Do you believe in ghosts? If you had asked me 10 years ago, my answer would have been a firm “No”. Absolutely not. Except, of course, for the Holy Ghost if we’re using the 1662 prayer book. Or that time when one of my older brother’s friends died suddenly in a car crash and he says she came to visit him that night. But no.
And then Glenn’s mum passed away, and even though C was not yet one, I am quite sure that all 3 of us saw Sioban that next night. C wasn’t talking yet, so this isn’t confirmed, of course. But what I saw – Sioban in her near-death skeletal body, but calmer because that battle was over, and dressed in a long swishy skirt with a colourful top – matched what Glenn described he saw.
Fast forward to a few months later, and C was now in the second bedroom to sleep. She woke up terrified one night, pointing with a look of horror at the wall next to the door. I couldn’t see anything other than what was always there, but she could clearly see something.
Fast forward even more to Monday night, and S woke up terrified. I got her out of the cot for a cuddle and she did exactly what C did about 6 years ago, but she could articulate “Scary” and “I not going in the cot”. A total of 2 hours sleep for me that night, with S falling asleep on me on the sofa while singing Skidamarink at nearly 4am.
Tuesday night, and I was really apprehensive that I may have S refusing to sleep at all. I brought out the big guns. The secret weapon. I read her Ruby Red Shoes, and then Ruby Red Shoes Goes To Paris. She fell asleep early in Paris (but I kept reading it to E who is now absolutely loving them). The other thing that helped was a little fake tea light that Glenn showed her how to hold up and say, “Go away, Monsters!” So, you know, we’re all set. This evening, though, she did say to me that she isn’t going in her cot because of the ghost so a few mysteries have some sort of – explanation? That doesn’t seem right. I’ll think on it.
So Ruby books are very much back in the favourite pile. Middle of the night wakes, and S wants me to read her “The bunny books”. Sometimes she will tell me to lie down! You need to sleep! And she takes the books from me and sits up with her soft bunny on her lap and reads them to the bunny while I dutifully and exhaustedly lie down. I am so, so glad that C would ask for these books everysinglenight for months on end, because it’s hard reading a book in the dark when all your body wants to do is lie down in your own bed and curl up with closed eyes and sleep, but when your brain gets the cue from the picture and you can just recite the words for that picture, it is easier. I confess, there are often long pauses and sometimes I
might miss a phrase
but thankfully S is not so familiar with these stories just yet so just gives me, I’m sure, a little eyebrow raise, like a teacher who is going to talk with me later about my work.
That time of year. This time of year. Is this time of year my favourite? It may well be.
This time of year, when the sun is rising that little bit later so that a morning walk comes with less being blinded by the sun and more “Ooh, look at that bootiful sunrise” if E or S is with me. That later rising of the sun reminding us that summer in Brisbane does pass for a time.
This time of year, when the weather starts tipping to autumn with shorter days and dryer days and nights below 20C and a slight crispness at the beginnings and ends of the days. This tipping to autumn that reminds me of when C was born and all that went on with the much-awaited birth of a firstborn.
This time of year, when there is even a slight chill some mornings and the weather forecast shows highs in the upper 20s instead of relentlessly in the 30s. This slight and occasional chill that has children suddenly chilly. This chill that reminds me that they can’t live in short sleeves all year, and winter clothes should be organised soon, preferably the soon that comes before the cold weather.
This time of year, when a trip to the garage for the winter clothing happens.
I love this changeover of the seasons. Going through the old clothes. Smiling with each memory that emerges with them. Noticing all the holes. Noticing all the holes that I used to think would be frustrating, that something needs mending or is unusable, but actually noticing the holes and seeing how well-loved it was, or how much time playing kittens this pair of leggings saw, or remembering the stack that needed bandaids on that knee for a week, or just how much it was worn and therefore value for money.
