tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352833632024-02-20T03:54:15.079+11:00Big TumPandy and Andy create a baby...WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-55162130640617656152011-08-06T21:55:00.000+10:002011-08-06T21:55:02.818+10:00movin', choppin', cookin', and hasslin' dad<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghVVgLTO6QY6awfmTw-SXTmROqVjKLe8RAjOUG_-8GgqDMXIk1K9YSeOoFrg6gc-dEbz5wmDqBRYHq0r91rIfqO8_ebKJIS90jrV1DD0ltobNrqW_XEQgdN7VxNl8C89oaBIjfQ/s1600/P1050890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghVVgLTO6QY6awfmTw-SXTmROqVjKLe8RAjOUG_-8GgqDMXIk1K9YSeOoFrg6gc-dEbz5wmDqBRYHq0r91rIfqO8_ebKJIS90jrV1DD0ltobNrqW_XEQgdN7VxNl8C89oaBIjfQ/s320/P1050890.JPG" width="240" /></a>Did the earth move for you?<br />
<br />
Well it didn't for us either, but we did change the earth we own. We're in a new house.<br />
<br />
All the boxing, shifting and unpacking meant the kiddies have been somewhat ignored of late, but they appear to love the new place. Granted the boy did complain that he considered the previous family's trampoline as a fitting and/or fixture, and hence should not have been removed as per the deed of sale.<br />
<br />
We've told him the lawyers are onto it. Case may be settled around birthday or christmas time...<br />
<br />
The biggest upheaval in the little girls life was closely followed by her biggest trip to the doc.<br />
<br />
In this case to get her "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Preauricular_sinus_and_cyst">pre-auricular sinus</a>" chopped out. A pre-auricular sinus looks a bit like a small ear piercing, only above and just forward of the ear, and she has one on both sides. On the right its been fine, but on the left its a bugger, with infection after infection and the potential risk of pinching a facial nerve leading to floppy face.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApouxKPcgY5ZgSq4b-o11yxaxftLx_uCyCIwaAQOj-1AzaTxZFoq7xNYu_frYDfJEKh37Li3yRTltCkQI2EEhW9K5fVc-tUP4XszeQaig6Wm98Dtu1vIXSBFgTncW9SofZT1VtA/s1600/P1050875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApouxKPcgY5ZgSq4b-o11yxaxftLx_uCyCIwaAQOj-1AzaTxZFoq7xNYu_frYDfJEKh37Li3yRTltCkQI2EEhW9K5fVc-tUP4XszeQaig6Wm98Dtu1vIXSBFgTncW9SofZT1VtA/s320/P1050875.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Poor thing.<br />
<br />
So the time came to give it the chop.<br />
Or at least we thought so... childcare being the hotbed of sickness that it is, had other ideas and a sickly little Miss S was turned away from the surgeons work bench.<br />
<br />
A month later and a chirpy young Miss was rudely woken at 5:30am, tossed in a car in the 'jamas, and shuttled off to the surgery. Being youngest, she was first cab off the rank.<br />
<br />
Into surgery with mum (a choice was given - she wanted mum....) and under the gas; the scariest thing mum had ever witnessed.<br />
<br />
One second there is your darling daughter all happy and smiling and reactive and, well, alive. The next she's looking at you with deep pool eyes... and her body goes limp.<br />
Floppy.<br />
Lifeless.<br />
As though the soul has just popped out for a tosca.<br />
There were almost tears.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQH2poClcEA5Z0iqheFSyjFbGdePKCtqVJhajjxEyrZZod2XuIQMzlBP_ltCBK3tyh_XuQHL7prGgs2roL6icky3dkWKYZgGVMOU2H7LZ5etJC1Q5jpXROVivZUkH6XK6gKdQNQ/s1600/P1050955.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRQH2poClcEA5Z0iqheFSyjFbGdePKCtqVJhajjxEyrZZod2XuIQMzlBP_ltCBK3tyh_XuQHL7prGgs2roL6icky3dkWKYZgGVMOU2H7LZ5etJC1Q5jpXROVivZUkH6XK6gKdQNQ/s320/P1050955.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
Fifty minutes later mum was called in again.<br />
<br />
The girl wasn't all that pleased, but more with being as groggy as a New Years Day wake-up than any gross pain or discomfort.<br />
<br />
