All posts filed under: Long Stuff

Sleep Where Art Thou?

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(Originally published in the July/August issue of NZ Little Treasures Magazine) When you’re heavily pregnant, the topic of sleep is a hot one, possibly second only to nightmarish birth tales. Friends and strangers alike revel in sharing sleep advice, horror stories, and confirming that You Will Never Sleep Again. “Sleep now, while you can!” people would crow at me when I was pregnant the first time – which was incredibly unhelpful as I had pregnancy-induced insomnia. “Congratulations! Hope you get some sleep soon!” seemed to be the most frequent comment when we announced the birth of our children. My Mum vows I slept through the night from four weeks, but I’m pretty sure she made that up to ensure I’d give her multiple grandchildren. Amy was actually pretty good, as far as newborn sleepers go. She gifted me fairly long stretches of sleep during the night, and would resettle quickly. Daytime sleeps were a different story, but I didn’t mind holding her or taking her for walks to get her to drift off. I thought …

Good Intentions For Sale

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When I was pregnant with Tilly, I excitedly called Jeremy to tell him I’d won a pack of really good reusable nappies. He did not share my excitement, and told me to call him back when I’d won something cool, like a car. I scoffed at his unsupportive nature, and hopped up on a high horse that saw me saving the planet. Tilly is now 18 months old, and yesterday I put the following ad up on TradeMe (NZ’s version of e-bay, for you non-Kiwis): For sale: Bambino MioSolo all-in-one 6 pack reusable nappies. I wanted to be the mother who used reusable nappies, I really did. So I researched all the options, and discovered the Bambino MioSolo nappies are the bee’s knees when it comes to reusables. If I’d been a better person, these nappies would be swishing about in my washing machine right now, and our bank account would probably be quite a bit healthier. Instead, they’ve languished, unopened and unloved, in the drawer I put them in as a temporary measure when …

Quick and easy prep for a trip to the vet with two little “helpers”:

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1. Lock cat inside an hour before departure. 2. Acknowledge that while it’s very clever that the three year old can unlock the cat’s door, she mustn’t do it right now. 3. Coax cat back inside and lock cat door again. 4. Pull down attic stairs to retrieve cat-cage, start to climb into 3.6 metre high ceiling. 5. Climb back down. Acknowledge that yes, the three year old is very good at climbing, but mustn’t follow you up. 6. Turn on Sesame Street, ply three year old with a treat, and put the baby (also keen to prove climbing prowess) in high chair with non-choking snack. 7. Pull attic stairs down again, retrieve cat-cage. 8. Watch cat freak out at sight of cage and run under bed. 9. Begin We Are Leaving The House Soon protocols (where are your shoes? Yes you must go to the toilet. Oh, crap, the baby needs changing. Yes you can go to the vet dressed as Queen Elsa. Have you found your shoes yet? No, we can’t wait until …

Agency Life Vs. Motherhood

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Before I had my two girls, I spent over ten years working for advertising agencies. I wanted to work in the industry after hearing stories about agencies in the hey-day 80’s. Expecting it to be all long lunches, colourful characters, and big-budget ads where I’d get to fly to exotic locations, I was somewhat disappointed by the reality of post-80’s agency life, but I did meet some amazing people, do some interesting work, suffered some rip-snorting hangovers, and made some of the best friends I’ve ever had. I worked in account service, which meant I spent my time trying to please the clients, the creative department, the studio team and the accountants. Generally you can only please one to three parties on that list during any given project. Every now and then the heavens smile and you please everyone. Other times they all want to put a hex on you. Sometimes motherhood is really, really different to working in an ad agency. Other times it’s achingly similar. (FYI if you’re one of my past clients …

Running!

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I’ve never been a big fan of running. My husband (Jeremy) and I used to openly scoff at Healthy Couples who went running together on weekends, while we gorged ourselves on Eggs Benedict and masses of inactivity. There was a brief reprise from my running aversion in the lead up to our wedding, when, fresh from getting engaged during a trip to Europe that involved pretty much non-stop eating, I chose an exceptionally unforgiving wedding dress and had to take drastic action to fit it. Apart from short-lived bursts of resolutions where I’d set up a monthly donation to over-priced gyms, and a stint of healthy eating and fast walking with the buggy after Amy (now three) was born to prepare for a trip where swimwear would be a major wardrobe feature, there was never any real interest in fitness. I mean, Rachel Smalley wouldn’t have pointed at me and shouted “lardo!”, but I was just never particularly fit. Jeremy started running as part of a lifestyle change following a diagnosis of “how are you …

