Last week, I watched Encanto with C during one of E’s lunch naps (the movie was a big hit). And then C got into the habit of wanting to watch a movie every time E was having a lunch nap. We watched Toy Story 2. Then she wanted to watch Frozen. And the next day, also Frozen. And the next day… She hasn’t watched it every single day but it was 3 or 4 days in a row. In the evenings, she would tell me her favourite bits while she was meant to be going to sleep and she would giggle and squeal as she acted them out for me as well.
A few months ago, having bought something for E that she actually needed, I thought there might be sibling strife if I didn’t find something for C as well, and came across the Frozen book. It is short and simple, giving the briefest of plot synopses from Elsa’s point of view. C, in her recent Frozen obsession, asked me to read it while I was feeding E her dinner. And again. And then at bedtime. And then every night, once or twice or sometimes more.
Thank goodness it is a quick read.
E is always gravitating to the Very Hungry Caterpillar but is also really getting into Bob Bilby. Even if she’s more interested in climbing over my shoulder or over the arm of the sofa, when we get to the fireworks at the end, she is back and paying full attention and touching the pictures and opening and closing the book. We’ve got a winner here.
It has been a little niggle. Like a worry that you worry but don’t really have to do anything about but you know it is there, worrying. Sometimes it flares up, when it all gets closer to home. The same state, the same city, the same suburbs, the same shops.
But with an attitude of ‘we can fix this, let’s all be sensible’, we have been part of a cohort of people who adhere to our short, sharp lockdowns. Stay home. Physically distance. Wear a mask. Sanitise hands. Numbers reduce, restrictions ease, the worry calms.
Like many global things that Australians watch but don’t experience, we have seen the news from across the world. Italy. Iran. Spain. The USA. India. We have been horrified, amazed at the spread of this disease that could so often be prevented. Prevention that can be easy to achieve in first world countries but is so much harder in poorer areas. Prevention that can so easily occur if people work together, thinking of others and listening to experts.
I have thought time and time again, thank goodness we don’t live there. Usually, thank goodness we don’t live in the USA, where I see accounts on Twitter of masks not being mandatory, children having to go back to school in person despite soaring case numbers, people not isolating and not vaccinating and not being able to take time off work and not being able to work from home.
Yet with all that we could have learned over the last two years, we are here. The worrying niggle is much more present, less of a niggle and more of a prominent worry. A worry that has me wondering if we’re doing the right thing, sending two girls too young to be vaccinated off to daycare. Worrying that a supermarket trip will come home with disease. Worrying that a supermarket trip won’t provide enough food due to the food shortages due to truck drivers being off work due to illness. Worrying that we might have a small accident that might require a trip to a hospital that can’t take us because they are suddenly full. Worrying that any sneeze or cough is not just a sneeze or cough but a sign of COVID. Worrying that if I accept offers of help from older people we might unwittingly give them COVID and the repercussions for them would be far greater than for others. Worrying that we’d have a notification from daycare about a case there.
Monday that last worry was realised. A case. A child in C’s class, there on one of the same days she is. Then email after email notifying us of further cases. The worry about each case. Will it be mild? Will they be ok? When will we see them again? What about their household? The worry about the new government policies. Childcare centres are no longer considered close contact but does anyone understand what babies and toddlers and preschoolers are like? Physical distancing is impossible. And if they’re told they can still attend, most parents will still send their kids because they don’t have a choice.
Thankfully, the staff were instructed to test and isolate regardless of government regulations. Thankfully, we have the capacity to keep the girls home this week. Thankfully, we are free from symptoms so don’t need to test. Or worry quite so much.
But there is still that worry. That worry that has me in sudden tears as I try to settle E for sleep. That worry that has me asking for extra cuddles from C. That worry that is supremely relieved that Glenn no longer works in retail. That worry that has me checking my phone frequently to see if my parents’ recent tests were negative. And if they’re positive, what then? Will they make it? Will I have to say goodbye? Explain to the girls what is happening? Have them say goodbye? All the accounts of what happens at the end for COVID patients, how could I bear it happening to someone I love?
