Other childrens' cards bear a carefully sloppy greeting,
Or a rocket ship trailing a rainbow flame
Or strategically random buttons.
Our children understand randomness is stochastic
A propelant jet isn't rainbow hued
And one can not be carefully sloppy.
One must be deliberate.
Our kids cut and glue and color with their typical wildness
Their enthusiasm shows in their jagged cuts and crooked stickers,
In the stray tape
In the coloring that is more bald than color.
They hunch over their Frankenstein creation willing it to monstrous life
Proud, happy, innocent of the ugliness.
The card they hand you is, generously,
Organic
Rustic
Abstract
And impressively garish given the harmoniousness of the starting materials.
They are aesthetically handicapped, you see.
They don't have a mother who guides them into straight lines and golden ratios
Or who insists they color from edge to edge or coordinate their colors.
(As if I can coordinate colors)
They have a mother who watches.
Happy Father's day from your aesthetically immature offspring.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Friday, August 30, 2013
Goats eat everything
We went to the zoo today. Saw animals. Scared the crap out of Paul. Typical day.
For anyone who is not aware, my kids love wallabies, especially the wallabies in the children's petting zoo. So, we went over and I meant to get them some food to make the wallabies less recalcitrant, but forgot. When we got in there was exactly one wallaby. Since that wallaby wasn't all that keen on my kids (who haven't yet mastered the art of walking slowly or speaking softly when excited) and there were like two dozen people coming through the gates, all holding bags of food, I convinced my little chilluns to come with me to get some food. Then I convinced them to go see the barnyard animals (goats, sheep, deer) instead of the wallaby.
Paul insisted on carrying the bag and I let him 'cause I'm thoughtful that way. There are two gates to go through (kind of an air-lock system to keep the animals from running away). The instant the second gate was open three goats pushed their way into the little entrance way, scaring Paul silly.
He, realizing instantly that his life was in danger, dropped the food bag and began scaling my leg.
The largest and most aggressive of the three goats grabbed the food bag, paper bag and all, and downed it.
Paul, crying and screaming, "scary! scary!" still wanted to touch the animals, just not the goats.
Go figure.
For anyone who is not aware, my kids love wallabies, especially the wallabies in the children's petting zoo. So, we went over and I meant to get them some food to make the wallabies less recalcitrant, but forgot. When we got in there was exactly one wallaby. Since that wallaby wasn't all that keen on my kids (who haven't yet mastered the art of walking slowly or speaking softly when excited) and there were like two dozen people coming through the gates, all holding bags of food, I convinced my little chilluns to come with me to get some food. Then I convinced them to go see the barnyard animals (goats, sheep, deer) instead of the wallaby.
Paul insisted on carrying the bag and I let him 'cause I'm thoughtful that way. There are two gates to go through (kind of an air-lock system to keep the animals from running away). The instant the second gate was open three goats pushed their way into the little entrance way, scaring Paul silly.
He, realizing instantly that his life was in danger, dropped the food bag and began scaling my leg.
The largest and most aggressive of the three goats grabbed the food bag, paper bag and all, and downed it.
Paul, crying and screaming, "scary! scary!" still wanted to touch the animals, just not the goats.
Go figure.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Near
Today is the first day I wake up drenched in sweat
And only one blanket
The first day I don't scurry on tiptoes across the tile
But walk flat-footed
It is the first day my children throw down their jackets
And I join them
The first day the wind brings warmth
And the sun feels bright
And the asphalt smells
The first day the air around the rain
Feels like a doona,
Thick and suffocating
It's the first day that speaks of charred hot dogs and peach juice
Dripping down my arm
Of watermelon so crisp it spits as you bite it
Of mosquitoes and thunderstorms and the want of cool
Today is the first day I believe summer is near
And only one blanket
The first day I don't scurry on tiptoes across the tile
But walk flat-footed
It is the first day my children throw down their jackets
And I join them
The first day the wind brings warmth
And the sun feels bright
And the asphalt smells
The first day the air around the rain
Feels like a doona,
Thick and suffocating
It's the first day that speaks of charred hot dogs and peach juice
Dripping down my arm
Of watermelon so crisp it spits as you bite it
Of mosquitoes and thunderstorms and the want of cool
Today is the first day I believe summer is near
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Rainy days and libraries
Some days make you grateful to be alive. Some days make you glad your kids are alive. Some days I feel lucky all of us make it to the end of the day.