As one of the risks of the surgery was nicking one of the facial nerves, Mum was stoked to see mouths and cheeks and eyes all symmetrical and acting in parallel.<br />
Five minutes of bellowing later, dad was summoned and the girl leapt into his arms.<br />
Or, drunkenly crawled from mum towards him anyway.<br />
A big hug later, and... ZZZzzzzz... asleep.<br />
Then awake again, grizzly.<br />
But symmetrical grizzly.<br />
Then ZZZzzzzz...<br />
Then awake and hungry/thirsty.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2y7LKsMXSaF36fC2c2Hjwv7-rny_KDoX7ubWNtQhm9-24oNYM0rpV_f2tOchx0b-OX8HjsVStj7HG2QQgMJ9suLBMKaKYtru56LoI9Y0rRGKhc0X3jDb1iMgJNMuRUe14EPCSQ/s1600/P1060008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2y7LKsMXSaF36fC2c2Hjwv7-rny_KDoX7ubWNtQhm9-24oNYM0rpV_f2tOchx0b-OX8HjsVStj7HG2QQgMJ9suLBMKaKYtru56LoI9Y0rRGKhc0X3jDb1iMgJNMuRUe14EPCSQ/s320/P1060008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Some water, some yellow jelly...<br />
Then ZZZzzz...<br />
Then awake.<br />
Then happy.<br />
Then confused.<br />
Then spewing.<br />
All over dad's lap.<br />
<br />
The sleep/food/spew cycle continued for a few hours, but eventually, and thankfully, subsided after dad fed girl half a punnet of her favourite strawberries. (Dad wisely changed out of his white shirt, just in case.)<br />
The only downside of the strawberry-fest was a dribble - ok, deluge - of pink strawberry drool down the front of the girls top.<br />
<br />
Normally, this means diddley, but on this occasion, as mum returned from the park with the boy, the warning yell "Its NOT blood!" was a necessary precaution lest mum keel over/call 000/blackeye dad.<br />
<br />
The boy, on the other hand, has decided that he is a masterchef.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJn-cWAO59z4Ijfm_O4PiwruDtjv8neAD_7n-zqwKZRqd7HP9uJPLv_-DToZggTwaTtXKk4GtZtKQo4ZRSMdgGSRlYiL19F9WI403pMdZN9oKfqzvdDb7_fcuS9iZQKqJXaPvDlQ/s1600/P1050907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJn-cWAO59z4Ijfm_O4PiwruDtjv8neAD_7n-zqwKZRqd7HP9uJPLv_-DToZggTwaTtXKk4GtZtKQo4ZRSMdgGSRlYiL19F9WI403pMdZN9oKfqzvdDb7_fcuS9iZQKqJXaPvDlQ/s320/P1050907.JPG" width="320" /></a>"I don't want chicken curry mum" he announced one fine evening,"I want chicken chips."<br />
"Ohhhkaaayyy" replied mum.<br />
"Yeah. Cut up some chicken,and put it<i> inside</i> the chips."<br />
"We don't have any chicken darling. Or chips..." replied mum.<br />
"Ohhhhkaaaayyy" replied the boy, "I'll make it." And proceeded to raid the pantry.<br />
Spaghetti, spiral pasta.<br />
"Cook this mum!"<br />
Into the fridge.<br />
Strawberries, cheese,...<br />
"Add this in too..."<br />
Fruit bowl.<br />
Apples, mandarines...<br />
"And these" {mum pointed out mandarines were probably not the 3-hat Michelin choice}<br />
Some cheese for topping.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hPMJpab2eChvl8I7iNW8TRNxyXZAneFAWXGqVmhMzGEg00JjTFDzaEgeTFkC7xqkNg-LZUC67I1nQhwCMfzx1emnHhZra-FRreZJgViniYoUGFJWtGJzkJ4yffZvq7_00Wwsfw/s1600/P1050895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-hPMJpab2eChvl8I7iNW8TRNxyXZAneFAWXGqVmhMzGEg00JjTFDzaEgeTFkC7xqkNg-LZUC67I1nQhwCMfzx1emnHhZra-FRreZJgViniYoUGFJWtGJzkJ4yffZvq7_00Wwsfw/s320/P1050895.JPG" width="240" /></a>"Ok. Now cook it."<br />
Hence it was all bunged in the fancy new fan forced oven and cooked.<br />
Mum looked at the concoction, which the boy termed "chips".<br />
It looked more like chuck.<br />
She served it up to the boy.<br />
"Yum" he said, and ate a bowl and half of it.<br />
(Which for a boy known in the past to exist via photosynthesis, is a pretty mean feat.)<br />
Masterful.<br />
<br />
Finally, dad.<br />
There was the family driving along when a Subaru Outback boxer diesel pulled up in front at the lights.<br />
<br />
"BooHooHoo..." faux-cried dad, "there goes my 21st (x2) present..." as he weepishly lamented the clash of the newly-huge mortgage and his upcoming 42nd.<br />
