Tuesday, September 25, 2012

This is where you lay your head

Bedtime is farcical in this house. Bedtime is strictly 7.15pm. The boys watch for it on the clock and then race to their beds. We read two stories and sing a song, tuck them in, kiss their cheeks, and whisper goodnight. And all is quiet. For about 30 seconds.

Then they get up. Again. And again. And again and again and again. They empty their shelves and drawers. Giggle and chat crescendos into hysterical hyper laughter. And out they come again. We're lucky if they're asleep by 8.30 - gently sleeping and deeply breathing amongst a room that looks as though its been ransacked.

We have tried threats, shouts, time outs, ignoring it, playing along, separating them, and everything else we can think of. We have been at the point where we almost decided that actually separating them for good - into their own separate bedrooms - might be the answer. 

But yet we can't.

Why? Because they're children. Sharing a room is one of the most wonderful things about childhood. We are lucky they are such good friends, lucky they adore each other and don't tire of each other's company. They DO sleep. Even if it is eventually. And what is a few books strewn around in the face of a magical childhood with your best mate by your side?

So they'll stay together. Until they tell us they don't want to. We have realised it's not our decision to make.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Boys, you're three. THREE!

My babies are three, and I adore them. I feel very very lucky to be their mama. When I was pregnant, and even since, people have told me that parenting can be hellish and for little reward. I just don't agree. I adore it. I think it's the biggest privilege in my life. Sure, bed time is a circus every.single.night, and my patience wears thin [sometimes more than sometimes], but I never wish I was anywhere else. I've never wished it away. I'm lucky x


You're three, going on 34. In the weeks leading up to your birthday, you were telling anyone who'd listen that you were "two now, but next week, at my birfday, I will be sirty-four". You just want to be like your daddy.

You are still the world's biggest talker.  You narrate every minute of the time you're awake. Your language is extraordinary in fact. You know words, concepts and ideas that make me gasp out loud in shock. You're a rapid visual learner, so you can read lots of sight words and are obsessed with spelling. You read everything in sight and want to know what it says if it's a word you don't know.

Your tantrums ended almost as rapidly as they began (thank goodness), and you are generally a happy, delighted and delighful little boy.

You sneak into our bed at about 6am each day for snuggles and you are just beside yourself with happiness when you do. You curl up close with your daddy and I hear you whisper "I love you" to him. Then you creep across to me, put your tiny hands on my cheeks and tell me you love me too. Then you fall into a happy slumber with a smile on your face. You are a very very affectionate little boy.

You're big now too. Really big. So tall! I look at you tearing around the back garden and find it so hard to believe that when you were first born all ten of your fingers wrapped around the very tip of my pinkie finger. You were so so tiny.

You adore singing. And you can sing! Whenever we're out and about people come up to you and tell you you have the voice of an angel and it's such a delight to hear you singing without any self-consciousness. Your favourite tune (which is rapidly becoming my least favourite, if I'm honest, because it's all I hear!) is the Morningtown Ride by The Seekers. You love it. You even sing it every day you're at kindy for your class.

You are so like me in so many ways - eager to please, a memoriser, a chatterbox, always trying to make people smile, just a little bit bossy, and more than a bit OCD (remind me to tell you about the blankets!). And in so many physical ways you're so much like your daddy. You're a version of him in miniature. Like twins :)

You don't like being alone. But we're working on getting you to enjoy 'self-directed play' (or so they call it).

We are immensely proud of you, you chirpy, clever, happy, singing angel.

All the love in the universe,
Your Mama

My darling Hamey-bear,

Happy third birthday, angel-boy.

I just adore you, my baby. You are so soft, and so gentle. You're always ready for a cuddle and there's nothing better than feeling your precious soft cheek against mine.

You are obsessed with Thomas and his friends. You know all their names - every single last one. You know if they're "steamies" or "diesels". You know which ones need what coal. You know which have tenders and which have carriages. Which 'huff', and which 'puff'.