Yesterday we went to the library. It was supposed to rain (later it did) but I wanted to make sure the kids spent some time outside, doing something other than watching TV. We skuuted over, read books, and then, as I was putting away some of the huge stack Sylvia had accumulated, Paul ran around, playing with some of the toys in the library, or so I assumed.
While I wasn't watching Paul started opening the drawers of the newspaper cabinet. I'm not sure if the thing was particularly off balance that day, or if it's normally off balance and just nobody's been unlucky with it yet, but after he pulled out a couple of the drawers the cabinet tipped over on top of Paul.
There's a heart-stopping moment after a crash when there's no noise, just a sucking in of breath as everyone imagines the worst, when, as a mom, you feel all eyes on you, wondering why you weren't there. Then, the crying starts, on one hand heart-wrenching; on the other comforting, for at least you know your child is alive.
Paul is perfectly okay. He was understandably scared and cried for about as long as I've ever heard him cry, but there seems to be no damage. We had to do a little paperwork and then we went home. All the tears and all the shaking I'd suppressed inside the library rolled out of me as I carried Paul home in the rain, holding him close the whole way.
We all took a long nap that afternoon, curled up together on the kid's bed.
Yesterday we went to the library. It was supposed to rain (later it did) but I wanted to make sure the kids spent some time outside, doing something other than watching TV. We skuuted over, read books, and then, as I was putting away some of the huge stack Sylvia had accumulated, Paul ran around, playing with some of the toys in the library, or so I assumed.
While I wasn't watching Paul started opening the drawers of the newspaper cabinet. I'm not sure if the thing was particularly off balance that day, or if it's normally off balance and just nobody's been unlucky with it yet, but after he pulled out a couple of the drawers the cabinet tipped over on top of Paul.
There's a heart-stopping moment after a crash when there's no noise, just a sucking in of breath as everyone imagines the worst, when, as a mom, you feel all eyes on you, wondering why you weren't there. Then, the crying starts, on one hand heart-wrenching; on the other comforting, for at least you know your child is alive.
Paul is perfectly okay. He was understandably scared and cried for about as long as I've ever heard him cry, but there seems to be no damage. We had to do a little paperwork and then we went home. All the tears and all the shaking I'd suppressed inside the library rolled out of me as I carried Paul home in the rain, holding him close the whole way.
We all took a long nap that afternoon, curled up together on the kid's bed.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Bad Baklava
My kids love baklava. Actually, they call it bakabakaba, which I think sounds like it should be shaped like a chicken, but whatever. They love it no matter what they call it. I usually make it because it's really a pretty simple thing to make and if I don't make it in massive quantities I don't get any. Sure, it's time consuming (so it doesn't happen too often), but it also turns out even bad baklava is pretty good.
And I've been testing the limits of bad baklava lately. The last couple of iterations of baklava have been less than stellar, yet still decidedly edible. Still, someday I want to make the perfect baklava. Inspired by this post I'm going to take a moment to write down things I did right and what went wrong.
Good things about this baklava:
* Fresh phyllo dough (from the fridge section rather than the freezer section) worked better than defrosted phyllo dough.
* Buttering all layers lightly really isn't that bad and I like it better that way
* Applying just a couple of tablespoons of chopped nuts every two layers makes for good baklava
Bad things about this baklava:
* Really, it just needed more syrup. One cup isn't enough--do two next time. Oh, and while you can kind of add more syrup later (which is what happened--Derrick made a second cup of simple syrup and poured it over) the result is a little more sweet soggy cereal and less tasty, crunchy baklava.