I wonder, then, how parents have coped in areas that have been hit harder than us. How do you continue with relentless worry? For days, weeks, months, years? Knowing that you are doing all that you can to stop this but not everyone is and still, still it can creep in and then your baby or your elderly parents or your immunocompromised partner is at such high risk? How do you continue keeping everyone safe, knowing that it might not be enough?
This week’s books have all been more of the Christmas books. And I am very happy about this.
E has been having lots of Bob Bilby, and The Very Noisy Baby. C is also loving hearing these books. Whenever we get to the page in Bob Bilby with the fireworks, C’s face lights up and, every time, she says ‘just like the fireworks WE saw!’ (It helps that we live in Brisbane just like Bluey and Bingo.) C is loving lifting the flaps in the Noisy Baby and reading the bonus bits, like ‘the OWL! So speck-eld and BLUE!’
C herself has insisted on a bonus story once she is in bed every night. I say in bed but I really mean, I’ve told her to get into bed and she has done a token sit down before saying ‘ooh, mummy, please may I have a Horton story please?’ Or ‘here mummy I’ll just turn the lamp on for you so you can read me Mrs Tiggy-winkle.’ Oh. Ok… We have read each of them enough now that she has her favourite lines that she delights in every time. Personally I am absolutely loving reading Mrs. Tiggy-winkle. I loved all of the Beatrix Potter stories when I was little and revisiting them brings such great pleasure.
How goodnight has changed over the years. A Facebook memory recently showed me what it was, when C was about 15 months. Our music class had shown us that songs are a useful transition tool, so ‘teddy bear, teddy bear’ was our ‘we are going to bed now and bed is where you sleep’ song. C does the actions just after the lines in the song, except at the end when, just before the last line, she takes off down the hallway with a cackling mischievous laugh.
Before I had children, I imagined bedtime to be a hopefully calm affair of dinner together and baths (together for young children) and bedtime stories and teeth cleaning and into bed and, magic, asleep. Laughable, I know, and also not really based on my own experience growing up with 3 brothers, but there you go. I had lofty ideas.
The reality right now is quite different. Coordinating dinners and baths and stories is quite a task, one that often leaves me wondering just how on earth do parents of 3 or more children manage it? Especially if one parent works late? And this is constantly changing according to how well E’s lunch nap has gone (and how hot it is and if she is teething like she is now).
But, a goodnight with daddy is holding fast and it is something that I absolutely love and treasure and will be so sad when they don’t happen anymore.
Goodnight with daddy has influenced how C says goodnight to E and, every time, it melts my heart. Sometimes when I ask her to say goodnight all E gets is a distracted ‘goodnight E…’ but usually C sings, just like daddy does. And it’s usually the tune of the Brahms lullaby, just like daddy does. And it’s usually different words, all relating to sleep, just like daddy does. And it often has one line at the end that just keeps going and going with all the instructions for a good sleep and the melody turns into a monotone and then, when you think it’s over, there’s a bonus phrase… And then there’s a kiss and cuddle that is growing to be more successful as E learns to put her arms around C instead of just pulling her hair, and not to kick her legs with overwhelming excitement, and sometimes even to hold her round cheek close enough and long enough for C to give her a little kiss.
Goodnight with daddy for E is the Brahms lullaby, with words approximately ‘go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep little baby, go to sleep now, go to sleep, and dream about green sheep’ and further words regarding sleeping and dreaming and catching the green sheep. (Yes, we love the Mem Fox book.) She is held up high and she often squeak-laughs and always has a smile splitting her face with delight
Goodnight with daddy for C is ‘rockabye baby’ so is often referred to as ‘time for a rockabye with daddy’. Glenn will pick her up and cradle her – all 105cm – and she puts her arms around his neck as he sings. His variations: ‘when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall – NO!’ And he holds her tight. ‘And down will come baby’ – and then all sorts of different things come in as well, influenced by what she’s been playing with or watching or eating or wearing that day, or looking forward to for the next day. ‘Down will come baby, spaghetti, sauce, Baby Yoda, scooter, baby and all’. He gives her a goodnight kiss, she wraps her hand around his neck and gives him a big smacker of a goodnight kiss, then asks to be chased down the hallway to her bedroom.
