Christmas in May is a thing, isn’t it? I’m all for seasons of the year, and keeping some things to that season, but then girls will find a book and want it read on repeat and it just happens to be a Christmas book so what am I to do? Like, not read it or something? Crazy talk. (Same with Christmas clothing, honestly. If they want to wear the Christmas overalls I made C when she was two and has been worn randomly throughout the years and still going strong then who am I to complain??)
So. Bluey’s Twelve Days of Christmas has been flavour of the week. S and E have tried to get me to sing it every night which has its fun but really we get to the end and my tired voice mostly just says, “And a fruit bat in a mango tree” go to sleep now okay please sleep now goodnight! Which unfortunately just adds to the hilarity and they, crazily, don’t just go to sleep then and there. Weird. S then insists that the book goes to her, and she reads it backwards, usually. Nearly always like this:
S: Two! Mummy, I two!
Me: You sure are.
S: [counts to twelve] twelve guitars! So many!
Me: [clicking] Ah yes. Twelve guitars, and you saw the number two?
S: Yes, because I two! [turns pages, backwards and forwards] ribbit. Ribbit. Hehehe. [random page turning] mummy, what’s that?
Me: [knowing by now what she is looking at] yabbies.
S: snap snap. [more random page turns with the occasional ooh or aah or giggle] BLUEY/BIN CHICKEN. Mummy what’s that?
Me: [checking out which page she’s on] that’s a fruit bat. Bluey’s hanging like a fruit bat.
S: [closes book, places it about halfway along the side of the cot, stands her water bottle on it. Tries to lie down which makes the bottle fall over] Oh MAN. Not again. [repeats the bottle stand up/lying down attempt a few times before remembering to put the bottle into the rails a bit more. Lies down. Sleeps.]
E’s bonus Christmas book has been We’re Going on an Elf Chase. Lift the flaps. Trace the path. Very E things. Like also finding her engrossed in the Pop-Up Punctuation book. She is so careful, and loves them so much. Not Christmassy, but her other choice with me this week has been Thelma the Unicorn. I so love all the questions E asks, revealing her consideration of the story and the pictures and the characters.
Speaking of questions, C and I finished What Katy Did. This wasn’t Finished until I had asked her the questions that were in the back of the book and she had added her own. We have now started on The Secret Garden which meant discussions about cholera and death and transmission of diseases. What a fun end to my day.
When my lovely sister-in-law discovered the girls’ love for Each Peach Pear Plum, her eyes lit up and she asked “Do you have ‘Peepo’?” I had a vague recollection of it but nothing more. So the next time we saw them – a mere 10 days later, very exciting – they brought us some beautiful material (score!) and Peepo. I have read Peepo many times this week.
One thing I love about reading to E is when I turn a page and she is suddenly, somehow in the book. “Wait, mummy. Go back”, and she turns the page back herself and asks me about something she saw on the previous page, or shows me a tiny detail that she’s noticed, or wants to check the visual on the words she’s just heard. Where’s the grandmother. Where are the sisters. See the birds in the sky. Why is the baby in the stroller. What’s a pushchair.
The other favourite – asked for time and again, turned to for comfort – was Never Pop a Penguin. One of those books with a fidget popper in the middle so each page you can pop the tummy of whichever creature is being discussed. E pushes a couple on each page, then finishes them all off at the end. S may push one on a page, with a look of pure mischief on her face. If I do that, though, she shouts NO at me and turns the book over to un-pop what I have done. Once it is read, she will pop them all and then turn it over to do it all again.
Even though this is a simple book, with only 5 pages that are all nearly the same, it has prompted much discussion. What actually is a narwhal and do they really have rainbow horns like unicorns. Why is the polar bear wearing pool slides. They’re skis? What are skis. Why is the marshmallow on fire. Do you see the cheeky seagull stealing the toasted marshmallow.
Unfortunately, P is also for… yeah. Poo. I saw about a month’s worth of it today. And every time poor E was on the toilet, she wanted me to watch her (as they all do most of the time), and – so that I wouldn’t be bored – read to her. Superworm has been read and read and read today. Note to self: dig out the mole book.