Anyway, it was for Sylvia's birthday, and I don't think she cared overmuch about its inadequacies. She loves baklava too much to be put off by such trivialities.
Happy #5 kid.
And I've been testing the limits of bad baklava lately. The last couple of iterations of baklava have been less than stellar, yet still decidedly edible. Still, someday I want to make the perfect baklava. Inspired by this post I'm going to take a moment to write down things I did right and what went wrong.
Good things about this baklava:
* Fresh phyllo dough (from the fridge section rather than the freezer section) worked better than defrosted phyllo dough.
* Buttering all layers lightly really isn't that bad and I like it better that way
* Applying just a couple of tablespoons of chopped nuts every two layers makes for good baklava
Bad things about this baklava:
* Really, it just needed more syrup. One cup isn't enough--do two next time. Oh, and while you can kind of add more syrup later (which is what happened--Derrick made a second cup of simple syrup and poured it over) the result is a little more sweet soggy cereal and less tasty, crunchy baklava.
Anyway, it was for Sylvia's birthday, and I don't think she cared overmuch about its inadequacies. She loves baklava too much to be put off by such trivialities.
Happy #5 kid.
Monday, July 1, 2013
And so it begins
In the week Derrick was gone, Paul's language skills increased noticeably. He's speaking more clearly and speaking in two to three word phrases, sometimes embarking on sentences (though those are typically not so understandable). My favorites so far: "right, mom;" "mommy coming;" and "I love you, mom." Yes, I am a sentimental sucker.
Yesterday we had friends over to play. At least once Paul said, "right, mom. Eva." to one of them, which I found hilarious.
Everyone asks if my kids will have Australian accents. The answer is most definitely yes, and Paul's already acquiring his. After our friends' visit the way Paul says 'no' and 'uh-oh' is noticeably changed. The Australian 'no' is more like 'noe' (so there's a bit of an 'e' sound at the end. Paul's picked that up.
I have to admit, as cute as it is, I'm a little sad he's not going to sound much like me when he grows up!
Yesterday we had friends over to play. At least once Paul said, "right, mom. Eva." to one of them, which I found hilarious.
Everyone asks if my kids will have Australian accents. The answer is most definitely yes, and Paul's already acquiring his. After our friends' visit the way Paul says 'no' and 'uh-oh' is noticeably changed. The Australian 'no' is more like 'noe' (so there's a bit of an 'e' sound at the end. Paul's picked that up.
I have to admit, as cute as it is, I'm a little sad he's not going to sound much like me when he grows up!
Monday, June 24, 2013
Glass
It's been a bad weekend around here for glass. And milk. And pillows. And pretty much everything else that isn't nailed down.
Friday morning started out pretty well. Oh, except that Thursday morning Paul dumped the last couple of cups of milk out into my cereal bowl (I filtered it out and saved it for bread--we'll come to that later) and I hadn't gone to get milk, so I didn't have breakfast. Anyway, after everyone else ate and I snagged a couple of uneaten bread crusts (doesn't my diet sound delish?) Derrick and I helped the kids clean up enough I actually vacuumed their rooms and I was well on my way to cleaning the bathrooms. While I was working on my bathroom Paul decided to brush his teeth using my toothbrush (Mom's stuff's ALWAYS better), so I pulled out a new one for me and let him have at it with my old one. He's a pretty messy brusher so when I finished I went out and got a clean rag, then came back to wipe up the mess and take care of the rest of the bathroom while I was at it. Paul ran off and I got to work.
I don't quite remember why I left just a couple of minutes later--probably going for windex, even though that was already under the sink from a previous attempt at cleaning--but I heard a tinkling sound in the kitchen and walked in to find Paul clutching the candy thermometer and chewing on something hard.
He swallowed.
Not yet ready to believe I'd watched my child eat glass I took the thermometer away from him, confirmed it was broken and then asked him if he'd eaten it.