I know this won’t last, and as tough as all this coordination is and night after night when it feels like we won’t ever have two children asleep at the same time and the frustration when one of them needs me to be with them for an hour or more, I know I will miss it. Thank goodness for that video on Facebook, reminding me just how funny and cheeky C was and is, helping me look back on that time with a smile instead of just remembering the frustration of having a child who never, it felt, slept.
We had a wonderfully bookish Christmas. When C was a baby, I learned of the Icelandic tradition of giving books on Christmas Eve so you get to read books all night. This was (I think) the first tradition that I introduced to our family that was from somewhere else. The night before Christmas Eve, the book fairy comes and leaves books for you to find in the morning. This year, C received ‘Where’s Bluey?’ (a hide and seek book!) and ‘The Painted Ponies’ by Alison Lester. E received ‘Hairy Maclary’s Hat Tricks’ (Lynley Dodd) and ‘The Very Noisy Baby’ (Alison Lester).
C was set on giving E the Bob Bilby book from Bluey for Christmas (partly because it’s a board book, and partly – I suspect – because C loves this story herself), and E also received Verandah Santa (another Bluey book) from some cousins. Both girls were given a Beatrix Potter book, The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, and a book of three Horton stories by Dr. Seuss, by Uncle Alex and Aunty Alys.
Adding to this the ‘book from Santa’ (The River Riddle, daycare Christmas present), and there has been a delightful expansion of reading repertoire in our family. C will happily look for all of the things in the Bluey hide and seek book when we need her to do something quiet. One of my favourite moments recently was, having just read both girls Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle and then starting the nap process with E, spotting C in her fluffy tutu dress, carefully ‘reading’ it to her toys on her bed.
Our very own very noisy baby is rather enthusiastic in lifting the flaps of the very noisy baby book. She’s not so much into the longer, wordier stories just yet, but Bob Bilby is receiving daily attention. Extra delight with this one right now is that it has fireworks – just like we saw on New Year’s Eve. Ooooohhhhh….. Oh, and C won’t go to sleep unless I read her a Horton story in her bedroom. She snuggles up and gets rather sleepy until we get to a bit that she just can’t help laughing at and then when she’s recovered we keep going and she gets sleepier and sleepier and when it’s done she is far more ready for sleep. Books are wonderful.
This year has had it all. Some was expected, some not. And some aspects (yes, I’m talking about the pandemic here) that we hoped would be over just kept coming back in different forms.
Here is our 2021 in numbers, result compared to expectation.
Most exciting: new baby (1/1). The best.
Most horrible: accident with new baby. Never expected. One horrible accident, and one that turned out to be not so bad but was still nerve-wracking when it happened. (2/0).
Concerts: (3/? Thanks to COVID we never knew what to expect). 3, that is, that I was brave enough to attend with the girls (Glenn has performed more than that). Each has been a learning experience and I feel tonight’s NYE Pops concert I did the best. Naps, food, sleep, all worked out fairly well. Anxiety level for me was very very high but I’m so glad we went. And both girls behaved beautifully.
New appliances: ooh there were so many. It was really the year of the new. We knew we would be buying a new mattress – the old one had deep troughs on either side from years of use (and, let’s face it, pregnancy). We were not expecting to replace the toaster, kettle, microwave, vacuum cleaner battery, printer, laptop, or fridge. (So, numbers… how many is that, 8? 8/1.) It has been an expensive year. I would like it to stop now.
Sickness: there has been some, of course – hello daycare. There was the Gastro Experience of September. There has been the No It’s Not Covid Cough of December. There have been other sniffles that have gone away after a week of resting at home, just like doctors and mothers say they will. Amazing.