Of course, once I had in my head that this week was seemingly brought to you by “P”, this evening a very tired S and a very very tired E just went for Christmas books. Bluey’s 12 Days of Christmas, which has E laughing more and more as I continue trying to fit too many syllables into a line and speed it up apparently hiLARiously, and S will half sing it, approximating the words, and comment on each page that has Bluey and/or Bingo on how many there are! And general chitchat about what’s on each page – ooh guitars! Glasses. Bingo is a froggy! Straight after that, We’re Going On An Elf Chase, in all its lift-the-flap glory.
C and I are getting close to the end of What Katy Did. My voice has been rather tired of late, and C has started taking over some of the reading. This is one of my favourite parts of the day. She reads so well! And I love love love it when she does voices. The best.
You always get that question, don’t you? “How was your Easter?” Asked with such enthusiasm and the questioner’s desire for the answer to be positive. I feel that acceptable answers are: “Lovely, thanks! We had a whole extended family camping trip out at Whoop Whoop so, you know, no reception so the kids couldn’t be on their phones the whole time. It was SO wonderful being with the whole family. The cousins just played out in nature all day long”. Or, “It was wonderful! We went to the dawn service and it was so, so special. Then we had family over and it was just such a special day”. Or, “Great, thanks! It was so nice having a four-day weekend, wasn’t it? So much time to spend with the family, just relaxing. The whole street put on an Easter egg hunt for all the kids and it was just so special”.
Variations on “It was amazing!”
But what are you allowed to say if “amazing” was so far from your reality that you just… can’t?
If the sneezes of S on the way to the children’s service on Good Friday – I should elaborate, the 12 sneezes in quick succession – were followed by a day of her wiping her snot on you and you realised that, yep, we’re not going anywhere this weekend. If E suddenly has a nasty sounding cough that is just a cough and isn’t accompanied by any other symptoms of unwellness but oof it doesn’t sound good and … and … you yourself recognise the signs of sickness in yourself.
If the children’s service on Good Friday turns out to be a), a wonderful experience for children and explains all of Holy Week within about 45 minutes, and b), a demonstration on the part of your girls of how much they get into experiencing things , and c), a demonstration on the part of your girls of how much they ignore instructions from you about things like “Please stop hitting the rocks on the cathedral floor even though I recognise it is a new sound experience for you” or “Please stop waving the palm leaves so vigorously as you are hitting other people and even though they’re really nice about it, you just scratched me in the eye so I know they’re just being polite as this really hurts”.
If a basic shopping trip is filled with “I’m bored”, “I don’t want any fruit but can I have a yoghurt pouch instead”, “I’m so huuuuuungrrryyyy” and then girls going wild in the Easter section as you chose one (1) Easter treat for your husband and when you have chosen it you discover your – yes, your – kids have pulled out half a dozen bunny ear headbands and E is dancing with a ginormous and quite lovely bunny dressed up including ballet slippers but you are not letting any more soft toys into your place and C has found all sorts of things that she jumps around telling you about and asking you for all at once.
If taking girls outside to get them doing something other than bickering inside and watching shows means major shouting and screaming and fighting and crying over little things, looked at the situations from the perspective of grownup eyes, but clearly mean the world to the person feeling wronged. If taking them outside makes you doubt your ability to parent at all.
If you feel ignored and disobeyed all weekend.
What do you do with that? How do you avoid saying in response to an enthusiastic “How was your Easter?”, well, actually, it was horrible and I was so glad when Tuesday arrived. I was upset and cross with girls all weekend and they were ignoring any request or instruction from me all weekend and I was so frustrated I wanted to claw my face off several times.
You have to dig deep and find those kernels of joy and loveliness and delight. Bring them to the top. Polish them. Display them. Cherish those gems and make sure that’s what you tell people and especially your children about. After all, deep in your heart you know that your reasons for grumpiness – initially, anyway – had nothing to do with your girls. You know that none of them was trying to be naughty or to push your buttons or seeing if they actually land themselves in hospital to find out if the Easter Bunny actually does visit kids in hospital. You know that two of them were also unwell and that brings irritability. You know that all three of them were excited for Sunday. You are coming to learn that C will have in her mind how she wants the day to go – wants, thinks, imagines, plans – and the more excited she is about that, the more fixated she will be on having only those things happen and other things that pop up like me needing to give S a cuddle or E wanting a hand held will derail her plans and that affects her, big time.
