Career Aspirations

Pants has spent considerable brain power planning his future career. He has long been torn between being a soccer player and being a chef.

The soccer player plan is very appealing on many levels, but has one major point of concern : every time he plays soccer at school he ends up in sick bay! Someone once told him that in soccer the ball had to hit your feet. So, being very literal, Pants thinks that a connection with the ball on any other body part is incorrect, painful and involves an injury.
And so, as you'd expect in soccer games amongst 6 year olds where kicking the ball is the main objective and aiming the kick is not so important ..... as I said, soccer games at school result in a lot of sick bay visits.

Being a chef is also a good option. Except for a long time Pants only ate food that came in multiples of....yellow! And right now, he really only eats toast, yoghurt, fruit and spaghetti bolognaise. And Cocoa Pops.
Not exactly a wide variety of ingredients for the next Master Chef to work with.


But there's been a new development today, and Pants has found a career option that apparently over-rides all previous considerations. He was fascinated at the happenings at the airport today and spent a lot of time with his face glued to the window. (Literally - he ate a lollipop and then pressed his face against the window to view the aeroplanes!)

And so the perfect career has been found for Pants, my quirky, particular middle son.

Air Traffic Controller.

He gets to wear ear muffs all the time.
And direct huge planes by remote control.
And operate odd-looking vehicles of assorted shapes and sizes.
And not have to deal with people, only planes and machines.


And best of all, arm waving and flapping is a job requirement!!

A Serious Moment!

Today was Dress Differently for Autism Day. People with autism think and see the world differently - not wrongly, just differently. And so today, I was out about looking like this -

Lots of lovely people stopped to ask me if I was 'SuperMum'.
Mostly I grinned cheesily and said no, the S stands for "super tired", "stressed" or just plain "stupid"!

But I did spend the entire day dressed "differently". And my children - and most of their school mates - did so too.
At 8am this morning, Super-Stupid-Stressed-Woman climbed into her trusty People Mover and transported one Michael Jackson, one Spidergirl, a Two Face, a baby in roller skates, a boy with his clothes inside out and a toddler who actually had shoes on, to school! That's SIX kids, ALL wearing something "different". And believe me, in a house where it's considered entertainment to wear your jocks on your head, normal to go grocery shopping with 5 Spidermen and a Clone Trooper, and totally mundane to try a new crazy hairstyle - getting all seven of us dressed "differently" was an achievement!

My delightful children were rather hoping their mother would attend assembly as She-Ra, a costume I recently wore to an 80s party. However, said costumes consists of little more than a micro mini dress, gold sequined belt and knee high go-go boots - not especially appropriate attire for a small private Christian school's assembly! Last time I attempted She-Ra's look, I discovered two things - female superheros always have capes because they make it possible to bend over in those teeny tiny dresses and still maintain a little modesty; and since her hey-day in the 80s, I suspect She Ra has been visiting McDonalds and Donut King a little too frequently. Pants and the Honey Girl told everyone I was "Sheila" and I don't think they were far wrong!!


But back to Dress Differently Day. And me being out, in public, all day, in a superhero costume. Can I tell you that it's not the best choice of outfit when attending a new Bible Study group for the first time? Several times I was asked if I was the babysitter, employed by the group to entertain the children while their mothers engage in fellowship and serious study. Perhaps next week they'll expect me to come as a clown?!
I'm not entirely sure what impression I made - it's probably a little hard to take the opinions and views of the crazy woman dressed as Superwoman in the corner, on the matter of spiritual warfare!

It's also probably not the best choice for wandering through the shopping centre.
And it's definitely not the best choice to be wearing should your toddler decide to throw a mega-tantrum in the middle of the food court while you're breastfeeding the baby. People REALLY want to stare at you then!