And then there are the things of life that cannot be numbered. The joy in seeing each girl grow to be more themselves every day. The frustration of adult-young child communication. The immense delight seeing the love between our girls, and between all of us. The worry – oh the worry. Worries. When C is ‘just a bit nervous’ going to daycare. When E doesn’t reach a milestone as early as C did. When there’s a lockdown due to a cluster of Covid cases in our area. When I can’t give either girl the attention she needs. When C doesn’t pick up small objects or sharp objects and doesn’t understand the danger they pose to E.
This year has certainly held surprises. Some delightful, some not. Some scary, some not. I feel we’ve handled it the best we could and have definitely grown through all these experiences. Like everyone, I am hoping for more of the good stuff next year, and less of the not-so-nice surprises. Please and thank you.
Now that it is the fifth day of Christmas… I finally have a moment to write about the Christmas that was Christmas 2021.
There is always such hope surrounding Christmas. Hope for good things in the world, for blessings for those we love, for peace and joy and love to prevail. Hope for the things that we care about, that make our Christmases what we want them to be, to be able to happen. The food, the decorations, the excitement, the surprises.
This Christmas I was hoping to do so much for Glenn and the girls, and for my parents and Glenn’s dad and his family in Ireland. I had hopes for Christmas crafts, decorations throughout our home, a clean and tidy and organised place, Christmas baking. I planned to crochet a rug for E. Sew her a stuffed toy. Sew a stuffed toy for C. Make ornaments from clay and paper. Make thoughtful presents for C’s daycare teachers.
Buuuuut kids. 2022 Me needs to remember a few things. Learn from the experience of 2021 Me.
Just because you have a 3-year-old who LOVES craft and LOVES Christmas, doesn’t mean she will ‘be in the zone for that’ when you have opportunity to do things. Your visions of Pinterest-worthy garlands and wreaths and teacher gifts and decorations may well remain visions. The paddle-pop stick with cotton wool balls and pipe cleaners and googly eyes that you made into a snowman might, however, become a treasured toy. Go figure.
Just because you suddenly have both girls in daycare for a couple of days a week in the lead-up to Christmas – well, remember the whole daycare immunity thing? Surely it’s a law of physics or biology or something that kids in daycare will be sick, too sick to go anywhere at all, at some point in December. At the most inconvenient time. And, probably, share it around so you end up feeling atrocious yourself. Too exhausted for anything, just barely making it through the days and hoping you have a skerrick of energy somewhere to do the things that absolutely must be done before Christmas to make Christmas still Christmas for two little girls.
Just because you have grand ideas to sew beautiful, coordinating clothes for your children, or sew hair bands, or stuffed toys, or the shirt you’ve been promising your husband for 6 months, or even the dress you’ve been hoping to sew for yourself, doesn’t mean you will have a moment to yourself in the evenings to contemplate the sewing machine. 2022 Me could maybe just try to make those things as we go and not put so much pressure on Christmas.
Speaking of which, 2022 Me needs to remember the ‘be kind to yourself’ mantra that was Christmas 2021. Yes, it’s nice to have a clean and tidy and organised home but if you’re barely able to stay awake, go for the more important things. Like wrapping the Christmas presents. (Ahem – wrap the presents earlier. Like you used to. Remember? Attach notes securely. This year was just too stressful and late.) You may want to insist on baking Christmas goodies even if the weather is typically Brisbane summer steaminess but apparently Santa was quite happy with the ice cream you offered this year so maybe don’t stress too much about baking. And yes, 2021 Me feels quite smug about all the presents bought during the year and how much it reduced stress in December and 2022 Me could do well to remember this and yes, realise that you’ve turned into one of THOSE people.
2022 Me will hopefully also remember the absolute joy of children finding stockings that now have magical presents in them (underpants! A hat! A toothbrush! A FIDGET POPPER IT’S A RAINBOW UNICORN AND E HAS A MATCHING ONE HERS IS A BUTTERFLY THEY HAVE THESE AT DAYCARE I LOVE THEM!) And wondering at the magic of Santa and how he manages to get through our balcony door and just how does he know that C likes Frozen and unicorns and how does he know E likes bath toys? And dancing to Christmas music and eating yummy food and watching the Christmas lights blink and watching snow globes swirl and watching a Christmas movie up late as a huge treat. And finding gifts for special people that they delight in receiving as much as you delight in giving, and receiving beautiful and thoughtful gifts from others.