Noticing the sizes available and realising what is missing due to growth spurts and school starting and physical clothing preferences. Thinking about what sizes will be required this year by which child. Reminiscing to C’s babyhood, when she was fairly easily in the size for the age but always outgrew them about a month early, and the sadness felt every time I realised there was no way she was fitting into that size again and therefore maybe I wouldn’t even see a baby in these clothes again because who knew if we would have any more babies? Then – ha! – we sure did have more babies, but some of those clothes could hardly be worn anyway as E and S grew faster than imaginable.
Grew? Grow. E, at just 4, is needing size 5 separates but dresses are size 6, but clearly not for much longer. S, 2 and a half, is a comfy size 3 in separates but can work with size 4s and needing size 4 dresses and snuck a pair of C’s size 6 leggings the other day and wore them without issues the whole afternoon. C is also a bit ahead in sizing, being almost – practically – 7 and needing size 7s and 8s. With a weight percentile much, much lower than her height percentile she can get away with wearing smaller sizes in warmer months but really needs the length back for the cooler weather.
Noticing the deficits in our supply and planning a trip for winter clothes shopping with the girls. Planning how to make it fair while still getting the start, at least, of what they actually need and attempting to find out what suits their particular wants and needs. “Let’s go shopping for winter clothes!” starts in my mind as a fun thing to do with the girls on the weekend but turns into a balancing act harder than Christmas presents.
We did this on Saturday. It was the worst shopping trip of my life, I think.
Everyone will want a dress. Every girl gets a winter dress. E quickly found an Elsa dress. It was available in sizes 2 – far too small for S – and 8. Foreseeing 2 winters of wear from E, I let her choose the size 8. There was no similar dress for S. S had a tantrum. C consented to a pink dress with frilly hems. S refused the green dress and as she was too far gone, really, in her Elsa dress tantrum, I picked a navy floral number for her.
Everyone will need at least one pair of leggings. C will need a pair that is vaguely navy so she can wear them at school. C goes for every other option and goes all sad sack on me when I say no. Every. Time. S is still tantrumming about the Elsa dress. I pick out a pair for her then realise she doesn’t know anything that is happening and figure she will actually be fine in size 4s and we have enough in size 3 and 4 to get us going. E is still on a high with her Elsa dress so I pick out 2 pairs of size 6 leggings for her. She is 4. She goes to preschool. Those knees aren’t going to last.
Everyone will need at least one long sleeved top. The long sleeved tops are on the same table as the short sleeved tops, distinguished by writing on the front sticker. Every top C picks is short sleeved. I point out where to find short or long, and she finds 2 options. One of these is a leopard print on a pale coffee colour. She looks ill when she holds it up but is determined to have it. I refuse. I suggest an alternative (we use a plain white tee from home and do an iron-on transfer) which is only just barely considered. I still refuse to buy her something that makes her look like she is about to vomit. She puts it back, slowly and sadly. E is still on a high with her Elsa dress but has enough presence of mind to shout “NO” at me when I show her a few options that I thought she would love. Unsurprisingly, back at the first option again gets a resounding “YES”. A very sweet top is found for S which pulls her out of a tantrum for about 80 seconds.
C will need pyjamas. I veto the flannel pair as I am hoping hoping hoping that her size 6 flannel pair will fit for at least the first really cold night. She accepts the lighter weight, heart print with ruffle sleeve pair as acceptable. E doesn’t wear pyjamas so I’m not buying any for her. Except, having made that decision on Saturday, guess who has worn pjs every night since. Of course. Thankfully, C’s size 5 Frozen pyjamas will work out until I can gauge if this wearing pyjamas thing is going to last. S has one and a half pairs of pyjamas that should fit so fingers crossed I find the other bit and then maybe have another rummage in the garage – that’s right, I am no longer organised in the garage department – for size 3 clothing. And my jeans. I am really really really hoping they will be too big but I’m not going to buy another pair if they do actually still fit.
So that was our winter shopping trip. The hardest thing I have done in a long time, which is really saying something considering the NEAR CYCLONE we just had with 3 SICK GIRLS so that gives you an indication of how horrible it was and how poorly I cope with grumpy and tantrums and stubborn. All that aside, they all love their new clothes. I can’t wait for cooler cooler weather.