But you know what? It really opened my eyes and gave me a small taste of what my boys with Autistic Spectrum Disorder experience each and every day of their lives. For a few hours I was constantly aware of people looking at me, wondering about me, judging my behaviour based on their expectations of my appearance (because, you know, if someone has the gall to waltz through the mall dressed as Supermum, she had certainly better BEHAVE like Supermum. And offering your 2 year old donuts and chocolate if he stops screaming is NOT a good demonstration of super-parenting!)
I gave up noticing "looks" long ago. Sometime after having Baby #4, I stopped looking at passerbys and focussed my attention on my children - which, given they usually split into 4 or 5 different directions the minute we enter a shop, is quite a feat!
But Tubby and Pants frequently tell me, when we are out, that people are *looking* at us. Staring at them. Watching them, especially when they are at the height of an anxiety attack or a major meltdown or seeking stimulation or reassurance or reacting without thinking first. Monitoring their behaviour, because they appear "normal", and so they should behave "normally". Making judgements and drawing conclusions based solely on their appearance.

And today, I think I experienced a bit of that. Everywhere I went, people looked. And then kept looking. And stared. And followed me with their eyes, to see what I was doing. And if I was doing it how they expected me to be doing it.
People commented - some muttering quietly, and others loudly enough to make an announcement of my presence to anyone who hadn't already noticed! (Cheers to the Mum who threatened to her small child that Supergirl would "get him" if he didn't hurry up. Which part of me pushing a double pram, overflowing with nappy bags, shopping bags, odd grocery items, spare shoes, hats, drinks and keys - oh and children, there were two children in there - gave you the impression I was capable of doing anything other than prevent the disaster that is my pram, from toppling over?!!)

When Boombah started to scream - and proceeded to scream (because, I should mention, his awful, terrible, dreadful mother took a bite of his sandwich! His SANDWICH! She picked it up, after he had carefully placed it on the table, and BIT the corner off it. He knew she did it, because when he started to gently protest he saw her attempt to swallow the offending sandwich crust whole so she could open her mouth wide and "prove" there was nothing in there, thus pretending she did not just steal a vital component of his lunch! And so he began to scream. Loudly. And had to throw the remaining sandwich onto the floor and declare it "YUCK NOW!" because it was contaminated) - the attention was really drawn my way.

I could feel people's eyes on me. Hear their words about me. Sense their judgement of me. And see their reactions to me.
And I seriously contemplated removing the cape so I could fit in again, so I could become just another shopper, out with her kids, and blend back into the crowd.

Except I realised - my boys can never "remove" their autism. They cannot take off or change or hide the elements that not only make them unique individuals, but that also provide them with a diagnosis of autism. It is part of who they are, what they do and where they will journey in life. It's woven into them and to remove it would be to remove a part of them.

And so the costume remained. Except with the realisation that at the end of the day, I could take it off and go back to being myself and fitting in - a choice my sons do not get. They either be themselves OR they fit in - but in many situations they cannot do both.

The costume remained, with the knowledge that the people who stare and wonder and comment and judge today will not do so tomorrow. But for my sons, the looking and commenting and judging will continue for the rest of their lives.

The costume remained, because I knew if it ever got too much for me, I could take it off in a moment and resume my activities from within my comfort zone. And yet my sons cannot - social interaction and being amongst people is well out of their comfort zone.


So today, I want to thank Tubby and Pants - for letting me share a small part of their world. For their courage to continue to face these challenges every single day. For doing that (mostly!) with enthusiasm, positivity and style! And for being who they are, and growing into wonderful young men embracing their differences and sharing their quirks with the world.
You already had my love, my care and my commitment - but today boys, you also earned my admiration.

Nothing To Fear But ....

I have this irrational fear regarding my children. Only one, mind you. But it provides me with endless opportunities to be fearful and get lost in my wild and terrifying imaginary scenes and situations ..... and provides the Rooster with just as many opportunities to giggle, laugh, point and grin at me as I sit in my seat in the car, quivering with fear with my eyes tightly closed.

I am just so fearful that, should a bridge collapse beneath us, I would not be able to rescue all my children. Even if I COULD get them all out of their carseats, I'd never be able to keep them all afloat. They would drown. And I would not. And I would not be able to ever forgive myself for loosing any of them.