He said yes.
Now, twenty two month old children aren't the best at answering questions, so I still didn't quite believe he'd eaten glass. I shooed him out of the kitchen and swept up the area, looking for the missing pieces of the thermometer bulb.
Yeah, they weren't there.
I wasn't even sure if glass was something I needed to worry about. I mean, my kids have eaten all kinds of crap they say to call poison control about (deodorant, toothpaste, soil) and every time I do the poison control operator says as long as they haven't eaten more than a certain amount they'll be fine. But I always call 'cause hey, I don't know the safe amount of whatever toiletry is safe for my child's consumption. So I called the doctor's office.
"Hello, my son just ate some glass..."
"He ate some grass?"
"No, glass. G-L-A-S-S."
"Oh. The nurse says take him to the hospital."
Fun.
I got my kids ready relatively quickly, but while I was putting together the diaper bag and crap to keep Sylvia occupied in Derrick's office Sylvia decided to pull all the stuffing out of one the couch pillows. I didn't immediately scream at them, so they (I guess) assumed the activity met with my approval and they proceeded to empty all of the couch pillows onto their newly vacuumed bedroom floor, covering it in soft, downy whiteness. Again, I did not scream. I let them roll around in the pillow fluff until I was ready to go, assuming (for one correctly) that they would be occupied with this one act of destruction and would stay out of other trouble.
Sylvia was really quite a champ about going to her dad's office for the day. I think the prospect of spending all day watching movies made the deal for her. Paul was not so happy about having to leave with me, but I dragged him off and we made it to the hospital between an hour and an hour and a half after I first discovered Paul chewing on glass.
The rest of the day pretty much consisted of sitting in the hospital. We waited a while to see the doctor (which I was fine with, since that indicated to me he was a low priority) then went up for some X-rays. The only annoyance from the wait was I didn't feel comfortable giving Paul anything to eat or drink until I'd spoken to a doctor, so he was rather cranky by the time we went up for the X-rays.
Cranky kids are not cooperative kids, just in case you were wondering. Paul wouldn't take off his shirt, wouldn't sit, wouldn't do anything. I thought maybe if I fed him he'd be more cooperative so I took him out and nursed him, which also put him to sleep. Unfortunately, he was no more cooperative after nursing and sleeping a bit. Three of us adults were required to get him to sit still enough for the pictures. Fun times.
So you can imagine how thrilled I was when the doctor told me he wanted another X-ray.
This time we had to wait a little longer to get in, so I tried explaining to Paul what he needed to do. A different technician took us into a different room, where Paul still freaked out a bit, and then we ended up going into the first room anyway for some reason I didn't quite follow. It didn't matter, though--Paul was a different kid, very cooperative, very easy. The first technician (a guy) couldn't get over how much better behaved Paul was.
We got a snack and hung out in the waiting room until about 5, at which point Paul started seriously tantruming, throwing the stroller on the ground, throwing himself on the ground, hitting me. He needed to eat and needed to go home, so I told the triage nurse we were going to go. She said she'd get the doctor and I took Paul out to get another snack while we waited. Then we talked to the doctor, who told us there was probably glass in his digestive tract but not in his lungs and we just needed to watch him carefully for a few days, and then we went home.
Yesterday was much less eventful. I kept trying to leave so I could write and little things (rain especially) kept getting in the way. I turned the milk into sweetbread dough, which I let rise a couple of times and stuck in the fridge. I made Derrick make pizza dough for dinner and while he was working on that one of the kids dumped a cup of water into the sugar. I pulled out the wet sugar and stuck it in a pan and left it for the rest of the day. I never got out by myself, but we all went to Tea Tree Plaza on the bus, got a phone for Derrick and groceries for the week, and then came home and had pizza for dinner. Oh, and Derrick lost his bus card, which is annoying but not a big deal.