It didn’t feel like we read a lot this week. Superworm and Tiddler are still way, way up the top of the list. But then I noticed the pile of books at the end of my sofa. Just like years ago, long before S was born, and when E but really C would pick books for bedtime and a pile would develop on sofa arms and tables. I noticed the pile. I thought, you should really put those books back on the bookshelf, Anna.
So I started to gather the books, and what had started off looking like maybe 3 or 4 books just kept getting bigger. It was like Mary Poppins’ bag. Because I am who I am, of course then I started taking photographs so I could make notes of which books they were. This isn’t strictly speaking what we read just this week, but definitely in the last 9-10 days.
Tabby McTat. Zog and the Flying Doctors. Tiddler. (Side note: Superworm and Zog are in the girls’ bedroom, along with the Boy Who Ate Everything, two copies of Little Red Riding Hood and Pop Up Punctuation). Matilda. What Katy Did. Little Ash: Party Problem! Bears in a Band. The Story About Ping. Don’t Call Me Bear! Pig the Fibber. There’s No Such Thing As Monsters! A Sleepy Snorey Dino Story! (Lots of exclamation marks, I’m just noticing now). The Other Ark. Ten Minutes to Bed; Where’s Father Christmas? That’s Not My Lion… That’s Not My Reindeer… Never Touch a Grumpy Unicorn! Hammerbarn. Bluey: 12 Days of Christmas.
My goodness.
Clearly, C abhors a vacuum and has added a Dragon Girls book to my sofa arm, as well as reintroducing Matilda, What Katy Did, and bringing Black Beauty and Heidi to the sofa. Peaches for Monsieur Le Curé is still being read by me and currently resides on my current sewing project and underneath What Katy Did.
Yes. I am trying to be better at putting things away. In my defence, this book stack lasted for less than a fortnight, so there’s that.
There’s been a lot of drama lately. A lot of angst, anxiety, fear, worry. A lot of preparation.
In the end, for us it turned out to be for a whole lot of rain and a bit of wind. E would call Alfred a Drama Prince.
We got lucky. Super duper ultra lucky, and there are hundreds of thousands of people who suffered and are still suffering. We did not lose power. We did not have any disruption to our water supply. We didn’t flood. We didn’t have a tree come down anywhere near us, certainly not crushing a car or roof or whole entire house.
What we did have felt like a mini lockdown, akin to what it would have been five years ago but with an end in sight. I take my hat off to families that had to do COVID lockdowns with multiple children and no clear end.
We made it through. Life is returning to normal. Monday, daycare was still closed and school was open only for supervision of children of essential workers. By Monday lunchtime, I was turning myself into a pretzel crossing fingers and toes and whatever possible that they would be able to be back to normal on Tuesday. We were outside on Monday afternoon with girls splashing in the backyard pool and blowing bubbles when two emails came through – bam, bam – within a minute of each other. School would be open for all students. Daycare would be reopening, but please pack food as their food service is out of action this week. Can. Do.
Having made it through this Alfred Experience, I feel I have some people to thank. The usual, of course. Glenn – a rock. Unphased in the areas that matter, like shopping in a panic-ridden shopping centre and finding all that we needed and being able to plan meals and make meals and be around to give girls cuddles and have Siri play Kiss and have mini rock concerts with whoever (E, mostly) needed them.
Auntie J, who shopped for us when I had planned to pick up essentials for our emergency kit but then had 3 girls home sick so we weren’t going anywhere. She offered. I sent her a list. She delivered. I transferred her money. I breathed a little easier.
Prime Video. The girls watched about 39 hours a day… okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. But really, doing some quick calculations here, 8-9 hours a day. Up to 9 hours a day of watching mostly Prime Video. I’ll move on. It was a lot.