So instead of all the grr of the weekend, I am going to focus on these things.
I am going to focus on how wonderful it is that the girls feel so comfortable expressing themselves, and that they feel so comfortable at church, in a space that is also incredibly awe-inspiring.
I am going to focus on the three rainbow-eared bunnies I brought home with me from the shops, each with their own new breakfast set of bowl, cup and spoon.
I am going to focus on the calm that settled in when we took to painting the Easter eggs. The fun they had painting themselves, as they nearly always do, after the eggs were painted.
I am going to focus on the way S and E sat on my lap in turn while I did little bits of sewing, each quietly playing with pins and only occasionally pressing buttons on my machine, and then only by request.
I am going to remember that C roller skated down the small hill and past the bend in the path all by herself for the first time. I am going to remember E scooting so confidently now, with her unicorn helmet and princess dress and C’s long socks and her sparkly pink jelly sandals. I am going to remember S just cruising along on her flamingo tricycle, holding up the impatient traffic, then doing melodramatic dives to copy any stacks that the older two did for real, complete with token wailing.
I am going to remember that there was a Bluey-worthy Easter egg hunt on Sunday morning. An Easter egg hunt so wonderful that this is the first thing the girls share about their Easter. There were clues, just like Bluey and Bingo had! A picture and a magnet creation and plants and blocks in the wrong spot and a doctor kit item in the wrong box and then it could have just been something else on the floor but the doctor knife pointed to the table and the Easter Bunny hid the Easter eggs under daddy’s bandanna!!! I hope you read that in a voice that became higher and faster and louder as it went through.
I am going to remember that kids see things differently. They don’t bring all this history and awareness and “Should” to the table. They just want to enjoy it and learn to get along, however loudly that might happen.
Did I mention the Easter egg hunt? Sorry. It was kind of a big deal.
You may recall that the last two weeks have featured Each Peach Pear Plum. A book I remember from my childhood. A book I loved in my childhood. A book the Christmas Eve Book Fairy gave to S, much to my delight (ahem). Last Sunday, I had been asked to recite it on the way home from church. Monday, I was asked again on the way to daycare drop-off… and C learnt it herself on the way home.
Having not really heard it all that much (she is allowed to do Mathletics or Procreate or Patterned, or read in our bedroom away from tired and trying-to-sleep younger girls), I was quite impressed that just a few hearings embedded it in her brain. She then suddenly had a new favourite thing to do, and this was recited – let’s just say, a number of times – over the next few days. And evenings. I had to limit it a bit, and ask her not to say it at certain times when S might start to think she was being put to sleep, which would result at the time in either major tantrums because “IT’S NOT NIGHTTIME”, or S actually falling asleep during the day which would be an absolute disaster in the evening.
But do you know how I know it was really embedded in her brain? Wednesday night. S was having an overnight wake. Needing me in their room, sleeping on the floor. Wanting a bottle (“with milk. Warm milk”, like she’s maybe had it other ways and like she’s a feisty little Jane Bond). Then C started talking in her sleep. “Each peach pear plum, Tom Thumb – no he’s not there!” Giggles. S, thankfully, was in the almost asleep again phase and just let the words wash over her. About five minutes later, “Robin Hood over the – no. Wicked Witch over the wood. LEAVE ME ALONE. [giggles]”. And that was that. I was amused, and very glad I had been asked to sleep on the floor. When I told her in the morning, C found it hilarious.
Meanwhile, S has been in a bit of a phase – well it’s been like this for a while, really, where she picks a book off the shelf and has it in her cot as she goes to sleep. Sometimes it’s just in the cot, as in, within the bars of the cot but nowhere near her. Sometimes it’s propped up against the bars like she’s been reading it. Sometimes it is wedged what looks like rather uncomfortably poking into a part of her, usually a leg or her tummy. This week, the book of choice has been Timeless (by Kate Canby), and I have been asked to read it before she goes to sleep with it under her head like a pillow.