<br />
"Talk to the driver - he might want a swap..." opined a smiling mum, 'helpfully'.<br />
"My daddy... oh my daddy..." sympathetically cried the girl, in a voice (and with a look of concern) that would melt wood.<br />
"Daddy..." said the boy.<br />
"Yes?" said dad...<br />
"Don't be such a whinger."<br />
<br />
Such is (our new) life.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-27721296860254351922011-04-26T16:55:00.000+10:002011-04-26T16:55:26.390+10:00Four<div style="text-align: right;"></div>Can you believe it?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21tQERZqV7Gh4ofThK2MvKMWW1MROQudLdTvlX3xtLEfupN9ehQtITB5q4GCQZ9ptJEC53xL_ytzSyLNsOvcLKwcUsLg2sRG-NTv78iqC2BZlXClZ3jaP_s5rBPSFQaG5xUUduQ/s1600/mike_jump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg21tQERZqV7Gh4ofThK2MvKMWW1MROQudLdTvlX3xtLEfupN9ehQtITB5q4GCQZ9ptJEC53xL_ytzSyLNsOvcLKwcUsLg2sRG-NTv78iqC2BZlXClZ3jaP_s5rBPSFQaG5xUUduQ/s320/mike_jump.jpg" width="191" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hampton Beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We certainly cant; the boy is Four.<br />
<br />
Yes, as of 16 April 2011 we have eclipsed the fourth anniversary of the original expulsion of the watermelon. Strangely, it seems like only yesterday.<br />
That has to be the fastest four years of our lives.<br />
Then again, it also feels like our entire existence.<br />
<br />
Of course he had to have a birthday party, which involved inviting a dozen of his best mates in the world plus grandparents.<br />
<br />
The day was all sunshine and light and not a raspberry-cordial fuelled biffo to be had.<br />
<br />
Just lots of chips, cake (a train made of lamingtons, with chocolate sultanas for coal and musk-sticks for carriage couplings - heaven), and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pi%C3%B1ata">pinata</a> with strings you pulled (as opposed to the common or garden variety whacking ones, which inevitably end in whack-ee tears) full of gold coins. Which the kiddies kinda went "what the..???" till one of the older ones, who'd obviously done this before, realised there was chocolate in them there gold.<br />
(It went a bit feral after that...)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmL-dc2C-ATL8Ts74_hnmgflSiUZr7Y5rT-Wah-lPW_KEwCQxN0aI3Uq5qFoThxNFyooFt0wq6aKHUf3P40ShIVT8AlZfcpPHytNu-Ze_zH1KQE_MUVkB3yZoDPseKthjcM2EjQ/s1600/P1050812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmL-dc2C-ATL8Ts74_hnmgflSiUZr7Y5rT-Wah-lPW_KEwCQxN0aI3Uq5qFoThxNFyooFt0wq6aKHUf3P40ShIVT8AlZfcpPHytNu-Ze_zH1KQE_MUVkB3yZoDPseKthjcM2EjQ/s320/P1050812.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>The party also marked the end of Round 1 of the great family upheaval of 2011.<br />
<br />
Moving house. Or at least selling the one we have.<br />
For the past several weeks the humble adobe in the Baghdad end of Hampton has been up for sale.<br />
And this meant war.<br />
A war on clutter.<br />
<br />
Now if you know anything about kids and clutter, and can remember your year 11 maths, think of a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venn_diagram">Venn diagram</a>.<br />
<br />
On one side you have kids.<br />
On the other side you have house in 'ready-for-inspection' mode.<br />
The intersection is about a poofteenth of a bees whatsit.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdNBWUL4PgwWxbME2SG0pET28mF1SeH8S9TC5XMaEdEnqvqW8WZWr_-_LnZ748gtwGCuVA1_m-PlIu2e5brQGvbVtCUOxVOI36XeRB0pp5N17fEglrpddYq-3Mc7q-lZuUsIdPA/s1600/P1050854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdNBWUL4PgwWxbME2SG0pET28mF1SeH8S9TC5XMaEdEnqvqW8WZWr_-_LnZ748gtwGCuVA1_m-PlIu2e5brQGvbVtCUOxVOI36XeRB0pp5N17fEglrpddYq-3Mc7q-lZuUsIdPA/s1600/P1050854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdNBWUL4PgwWxbME2SG0pET28mF1SeH8S9TC5XMaEdEnqvqW8WZWr_-_LnZ748gtwGCuVA1_m-PlIu2e5brQGvbVtCUOxVOI36XeRB0pp5N17fEglrpddYq-3Mc7q-lZuUsIdPA/s320/P1050854.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