Bubbles. Bubbles are the best, aren’t they? Thank goodness I had restocked our big bubble mix the Friday before this all started. Thank goodness I had splurged and gone for the big 2 litre bottle. Bubbles for years. Well, months. That said, with twice-daily usage for 7 days, we used about a fifth of the bottle. A couple of Christmases ago, E was given a bubble set which has a little dish and 4 different blowers. This was the best thing ever during this time. I didn’t have to keep a hold on the massive store of bubble mix to prevent the inevitable major spill. Each girl could blow and chase and spin and pop and come back for more. On the very windy days, we could just hold the blower out and let the wind take the bubbles. And one of my favourite videos is of all girls doing “cyclone bubbles”, holding a blower out and twirling in a midst of circling bubbles. Beautiful.
Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler. Thank you. What a duo. Not a day went by that I didn’t read a Donaldson/Scheffler book. That’s such an understatement. Multiple times a day. And having S and E reciting parts of a book while turning the pages… well. That makes my heart sing. And having such interesting illustrations that girls can get lost in them, spotting connections and little details, was enormously important. There were some other books read, too, but this duo was at the forefront.
AirPods. Oh my. I only cottoned on to this in the last little while but they help so much. Anyone else tried it? Sensory overwhelm in the form of too much noise is starting to take place. AirPods in on noise cancelling, and it takes the edge off. I was hoping for the screaming children level to be reduced but no. It doesn’t really make a difference to that. But if you are having to listen to an annoying children’s show and don’t have the mental energy to switch, or are in the middle of a rock and roll party or Wicked playlist and just have too much doomscrolling to do, then this really helps.
Shelley Husband. Don’t know who she is? Spincushions? Australian Crochet Designer of the Year? Well, anyway, she is my crochet guru idol person. Her granny square patterns are *beautiful* and elevate crochet squares to art. Last year, I realised a shawl would be a good addition to my winter workwear, and I planned it out and bought the yarn. I don’t usually have the urge to crochet in summer, but I couldn’t wait to get started on it in January. It has accompanied me to swimming lessons and psychologist appointments and been my general go-to Me Time when it’s too late to start sewing. Even one side of a round helps my calm. And wowsers, did I ever need it during this time. Admittedly, there were a couple of rounds that were frogged and then frogged again and for one round, frogged a third time before I had it right, but it was the calmness of repetition with the satisfaction of seeing a growing square of beauty take shape in my hands that was essential for my mental health. (Today, with a server issue at work so no work, I finished this square. Two more to go, and then some border squares I think. This is, fittingly, the Hope square from Granny Square Patchwork in 4-ply Luxury in Amazon Green from Bendigo Woollen Mills.)
Emergency services. Not for us in particular, thank goodness, but their social media presence, keeping us informed. Emergency services and weather pages and news channels. I realise it’s a bit in the doomscrolling category but it’s also in the reassurance realm and the awareness and information department. I’d much rather “Well, thank goodness that wasn’t as bad as we feared” over “Why is it so windy today?!”
Parenting accounts on social media. Nurtured First has been a favourite lately, but any account – I’m not talking the ones that make me laugh with their representations of what parenting is like in the real world (although a little levity is always a good thing), but the ones that are there to help – accounts that remind me of things that stop me losing it in the face of things that make me lose it. I doubt my neighbourhood appreciates it, but I have noticed a difference in my frustration levels, and a definite rise this week in intentional calmness. I mean, I have a looooooooooooong way to go there, but there were times when I COULD have exploded but I didn’t.
