap if necessary) and then be free to attend to Gavin, who would be sobbing on the floor with a bumped head and a bruised ego by the time I was able to reach.

I sprung into action and in one swift move had the Banshee in the shower, my arms free and was able to rush to the littlest one's side and sooth his screams.

Except he wasn't screaming. Or making any noise at all.
He had indeed misjudged the door jam and leaned against pretty much nothing. And this had certainly over- balanced him and he'd scrambled to regain his position. And his little legs, still new and unstable, had struggled to handle the change in weight and had collapsed as I'd expected.
But instead of falling into a sad little pile in a mess of tears and cupcake crumbs, he'd held onto his Precious. They'd ridden to the ground together, where they'd rolled to one side. Or rather, Gavin had rolled whilst carefully holding his Precious firmly but gently out in front of him so it would feel none of the effects of the impact.

And there he lay,  casually reclined on my bedroom floor and munching on his cupcake without a care in the world, with an expression that said he'd meant to do it like that all along! Just hangin' with his homey ....his Precious!