Originally uploaded by tracicle.
Catching up on photos: Amy in Feb, enjoying the chance to ride her bike INSIDE like oh wow. She actually won’t be seen dead near Ethan’s cast-off toys normally, but the temptation was evidently too much this time. In fact, I think I have a matching photo somewhere of Ethan doing the exact same thing except crying his poor widdle heart out…
1. Do that thing where you lick your thumb and then wipe your kids’ grubby faces. I do this all the damn time. It really works!
2. Use the TV as a babysitter. Ethan’s favourite show is Fight Club. Okay, yes, I’m kidding. But he does like Fifi and the Flower Tots, poor boy.
3. Have babies only to throw them in full-time childcare. I swear I don’t feel guilty about this. Much.
4. Tell them to use their “inside voices”. I mocked myself today because I was explaining about inside voices to other parents. Dear god, what have I done to myself?
5. Judge other mothers. Okay, this I don’t really do. Not consciously. In fact, in the last five weeks I have met so many parents that are just amazing, that I’m probably judging myself.
6. Use baby talk. Coochie coo, suckas!
7. Take naked photos of them to show at their 21st birthdays. I have done this, and I feel gleeful. GLEEFUL. Glee is a funny word.
8. Matchmake my preschooler. No. Just…no. Want to make your kid completely selfconscious around the opposite sex from birth? No.
9. Swear in front of them. I have charming but effective substitutes. Like…uh…actually no, I just curse.
10. Tell them to shut up already, Mummy’s watching her stories. All too common.
Yaaar.
Originally uploaded by tracicle.
Ethan went to a pirate party earlier this month, and received the coolest goodie bag ever, with a pirate helium-filled balloon (black and covered with skull and crossbones), a plastic scimitar with a red sash (length of bedsheet) to tuck it into, a stick-on moustache, an eyepatch, fake teeth, bandanna, and gold foil-covered chocolate dubloons. The only thing missing was the parrot.
Mike bought a radio-controlled car in the US while he was there. Tonight he let me have a play with it (summary: I suck) and every time the car spun out and hit a tree or wall Mike would let out a, “Ooof!” — the sort of sound men make when they see another guy get hit in the procreational equipment. In summary, toy cars as as preshus as testicles.
Random kiddy stories follow.
1. Ethan made a card for our next-door neighbour: Dear Margaret, From Ethan, with some help on Margaret’s name. Amy wanted to make something too so I set her up with colouring pencils (”This one is blue.” “Boo!” “This one is red.” “Wed!”) but Ethan was so determined to help her make a perfect card that he basically took over for her. I’m guessing this is a reflection on my tendency to “help” Ethan a bit too much. Anyway, Ethan drew a happy face on the front of the card and a sad face on the back. He told me the happy face was Margaret smiling, and the face on the back was “Margaret is sad because I’m leaving.”
2. Heard from another room:
Amy: WAAH cry cry WAAH!
Ethan: You have to say ‘Stop! I don’t like it!’
Amy: …STOP!
Ethan: Okey dokey.
*sound of happiness*
3. Ethan now says he’s moving to Miami. And Amy is going too. And they are going to live next-door to where Dad was staying. But if they’re not home, it’s because they’re visiting Mum and Dad. So if the car’s not in the driveway, they’re at my house. Got that? Okay.
4. Amy is working on toilet-related stuff. If her nappy is uncomfortable — which a wet one presumably is — she’ll fetch a clean nappy, or point to them on the dresser and say, “Poo! Poo!” We argue if it’s only wet, because everything is poo to Amy. We also argue about whether sheep are cows, because Amy firmly believes that animals of the bovine variety are the same as animals of the ovid variety. But cows still say moo and sheep still say baa. Pigs…are pigs. We are fond of pigs.
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