Hence its been off to the grandparents for the kiddies while mum and dad and Yia-Yia scrubbed and tidied and made the house totally and utterly unliveable (e.g., no phone or dunny brush) but totally<a href="http://www.realestateview.com.au/portal/viewphotos?OID=2522165&photo=2"> home beautiful</a> (e.g., <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acca_sellowiana">feijoas</a> stacked artfully in a vase...)<br />
(Tip #10267 for young players: If you have kiddies under the age of five and are even vaguely thinking about selling your house, don't. Dropping a brick on your big toe - about 10 times - is arguably less painful. )<br />
<br />
Speaking of pain.<br />
Two words; Girls. Fashion.<br />
<br />
After flummoxing the extended family with a decidedly girly dress sense and hence wardrobe collection since age 0, we get the following...<br />
<br />
This morning, while getting dressed on the change table, little Miss S declared; "No Pink".<br />
"Oh dear" said dad, as he rummaged around the drawers looking for something that didn't have a splash of pink at least somewhere on it.<br />
"What about this one?" he said, holding up a mostly purple (but a little pink) top...<br />
"NO. PINK."<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6dH1jVYQgtPF_uJmq7lRzgt_jp-mxlEcws_zpVVOjT5l2I4xK1sQTOQR88CtApZWI0y4GUapIqHghgUU_tltrqr7gExXfuB1gr8w-u5OhsC_pFn9fmnLMOGC8iNPgSeRYMAQAA/s1600/P1050671.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6dH1jVYQgtPF_uJmq7lRzgt_jp-mxlEcws_zpVVOjT5l2I4xK1sQTOQR88CtApZWI0y4GUapIqHghgUU_tltrqr7gExXfuB1gr8w-u5OhsC_pFn9fmnLMOGC8iNPgSeRYMAQAA/s320/P1050671.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing The Horn, Mt Buffalo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Where in the wide wide world of sports has this come from??<br />
<br />
Maybe from her desire to rule the roost.<br />
<br />
We've heard from childcare that not only is she learning at a rapid rate of knots, but that she is also king of the toddler room.<br />
Low and behold any newcomer who doesn't realise the pecking order...<br />
<br />
Not that she's much of a toddler these days, having walked since she was barely 10 months old and hence can almost run with more co-ordination than her big brother, and has been saying words for several months now, with the occasional two or even three word sentence popping out. Though most scary of all is her apparent ability with the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NATO_phonetic_alphabet">phonetic alphabet</a>.<br />
<br />
Home with Yia-Yia and Das (a.k.a grandma and partner) one evening while mum and dad were out on the tiles, Y&D pondered if they should feed the young lass some dessert of the baked variety.<br />
"What do you reckon..." pondered Das, "should we give her a slice of Charlie Alfa Kilo Echo?"<br />
"CAKE!!!" exclaimed little Miss S.<br />
<br />
But for all the bluff and bluster of the roost ruler, she has a special soft spot for her brother.<br />
<br />
Case in point...<br />
Easter.<br />
More child-labour chocolate than you can point a <a href="http://www.science.org.au/nova/001/001key.htm">calicivirus</a> rabbit at.<br />
"Do you want an Easter egg Miss S?"<br />
Nod. Nod.<br />
"Here you go..." says mum.<br />
"Michael?" pleads little Miss S.<br />