2022 Me will hopefully also make it to church. 2021 Me hasn’t made it, is still very anxious about taking children who are too young to be vaccinated anywhere, but is also really missing church and the community it brings and the spiritual food found therein. 2021 Me is quite aware how much the rhythm of life is influenced and guided by the rhythm of church life, and Christmas and Easter are far hollower, and harder to find joy in, without the religious basis for them.
2021 Me is also secretly hoping that the girls will be old enough to play by themselves (or together, without disaster) when Christmas 2022 is here. This was exhausting and I could have easily napped from about 10am. Yes, I am very impressed with myself for holding out until crashing into bed at 9:30pm but a nap would be nice next time, ok? Ok.
Before I had kids, I was one of THOSE people. ‘Oh, I’m never going to do the elf on the shelf thing, or letters to Santa, or tell my kids they had better behave or Santa won’t come’. And then I had a 2-year-old. ‘Ok, C, it’s time to go home. Yes it really is. I gave you warnings and a timer and now it is time to go home. No? Ok I’m just calling Santa to let him know – oh you’re coming? What a good choice.’
This turned around one day when playing outside and I was the one not doing what C wanted me to do. She whipped out her imaginary phone, told me she was just calling Santa, and walked away in a wonderful impression of a harried adult on a phone call, saying ‘hello, Santa? Yes it’s C here. So. I asked mummy if we could play burger shop but she said no, there were too many ants where we were going to play… hm… yes… hm… just thought you’d want to know’. All while I was trying my hardest not to crack a smile or burst out laughing.
Last year, it felt like I ‘called Santa’ most days. In an attempt at balance, I did try to call to tell him when she behaved wonderfully too, but they seem to have been rather outweighed by the less good behavioural updates.
This year, though, has been different. Delightfully different. It was the middle of November when I noticed C was behaving beautifully, all day. Helpful, cooperative, kind, caring. Nothing was said about the whole Christmas approaching thing, but there was a little ding in my brain that night saying, maybe she knows Christmas is starting to approach. And we have had beautiful behaviour from her … well, more than not. So that’s an improvement on last year, anyway. (She hasn’t been very well this last week so behaviour has suffered accordingly, but most of the time has been lovely.) And it has just taken the occasional ‘do I need to call Santa?’ for a sudden change to a much better choice of behaviour to occur.
There have still been a number of intended calls and messages to Santa, though. ‘I’m just going to watch something while you’re getting E to have a nap if that’s ok mummy?’ Or ‘You don’t mind if I watch something while you have a nap do you mummy?’ Actually, I do mind- ‘NOOOOO’ oh that’s ok, I’ll just call Santa and let him know not to come here at Christmas ‘NOOOO’ well there’s no point is there? You have so many toys but if you don’t want to play with any, why should he bring you any more? ‘Ok ok I’ll play with my toys’. And what do you know, she will happily spend hours and hours putting her babies (small plush toys) to sleep and giving them tea parties and building space ships with magnets and doing interpretive dance to iconic 80s hits and painting pictures of the night and writing love letters to Shaun the Sheep.
I suppose Santa might be welcome to come after all. That said, last year she wanted a football. A football fits easily in a normal size stocking. This year, she wants a wheelbarrow, so she can wheel her toys around. I’m not sure if Santa can actually fit one of those in his sleigh…
Since my last ‘what we read’ post, I have read Sleepytime many, many times. Every night for nearly 2 weeks, 1-3 times. There were many cuddles. What I especially loved was that C would start saying the Bingo and Floppy lines, then the whole second half of the book.
And then, one night, she started taking every single book off the bookshelf. What are you doing? I’m looking for my favourite book.
I had a feeling I knew which one it was. But I tried to deflect. Nursery rhymes? No. Bluey? No. Katie Morag? No, Cat in the Hat! Not the fish one!
