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!

Dietary Dramas

We have a varied diet in our household, and try to cover all the food groups regularly.....chocolate, caffeine, good quality tea in multiple doses .........

No, really, we're all about variety. I am one of those parents who's working on the theory that if we offer all kinds of foods to our children as they grow and explore, and refuse to fight over any particular food item or taste preference, that they'll grow into good, varied eaters, guided by hunger and need rather than routine.

So far it's working. Bah and the Rabbit will try  most new tastes, and eat a good variety. Pants is a little more fussy but at 7.5 years old, he's expanding his boundaries and the Honey Girl is not too far behind him. Boombah, however, is at the very other end of the scale and currently exists on a combination of hot chips, fish fingers, vegemite toast and milk.

And breastmilk.
Gasp.
That's right - he's almost four and still breastfeeding. I'm not sure if it's because he actually likes the milk,or because as a Thomas and Friends obsessed 18 months old he nicknamed my breasts "Thomas" and "Percy" and now has a particularly strong attachment to them both and can't bear to let them go!  But whatever his reason, it works for us both. (although I'll readily admit if you'd asked me a few years earlier how I felt breastfeeding a 4 year old I'd have run off muttering about that being too old and how weird it is! Another of my Perfect Parenting Plans bit the dust....) If you've ever lived with an almost 4 year old, you'll know how important it is to have a full and complete understanding of exactly what technique and items are needed to distract  and ward off a total tantrum meltdown in 3 seconds whilst juggling an armload of groceries, a sippy cup of water and the baby.
Well let me tell you- nothing beats the Booby Dance! At the first sign of a typical tantrum-inducing situation I've only got to whisper "gulky" (his word for breastmilk since he was very small - I like to think it's a combination of milk + gold!) and artfully arrange myself in a manner which not-so-discreetly thrusts Thomas out to grab his attention (which, given Thomas has long been the favourite and therefore appears to be carrying a significantly heavier load than Percy, isn't hard!) and it's all over. I don't mean I expose myself or flash anyone - for the mental health of my pre-teen I do try to remain covered - but there is a certain knack to holding one breast forward, smiling sweetly with your mouth whilst your eagle eyes are searching for any sign of the impending tantrum being triggered to explode, and kinda jiggling your hips and torso so your gain the attention of a wailing child and maintain it.


Anyway, I digress. Trust me, it's a skill that takes years to refine but is absolutely worth the training!

Back to the diet of the other family members, who aren't quite so impressed with breastmilk! We talk about fruit and vegies and how important they are - and we talk about the ones that are gross and how we'd rather be sick for 8 months than have to eat them!

For sanity's sake, I've come up with this plan to ensure there's plenty of vegetables in the diet, but minimum fuss. And really, when it's carrots, mash and peas & corn every night for 84 meals straight, I get a little desperate to find an alternative. Fortunately my kids love vegetable soup. So once a week (or whenever I'm feeling bad about some dietary neglect!) we enjoy a big pot of soup and I figure I've just watched my kids happily eat 7 or 8 vegetables in one meal.
Which frees us up for Maccas or pancakes or hot chips for another night. Or three. Right?!

Genius, huh?!

And to make it even more fun, while we sip on soup (or drop in bits of bread and watch it go soggy) we play the "Can You Guess What Mum Put in the Soup?" game. It's never quite the same soup, so I tell them how many vegies and they have to guess which ones.
Tonight we had 7 vegies to guess, and they had them all bar one. Potato, carrot, celery, cabbage, pumpkin, zuccini and.......??
They couldn't guess the swede. I described it fresh. I described how it was cut up. And then I said it would now look rather like a potato and that they'd probably eaten some of it already and not known since it looked a lot like the potato pieces in the soup.

By that point Bah! was bouncing in his seat with his hand up, bursting to share his answer. He knew, he KNEW!!! He HAD it! I was pretty impressed  -I didn't think any of them would know a swede was called a swede, but Bah! often surprises me with his random knowledge. He likes to read and remembers things.

So everyone had one final guess (with helpful responses like chicken? water? soup? bread, cos I just dropped some bread in it so now it HAS got bread in it Mum!) and we all turned to Bah! to enlighten is. What WAS this mysterious vegetable ingredient that looked like a potato, cooked up like a potato and might well be mistaken for a potato??

Apparently, according to Bah!, it's called a Stealth Potato!!

My not-so-stealth-like eldest, Bah!

We're Baaaaaaa-aaaaaack!