E picked another book from childhood this week, but by this one being “from my childhood”, I mean, the actual physical book that I remember from my childhood that my parents brought over at some point in the last year. “Bible Stories For Children” is a large book with several of the Old and New Testament stories in it, with usually just a double page for each story. This is perfect for bedtime. Before she asked me to read any to her, though, E had clearly had a look through herself because I was asked to read the “one with a man falling out of the ship”. So what followed was me turning over every single page to find the RIGHT story involving a ship. That one has been requested a few times (it’s the one of Jesus calming the Sea of Galilee and nobody actually falls off a ship but the picture is misleading thanks very much illustrator).
Her other favourite is the rainbow story. I absolutely loved the experience of reading this one to her for the first time. It involves her name. There is a rainbow (she loves loves loves rainbows). And I could tell her about the morning that she was born, when my parents were looking after C and they went onto the balcony and saw a rainbow. And I can remind her what her name means and how she embodies that every single day.
True to their style, no actual Easter books were read this week. They will probably be in high demand around October, I’m guessing. Sigh.
In the last few months, we have started doing “Favourite Thing” at the start of dinner. This started because of about 70% wanting to delay the “Can we watch something?”, and 30% wanting to hear more about their days and what they remembered about good things. Well, those are very vague percentages because while writing this I also remembered that part of it was to get them to start going back over their days and pick out positive things. A bit like practising gratitude. Note to self: introduce a gratitude element.
Sunday night, before Favourite Thing, I reminded them of what had happened that day. It had been huge. It was Glenn’s first day back at work after some leave, and I had already decided train to church for us because of potential traffic delays and sitting practically still on a bus when you can literally see your destination but can’t get out of the bus at all and you have three girls who just want to be off the bus and seeing their friends or doing anything other than just sitting moderately quietly on a bus is not an experience I would like to revisit thank you very much. So we all caught the train in to the city. Then church itself was very different because it was Palm Sunday, which meant very much out of the ordinary and I’ll get to it later. Once home, the girls had edamame (“enamummy”, “emadahmah”, “enadummy”) for lunch which is their second favourite food, plus I let them watch Despicable Me 2 while eating. Outside later in the afternoon, C did roller skating all by herself for the first time outside while the other two played this and that and climbed on the wall and played ice cream shop at the letter boxes. So. Much. Happened.
C’s favourite thing was catching the train with daddy in the morning. E’s favourite thing was seeing her favourite person at church. S’s favourite thing was catching the train holding on the stroller. Glenn’s favourite thing was catching the train with all of his girls.
My favourite thing was being part of, and having my girls be part of, the Palm Sunday traditions and experience. Religious ceremony that is centuries old. Religious traditions that happen every year, all around the world, in some way or another, that people have been doing, repeating, for hundreds of years, and my girls are now able to live that and be part of something much, much bigger than themselves. All of those elements are, I think, very important. They are important to me – for my soul, for my being, for my mental health – and as someone tasked with raising children, I see it as an important element to have as part of their lives.
The words that keep coming to me are words like “duty” and “due diligence” and “responsibility”. These words are close but wrong. Those are the words that I hear in court cases and hearings and so forth. Those are the words that come when love isn’t enough.
I love my girls. I want, and need, them growing up in as many circles of love and care as possible. I want them to have places to turn that are safe, places and people who are safe and comfort and love, who love them because they exist and not for what they can do or what they look like or what they say. Extracurricular activities help with that, as well as practising those resilience muscles and persistence and practice and determination skills. School is also providing an extra circle of care and a wide variety of backgrounds and culture and language. All those are good to have, and I am conscious that we are so, so fortunate to have great (such an understatement there) daycare and an excellent school, as well as the funds to have the girls do swimming for now and for C to do Irish dancing. Church, which often feels like an added extra and sometimes just too much, is just as vital to their wellbeing. And honestly, when E asks “Where are we going when we wake up?” – as she does every single day, sometimes as early as morning tea – if the answer is “Church, so long as everyone is well”, it gets the biggest cheer.
There is a whole mountain of reasons why church – the building, the people, the ceremony – is important. Why I was determined to get the girls to church when we could from when S was three months old. Trying to organise the reasons in my head and new reasons keep emerging. I will try, and I will try to keep it organised so this isn’t a flood. (Posting this later than I wanted because clearly that was harder than I anticipated!)