We don’t have Cat in the Hat. She meant Fox in Socks. Such a tongue twister for a tired mummy. I do love the tweetle beetles, though.
So for a few nights I had to stumble my way through that, with C giggling uncontrollably whenever I made an error and did a raspberry.
Then it was the daycare Christmas party, with a visit from Santa! (Although she’s not sure this was the actual real life Santa, the glasses were the wrong shape, and the beard…). And Santa gave her a present! A book! It is, of course, now her favourite book. Such a relief from the tongue twisters. It is called the River Riddle and is an illustrated version of the river riddle, where you have a boat, a person, a fox, a sheep, and hay. Her favourite part? There’s singing! (That is, music notes on the page). So MY favourite bit is when she shows me this bit by acting it out. Gold.
I’ve mentioned before how much our family loves Bluey. Honestly, this could be a Bluey Appreciation blog. We love it. There are oodles of Bluey items in our home already and more will be added at Christmas.
We wouldn’t have so much though if we didn’t love the show, in so many ways. And this is the only show that everyone loves. There are some shows that C adores… and we can’t stand. Some that C adores and I enjoy but Glenn can’t stand. Bluey, though – well, Glenn watches it when no-one else is around.
I could (and probably will, in bits, eventually), list at length all the ways we love the show. But Season 3 is hitting all the right notes. Every single episode has me laughing or crying or cheering or all three.
Today I want to write about Mum. I am both a lot like her, and aspire to be like and take inspiration from her. I love my own Mum, and have learnt so much from her (admittedly, some of it in hindsight); however, sometimes it’s easier to learn something when it’s presented differently. Like, in cartoon dog form.
I’ve learnt from Mum (Chilli) that tone of voice matters. ‘What are you doing?’ can sound very different when asked with different tones. And, accordingly, engender different responses and different deeper reactions from little ones. My natural manner is a very suspicious, let’s cut this off before it escalates, I don’t think this is going to end well, tone. If I was asked in this tone, I would probably feel guilty whether I was playing quietly with building blocks or climbing where I shouldn’t climb and looking where I know I shouldn’t. But if I channel Mum in the Bingo episode, everything changes. I have asked in that curious tone and received all sorts of responses. From ‘ooh mummy can I show you something, I’m just building a house for us, it has a bed here…(etc)’ to a furtive bump as she slides off something she should not have been on, looking at something she should not have been looking at, before telling me ‘I was just looking at…’ or ‘mummy watch this!!!’ What is said is important, but the way it is said is just as important. Especially for young ones.
I’ve learnt from her that I’m not the only mum who gets frustrated. ‘Sticky Gecko’, anyone? It was a long time before I actually saw that episode start to finish. It never seemed to be a top choice, but once I’d seen it – well. (And it has so much in it for C too – mostly, that it’s ok to be a bit nervous about seeing a friend.) I think many mums feel validated by this episode. If we arrive at the park a bit late for a play date, I know I can say ‘sorry, we were having a sticky gecko morning’ and the other mum will nod with understanding. The extra element in this episode for me though, is that Chilli doesn’t stay in the frustrated mum character zone (as many shows would have her); nor is she a calm and patient angelic character who never bats an eyelid. Instead, she feels her feelings and then also finds out what her girls are feeling. A huge lesson for me.
And I’ve learnt from her that it’s ok to be fun. Mums are so often the boring parent, who make sure teeth are cleaned and laundry is done and floors are cleaned and tables wiped and dishes done and homework done and hair is brushed and bedtime is observed. It can be exhausting. So when we watched ‘Rain’ the other day, I had a similar reaction to when I watched ’Sleepytime’ for the first time. Starting off with laughter but, before too long, tears in my eyes. Although C is often very much like Bingo, the interactions between Mum and Bluey in this episode are so, so much like my interactions with C. It sounds weird – but also perfectly normal – to say that watching ‘Rain’ was like watching my life in cartoon dog form. I just hope I can remember to get my feet wet more often.
The Stuff of Our Life 