(I did say it was irrational!)

And I go to extraordinary lengths to avoid a situation where this might become a possibility! I avoid bridges wherever possible. I get lost in the City regularly because I deliberately take routes I do not know so I can avoid a bridge I do know! I do not get caught up in inner city traffic on the way to the airport because I want to avoid the tolls on the direct route - I do so to avoid the really really HIGH bridge between here and there! And if the Rooster is driving and we do cross a bridge, I close my eyes and pretend it isn't happening!


Recently we have been taking some trips to the City to see a travel doctor for vaccinations. Rather than park close to the medical centre (where, I might add, I recently discovered the parking heights are significantly LESS than the height of our People Mover!) I prefer to park a good half hour walk away, so we can cross the river on foot rather than in the car. Because, you know, falling many metres into the river below with 6 children will be so much easier to manage if we're not in the car, right?!

On one such trip I thought I'd take the opportunity, whilst crossing the bridge, to ease my fears a little and reassure that the money we're spending on swimming lessons is indeed worth it. I figured perhaps a little confidence could be found if I was able to ascertain just how strong my children were at life-saving skills. A certain level of peace could be reached if I could hear my children confirm, in their own words, that they would be able to contribute in some way to their own rescue, should such a need arise.

So I quietly asked the Rabbit what he'd do if he accidentally fell into the river below us or fell off a boat or something similar. He took a quick look down and told me he could float. Preferably on his stomach, but he'd do it on his back if he had to, because you could at least breath on your back. And that he'd been practising floating on his back and could do it for a considerable length of time if necessary.

I felt a weight begin to lift from my shoulders already. He even felt confident enough to swim to shore, and said he had learnt how to rescue another person, so he could carry someone with him. Bless his little heart - perhaps he saw the fear in my eyes as we set foot on the bridge, but his words were a soothing salve to my soul.

So I moved on to the Honey Girl. Knowing she was not as confident or able as the Rabbit, I thought I could at least be reassured that she could float for a short while and be calm if/when she hit the water. Could swim up to the surface.
I asked her the same question as I did the Rabbit.

The Honey Girl did not pause for even a moment to evaluate her skills or contemplate the question or a possible solution.
She promptly responded with "I'd walk on the water, to the edge. Jesus did it, so can I".

Right. Well. Who am I to dash her childhood fantasies? It's likely she'd survive on sheer will alone. Just flatly refuse to drown. And grab hold of something solid and never let it go.

I realised this was actually working. My fears were being eased by my childrens' affirmations of their skills and confidence. I was working through my irrational fear of my children drowning and they were walking through it with me. My delightful offspring were playing an active role in my healing and in my finding a sense of peace. One more affirmation and I'd be almost cured!
And we had enough bridge-walking time for one more candidate, so I confidently and firmly approached Pants, with a spring in my step and nary a quiver in my voice. And posed the same question again - if he found himself in deep water, like the river we were crossing, what would he do?

He looked at me with a puzzled expression, obviously thinking his mum had finally lost those three remaining braincells that had survived after 6 rounds of placenta-brain, nappy-brain and so on, and replied "I'd drown".

You'll be relieved to know my irrational fear is as alive and thriving as ever again!

The Bible Like You've Never Seen It Before!

Recently I've had to speak to Pants about vandalism and graffiti. It's one thing to colour the mouths of magazine models in black so they appear to be missing all their teeth. But drawing in your brother's picture Bible and changing the stories with your additions is not acceptable .... and it's really hard for your mother to discipline you when she's almost choking in an attempt to hold her laughter back!
It seems comedic creativity is a strong point for Pants - if we find a more suitable outlet. Who would have imagined that odd random thoughts, a Bible and a blue pen would be such an amusing combination?!

So here it is folks - the newly improved Toddler's Picture Bible, with added detail and aspects of your favourite stories that I bet you never knew!


Daniel in the Lion's Den
Daniel was thrown into a den of lions! Except some of them were not actually lions.....they were reindeer! And lions with giant noses.



