parenting

The Magic of Twinkle

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One of my great joys this year has been seeing my two girls interacting. The way E’s face lights up when C finally makes it to the breakfast table. The way C will sit down with E and ‘read’ (recite) stories. The way E builds up then lets loose a squeak laugh when C does something, anything, that she finds funny. 

And the way C will sing to E to calm her down. This has been one of the most beautiful (and unexpected) parts of my year. It began a few months ago, when E was crying because I was doing something outrageous like washing my hands and therefore not holding her. C sang, very gently and beautifully, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. E calmed down right away while my heart melted just a little bit.

We have seen many subsequent renditions of this. Usually Twinkle, sometimes Baa Baa Black Sheep. Sometimes gently, sometimes very loudly to override the screaming. Sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, and sometimes slowly until the last line or two and then a quick dash to the finish line. Sometimes with a caring voice and sometimes with a funny ‘granny’ voice.

And every time, E will stop the crying when she hears the singing. I suspect much of it is the surprise factor, just like babies will stop and stare when grandparents and nurses start up with the duck noises or when someone claps nearby. But there is also that knowledge in her that C cares for her and looks after her and loves her and is trying to help.

I only occasionally have success singing Twinkle to her. The song that I can sing to calm her down is Hickory Dickory Dock – although if I sing it near C she tells me I’m doing it wrong even though I sing the version we did in music classes when she was a baby. Glenn has success with Baa Baa Black Sheep but, more often, Incy Wincy Spider. He does a long pause at the start of the last line aaaaannnnnnd no matter what E is doing, she’ll lift her head and wait for it and break out into a wholeofherface smile and then maybe also a squeak laugh and then big laughs when the song continues. 

Music is magic.

A Concert: Queensland Pops Orchestra Celtic Spectacular

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Today was huge. Glenn was playing in the Queensland Pops Orchestra Celtic Spectacular concerts, and I took the girls. Huge.

The last concert we went to was the New Year’s Eve concert. I was pregnant (so, huge and tired). C was hugely excited but then screamed and screamed for most of the whole entire concert because she couldn’t be on stage with daddy. It was not really how I wanted to see out the year but, then again, maybe it was rather fitting for the year that was 2020.

I was both keen and anxious for today’s concert experience. Oodles of planning and mental preparation happened on my end. Naps to be tweaked, outfits, nappies, snacks, meals, water bottles, cardigans, and (most important) a helper.

All ready in the viewing room

And, all in all, I think it was a success.

C was, again, hugely excited. On the way to daycare during the week she told me all about the last concert and how she was upset she couldn’t be on stage with daddy and she promised, she really promised in the earnestness of a 3yo, that she wouldn’t scream this time. She leapt around all morning and was too excited to eat anything except a handful of grape tomatoes for lunch and got ready without any fussing. She held hands all the way to the ferry and sat on her seat without any reminders and, when we met up with my helper (my amazing future sister-in-law, Auntie A), held hands with her. She was, unsurprisingly, ravenously hungry when we got to the viewing room, and ate the leftover cheese from her lunch as well as all three of the yoghurt pouches I had packed for us. She danced whenever she felt like it and told me the Irish dancers in the second half were ‘doing it wrong’. She twirled her way through the evening and built a concert out of her blocks before dinner.

Heading in on the ferry

E – well, this was her first ever concert experience. The ferry ride was in the zone of ‘ummmm what? This is… new…’ and this held until we were safely seated in the viewing room. She was transfixed by the tuning and the bagpipes and drums. She began jumping on my lap and, wow, this child has amazing rhythm. The Scottish dancers had her cooing. And then the singer came on stage. The grizzling began and that escalated to screaming and expressions of actually mummy we are only just ok here and I’m not really sure about what on earth this is and whoa so many people and they all seem to want to look at me and ok you’re here and what’s that thing on your face I’m going to pull it off oh that’s funny your face makes funny sounds but ohhhhh I’m hungry but there’s too much going on for me to feed and I’m tired too did I mention I’m tired so so tired and hungry and over-stimulated and when can this be over? 

Watching daddy tune the orchestra

So we left shortly after interval.