So she is given another egg.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaUutrAp1SrlbpvRXK0PIRO68UuSvKw13G2vrKft2iEXRU_-6m65701MPDFEOOY-BakBYcP8IiBmSrIm3PSZpb_TtP5yDFrirZ1MMnKMKTMUK3za7otvszQct1e4L3jXF_PYB99g/s1600/P1050747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaUutrAp1SrlbpvRXK0PIRO68UuSvKw13G2vrKft2iEXRU_-6m65701MPDFEOOY-BakBYcP8IiBmSrIm3PSZpb_TtP5yDFrirZ1MMnKMKTMUK3za7otvszQct1e4L3jXF_PYB99g/s320/P1050747.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cycling on the Bright to Porepunkah rail trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaUutrAp1SrlbpvRXK0PIRO68UuSvKw13G2vrKft2iEXRU_-6m65701MPDFEOOY-BakBYcP8IiBmSrIm3PSZpb_TtP5yDFrirZ1MMnKMKTMUK3za7otvszQct1e4L3jXF_PYB99g/s1600/P1050747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaUutrAp1SrlbpvRXK0PIRO68UuSvKw13G2vrKft2iEXRU_-6m65701MPDFEOOY-BakBYcP8IiBmSrIm3PSZpb_TtP5yDFrirZ1MMnKMKTMUK3za7otvszQct1e4L3jXF_PYB99g/s1600/P1050747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><br />
<br />
Now 99.99% of the worlds known toddlers would then run off to a corner and gorge themselves stupid on two eggs, vomit brown ectoplasm and tell mum "No, I didn't eat them all...".<br />
But not little Miss S.<br />
Off she trots, scouring far and wide for Master M so he can be given his egg, refusing to even consider opening hers until he can be found.<br />
<br />
And she does this for everything (well, food at least) that she thinks he will like.<br />
Which is kinda cool really, as the boy does appear to exist via photosynthesis at times, but will eat what's supplied to him by his little sister without fail.<br />
If only we could convince her to feed him brussel sprouts.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZwE9VgkqMJKmNqmyAwWV1Y5e8CmvrJdw6UQlcDWcmDgCptNSw_HIExpEt-avjojvLYck1PyCfqIkK5jbomqd4079dcz6zvSoHej53B8rt6dGZE3zBZhDY_8jlHIwWP-DlvJA4ng/s1600/P1050870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZwE9VgkqMJKmNqmyAwWV1Y5e8CmvrJdw6UQlcDWcmDgCptNSw_HIExpEt-avjojvLYck1PyCfqIkK5jbomqd4079dcz6zvSoHej53B8rt6dGZE3zBZhDY_8jlHIwWP-DlvJA4ng/s320/P1050870.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
Likewise, what Master M does so must Miss S, and that's prolly why she is learning everything about an eon earlier than he ever did. For his birthday, M received a superman suit, complete with big S on the front, flowing cape, and undies stitched on the outside of his pants(??).<br />
Mike wore it for about as much time as it took to realise that he couldn't actually fly (though thankfully not via the method employed by his <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=3238902&l=28c9af6fc3&id=688746875">dad's dad</a>... who, cape attached, jumped off a garage roof...) and ran off to play with his other new love - <a href="http://www.lego.com/">Lego</a>.<br />
<br />
Hence little Miss decided she too must wear the suit.<br />
<br />
Despite it being too long in the arms, too long in the legs (and hence she kept sliding on the polished boards) and the cape being more of a floor sweeper than an agent of aerodynamic lift.<br />
<br />
Still she ran round the house like supergirl, and come bedtime some hour later, had to be kryptonited, kicking and screaming, out of the cape and alfresco undies.<br />
<br />
Finally, we cant let it go unreported that Master M, during a recent visit to Bright, had his first go on a bike without training wheels.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0-t26nzP8yDl0A8juSgW7PLkv5cU4VfGCIMAcREUCTH-Zdu0VBvtdtGOoxMc2e236pylhEOfGaThb9y1EOD_UJWcRjFvIcDgpa_a_jrJejHSh00IGrpIRCBBGWvGw2ERaIpEzlA/s1600/P1050675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0-t26nzP8yDl0A8juSgW7PLkv5cU4VfGCIMAcREUCTH-Zdu0VBvtdtGOoxMc2e236pylhEOfGaThb9y1EOD_UJWcRjFvIcDgpa_a_jrJejHSh00IGrpIRCBBGWvGw2ERaIpEzlA/s320/P1050675.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Horn, peak of Mt Buffalo, March 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sure there were a few stacks, and sure, his gonads took a pounding from the top tube, but he did it. Ok, with dad running alongside and with the aid of a gentle downslope, but we achieved the seemingly impossible. (Unfortunately, due to aforementioned house selling, the practice went out the window and we're back on training wheels, but hey... he still did it.)<br />