Sigh. I try so hard to be a good mom, a calm mom, and most of the time I do okay. Not so much last night. While Derrick was making pizza crusts I started a movie with Paul and Sylvia. Stupidly, I went in to check on Derrick, leaving our one functional laptop on the couch. When I went back in I found Paul with a stack of keys pulled off the laptop.
I was so mad I wanted to hurt someone. It's incredible how quickly you can go from the deepest concern about the health of your child to being so angry you want to hit them and don't care if it hurts.
I did not hit Paul. Instead, I yelled, then walked away from my sobbing children.
I walked for a long time.
Not as long as I kind of wanted to, but long enough. I went home, hugged my kids, took Sylvia's apology (which still makes me feel bad since she wasn't even the one who incurred my wrath) and helped with the rest of the evening.
I hope my kids are really as resilient as they seemed to be this morning. They came in and cuddled, just like normal, and then Derrick helped them put together shields for sword fights while I made cinnamon rolls. They've been as loving and spunky as they usually are. Last night seems further away than Friday, and for that I'm glad.
I'm guessing the cinnamon rolls didn't hurt. The cinnamon rolls (made from the milk Paul dumped out Thursday) were covered in caramel (made from the wet sugar from yesterday) and were a huge hit. I was especially glad we had them to share with the neighbors who kindly gave Derrick a ride to the airport today when he realized he'd miss-read his itinerary and needed to be at the airport in 30 minutes.
Someday I hope I have a day devoid of drama.
Friday morning started out pretty well. Oh, except that Thursday morning Paul dumped the last couple of cups of milk out into my cereal bowl (I filtered it out and saved it for bread--we'll come to that later) and I hadn't gone to get milk, so I didn't have breakfast. Anyway, after everyone else ate and I snagged a couple of uneaten bread crusts (doesn't my diet sound delish?) Derrick and I helped the kids clean up enough I actually vacuumed their rooms and I was well on my way to cleaning the bathrooms. While I was working on my bathroom Paul decided to brush his teeth using my toothbrush (Mom's stuff's ALWAYS better), so I pulled out a new one for me and let him have at it with my old one. He's a pretty messy brusher so when I finished I went out and got a clean rag, then came back to wipe up the mess and take care of the rest of the bathroom while I was at it. Paul ran off and I got to work.
I don't quite remember why I left just a couple of minutes later--probably going for windex, even though that was already under the sink from a previous attempt at cleaning--but I heard a tinkling sound in the kitchen and walked in to find Paul clutching the candy thermometer and chewing on something hard.
He swallowed.
Not yet ready to believe I'd watched my child eat glass I took the thermometer away from him, confirmed it was broken and then asked him if he'd eaten it.
He said yes.
Now, twenty two month old children aren't the best at answering questions, so I still didn't quite believe he'd eaten glass. I shooed him out of the kitchen and swept up the area, looking for the missing pieces of the thermometer bulb.
Yeah, they weren't there.
I wasn't even sure if glass was something I needed to worry about. I mean, my kids have eaten all kinds of crap they say to call poison control about (deodorant, toothpaste, soil) and every time I do the poison control operator says as long as they haven't eaten more than a certain amount they'll be fine. But I always call 'cause hey, I don't know the safe amount of whatever toiletry is safe for my child's consumption. So I called the doctor's office.
"Hello, my son just ate some glass..."
"He ate some grass?"
"No, glass. G-L-A-S-S."
"Oh. The nurse says take him to the hospital."
Fun.
I got my kids ready relatively quickly, but while I was putting together the diaper bag and crap to keep Sylvia occupied in Derrick's office Sylvia decided to pull all the stuffing out of one the couch pillows. I didn't immediately scream at them, so they (I guess) assumed the activity met with my approval and they proceeded to empty all of the couch pillows onto their newly vacuumed bedroom floor, covering it in soft, downy whiteness. Again, I did not scream. I let them roll around in the pillow fluff until I was ready to go, assuming (for one correctly) that they would be occupied with this one act of destruction and would stay out of other trouble.