Grooming while pregnant

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Achieving a perfectly shaven leg whilst 9 months pregnant is easy! Try to ensure you’ve had minimal sleep due to pregnancy insomnia, then just follow these simple steps: Set toddler up with Pre-approved snacks, music and butterfly wings. Get in shower, wedge bum into one corner and foot into diagonally opposite corner. Try not to fall sideways. Realise neither soap nor razor can be reached from this position. Place razor between teeth and soap under armpit, and re-wedge body. Drop soap. Swear. Retrieve soap and resume wedged position. Lather leg. Explain to toddler that you can’t fix her butterfly wings right now. Get out of shower and fix butterfly wings. Get back in, resume wedged position, re-lather and quickly shave leg in a slap-dash, devil-may-care manner, using both right and left handed swipes with the razor. Re-wedge body into diagonal position to lather the next leg. Explain to toddler that you can’t take the label out of the back of her t-shirt right now, but that you’ll get the scissors and cut it out after …

Children’s books. The dark, desperate, hidden meanings.

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Reading. I love it. Can’t get enough. Unless something is on TV. So I was thrilled when Amy got on the book bandwagon and loved having a story read to her from quite early on.  My “hurrah! My child enjoys books!” enthusiasm waned somewhat when she got to the stage where she would demand the same ones over and over and over and over and over again. One day, whether it was borne from sleep deprivation or just a desire to amuse myself, I started to search for hidden meanings and messages amongst the brightly illustrated pages.  And I FOUND them. I’ll leave the Hairy Maclary series alone, because that lovable scamp and his mischievous furry friends are National Treasures (having said that, Scarface Claw needs to be neutered, and I’d call dog control if Bitzer Maloney or Hercules Morse were free roaming on our street… Bitzer looks a bit bitey, and Hercules is as big as a mother-fugging HORSE). It’s the 1970’s favourites where the real windows to the dark side of humanity reside. …

On Leave

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(Originally published in the May/June edition of NZ Little Treasures Magazine) With the memories of a nightmare flight with Tilly still causing me to break into a cold sweat, I vowed to never fly again until our children were old enough to be reliably distracted by entertainment. Then a chance arose to go on a short, child-free holiday with my sister-in-law and nephew (adult, totally self-sufficient and non-tantrum-throwing), and we tripped over ourselves in our haste to agree to go. I was ridiculously excited about the actual flight and wouldn’t shut up about how I was going to eat a meal while it was hot, watch a current movie, and go to the toilet all alone without a baby climbing up on my lap nor a three year old standing in front of me demanding we count how long my wees go for. I could barely fathom thoughts of sleeping in a hotel bed right through the night, in clean sheets that I didn’t have to launder. As for choosing activities without a thought for …

Up and Away

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(Originally published in the March/April edition of NZ Little Treasures Magazine) It’s possible that parental affection combined with the passing of several decades had made memories fuzzy, but apparently I was The Best Ever Travelling Baby. Having heard family stories such as “the time we landed in Singapore and all the other passengers gasped in surprise because they had no idea there was a baby on the plane” and “the time you slept all the way to Hawaii”, I hoped my own babies would inherit my magical travelling gene. With a small degree of trepidation, we took Amy on her first long-haul flight when she was six months old. Six months: that magical age where they still sleep quite a bit and can’t move anywhere by themselves. The ratio of adults to children was 4:1 (we flew with my parents), we had a bassinet, three massive carry-on bags of books and toys, and even though we went through every single change of clothes thanks to reflux, I chalked the mission up as a success. So …

Dinner Time Dramas

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(Originally published in the Jan/Feb edition of NZ Little Treasures Magazine) When both my daughters took an early shining to solids (Tilly actually flung herself from my lap, face-first, into her big sister’s mashed potato at 4.5 months, and Amy’s first tentative sentence was “more yum-yums!”), I thought we were off to a cracking start and would soon be eating as a family, every night. Then a few curve balls got in the way… Dinner Is So Early! If you’re bedding by 7, and factoring in time after dinner for bath, stories, cuddles, and even the most low-drama of pyjama putting on, you rapidly run out of evening. Both my girls descend into meltdown mode if they’re not loading their tummies by 4.55pm on a good day, so week-night dinners are often simply too early for all family members to be present for. Mess! Amy and Tilly both discovered the joys of eating and blowing raspberries simultaneously. It’s astounding how fast and far pureed pumpkin can fly from a baby’s mouth. Tilly insists on waving …