Yes, I wish we could have seen more of Glenn playing, especially his solos. Yes, I wish we could have seen more of the dancing. Yes, I wish we could have seen Glenn (and so many others) afterwards at the Stage Door. But, baby steps. Seeing my girls experiencing it all in their own ways is a joy nobody told me about before I had children but it is right up there as one of my favourite things.

Scottish dancing

Let Me Remember

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We are deep in the trenches.  The days that are flying by in a fog of getting to the next nap or mealtime or bedtime, days that are filled with how. How am I going to fill that time between morning tea and lunch, or afternoon tea and dinner. How am I going to stay awake after yet another night of horribly broken sleep. How am I going to keep my cool when I am massively sleep-deprived and lacking in any time to be creative for myself and I am merely coping, just getting by and hoping I am doing enough and hoping I can remember.

Hoping I can remember, because I know this all passes, passes so so quickly, and before I know it the girls will be taller than me and borrowing my clothes and shoes and makeup and spending more time out of the home than here.

So many things to remember.

Let me remember the softness. The softness of the hair, so soft that I could rest my cheek on it all day. The softness of the skin, the soft skin of tiny hands as they hold and explore and reach and gripple, the soft skin of bigger hands as they slip into mine when we cross a road or descend the stairs, the soft skin of plump cheeks as a head rests on my shoulder.

Let me remember the heaviness. The heaviness of a baby. The solid weight of a little baby. The hefty weight of an older baby. The lanky weight of a leggy preschooler who still wants a cuddle-walk to the bathroom to clean her teeth but is all legs and knees and elbows and ribs.

Let me remember the curves. The curve of round cheeks. The slight curve of eyelashes when the eyes are closed in sleep. The gentle curve of fingers relaxed in sleep.

Let me remember the spontaneity and fun of children. The squeak laugh that starts in the belly and spurts out with delight. The sudden raspberry conversation across the breakfast table. The imminent 3-year-old tantrum waylaid when the baby thinks it is a game of peek-a-boo.

Let me remember them when I too am older and worrying about girls being independent and asserting themselves and setting foot in the big wide world. Let me remember how little and precious and fragile and fiercely independent they are, now.

Let me remember their babyhood and preschool years, the memories that cannot be caught in a photo, the memories that they will not have themselves.

Let me remember.

What We Read This Week (Katie Morag)

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Usually, the end of the week sees a pile of books on my sofa. This week there is no such pile, just a pile of ever-changing washing that needs sorting. There is no pile because C has been asking for the same book every night for over a week: Katie Morag’s Island Stories (Mairi Hedderwick). Before this week it had been a few months since we had read any so I was surprised and impressed when I asked C which one of them she wanted and she could tell me. 

There are four stories in the book: Katie Morag Delivers the Mail; Katie Morag and the Two Grandmothers (‘Katie Morag and the Sheep’); Katie Morag and the Tiresome Ted; and Katie Morag and the Big Boy Cousins. When asked which was her favourite C responded ‘ALL of them!’ It seems a revision of ‘favourite’ needs to happen soon. That said, she has asked for them all about equally so maybe she’s right. 

Last night, when I had a paragraph to go (her choice of story was the sheep), C interrupted me. ‘Mummy? I got out of the bath when you asked me to tonight… So… does that mean I can have another story please?’ How could I resist that? 

There are many reasons why we enjoy these stories.

They are set on a Scottish island (the Isle of Struay) so my Scottish heritage is loving it.

They are a bit more grown-up than many of C’s other stories. Not overly, but I think because Katie Morag is about 7 (maybe?) it feels more grown up. And Katie Morag is a big sister which I think also appeals to C.

They have wonderful illustrations. It didn’t hit me at first, it just looked like nice watercolour pictures of a small Scottish island with Scottish people and some animals and the sea. But there are so, so many details that we keep finding new things. My favourite discovery was when C said, with a mischievous grin in her voice, ‘Mummy! Why is there a boooooob out?’ Sure enough, there was a breastfeeding mum uncovered. Little things carry over from one story to the next, like a teddy bear outfit. The Grannie has a violin which is played at a party. And, our newest discovery from last night – the books the children are reading in bed are the Katie Morag stories. Fun.