The Christmas Story
Mary and Joseph stayed at an inn in Bethlehem, where they had a very special baby, named Jesus. Except it's all very confusing with these camels and sheep and donkeys and reindeer and Rudolphs and Santas and Marys and Josephs. How is a 6 year old supposed to fit them all into one story?
Well, the secret behind it all is -
Mary and Joseph WERE reindeer. See?





The Wise Men
The Wise Men saw a special bright star in the sky and so they followed it. It was going to lead them to a new king. Except it turns out it was moving because it was a falling star, and it fell. Right onto the Wise Man's head. And he fell off his camel and was dead with a star in his head. He wasn't so wise after all.


Blind Bartimaeus
Bartimaeus's eyes didn't work properly and he could not see. Jesus healed him and then he could see! Bartimeaus was so excited to be able to see - he jumped up and down and cheered.
And a chocolate fell out of his mouth and on to the ground, and Jesus had to bend down and pick it up.


Jesus and Mary
Jesus and Mary were friends. When Jesus came to show Mary He was alive again, she was excited. And she wanted to hypnotise Him, so she started saying "You are *compwetewy* under my controooolllll".... but you can't hypnotise Jesus, so it bounced off Him and got the cat that was standing behind them. And now the cat is *compwetewy* under Mary's controoooool.

Return of the K ....ah ..... K-razy Lady Who Blogs About Her Delightful Children

Finally, after some crazy months involving a pregnancy where I became very ill, then a new baby born 7 weeks early, then the chaos of Christmas, then the Rooster flew off to work in Africa for 18 weeks straight (smart man isn't he?!) and then the new school year beginning ..... I'm back!!

I'm just doing some tidying up around the blog and will begin posting again very soon! As the family is planning on relocating overseas, to Africa, later this year I'm sure there will be plenty to blog about. I mean - 6 kids on a flight that lasts for over 20 hours when we can barely manage the 3 minute drive to school without someone pushing/hitting/leaning/spitting/ BREATHING on someone else, and that someone else's world collapsing as a result ..... well, there'll be plenty to blog about won't there?!!

Anyway, while I reacquaint myself with my blog let me introduce you to our newest family member - Gavin. (So named because Boombah cannot quite pronouce his little brother's carefully chosen and much loved Irish middle name, and calls him Gavin instead, which has now stuck!
Gavin - born in December 2010, weighing 5 lb 5 ozes and very quickly stealing our hearts and pretty much taking control of this crazy family!
Note in the first picture he is smiling - he already thinks his siblings are crazy and it's going to be a wild ride!!

Doggone it!

No cute stories this time.
No endearing pictures.
No amusing lead up or colourful background or wntertaining explanations.

Just a very concerned mother who is struggling to determine which lesson is most important to instill in her offspring -
Is it :

1) Don't paint in dog poo on your brother's back?

OR

2) If someone wants to paint in dog poo on your back, don't be so compliant. Refuse the offer, at the very least.

I've just spent my early evening attempting to convey both messages. Apparently I'm the only one who is seeing the "big deal" here ...........

Do I Have.....

...a facial hair problem??

No, really. Seriously. If you know me in real life, does my glaringly obvious growth of facial hair attract your awkward gaze and make it difficult for you to maintain eye contact. Because you keep wanting to stare at my upper lip and chin?!


Because I just told Pants to get into my shower. (to avoid the Cold War - where he gets into the shower with his older brothers and antagonising younger sister and they take turns throwing the soaked-in-cold-water facewasher at him so it splats water all over him)

"But Muuu-uuuum" he moaned "I hate that pink thing."
"What pink thing?" I asked perplexed
"That pink thing in your shower."
"I don't know what pink thing you mean Pants. What's it look like?"
"It's pink." (Incredibly helpful and detailed in description!)

"I really don't know what you mean. Now get in the shower."
"But I don't want to get in there with the pink thing" he persisted

"PANTS! WHAT pink thing are you TALKING about??!"


"That pink thing you use to shave off your moustache and beard, Mum."