<br />
Being his fourth birthday and all that, we'll leave the final sign off to Michael.<br />
Michael how would you like to say goodbye to the collective intelligence of the interwebs?<br />
<br />
"See you later alligator, don't forget your toilet paper!"<br />
<br />
MMMmmm...<br />
Four.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-4922532368708850882011-04-18T20:01:00.000+10:002011-04-18T20:01:58.442+10:00The Bogan ConversionOnce again we wrote a blog post about two months ago and, cos we were procrastinating about putting up pics, never posted it. So.. sod it... we'll just post it without pics. Cast your mind back to the summery (ok, wet and mild) days of...<br />
February 6 2011<br />
---- <br />
<br />
We have a talker.<br />
Some may say its in the blood.<br />
<br />
Yes, the little girl is determined to change the world one word at a time.<br />
And the word of the moment...<br />
"Eye-Keem".<br />
<br />
Pop it through your <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Babel_fish_%28The_Hitchhiker%27s_Guide_to_the_Galaxy%29#Babel_fish">babelfish</a> and you'll discover to your horror that's toddler-speak for...<br />
Ice-Cream.<br />
And if we add the motions, it comes complete with lunging and pointing towards the big box of kiddies ice cream cones stashed on top of the pantry.<br />
Seems the girl has discovered the true food of champions; honey and macademia deluxe ice cream in a cone.<br />
She's an addict, though at least we have managed to wean her down to plain Bulla vanilla.<br />
("If it isnt Bulla is bullsh!t..." according to her mum. No, she doesn't own the company.)<br />
<br />
The boy on the other hand, has declared himself (and this is no bulltwang), a<br />
"TeeVeeJunky".<br />
I'll ask him now his favourites... Aparently they are:<br />
DVD: <a href="http://disney.go.com/disneyvideos/animatedfilms/wall-e/">Wall-e</a><br />
ABCforKids: <a href="http://dirtgirlworld.com/">Dirtgirl</a>.<br />
There you go, straight from the horses north and south.<br />
I have no idea who dirtgirl is... Sod it, I'll ask him...<br />
"She's a high school kiddie."<br />
What does she do?<br />
"She dances."<br />
Anything else?<br />
"nup."<br />
Who are her friends?<br />
"Her friends are called Ken, and ummm... Scrapboy and ummm... Grubby..."<br />
So there you have it.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">We are clearly a couple of bogan parents. All we need is the fighting dog and Torana parked in the front garden and the pictires complete.</div>(and if i only had speech recognition software this blog could now clearly write itself.)<br />
<br />
Speaking of dogs...<br />
Young Mike seems to be developing a wonderful imagination, not to mention list of chat up lines.<br />
Case in point.<br />
There we were, dad and son only, at the <a href="http://westfield.com.au/southland">Deathstar</a> getting a haircut.<br />
Boy sits down in the hot seat.<br />
Attractive lady wraps the Wiggles "cape" round him (his favourite) and starts cutting hair.<br />
Dad 'relaxes' back with his smartphone and starts on some work emails (has the world gone completely mad? No, really, has it??)<br />
Dad's ears start to pick up a fascinating two way chat between said attractive hairsnipper and boy.<br />
Which increasingly sounded like genuine ground-work on the lads behalf.<br />
Dad listened in a little more as Mike went in for the kill...<br />
Attractive snipper: "Do you have any pets?"<br />
Boy: "We <i>had</i> a dog?"<br />
AS: "What happened to it?"<br />
Boy {sad voice}: "It died."<br />
AS {genuine concerned voice}: "Oh thats so sad..."<br />
Boy: "Yeah..."<br />
She almost bent down and gave him a hug.<br />
<br />
A dog?<br />
What dog?<br />
He hates dogs!<br />