Halloween 2021

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Admission: I’m not a huge fan of Halloween. I’m not a huge fan of dressing up, or seeing loads of ghosts and witches and zombies and ghouls. Or worse, oodles of princesses and fairies and mermaids and just any costume. I’m not a huge fan of being scared, or tricks that give a thrill, or scary movies that frighten me silly.

I am, though, very much a fan of observing the things that make up the rhythm of a year. Doing certain things only at certain times of the year. And, although my family didn’t do Halloween when I was growing up because it was ‘too American’ I am married to an Irishman and Halloween is, actually, Irish.

Hello, Halloween.

This year, as well as doing daycare dress-up, we’ve done some craft and some food and talked a little bit about some of the Irish and Scottish traditions of Halloween. Including the origin of the jack-o-lantern which was enough spookiness for me for this year thank you very much.

Dressing up:

C chose to be a ghost this year. The last two years she opted for black cat (yay for reusing props!) but this year when I asked what she wanted to be, and told her she could be a black cat, or a pumpkin (please no) or a witch or a ghost, she was very excited about the ghost option. Easy. One white sheet I was wanting to repurpose anyway, folded, cut into a circle, head hole cut out a little too big so pleats sewn in, tassels cut in so she could be extra spooky when she ran, eyeliner to make ghostly eyes (Glenn is great at applying makeup). I had to laugh to myself when we got to daycare and the teacher who greeted her asked if she was a ghoul or a friendly ghost and C really didn’t look enthusiastic about being a friendly ghost. She wanted to be a scary ghost. Gold.

Craft:

We made paper jack-o-lanterns, and bought some battery-operated candles to put inside. (I’m very happy that $3 for 6 candles was actually the only purchase for the whole Halloween.) C was quite happy cutting along the lines to make the lanterns, and then insisted on cutting her tape to tape them together. 

Food:

On Saturday we made chocolate cupcakes, and decorated them on Sunday. Icing dunked in ground pistachios then adorned with candy eyeballs and fondant tongues = monsters. We tried to make pumpkins with fondant and icing but they looked more like sad St Patrick’s Day flowers or something (very Cake Wrecks) so we turned them into orange monsters instead. And, thanks to Pinterest, I found Barmbrack bread. An Irish bread baked around the time of Halloween, that Glenn remembers having as a child. The enjoyment I found in baking it told me it will be a staple of our future Halloweens. Not just the act of soaking fruit then mixing dry and wet ingredients and baking in a loaf then slicing and toasting and eating with butter while drinking tea. It’s more than that. It is the making of something only at a particular time of the year, part of the rhythm of the year and the rhythm of our life.

October.

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[Trigger Warning: pregnancy loss]

October. That month of jacarandas in bloom and the city coloured purple. That month when storm season really kicks off and the warmth and humidity also brings the promise of cracking thunder and lightning and rain and hail. That month of shops full of orange and black and red and green as Halloween and Christmas are jumbled together and pushed upon us. That month when newsfeeds are full of end-of-year events and pumpkins and stories of loss. The school year is coming to an end. The northern hemisphere is sliding into cooler weather. And October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.

I’ve seen so many stories of loss. Loss of hope, a tiny beginning that was nixed, the promise of a new life that would not make it to babyhood or toddlerhood or big school. 

While we have experienced our own losses, and come horribly close to another, I have never shared our story for the world to see. It is ours. Ours, but not uncommon, and not unexpected considering we started this whole parenting quest rather late in life.

I have my own reminders. Star Wars: Episode 7. Stranger Things. Blueberries. Sorry folks, there’s no heartbeat. 

Hospital corridor. Photo taken right after that ultrasound.

For us, these have turned into the layers of our life. They are there. They happened. They have been followed by successful pregnancies and beautiful babies and milestones and mischievous laughs and tantrums and sleep deprivation and cuddles and all of the things I hoped would come into our life, and so much more. The almosts, the near misses, the actual hospitalisation, have all reminded us of the precariousness of life as well as the enormity of the precious and amazing gift that is our children. 

Unofficial Milestones

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The last couple of weeks have been rough. Gastro went through the whole family. Our easy baby stopped sleeping. Parent guilt has hit hard as I spend my time trying to get her to sleep and struggle to spend time with, you know, our other child. 