It would appear I've had myself a bit of a blogging break. (As opposed to disappearing for several months, not blogging at all and then returning to post like I was only sharing yesterday!) I didn't deliberately take a break, I just kept posting our family's craziness on Facebook (they make great status updates!) and then figured there wasn't much point blogging the same story. And plastering my newest blog post all over my Facebook wall and making my friends read it all. Again.

But I'm back. For real this time! I'm even seeking some assistance to pretty up the blog a little. And I'll be posting a little more regularly than before- which given my previous rate was once every month or so, shouldn't be too difficult!

And the reason for the revival is because we're planning to pack up the family and relocate to Africa!!!
And really, what part of taking 6 kids to the travel doctor for multiple injections each while the others run amok in the waiting room with the giant stuffed tiger (it's fake, don't worry!) in the play area with a big sign that says "Please climb all over me" doesn't sound like great blog fodder? (Actually the sign says "Do not climb on me,  I bite!" but given it's in the play area of a doctor's surgery and it's a tiger, you could write "Fiddledy di do, yada yada POO!" on the sign and it would STILL read "Please climb all over me!" wouldn't it?!)

And surely a flight of 14 hours followed by another flight of 4 or 5 hours with a stop over in Dubai sounds like buckets of fun and giggles, right? (especially for our fellow passengers. I'll be sure to post our flight details well in advance so anyone else travelling from Australia to Dubai to Entebbe can avoid booking onto the same flight. We're considerate like that!)

Not to mention the first time our travels catch up with our tummies. I mean, who DOESN'T want to read about 6 kids and 2 adults with a stomach bug/traveller's diarrhea? Photos for THAT post, for sure!

So since we have so much fun and laughter and rainbows coming up, and plenty of preparations between now and then, I thought it was time to revive the blog.
Minor housekeeping : we've updated our eldest's name to Bah! He was a little uncomfortable being referred to as Tubby, even though it was based on what his younger brother called him and has nothing to do with body size and shape. He's asked, instead, that we refer to him by what his littlest brother calls him - Bah! Which is kinda cute, since Bah! was also one of, er, Bah!'s first words!!

I'll finish with a family snap and be back soon (not 5 months!) with a new post!

The Cake Hall of Shame - A Prelude.......

I'm not a cake maker. At all. Icing, lollies and I go together about as well as the red tutu, pink striped stockings and heavy black boots the Honey Girl tries to wear to church each Sunday!

But each time a birthday comes around for one of my kids, I lovingly let them choose a cake, and then painstakingly set about ruining it.

Seriously - tonight's effort will be approximately Cake #35 (or #70 if you include the "just for the family, not for party/public viewing efforts!

) and I'm still cursing whoever read the freaking Rainbow Fish to my Preppie because now I have to turn him into a cake. That is symetrically and anatomically correct, with the correct shade of scales and he has to sparkle.

And I still can't figure out how to even make the FISH shape!! I really have not improved in all these years of trying.

The very first cake I made, when my firstborn

turned one, was meant to be a cupcake bunch of balloons. I got myself tangled up in an utter mes

s of icing, ribbons and tears, before the Rooster came along and, well, pretty much created the entire masterpiece in about 10 minutes with some icing sugar, sticky tape and a hot knife.

And yet each and every year at Birthday Cake Creation o Clock, the Rooster is nowhere to be found. I'm beginning to wonder if he does this

on purpose - perhaps it's amusing to watch your beloved wife cover the kitchen in icing and sugar, whilst managing to pretty much miss the cake entirely and produce something that looks like

...well, anything other than what it was intended to look like.

Anyway, as I was reminscing about previous cake attempts, I thought I might share my Spectacular Failures of All Time. There were plenty to choose from (about 35 actually!) but here are the very worst of the worst. The Cake Hall of Shame ~ a Prelude!

And can you believe - my almost 9 year old has requested an exact replica of Cake #2. Apparently HE thought it was awesome. I suspect his 9 year old eyes and perception might be a little more critical - and therefore disappointed - than the 6 year old who thought it was a good creation!

This one was meant to be a skull - in ice cream.

Awesome idea, dreadful execution ......

And here's the Rabbit's current favourite - meant to be a street scene where Spiderman and Venom clash ..... except Venom is larger than the entire street, and the building (ie the whole cake!) is about to collapse. (Spidey is hanging by a piece of cotton from a gob of blue tak on the ceiling - I TOLD you this was not my forte!)

That's just a warm up ..... there are more to come soon!!