(That said, the conversation was worth the price of admission alone.)<br />
<br />
So there we have it; ice cream diet, TV addict, chatting up chicks at Southland.<br />
My god.<br />
What have we done??<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-5001282122437081752011-01-13T12:18:00.001+11:002011-01-13T12:21:11.755+11:00Where's the bucket?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcXw_0wRSzX5buT9VgUjx4rfmXGNLUb-L9rcnH7ls_w7a_k38VGbS2XJgcDuvKHMC7s1Ahi5x4OmEY81WSp3QiifWNpb6a3vUGmCn4NojCVSX2LNxUweD_avvAUWb6DwwcE-wfQ/s1600/P1050020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcXw_0wRSzX5buT9VgUjx4rfmXGNLUb-L9rcnH7ls_w7a_k38VGbS2XJgcDuvKHMC7s1Ahi5x4OmEY81WSp3QiifWNpb6a3vUGmCn4NojCVSX2LNxUweD_avvAUWb6DwwcE-wfQ/s320/P1050020.JPG" width="240" /></a>Ok, this bigtum post is somewhat ancient now - as in written pre-Xmas 2010. But hey, it contains stuff, it's a record of life, we wrote it and forgot about it (sorry). A Xmas and beyond post will come soon...<br />
<br />
------<br />
<br />
In the list of firsts in the last blog there was one that we just missed being able to write about.<br />
And its the cutest one since pussy wore a bow while gentle patting a baby big eyed harp seal who's cuddling a guide dog puppy. (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aczPDGC3f8U">Where's the bucket?</a>)<br />
First real kisses from from Little Miss S.<br />
As in a bit of a pucker, and a bit of a sloppy 'MMmmwumph!" when she makes contact.<br />
Its enough to turn an old man to jelly.<br />
<br />
While this shows her soft and tender and loving side, there lurks on her shoulder the evil twin.<br />
The one that likes to hide stuff.<br />
Thus far we've discovered all of dads business cards transplanted from his wallet to the wastepaper bin at Nana's place, shoes deposited in the cabinet under the laundry trough, and clearly the most evil of all - the remote control deposited in the dirty washing basket. Thankfully (only at childcare) we hear that she likes to deposit items into the kiddy toilet. And we're not just talking number twos.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqb7or4KXEGgtEKZKnBKCbTIUZ433ruJ3l9s4ENQoLO5NQ1HmbgF1I3f9jhTmEXNFxjhH54fvQqX7xv4wGxhNZkIWUUy4LaDN_830L-waxsOavXY-yOizjPWKqKrwH8RodZZpZ0g/s1600/P1040994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqb7or4KXEGgtEKZKnBKCbTIUZ433ruJ3l9s4ENQoLO5NQ1HmbgF1I3f9jhTmEXNFxjhH54fvQqX7xv4wGxhNZkIWUUy4LaDN_830L-waxsOavXY-yOizjPWKqKrwH8RodZZpZ0g/s320/P1040994.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Still, these treasure hunts haven't just been confined to the infinite annoyance of a missing remote. The recent hard rubbish collection perfectly coincided with two things; 1) Mike wanting to ride a bike, and serendipitously, 2) some exact kiddie-growth integer from a previous Christmas or the like, as the second most disposed of thing (after old cathode ray televisions) was... 12 and 16 inch bikes.<br />
<br />
Hence...<br />
Xmas came early in the Baghdad end of Hampton for every 3-4 y.o kid wanting a bike.<br />
Including Mike.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLzz9QR6nnr2Vb5Ce8KhhbwhcXw1c02hr2Lk-_Hxd7pJm0EoFEy_MPsHVU5L2IGNtOfAMkG3dcaNbtoGZI_1MjAh14kKtAVcv7LpWPtE1I38iWtFsR8mjld2h7pDDZZORMPrgzw/s1600/P1050016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLzz9QR6nnr2Vb5Ce8KhhbwhcXw1c02hr2Lk-_Hxd7pJm0EoFEy_MPsHVU5L2IGNtOfAMkG3dcaNbtoGZI_1MjAh14kKtAVcv7LpWPtE1I38iWtFsR8mjld2h7pDDZZORMPrgzw/s320/P1050016.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a>Hence he is now the proud owner of a Raliegh 'Gravity', complete with "flames!" decals, foot brake, and training wheels (partly worn). We've since learnt there is an entire field of science/engineering with the training wheels. For instance, riding along the Elwood foreshore track we came to a section that was move like a 'V' than flat, ostensibly so any water would run down the middle and into a drain. Of course what Wally the engineer doesn't realise is that a training wheeled bike ends up with a training wheel either side of the V, and the rear wheel dangling above the ground spinning furiously and pointlessly, with a rather consfused kiddie up top.<br />