The best of the parenting accounts for me – and “parenting account” is nowhere near the complete picture, but it has been my saviour and well I could go on and on and on and on – is The Occuplaytional Therapist (OPT). Without her and her posts over the years, this whole Alfred thing would have been a markedly different experience for us. Through her, I became more aware of the why of children’s behaviour. Another viewpoint. A better understanding of child development. All of the things. All of the things that meant I could grasp that C needing to have quiet and routine and an active role in preparation was the way she was coping, and that E was letting out big emotions with loud sounds, and to tell her to stop that and be quiet would help C but then stifle E and then we would likely have different problems to deal with. S needing cuddles for hours and hours was her comfort and what a relief that I kind of needed S cuddles too and wasn’t touched out. C apparently bossing E around was not really about being in charge or being in control or better than her, but needing to establish some control when things were feeling out of control. E needing loud – to be loud herself, and to have loud rock music on – was so not helping me, but coming from the understanding that it was her out, combined with those lovely AirPods, made it easier to bear, especially when followed by the amazing handsies we do at bedtime. So the OPT has opened up my sight to the why, which has helped me, you know, not lose my cool at every single thing every single time. Baby steps.
This list is not complete, of course, but these are the people and things I thanked in my head at the time and thought I should really put it out there as part of the stuff of our lives. Thank you.
What to read with young girls in the event of an impending cyclone.
What young girls will ask to be read in the event of an impending cyclone.
What to read to escape from the anxiety of an impending cyclone.
What girls want to be read after the threat of the cyclone has passed and we are stuck with rain and rain and rain and rain.
There have been new favourites. There have been old favourites. There have been books unearthed by curious hands. Comfort books. Books that have things for fingers to do, like touching textures or moving a bee around a maze (which has turned out to be surprisingly comforting for all of my girls, rather like a finger labyrinth). New-enough books that they are still “not boring” to a nearly-7-year-old.
In our emergency kit – which ended up being a chair in the main bedroom with a pile of leaf blankets, filled water bottles and a soft bunny toy and a pile of books – I put Matilda, a Dragon Girls special edition, Never Touch a Grumpy Unicorn, Tiddler, Superworm, Tabby McTat, Hammerbarn, Busy Bee, and Peaches for Monsieur Le Curé.
We did not need our emergency kit. It was quite windy on Friday night, and I started to worry about the window nearest my bed. Girls slept right through, solidly, like they were exhausted from all the waiting and then just wanted to wake up to no more cyclone. Sleep was tricky for Glenn and me. I was worrying about trees and windows. Glenn had E next to him (she comes in most nights) and it was not one of those nights where she is asleep and still but rather one of those nights where she is asleep and you cannot wake her but she is flapping around like a gasping fish. Still, it was rather comforting to have this Just In Case emergency kit an arm’s reach away.
I woke up the morning after the cyclone that wasn’t a cyclone anymore to quiet. Such quiet that I thought maybe we were, bizarrely, in the eye of the cyclone. We were not. It was still sitting over the islands and we were calm because the cyclone threat had passed. And E asked me to read her The Very Hungry Caterpillar, which she wanted so many times when she was a baby that her 1st birthday cake was inspired by it. She wanted it repeatedly Saturday morning, and often since then, and now puts her hand over my mouth for a couple of the pages so that she can say the words herself. This afternoon was also a Very Hungry Caterpillar jigsaw puzzle festival, with Sage doing one of our set of four puzzles over and over and over for at least an hour, and then the other girls joining in with the other puzzles. Milo Goes Bananas has also been a popular choice this week, as well as Goodnight Baby Moon, and Slinky Malinki.
E has started “Just going to the red bookshelf for another book. I be right back” when she can’t fall asleep, and this evening I could see she was in the indecisive muddle that comes with too many choices poorly displayed. Tomorrow daycare is closed and school is supervision only so we are all staying home again, and although the girls probably think they will spend the day jumping up and down in muddy puddles, or at least the growing swimming pool in the garden, some of tomorrow will be spent reorganising the books.
Well. It has been a while since I have memorised a book from reading it so much. Some that are in my repertoire are Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes; Time For Bed; Where Is the Green Sheep?; and This and That. The number of times S – who is currently fighting her worst ever cold – has asked, “How about we read Tiddler?”, or said “Read me Tiddler”, or “Let’s read Tiddler”, has resulted in me reading it any number of times, back to back, at all hours. It’s not quite entrenched in my brain just yet but I reckon by next Sunday it will be. It is becoming her comfort book, her go-to, her first choice for reassurance.
