Pandy and Andy create a baby...

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Clean wax and polish as you dust

Some people like things clean.

Some people like things neat.

Mike is arguably of the former, and clearly the latter. ("Just like his dad" says mum.)

Mike's new found philosophy is to avoid immediate clutter at all costs. This mostly consists of throwing stuff from where it is to where it aint - preferably out of view and, if seated above ground level, onto a floor.

Its the "sweep it under the carpet" philosophy of house cleaning.
As opposed to actual cleaning.

Though granted he does appear to have a touch of the spick and span.

Case in point... Dads having a shower with boy flipping about the floor in amongst the dirty washing. ("Gotta have a hobby boy" says dad...)

Boy looks at dad.
Boy looks at water.
Boy looks at dirty washing.
Boy picks up washing and piece by piece, tosses it into shower with dad.

Fair enough.

Or in mums case, and arguably far more entertaining, while she was kicking back in a nice, relaxing, well earned end of day bath, boy crawls in, peeks over the top, looks at the water, gives mum a winning smile,...
and tosses in her slippers.

In between the clearfelling, the boy has swung back into a good "sleep all night" mode. Or at least 3-4 nights out of 5. Unfortunately dad hasnt. His body seems stuck in the 6-hours sleep routine, boy awake or no. Its driving him nuts. Especially now that he's back at work 5 full time and doesnt have a mid week catch up.

Life with a 10 month old; less sleep, more washing, infinite chaos.
And you wouldn't give it up for quids.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Rebel without a cause

Well thats it.

The boys gone all independent. And Houdini like.

"High chair... what you reckon I've got time to just sit around all day?? Sod that..." as he tries (and has succeeded) to climb out, despite being attached in via harness and all.

"Long sleeve shirt on a hot day? Are you parents morons?" so he pulls it off. Or at least half of it so he ends up moping about in a nice lil off the shoulder number.

"Nappy... do you think I wanna live in poo??" hence he rips open the tabs and thrusts his bits to the world.

Speaking of which, he has well and truly discovered them, and will happily hang onto his wedding tackle for a considerable percentage of his nappy free time.

And then theres the fussiness.

Whereas he would have thought he'd died and gone to baby heaven if he fell into a vat of brochilli only 3 months ago, its now treated with the disdain some may say it deserves. Quicker than you can say "hahaha look at dad scraping food scraps off the floor below my high chair like the slave i think he is" its gone. Straight over the side of the chair and onto the polished boards.

Followed by a lean over, stretch of the neck and gaze down just to make sure it landed far enough away.

In fact he's taken to doing this with many of the main vegetable food groups. His mums theory is that as he goes to less and less boob and more and more bottle, he's realising that bottle drinking is the easiest way of all to ingest fuel, and probably the sweetest too.

He's also discovered a new toy; a.k.a, the dirty clothes basket (dcb for short). Whereas the parents have scoured high and low for a suitable "walker" for him to push around as he gets ever nearer to being a real toddler, he's discovered that the dcb is of perfect height and frictional qualities with the floor to be the walking device of choice. Hence it appearing in all corners of the house, often attached to a great big smile.

Heres just hoping he can avoid celebrating his biped adventures by sucking on the used jocks within.

On the home front he's loving and advancing in his weekly swim class (see pics). He's scored top marks in advanced bubble blowing and will advance to being dunked like a baptist in no time. Silly Dad still doesn't know the rhymes but the teacher is overlooking such parental failures. For now.

He's also settled amazingly well into his family day care - but who wouldn't when all the little girls treat him like a king. Seems they cant resist the flash of that smile...
The boys gunna be a heartbreaker. (You've all been warned.)

Finally, the hens night. Being 10 months old - as he turned last week- seems to get you special dispensations. Young mums (other than your own) rip their tops off in front of you, you get to crawl about the floor in womens change rooms at the pool, and no one blinks an eye at you being the only (unpaid...) male at a hens night. Its like living through a scene from Porkys.

And he wont remember a second of it.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Einstein Mike

Another week and another trip away for the lad.

This time down to Sandy Point and yet another chance to paddle in water (he turned blue; ocean waves and seabreeze through the baby-rashy dont appear to mix - a wetsuit has been ordered) and get sand blown into most major orifices.

But the most fascinating - and arguably the funniest thing - in Sandy Point on the weekend just gone was Mike's tears.

See Master M was joined in Sandy by his little friend Ashley, who he tended to look up to. Which isnt all that surprising really, given Master A is twice his age (18 months) and hence somewhat superior in length.