You take a collection with you to bed every single night. Some nights, I'm surprised there's any room for you at all. But you insist. And later on, just before he goes to bed himself, your daddy sneaks in and removes them all from your gentle grasp and puts them on your bedside table.

You're perfectly content with your own company, and happy to play in your own imagination. You love books and insist on two stories every night. One from a book, and one "from your mouth mummy". And then you need a song. You usually pick the rainbow song, but sometimes you want something from deep within your own imagination and then mine gets a work-out!

You're a little chatterbox and you're starting to give Roc a run for his money. You have started asserting yourself more and more and simply shouting over the top of him if he doesn't stop to let you get a word in!

And even thought you're so big now - THREE! - you're still my baby. You come in for cuddles at 5am every morning, which I know I will miss when you stop. You're a wriggler, so not much more sleeping happens at my end after that, but you just need me to be snuggled up against you. "Mummy tucks" are the best thing in your world I think.

If you ask Daddy though, I think he'd say that when you launch yourself at him, throw your arms around his neck, and squeeeeeeeze out the biggest hug you can muster, that nothing can beat it.

I love you so much my kind, gentle, sweet, funny little boy.

All the love in the universe

Monday, September 10, 2012

Award night sparkles

Katie and I were so honoured to be named finalists in the Ausmumpreneur Awards this year for Multiplied Magazine. We traveled to Sydney for the awards night on Saturday night and although we didn't win, we had such a brilliant and inspiring time; so many amazing women - all working mums running their own businesses - so many brilliant ideas, and so much inspiration!

Plus, we totally got to frock up. See! And there was champagne (although I was too nervous about tripping over my dress to actually more than 1.5 glasses - plus there was that 4.30am start to get back to Brisvegas for the twinadoes' birthday). And a lolly buffet. And lots of laughter. A brilliant night.

[I'm on the left in the silver / grey and Katie is on the right in the cream / gold]

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

The Great Escape of 2012

Boys, boys, boys, boys.....

Oh, where do I begin?

You escaped! Out of your bedroom, out of the house, through the fence, and up the street onto the main road.

You were going to catch the bus to the rugby, apparently.

You were well prepared for your grand adventure. Rocky, you had Daddy's rugby season ticket lanyard strung around your neck. Hamey you had Daddy's QLD Reds cap on, and his ROLEX wrapped around your upper arm. You didn't want to be late, obviously.

Rocky, you were covered - no, smothered - in my tinted moisturiser. "Suncream" you said, so you wouldn't get bitten by the sun. Still in your Thomas the Tank Engine sleepysuits though - you know, the ones with the feet in.

And you were so determined! You pushed our letterbox out of its fence mounting and onto the footpath to create your escape hatch. God knows how you shimmied your way through the 'window' left behind.


I'm serious. You pushed that baby onto the footpath and somehow crawled out and managed the not-insignificant drop to the grass. How, how, how? And that scratch at the top? That's the only evidence of the entire terrifying incident.

A very kind and lovely stranger found you both nearing the bus stop and kindly returned you home after you (thankfully) were able to tell her where you lived. Full address. Perfectly recited. You also explained to her that you were just going to the rugby. And you had been "wery wery careful of cars". Sweet Lord.

I, of course, have been feeling like Mother of the Year. I'm sure it won't be the first time.

You two are brothers-in-arms. Partners in crime. Your daddy and I are in for a wild ride.

Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers. Thank goodness you knew your address. Thank goodness we have taught you to stay away from the road. Thank goodness you are safe.

[I'm predicting that a long time in the future when we are re-telling this story for the bazillionth time - probably at your 21st birthdays - that I just might be able to laugh about it. But until then.......]

Saturday, September 1, 2012

A letter of a different kind. To T, on Father's Day

You are smart. You are kind. You care.
You are resolute. And determined. 
[And stubborn].
You work hard. And long. For us.
And you deserve all the best things in the world.
You are funny. And fun.
You are my husband, and our babies' daddy and you are brilliant at both. 
[Lord knows neither are always easy.]
You love.
You are loved. 
By us. So much.

Happy Father's Day xxxx