Books also saved us when I took S (with E as well) to the doctor on Friday. A midday appointment, that may or may not be running late, with one child who absolutely hates being at the doctor’s – I mean, chances are you’ll get stabbed (vaccinated), so I see her point – and was not very happy about being strapped into a stroller when she has recently gained a fair bit of freedom in that department, and another child who was being dragged along and not really enjoying being told to do anything like stay close and not climb on all the chairs because it’s not your own personal indoor gym. Dreading the experience, I felt like a magician when I said, “Let’s see if we have any books in here… Oh look, Hammerbarn!” And the mood switched from grizzly anxious to the calm familiarity of a well-known, well-loved book to hold and read and look at.
E has been fascinated by Letters From Felix this week, one of those perfect books for her age. A favourite toy, lost on holidays. Letters from all over the world. Actual letters that are a sheet of paper folded inside an envelope in the book. Lots of fine motor skill practice has happened this week, all in pursuit of letters and curiosity.
C was ecstatic on Tuesday this week, as she could borrow two of one of her favourite chapter book series from the school library. And then she read them both in about half an hour that night and then fell right asleep. The EJ Spy School series even inspired her birthday party last year. Then on Thursday, when homework came home, she was ecstatic again as her home reading book was an Ella and Olivia book. Usually she rolls her eyes at how simplistic the home readers are, but this week she read it without prompting more than once.
I have been making progress on Peaches for Monsieur Le Curé, with lots of downtime cuddles happening and no shopping or park plays or any outings whatsoever. I am so enjoying it, as I knew I would, but I am also feeling like I fell asleep in a show and woke up in the next series. I suspect some books in between Chocolat and Peaches will be in order soon.
As an aside, as today is Dr Seuss’ birthday, we had green eggs for breakfast. This sounds like more of a novelty than it really is, as Glenn makes “Baby Yoda eggs” (steamed eggs with spinach) on many weekends. But green eggs (scrambled eggs made with eggs whizzed with kale and avocado) was it for breakfast. C acknowledged what was up, but E and S were a bit more puzzled, even though I explained that it was Dr Seuss’ birthday and he wrote that book, Green Eggs and Ham… And even though we have quite a selection of Dr Seuss books, we don’t have THAT book, and the girls didn’t want to read any of his other books. To be fair, they were quite keen to watch anything they could that was based on a Dr Seuss book, but that was about it. Happy birthday, Dr Seuss.
This was a week of magic and whisperings and tall tales and superheroes, of champions and quests and adventure and teamwork. And punctuation.
This was a week that C continued in her Geronimo and Thea Stilton obsession but also branched out to some Rescue Princesses and Magic books. A week that I am sure she read at least three of the Magic books (I’m not yet sure of their series name) but then thought she had lost Rainbow Magic and was devastated for all of Friday afternoon and evening and all of Saturday and thank goodness I found it somehow at the bottom of the pile of clean washing waiting to be sorted on Sunday. I’m quite sure this girl must dream of magical mice riding magical unicorns solving mysteries in the magical kingdom of Sparkles or something.
This was a week that I had to keep rereading the chapter I am up to in Peaches for Monsieur Le Curé because every time I read it I was interrupted by children needing me to do something or to jump on me or to cuddle me so fully that all I could do was surrender and hope I didn’t break an elbow or wrench a shoulder as I put the book away.
This was a week that E “borrowed” a book from C’s impressive stash and curled up on my sofa to “read” it. The intensity! This girl is so ready for Big School and learning how to read like a Big Kid.
This was a week that S asked me, often, to read her a story. It is finally clicking into a comfort thing for her. On Saturday I wasn’t well and my perceptive 2yo did what she always does and kept herself close to me, as if to keep checking on how I am, and eventually I asked if she wanted a story and she became my weighted blanket as I read her this week’s favourites: Tiddler, and Superworm. Or, to be more accurate, TIDDILER, and SOOperWUMMMMMM.