What was initially surprising, and thereafter both cute and clearly manipulative at the same time, was when young A would burst into sobs for one reason or another (as babes do) and Mike would hear it.
Then look at Ashley.
Then look at Dad/Mum/any adult within range
Then look at Ashely
Then look at Dad/Mum/any adult within range
Then put on a bitova lip tremble.
Then....
"WHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Wether its a sympathy thing, some carefully orchestrated "me not him" thing, or an evolutionary development thing (cos if master A really had spotted that pterodactyl about to swoop and munch them all, it really would be advantageous for mass wailing to be enacted and parents summoned) we dont know.

But geez it was funny. (Errrr... thats meant in a compassionate way of course.)

Either way, there's parallel evidence that the lad is smart. Maybe too smart.

Hows these apples.

The boy loves a bath. Well at least he loves splashing about and playing with bath toys and yanking on the taps and attempting to rip out dads, errr... "upper leg" hairs when they share a tub. What he doesn't appear to like - and we guess the reason they go over and over it in swim school - is having a plastic boat full of water tipped over his head.

"One two three gooooo" {tip}.

Hence he's devised a plan.

Every time he seems the boat of water being lifted up, senses a slight tip and/or hears the "one two three"s, he's orf.

Straight to the side of the bath where he hangs his head as far out from the edge and over the bathmat/floor as possible.

It makes hairwashing bloody hard.

Lil bugger. Lil smart bugger.

No worries though - we've finally put this intelligence to work. Unloading the dishwasher (see video below). Or at least plucking cutlery stuff outta the dishwasher and nearest parent ripping it from his grasp before he impales him (or them) on it.

Finally, its been his first week (well, two days) of 8 am till 6 pm child care - or in this case, family day care, which basically means he lives with a family during the working day rather than being bundled into a room full of kiddies at a creche. It breaks his mums heart. And nearly exploded dads lungs as he peddled home furiously to collect the lad in time.

Hence Master M has a new lady in his life: Jackie - plus her kids and the couple of others she cares for. And thus far its been all tired smiles, and some weird new form of YMCA-like dancing, when its come to home time (i.e., thumbs up from Mike).

Yet another new chapter begins....

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

Mikerosoft

We've been suffering a lot of death in the Baghdad end of Hampton recently.

The blue screen of death.

Only for dad its not a case at screaming at his computer and cursing the anti-christ that is Microsoft, but rather wailing in "I've just sat down - not now!" horror at the television screen and cursing the curiosity that is Mike(rosoft).

See, we have this telly. And when it cant get a signal of any sort it doesn't go the fuzz/snow like an ordinary telly, it goes blue. We also have an aerial cable that snakes around the room and descends to a port just next to the couch. And finally, we have this boy (you may have read about him) who is at a stage in life where nothing shall remain as it was. Including things plugged into walls. Such as aerials.

Hence it would seem his sole purpose in life is to wiggle and squirm and push and shove and hack and pull until whatever object that is placed in front of or around said aerial port is circumvented and the cable removed and dad made to wail.

He'll make a great cat burglar.

On the development front he's also been spied standing. Holding a carrot.

Mum had left the fridge open for a tick and quicker than you can say "oh my goodness the chips!" he was in. And pilfered himself a carrot.

He was so proud of himself that he stood bolt upright and displayed it triumphantly to the world, somewhat oblivious to the fact that he no longer had any attachment to mother earth other than his two feet. Mum turned around just in time to see him stand there alone for a few seconds, unaided.

"Wow"...she thought.

"Carrot" ...he thought, somewhat oblivious to his promotion up the food chain to biped.

Though in other aspects it would appear he still hasn't quite made up his mind whether he'd prefer to follow the amphibian evolutionary path. Cos the boy sure loves a swim.

Case in point.
The week past (and hence the gap in the blog) saw the lad thrust off again into the realms of academia, dragged along to another science conference. Only this time it was somewhat closer to home - the wilds of inner city Geelong - and this time he had nana and grandpa along for the ride and babysit.

On one particularly dull afternoon mum and dad jumped the good ship science and the whole tribe decamped to Portarlington. And as soon as Mike saw the tranquil water he wanted in. So much so that he had to be stripped naked and allowed to crawl into the shallows post haste.

Shallows being a bit too girly for the lad he promptly headed towards the major shipping channels. Grandad saved the day, acted tug boat and a maritime disaster was averted.

This love of the water convinced all and sundry that an end-of-conference mad dash home was in order for Mike's first scheduled swim class, which pretty much consisted of Mike getting dragged around in a whirlpool/soup of 6-12 month olds, having water tipped over his head ("one-two-three goooo!" {tip}), and Dad realising that everyone else seemed to know the full choir book of nursery rhymes while he could only belt out "Ring around a rosie".

Or was that "Whole lotta rosie"?



Mum, Mike and Babcia, Mikes great-grandmother...