At the very surface, it is an outing. A Thing to Do. Something that gets us out, family energy out, and stops (or at the very least, reduces) bickering that happens from staying home. When public transport fares were at the past rates, sometimes this was just too expensive but 50c fares, with free travel for kids on weekends, make this much more available. Kids have a children’s area with space and toys and craft. Kids are part of the service, while not having to be too quiet or sit still or kneel or anything, or even be part of anything if they don’t want to. Kids are given a snack during the service because at some point, someone realised that the service really went through morning tea time for kids and 20 hangry kids is not something anybody wants in their life.
Kids who are there because they have a parent or sibling or both or more involved in the service are just as welcome and included as kids who are there because their parents are there under slight duress to make a good appearance at the baptism of their niece or nephew when really their part of the family is atheist. Kids are welcome to listen to anything the person in charge talks about (this is the bit closest to the Sunday School of my childhood) and to participate in the relevant activity, but also if they just want to keep going building the most amazing train track they’ve ever built, that’s fine too. It is such a safe space for children.
A safe space for children, which means a space I can take them and then sit or stand by myself. I can watch them, with some space between us. I can watch them interacting with others. I can watch how and what and who they choose to play with. I can even now get a cup of coffee at morning tea and have a conversation with an adult – like, a real other grownup! – and not have children hanging off me to do so. Church is for me, too.
Church also provides that extra circle. Not that they are needing it now, but if we don’t do this now then when they do need it it will be much less strong. And this circle has so much variety. A big factor for me was to have them know as wide a variety of people as possible. They play with kids aged 1-11 and coo over any babies that are brought around to the children’s area. They play with kids of a variety of ethnicities, a range of neurotypes, a range of wealth, a range of family types. This is both normal for them, as well as developing their inclusion muscles and their flexibility muscles. It’s also, if I’m honest, developing my parenting skills. If one of my girls is rejected or slighted at the park, I can just whisk my girl away and have a few words about the situation, whatever it was. At church I am more inclined to see what the kids do to work it out themselves, and find out the why of the other kid’s behaviour. I won’t go into any of the “why’s” here, but it’s enough to stop any assumptions in their tracks and to practice kindness first.
Tradition. My tradition, of growing up with church. Remembering that often there was a feeling of “but why???” Knowing now that that questioning is healthy (as it was treated when I was young, too). Knowing now that sometimes the answer is too huge to explain but sometimes it is as small as being the tradition. Tradition is important. It gives a sense of security. It grounds us. The comfort and familiarity get me every time. Tradition!
How many questions can a 4-year-old ask? Is there any end to them? How many times will the same question (or statement, for that matter) be repeated in the space of five minutes? By how much time will this extend the length of time it takes to read one (1) bedtime story to said 4-year-old? I know, I know. These are questions upon which philosophers have pondered for all eternity – well, at least since there were 4-year-olds.
I do love all the questions from E. I especially love discovering what she has discovered and thought to question. I admit, I do get a bit frustrated when I have seen her eyes get droopy and her breathing is slowing and I make the stupid thought that she is nearly asleep so therefore I might have an earlier rather than later night myself with some time to do Anna Things and then the next thing I know I’m hearing “Can I have a story?” Sigh. Then of course the wide selection by her bed (Superworm, Easter Egg Hunt, Beauty and the Beast, countless others) are all met with “No, not that one” so she is now fully awake and out of bed to look on the bookshelf for The (Right) Bedtime Story.
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is her most recent favourite choice, which is one of our First Reader books. The First Reader publications just have slightly simplified language, so some of the beautiful language of stories for younger readers is lost. This particular one bugs me with what the mirror replies to the queen, but anyway. Some of the questions I have fielded have been: why doesn’t the queen like Snow White; why is Snow White tired; why are the dwarfs all so small; which one is your favourite dwarf; why does the prince kiss Snow White; why does the prince want to marry Snow White; why does Snow White want to marry the prince; why don’t they invite the queen to the wedding. All great questions. Whenever a story gets to a chance encounter followed by an immediate proposal, I always make a great drama out of what a silly thing that is to do. This one is going to have a discussion about consent arising from it soon, too. Kissing Snow White while she is unconscious?! Such a big no-no.