Wisdom from the Front Line

It's school holidays.
Which means instead of the mad rush to be out of bed, dressed (apparently I'm not to do the school run in my PJs and slippers!), breakfasted, with bags and lunches packed and out the door by 8am; we get to slowly spread Cheerios across the lounge, slop milk on ALL the kitchen benches, sit on the stairwell to munch toast (so both TVs are in viewing range and you can watch 2 programs at once - my kids are high tech I tell you!) and regularly run up to Mum's room to tell on one of your siblings for some minor infraction of the rules whilst simultaneously breaking about three or four of them yourself.
(Actually this is a bit fun for me - I lie in bed and wait for the next installment and they do not fail me. Every morning at least one child comes in to dob on a sibling for "eating/drinking on the carpet". To get to my room they have to cross said carpet. And they always ALWAYS arrive with a bowl of cereal or a drink of juice in hand. The fun is in lying there patiently and silently and listening to how abhorent their sibling's behaviour and blatant disregard for the rules is, and just waiting for that lightbulb moment when they look down at their own hand and remember the bowl/cup/plate there!)

Anyway, it's holidays. Hour upon glorious hour of drawing, cutting, pasting, play dough, bickering, quarrelling, arguing, throwing things, stealing paper from the printer because Mum surely won't notice we took another three hundreds pieces, drew on them and then put them back, eating anything and everything there is in the cupboard not because we're hungry but because it's there ..... you get the idea.

But I do love that every time we spend a few days together, I learn something new about my delightful offspring. Some quality time is a fantastic way to discover something about each of them, and they never fail to disappoint.

Here's a couple of today's gems, where I just listen quietly and try not to laugh too loudly until they've finished the discussion and left the room. (and then I run off and post it on the internet!)


The Rabbit knows all about childbirth apparently. I did post some time ago about the indepth discussion we had about how Boombah got into my tummy, and how badly that conversation went.
He has not mentioned it since. Not throughout the entire next pregnancy or subsequent 10 months of having another new baby in the house. Not a word. Not a squeak.
I figured I had suitably traumatised him well into his teens, and I'd not need to field any more baby related questions or explanations until about 2017.
Today he told me all about when a baby is born and a doctor immediately smacks it on the back or bottom. Because it's naughty to come out of there and hurt its mother doing so, so the doctor smacks it to make sure it doesn't do it again!


The Honey Girl sang me a beautiful song today. It was one she has learnt at school and sung at Assembly for the other grades to hear. She sings with expression and emotion, and loves to add some hand actions in when possible as well.
Today she sang "I'm Gonna Clap My Hands". And with much feeling and spiritual conviction she belted out that "You are the best friend, that I could ever know.
I lift my hands to You cos you died for me upon a cross.
You took away my THINGS and SHARED 'EM" ......

I thought maybe she meant "sin and shame" - but no, she assured me - Jesus takes away your things and shares them around with others if you're naughty. And off she wandered, continuing to sing about Jesus taking away her things and sharing 'em!

And then she told me that it was rude to stick up your middle finger. Like this. But God could do it because God can do anything. And He'd do it. Like this.


Did I mention we send this delightful child to a private and very Christian-based, Bible-focussed school?!! I do think I might take a peek at the curriculum again - what are those school fees being spent on?!!

Long Time, No Post!

So it's been a while since I blogged. A long while.
I have a really good reason for that, I promise. And that really good reason is this -

I am absolutely and utterly exhausted. Tired. Worn out. Run down. In desperate need of sleep.

(Plus I always seem to have a baby on my lap which makes my 2 finger stype typing a little more challenging than normal. It's a gamble if I choose to use fingers on both hands at the same time - the more I type, the greater the lean Gavin gets up, and the faster I attempt to hit those keys and get a few more words in before I have to stop him from tumbling off my lap. So I prop him up against me, find his almost-non-existant centre of gravity again - and we do it over. Add in frequent dummy replacements, knee jiggling and back-patting to encouraging burping, and it all just gets too difficult and I refuse to type anything longer than a few status updates on Facebook!)

But I can actually prove that I truly am super-tired at the moment. And my proof does not involve endless stories of multiple baby-led night wakings; breastfeeding 3 year olds who have named my "girls" after his favourite trains (Thomas on the left and Percy on the right!); nightmares about Iggle Piggle and Buzz Lightyear; bed wettings; toilet training the Boombah and a husband who decides to disappear to the wilds of Africa right when the time comes to teach Son #4 to use the toilet ........

No, my proof of total Mummy exhaustion is a short tale about a happening on the highway today. (it's all safe and ends well, fear not!) Whether it's true or not, I'll leave to your own discretion -I'll share the story but am not willing to totally humiliate myself by stating it is fact....just in case the Rooster reads this (they actually do HAVE internet in Africa, sometimes!) and decides to use it as fodder for stirring me up for the next, oh, 40 years or so!