C read these two books independently. S asked for them most evenings. E asked for them most evenings, and when I read to her, she would recite along with me. The. Best.
Also up there with my Things That Make Me Smile is when my girls pick a book about punctuation as their bedtime story. The last 3 nights have seen E asking for the Pop-Up Punctuation book. Yes. It is a thing. My mum (a retired English teacher, unsurprisingly) gave the girls this book and it is fabulous. I love it. Showing where and why and how for all sorts of symbols, it is gentle and informative and funny. What a find.
For at least a month before her birthday on the weekend, E would wake up and ask, “Am I four now?” The more often she asked – the closer it got to her birthday – the more dramatic her response to “No, not yet”. A slightly disappointed “Aww I want to be four!” progressed to a slightly angry “BUT I WANT TO BE FOUR NOW” which progressed to dramatic facepalms and “STILL?!?!” I assured her that I had wanted her to be born well before now, too, but her birthday would come along eventually. I don’t think that helped AT ALL but what can you do? I even tried showing her on a calendar and that just made it worse.
It finally, finally was her birthday. Her whole-body reaction of delight and relief and happiness when I could say “Yes” to her sleepy question – well, it made my day. We made her day as special as we could, with croissants for breakfast (family tradition passed along from my side); church (where the girls – the drama! – missed out on the usual post-church ice cream because somebody ELSE who was NOT turning four was actually celebrating being ordained for 40 years and put on a barbecue but thank goodness the girls’ favourite person – a lovely girl who is nearly 10 – was there and made a lovely fuss over E); seeing a favourite honorary Auntie at the play cafe for a babycino and treats and a big play; her request for dinner (sausages); and her choice of cake.
Whenever I asked what sort of cake she wanted for the party, she gave me a different answer. For the cake for on her actual birthday to have with family, she wanted “a chocolate cake and strawberry cake”. When we went to Woollies on Saturday and were up to the cake department, she put on her fastest feet ever, zoomed over and pointed to the pavlova with strawberries on it. Ohhhhh. Phew. Easy. I love making cakes for my family for celebrations, but also, there was a lot on over the weekend and not having to add “make and decorate a cake for family” made me just that little bit less stressed.
Last year I had decreed that birthday parties could only happen every second year. If you turn an even number, you get a birthday party (which, admittedly, didn’t work out for S last year turning two. Oops). E was looking forward to her mermaid birthday party in the park for over a year. Unfortunately, she is a summer baby and the weather often gets in the way. In the planning stages, we could see that the weather for the week leading up to her birthday weekend was set to be raining, so any parks in our area would be sodden messes. This would make for the best day ever in her whole entire life but I just couldn’t do it. Thankfully, daycare was quite happy to put on a little party this week. We sent in cake, balloons, party hats and party bags, and let them deal with it all. Win.
Well, almost win. When I was decorating the cake (a 5-layer rainbow cake with ‘violet’ icing and Frozen snowflake sprinkles, and panicking that I didn’t know if the icing was looking enough like violet to satisfy this all-shades-of-purple aficionado), I was a little bit sad that I wouldn’t be there celebrating her party with her. I wouldn’t get to see her excitement. I wouldn’t get to see her face. I wouldn’t get to see her put as much of a slice of cake as is humanly possible in her mouth and kind of sit with it for a while before, to my amazement, managing to chew and swallow before finishing off the rest of her slice. I wouldn’t get to wipe ‘violet’ icing off her cheeks or fingers. I would only be able to imagine her face as “Happy Birthday” was sung to her around a cake with candles alight, seeing her eyes down and eyebrows raised far up in such an E expression and the widest and most delighted smile on her face as she took in all this joy for her. All this joy because E finally turned four and we love her.