Each Peach Pear Plum has continued to be THE Bedtime Story, so much so that E made a chance reference to a page while we were out today. C looked at me and repeated it with the biggest question mark of a face, so I explained E had just quoted some of the book. And then I managed to recite the entire book, so that’s another one in the repertoire. C was delighted by it when she realised it was ALL nursery rhyme characters all in the same story.
C and I have continued with What Katy Did, but C now gets to snuggle in MY bed for French and Katy. C loves being in our bed and the snuggle factor far outweighs that of the sofa so, with these slightly chilly (as in, no longer summer hot) evenings, that’s our new normal. All of Katy’s goings on still make us both chortle, and C is expanding her vocabulary even more. Wonderful.
There have been a few things happening lately that do not seem at all newsworthy. By that I mean, they are not newsworthy. They are not the kind of thing to do a Facebook post about or shout from the balconies or make a note in the diary. The sort of thing, though, that I will tell my mum about. The sort of thing that I will chat about with Glenn in the microseconds of conversation we get these days. The sort of thing that makes up the stuff of our life, that we will look back on in a few months and a few years and many years and reminisce.
Recently, my girls stopped walking. Not entirely, of course, but if they are not keen on something, their feet stop and all their core muscles fail and they are suddenly slumped on my sofa like a Dali painting. This would occur for getting dressed, or being told to go to the toilet for a tactical wee before we head out to do something fun, or having a bath. Fortunately, I also discovered at this time the power of the piggyback and horsey rides and cuddle walks.
Cuddle walks had been around for a while – since C was a toddler, I guess – but she had started to request to be carried like she was a kitten or like she was a baby or like she was a baby bird or like she was a baby unicorn cuddling a mermaid and it was getting wild. And she expected me to remember what every one of these holding positions was. I would have a blank in the heat of the moment. She would get upset with me for doing the bird hold instead of the kitten hold. Bedtime would be ruined.
I can remember how to do a piggyback each time, though. Once the younger two saw me doing piggybacks for C, they wanted in too. It is much easier doing piggybacks for them. They are more like koalas on my back, warm and compact and solid, and they are not as daredevil so they hang on for dear life as I “go faster” by doing lots of little steps down our rather short hallway to the toilet. S loves having a piggyback to the bath after dinner, which means climbing onto my sofa then climbing onto my back so I can transport her down the hallway to the toilet. Pre-bath wee, bath, get dried and dressed and teeth done, then she will announce in my face “I WANT A PIGGYBACK” and screamlaugh running back down the hallway to the Piggyback Station (formerly known as my sofa arm but here we are) to climb up and onto my back so I can do little steps back along the hallway to her bedroom which is just opposite the bathroom.
I think C has realised that she is more like a leggy giraffe than a koala and so she likes to do horsey rides on my back instead. Although I much prefer her sitting on my back, often wrapping her lower legs around my midsection and also not hanging on (work that core!), to having her do a piggyback where she doesn’t really hold on with her legs but wraps her arms around my neck. That said, my knees are copping it. I have a much closer view of the carpets. Even though we vacuum daily, it’s not enough.
Speaking of C and of movement, C was given roller-skates for her birthday. I think they might be her most favourite thing ever in the history of the world. After several afternoons clomp-gliding down the hallway while I was working, punctuated by crashes that were always followed by “I’M OKAY”, on Friday afternoon she had a go outside for the first time. There have been a few more outside skating sessions since then, too, where I hold her hand for the most part and apparently twist her wrists when she is about to fall over and she is skating over my toes. She has a long way to go, but I am so, so impressed by her resilience and persistence. This is something that she is finding difficult to get going and it is not at all coming naturally to her, but her only pouts have been at me for walking too fast or too slow or (inadvertently) twisting an arm.
Moving on to monsters. I mentioned recently that S had had a scary episode one night. The next night, as well as me reading Ruby Red Shoes to her, Glenn gave S an LED tea light and showed her how to brandish it against any monsters. Very sweet voices were soon calling out, “Go away, monster!” These tea lights are perfect. S still uses a dummy – and by using the singular, I really mean she usually has only one in her mouth (sometimes two just to be funny), and preferably 1 or, better yet, 2 in each hand. The tea light is the same kind of size as a dummy and has an interesting feel thanks to the fake flame, so now S prefers one hand to be holding a tea light while she goes to sleep. C likes to have one in her new lantern. E likes to have one next to her on the floor or on the desk. We use a salt lamp in the girls’ bedroom but now we have little spots of extra warmth thanks to monster-repelling tea lights.
