There’s a saying: “it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey”. I’m fairly confident that whoever said it had never been on a car trip with small children. I tend to try and blur the memories of long drives because it puts me off going anywhere, ever, but generally there’s a lot of bribery, silly games, pulling over, body contortions that a gymnast would be proud of to reach dropped toys, endless snacks, a decent amount of whinging, and the occasional puke into a hastily proffered container. But even after the most fraught car trips, there’s a lovely moment when I realise we got there safely, and can relish the thought of happy times just waiting to happen. Sometimes that lovely moment doesn’t hit until well after the house has been frantically cleared of mouse poo and the unpacked car has been pulled apart to find missing Snuggly Bunny, but it does hit eventually. Going away even with just our little family isn’t the casual after-thought it used to be before we had children…it’s …
Tilly spent 20 minutes trying to coax Frankie into eating some banana. Defeated (cats just aren’t into bananas) she tearfully shouted “But I made aeroplane noises and everyfing!”, then got in a shit with everyone in the house. WELCOME TO MY WORLD, TILLY.
Peanut butter & jam sandwich requested. Peanut butter & jam sandwich rejected moments later because “I didn’t want peanut butter in it! And no jam and NO bread!”
When you’re ready to hit the club but Bae isn’t feeling it
Tilly lost her shit with me this morning because I wouldn’t “put the sun in the sky!” She rejected my submission that it was dark because she’d woken up an hour early. On the flip side, I’m stoked she thinks I can wield that much power over the universe. #MakeTheSunRiseMama
I love food, I really do. My husband likes to embellish the story of our first date, and say that I finished my dinner, then finished his, and if he’s really on a roll, he’ll say I licked the plate. Plate licking did not happen. I have some standards (for first dates). In reality I ordered an entrée, main and dessert, and finished them all with gusto – which apparently was quite a thing for a blonde in her early 20’s in the early 2000’s. We’ve tried to instil a healthy respect for food with our daughters, but have found eating at restaurants with two troublemakers can be a somewhat confronting experience. Cafes are pretty much fine, because there are tiny cups of frothy milk with marshmallows on the side to rip into, but dinner at restaurants is a whole different story. One family dinner outing ended prematurely when Amy sobbed hard about not wanting her food, and a newly mobile Tilly kicked the table so hard she knocked over my wine – it was …
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 …
The Kindy Christmas concert is to have a Noah’s Ark theme, and parents have been requested to send their children dressed as animals. Asked Amy which animal she’d like to go as, and she decided “Fairy Princess”. Told her that Noah probably didn’t have any fairy princesses on the Ark. She reckons Noah SHOULD have had fairy princesses on the Ark, but with that in mind, she’d take a back-up option and go as a unicorn. Aghast to learn that no, there were no unions on the Ark, either. A slammed door and several lengthy discussions about how Noah could have better stocked his Ark, and she’s finally settled on going as a flamingo.
Amy on her new (utterly amazing, wonderful and gorgeous) babysitter named Lola: “So is she the showgirl Lola, or a different Lola?” I think I need to moderate my show-tune singing.
The three year old insists on getting about in so many layers of dressing-up clothes that she primly insists I accompany her to the loo and hold all her clothes up at armpit level to stop skirts/dresses/capes/tiaras/necklaces from falling into the bowl. This bathroom duty, along with her fussy dietary restrictions, emotional outbursts, door slamming, claims that I’m not her best friend one minute then that I’m her best friend in the whole WORLD the next, and outrageous demands; teamed with my utterly depleted bank account and soaring feelings of inadequacy makes me feel like I’m Maid of Honour for a really short Bridezilla. Every. Single. Day.