This whole “modelling reading real books yourself” thing is great. I sit on the sofa, have that aaahhhhhhhh moment that comes when you suddenly realise you have been standing and walking and pushing a pram and walking and standing for the last… four hours? Can that be right? Four hours, and you sit down and put your feet up, pick up your book in order to read just a little bit while children are otherwise engaged, and maybe three lines in (but already you are lost in the book), you hear a child’s voice high above you saying sweetly, “I need a cuggle” and as you look up, preparing to envelope them in your arms and enjoy the squishy solidity of a preschooler, there is a hefty child jumping onto you and landing with knees in your sternum. They laugh and bounce as you groan, then, like a magician pulling a rabbit, pull a book out of nowhere and say firmly, “Read me”.
“Read to you?”
“Read. A. MEEEEE”. Does a Face, this one with eyebrows up and pointed lips. It’s very subtle. It reminds you of a stern librarian. So you read her the story.
Who could resist? So Goodbye Baby Moon is read and reread and the moon is turned on and the book is reread and then she magically pulls out another book, this time from the table. You’ve seen it coming. You are partway through Bluey and Bingo’s I Love My Family when the child picks up another book. The Look. Eyeballing you as you start to read Tabby McTat. Doesn’t stop staring at you as you keep reading and she stalks her way across your lap, climbs onto the sofa arm and screams, “MAMMYYYYYY! HOLD. My. HANNNNNND” before launching herself onto the mini sofa which is, oddly, now parked at the perfect place for her to cannonball from my sofa arm onto the mini sofa while dodging the very solid walls of the hallway.
You return to reading your book, Peaches for Monsieur Le Curé by Joanne Harris. About one line in, children are fighting over who gets to jump onto the sofa next and you remember the sheets need to be changed and you realise that if afternoon tea is to make it to the park, then baking is necessarily imminent.
The next several pram outings have a book buddy, The Three Little pigs goes everywhere with you for days, and is read right way up and right way down. Your parents send Julia Donaldson books to E for her birthday and you hear the girls reading them to each other using voices and drama and your heart is happy.
I have read so many stories this week. Stories to girls who are wanting to go to sleep but their sleep train has been delayed so they ask for a story instead. Stories when S is stuck in one of those dreaded 2-hour overnight wakes which you just have to ride out with no amount of anything that will speed up the process it’s just done when it’s done and you’re asleep and you only know you’re asleep when you’re being woken up by the next child needing you. S still suffers these, and as part of her Overnight Wake Routine she will inevitably ask for a story and whether or not I agree, she will manage to bend her arm into the bookshelf next to her cot and retrieve books and books and books. Her favourites right now seem to be Flood (Jackie French and Bruce Whatley), Never Touch a Grumpy Unicorn (right up her sensory-seeking alley), and The Boy Who Ate Everything, which seems to be a firm favourite for all my girls.
We had a trip to the library yesterday, mostly to return bags and bags of books but also to borrow some. C borrowed her usual Geronimo Stilton fare but branched out to Thea Stilton as well as a Pixie book, which prompted Playing Families (Pixie Land Edition) to be the game all afternoon. At the library, E was desperate to explore but also desperate to borrow some books, but also also desperate to borrow chapter books like C, so for the first time ever she borrowed some chapter books. Two books in the Little Ash (Ash Barty) series, and it was her first real experience of me stopping reading at a totally logical point, having read enough of a story for her to have been read to, but not having finished a book and having to wait until tomorrow night for the next bit.
I am pleased to report that, not quite within the 4-week borrowing time set by the library, and not quite within the confines of a calendar month, but nonetheless I am about to finish The Last Family In England. Mere pages to go. I have loved reading this book. I have loved being in this world inside this book. I have loved reading this author, who I came across by chance on Twitter years and years ago, and he struck a chord for all sorts of reasons, and I had wanted to read a book of his for such a long time. I have also been conscious that this is modelling a behaviour that I want to see in my girls. We read. We read for necessity, like to find out what signs mean and how to get somewhere and what the news is. We also read on our devices, for necessity and for pleasure. We also read actual, physical books that have been written by a person and published and printed and are a thing you can hold and smell and get right into. Reading a book on my phone is something I do, too, but it’s not the same, either for me or for my girls’ experience of my reading. Real books are in order.
The Stuff of Our Life 