So.... I MAY have been taking a bit of a trip today, which MAY have required me to spend about an hour and a half on the road, in multi-laned traffic. (not my forte)
And I MAY have been driving quietly along, minding my own business, when I noticed a truck beside me wanting to merge into my lane. Now I MAY have braked to let him do so before realising that he was also towing a large trailer and the options were either he was going to merge successfully - into me - or I was going to need to move.
Now I MAY have been reasonably quick thinking at this moment, and indicated my intnetion to switch lanes and give the truck some space; and I MAY have moved over quickly and let the truck merge.

At this point, the truck driver MAY have waved his arm out the window to me, to acknowledge my quick thinking and speedy reflexes, and in gratitude for my foresight and efforts to ensure his safe and timely journey continued.
I MAY have appreciated the gesture and smiled back, hoping he could see me in his mirror, as I was slightly behind him.

He MAY have waved again out his window at me, which MAY have left me thinking he did not see my beaming smile. So I MAY have nodded to him.

And I MAY have driven along merrily for a few moments, grinning and nodding at this friendly truck driver, and thinking how lovely this whole situation was. I MAY have felt a little like I was in a convoy - me and my "truck" (OK, so it's really an 8 seater people mover, but it FEELS like a truck when it comes to parking!) being accepted with open arms and friendly gestures by truckers across the country.
I MAY have imagined my new friend was on his 2 way radio right now, sharing his good fortune to merge in front of me with his colleagues, and telling them to keep an eye out for me and my blue bus, and ensure I also experienced a safe and timely journey.

I MAY have had my thoughts interrupted when I noticed he'd waved again. So, not wanting to appear rude, I MAY have smiled even more broadly and waved back. Enthusiastically.

Picture for a moment - a glass eyed mother commandeering a blue bus that is empty of children but overflowing with carseats, prams, McDonalds wrappers, plastic toys and books; grinning like the Chesire cat and waving enthusiastically at the truck driving in the lane beside her, nodding her head and mouthing the words "no worries mate"!






And at about that moment, I MAY have actually realised the driver of the truck was actually enjoying a cigarette, and was regularly reaching his arm out the window to tap off the ash!!

My SuperPower

Boombah is nearly 3, and at the end of the day (with no day nap) he's tired and cranky and a little contrary. I gave him a previously-agreed-on toasted cheese sandwich for dinner. As he took the plate, he spied the cupcakes on the bench.

And promptly handed back the sandwich.
"No sandwich - cake" he said

"Sandwich first, then cake" I replied

"No sandwich. Cake!" he demanded and tried to reach for a cupcake.
And so we began the debate over the relative benefits of a cupcake, compared to a nutritional advantage of a toasted sandwich.

Every time he insisted on "No sandwich, cake!" he stretched and reached a little further across the bench. And every time I responded with "Sandwich, then cupcake" he stopped stretching in exasperation and acknowledged me with a withering glance.

Until finally his stretching paid off, and his little fingers laid themselves upon the lone cupcake sitting within reach on the bench. His grasp closed around it and he smirked cheekily at me.
"No sandwich. Cake" he assured me, in that tone only a smug toddler who just "won" can perfect.

He licked the icing, while I started arguing and cajoling with enthusiasm in the background of his chocolate heaven haze.
"Mmmmm Boombah's cake" he muttered and walked off.

"Boombah, if you eat that cake, there's no dessert tonight. Sandwich, then cake."
"Boom's cake"
Another lick.

If you eat the cake Boombah, there's no chocolate milk either". I had pulled out the big guns now. I was getting desperate. I was fast approaching the need to either let him go, or instigate the wrangle-the-toddler-to-the-ground-and-forcibly-remove-the-offending-item maneuvre. And without a strong cuppa tea and a few moments on Facebook I was unable to decide which way to go.

"Boombah's cake".
More licking and pretty much complete oblivion to the outside world now. He had cake. For dinner. The world may have imploded upon itself and he would not know nor care.
Cake. For dinner.

"Boom, do you want gulky tonight?" I asked
And I was rewarded with a brief expression of recognition of the magic word.
"Gulky" is his term for breastmilk.

I repeated the question and he slowed his sugar-inhalation to look at me, I assume to ensure I am seriously placing the weight of this dilemna upon his weak and inexperienced shoulders.

"If you want gulky Boom, you need to have the sandwich. Then the cake. Then gulky.
No sandwich, no gulky."
And for good measure I did my top-lifting, boob-extending, but-totally-appropriate-for-a-toddler jiggly dance in his direction.

Except he was not there. He was already running to the kitchen to place the cupcake on the bench, and take his sandwich to the table for eating.

So how's that?! My breastmilk is better than chocolate, apparently!!