Moving on to music. Glenn and I are both violinists. He still plays and has gigs here and there. I do not. There are so many of my former colleagues who have managed to have kids and still teach and perform and do gigs but it was just not possible for us. I mean, after C was born I went back to teaching and that was fine – “fine” as in, acceptable – but two big things shifted. One was that I just didn’t have the zest for teaching anymore. I am very firmly of the belief that teachers have to really want to be a teacher. If they don’t, they don’t teach as well and students don’t learn as well and then students don’t want to learn at all and teachers might as well drink tea and crochet. I lost the zest and I knew I should stop. The other big shift, when my just-7-year-old was about to be turning 2 – so five years ago – yup. Pandemic. Parenting in a pandemic was hard. Trying to teach in a pandemic was hard. Trying to teach while having a young child at daycare during a pandemic was super ultra hard. So when E was born, I didn’t go back to teaching. Even though I absolutely loved it when I was doing it, this was clearly the right choice as I do not miss it at all.
Buuuuuut I had C start violin lessons last year, learning with my lovely sister-in-law, Alys. E soon started mini lessons, too. We went for a Saturday morning lesson time. Glenn was either working or getting ready for work or needing to cocoon himself from being at work, so violin lessons were always a mummy and three girl event. This meant that if one was sick (or two or three or three plus me), then no lessons. This was a frequent situation. Sporadic lessons meant little progress, which meant little enthusiasm, which meant no practice and a frustrated mummy. When Alys and my brother moved to the other side of town, I decided not to keep our spot and just move on.
When we did have good practice weeks though towards the end of last year, I had switched gears. I stopped being a stand-off mum, letting C do the practice as if I knew nothing about violin. I did what I had said to myself at the start that I would not do and I got back into teacher mode. Violin practices turned into lessons. When I’m in violin teacher mode, I am a different person, and I had C laughing and doing what was needed and making progress until one of her sisters dared to come in.
This year had been quite light on in terms of practice. I just wasn’t going to force it. Then, out of the blue, E said that she wanted to play her violin again after dinner. We didn’t do after dinner but after lunch on Saturday. Then S wanted a go, clearly not wanting to miss out on this thing that she could tell that she would definitely be able to have a go at, and then C was really keen to get back into it, too. Violin happened on Saturday and Sunday, with the usual mayhem of three girls and two violins and one xylophone (surprise!). I’m still not sure how to get violin in during the week, but weekends seem to be a good start.
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.
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.
Friday this week was hot. I mean, it was HOT. Our place is not air conditioned at all. It is usually a few degrees warmer inside than out. Girls are normally prone to bickering regardless of the weather. Thankfully, my husband reminded me that the nearest large shopping centre has air conditioning, and I remembered that my oldest brother had given the girls book vouchers. Off we went.
The girls had a blast choosing their books. I said absolutely no to any Peppa Pig books. Choosing between all the Bluey books was tough, but the girls fought so much over the Magic Xylophone book that it was easily ruled out. (I know. It’s like they haven’t even seen that episode, like, ever. Eye roll).
C had her eyes peeled for the next in the Penny Draws a Best Friend series. We didn’t find the next but a next next, as well as another in the Pearl the Flying Unicorn series. All girls were very keen for the I Love My Family book from Bluey, as well as Let’s Go Home, Baby Bee, which has a little creature to slide around the pages with a finger. I have read the Bluey book maybe five or six times in three days so that was a definite good buy, and the Baby Bee book is just mesmerising, reminding me of calm-down methods used by psychologists and the like.
We are all huge fans of Julia Donaldson so I looked for some more to add to our collection. Tiddler was top of the wish list but not found in the store. Zog and the Flying Doctors, and Tabby McTat, however, were so are now residing on the living room table and being looked through and read by all girls whenever they wish.
So Friday’s excursion was fruitful. Aside from the book shopping, girls played in the play areas for hours before we came home. And when we eventually did, the inevitable “Can I watch something?” could be met with, “We *just* bought books. How about you read some of them?” And they did. Score.
The Stuff of Our Life 