Sylvia was really quite a champ about going to her dad's office for the day. I think the prospect of spending all day watching movies made the deal for her. Paul was not so happy about having to leave with me, but I dragged him off and we made it to the hospital between an hour and an hour and a half after I first discovered Paul chewing on glass.
The rest of the day pretty much consisted of sitting in the hospital. We waited a while to see the doctor (which I was fine with, since that indicated to me he was a low priority) then went up for some X-rays. The only annoyance from the wait was I didn't feel comfortable giving Paul anything to eat or drink until I'd spoken to a doctor, so he was rather cranky by the time we went up for the X-rays.
Cranky kids are not cooperative kids, just in case you were wondering. Paul wouldn't take off his shirt, wouldn't sit, wouldn't do anything. I thought maybe if I fed him he'd be more cooperative so I took him out and nursed him, which also put him to sleep. Unfortunately, he was no more cooperative after nursing and sleeping a bit. Three of us adults were required to get him to sit still enough for the pictures. Fun times.
So you can imagine how thrilled I was when the doctor told me he wanted another X-ray.
This time we had to wait a little longer to get in, so I tried explaining to Paul what he needed to do. A different technician took us into a different room, where Paul still freaked out a bit, and then we ended up going into the first room anyway for some reason I didn't quite follow. It didn't matter, though--Paul was a different kid, very cooperative, very easy. The first technician (a guy) couldn't get over how much better behaved Paul was.
We got a snack and hung out in the waiting room until about 5, at which point Paul started seriously tantruming, throwing the stroller on the ground, throwing himself on the ground, hitting me. He needed to eat and needed to go home, so I told the triage nurse we were going to go. She said she'd get the doctor and I took Paul out to get another snack while we waited. Then we talked to the doctor, who told us there was probably glass in his digestive tract but not in his lungs and we just needed to watch him carefully for a few days, and then we went home.
Yesterday was much less eventful. I kept trying to leave so I could write and little things (rain especially) kept getting in the way. I turned the milk into sweetbread dough, which I let rise a couple of times and stuck in the fridge. I made Derrick make pizza dough for dinner and while he was working on that one of the kids dumped a cup of water into the sugar. I pulled out the wet sugar and stuck it in a pan and left it for the rest of the day. I never got out by myself, but we all went to Tea Tree Plaza on the bus, got a phone for Derrick and groceries for the week, and then came home and had pizza for dinner. Oh, and Derrick lost his bus card, which is annoying but not a big deal.
Sigh. I try so hard to be a good mom, a calm mom, and most of the time I do okay. Not so much last night. While Derrick was making pizza crusts I started a movie with Paul and Sylvia. Stupidly, I went in to check on Derrick, leaving our one functional laptop on the couch. When I went back in I found Paul with a stack of keys pulled off the laptop.
I was so mad I wanted to hurt someone. It's incredible how quickly you can go from the deepest concern about the health of your child to being so angry you want to hit them and don't care if it hurts.
I did not hit Paul. Instead, I yelled, then walked away from my sobbing children.
I walked for a long time.
Not as long as I kind of wanted to, but long enough. I went home, hugged my kids, took Sylvia's apology (which still makes me feel bad since she wasn't even the one who incurred my wrath) and helped with the rest of the evening.
I hope my kids are really as resilient as they seemed to be this morning. They came in and cuddled, just like normal, and then Derrick helped them put together shields for sword fights while I made cinnamon rolls. They've been as loving and spunky as they usually are. Last night seems further away than Friday, and for that I'm glad.
I'm guessing the cinnamon rolls didn't hurt. The cinnamon rolls (made from the milk Paul dumped out Thursday) were covered in caramel (made from the wet sugar from yesterday) and were a huge hit. I was especially glad we had them to share with the neighbors who kindly gave Derrick a ride to the airport today when he realized he'd miss-read his itinerary and needed to be at the airport in 30 minutes.
Someday I hope I have a day devoid of drama.
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