But through all this, there have been little things happening, the little things that make up a life and are the very reason I wanted to write this blog, not wanting to lose them. The little things that are, nonetheless, important. The little things that don’t make it to the milestone pages but maybe they should. 

Like when a baby learns to put her head down, that being on her tummy doesn’t mean she must have her head raised. That resting her head can bring great comfort to her, or be incredibly adorable when it is rested for 3 seconds and then raised again with the smile of achievement as she eyeballs you.

Like when a 3-year-old starts using ‘like’, and ‘so’. Or when she starts ‘reading’ the stories to me and taking hints from the letters as to which word it is. Bonus points for doing different voices, and interjecting comments about the pictures or storyline. 

Like when a daddy can put a ponytail in young, fine, curly hair, a ponytail that doesn’t pull or hurt but does stay in for the whole day. 

These are our little things. Important, little, us.

What We Read This Week (Words of Comfort)

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This week started well. And then, on Thursday C came home from daycare and told me that sharing is caaaaaaaring and one of her friends vomited at the end of the day.

Oh dear.

Sure enough, the gastro bug has hit our family. C was unwell from Thursday night until Saturday morning and still a bit wobbly on Sunday. I was thinking we had escaped the worst when E came down with it, hard, Sunday afternoon. Sunday night was rough and I don’t think she’s entirely out of it yet.

One thing that has been very apparent in all this has been the comfort of words. In her middle of the night wakes, what C wanted was for me to read Stick Man to her. It was given to her for her 1st birthday and has been a regular story since. (Plus, the animated version is beautiful.) 

We have been dipping in and out of Anne of Green Gables for a few months now and, although she has no real reference point for it, I think C enjoys hearing the flow of the words. We read a chapter at a time, usually, and that means lots of cuddles happen.

My best friend is in lockdown in Sydney but still sent US a care package. She and her family are so so kind and thoughtful. Included in it was a book, The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein. C has asked for it several nights – she calls it the ‘new apple book’ which caused some confusion at first. It is so beautifully gentle.

What We Read This Week (We Love Mem Fox)

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There has been less of a precarious pile on the sofa this week. On Tuesday my sofa was turned into a fancy restaurant for Marcel (the frog) so there wasn’t really enough space… plus, Bedtime Stories has been the main pick.

E has continued to enjoy her books by chewing, but she has also (for a few weeks now) turned herself around to the books. No matter which way she is put down, or how close, she will turn herself around and reach for the books.

I love this.

Our favourites this week:

This & That (Mem Fox and Judy Horacek). I found this book a few months ago and recite it to E at least once every day. C loves (loves loves) the pictures.

Where is the Green Sheep (Mem Fox and Judy Horacek). C has taken to going through *every* sheep on the penultimate pages. 

Time For Bed (Mem Fox and Jane Dyer). An old favourite that I recited to C every night for nearly 2 years.

Oh Dear! (Rod Campbell). Lift the flap books are marginally less fraught now.

Bedtime Stories (Deb Gliori). Every. Single. One.

What We Read This Week (it’s never too early for Christmas stories)

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We love books. We have two story times during the day: before lunch nap; and after bath. The first is more baby-oriented, the second is for the 3-year-old. Baby story time happens in front of the bookshelf, so those choices always go straight back once they’ve been read. Older story time happens on the sofa and by the end of the week there will be a collection of books piling precariously on the sofa. 

Here are our favourites this week.

The Story of the Little Mole Who Knew It Was None of His Business (Werner Holzwarth and Wolf Erlbruch). Everyone loves a good poo story.

Santagram (Sophie Masson and Shiloh Gordon). Is it too early for Christmas stories? Too late? Who knows. Christmas stories are always an option here.

Where the Wild Things Are (Maurice Sendak). We love a good party.

There’s No Such Thing As Monsters (Steve Smallman and Caroline Pedler). This always elicits great squeals of laughter.

The Very Hungry Caterpillar (Eric Carle). We have a hard copy so yay for chewing, and the 3-year-old has started insisting on ‘reading’ it to us.

Bunny’s Egg Hunt (Shannon Hays). A board book, with pop-ups, and beautifully illustrated.