<br />
"Dad, it wont go. Can we buy a new one?"<br />
<br />
Little Miss S, of course, wants to go too. She'll sit up on her trike and hope for the best. Though being 2 foot nuthin' means she cant reach any pedals, even if she knew how to turn them.<br />
<br />
We wish we could say all this physical exercise was keeping us healthy.<br />
<br />
Yes, there we were, all bubbling along without a care in the world, when mum was met at the gates of the childcare centre but a young lady with genuine fear in her eyes...<br />
<br />
"Dont come in" she pleaded... "we'll bring your kids out to you."<br />
"Mmmmm..." thought mum, "this cant be good."<br />
<br />
Turns out the plague had hit Sandringham council childcare, and all we can imagine is the insides of the centre were coated in a liberal painting of that days lunch. But Mike seemed fine.<br />
<br />
The operative word there being "seemed".<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiOiLE9w9lPYQwI4gsnXu1BGWMEeJN4xOLUJu7t2j1iXJ6a0UTQYiitJx7CxopgDeJ3qAfb_PbpXysWSGHWy84_H0imjUCAaeeLgIIG2beDsHpbJ1X71Y5hJkQqdLG2gKmanNPQ/s1600/P1040935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhiOiLE9w9lPYQwI4gsnXu1BGWMEeJN4xOLUJu7t2j1iXJ6a0UTQYiitJx7CxopgDeJ3qAfb_PbpXysWSGHWy84_H0imjUCAaeeLgIIG2beDsHpbJ1X71Y5hJkQqdLG2gKmanNPQ/s320/P1040935.JPG" width="320" /></a>Cos that night dad put him to bed.<br />
"Come and lie down with me dad..." asked the boy.<br />
"Ok..." said dad, and lay on the bed next to the boy.<br />
"So, what did you do at childcare today?"<br />
No answer.<br />
Boy sits up.<br />
Boy looks at dad.<br />
Dad looks at boy.<br />
"You ok?"<br />
Boy looks at dad.<br />
Boy looks surprised.<br />
Dad looks confused.<br />
Boy chunders on dad. And the bed. And the pillow. and... well, you get the picture.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8J60E0-zGYmisPfYHnIFKL5TxcHHGtAFqFDtyo54-7_ibRM3aDL872-RUP_-ZKs28Mqrd0RJPRAt-2DRGwLiGCy1R9aNigckTrPbzI_1W1BiaQDfLhQI90vsn0tgMrgQyDyxQw/s1600/P1050084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8J60E0-zGYmisPfYHnIFKL5TxcHHGtAFqFDtyo54-7_ibRM3aDL872-RUP_-ZKs28Mqrd0RJPRAt-2DRGwLiGCy1R9aNigckTrPbzI_1W1BiaQDfLhQI90vsn0tgMrgQyDyxQw/s320/P1050084.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
The next few days saw the mop, bucket and pine-o-cleen brought out on several occiasions, and hence the house became truly spotless in-so-far as germs/bacteria are concerned.<br />
<br />
Poor lad.<br />
<br />
We've also learnt somethign from the experience - the boy wont use the loo for number 3's.<br />
<br />
There he was, having yet another technicolour yawn on the floor, when dad scooped him up and ran for the dunny. Only when they arrived the boy announced "NNNNooooooo!!!" and kicked and flung and fought, all while chundering at the same time. We think 10% may have made it in.<br />
Lesson to mum and dad.<br />
Stick with the bucket.<br />
<br />
The poor tike was so sick that when Dad arrived home from work one day to find the boy comatose on the living room floor - fast asleep. But surrounded by trains. Even Thomas wasnt able to get him out of this pickle.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVUz1a0H_ZBxqBo882NZ9bNpotrHtrcTWysu6nDZVho7SlxL6jkRv5aWWkDh7EQ3MzY99EHfmFN2nFbFmCCIBiX-M8G5_eMP-j-fwbHILEmSPtm0ZExB-kDf80zeVtr_G7DskQQ/s1600/P1050059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqVUz1a0H_ZBxqBo882NZ9bNpotrHtrcTWysu6nDZVho7SlxL6jkRv5aWWkDh7EQ3MzY99EHfmFN2nFbFmCCIBiX-M8G5_eMP-j-fwbHILEmSPtm0ZExB-kDf80zeVtr_G7DskQQ/s320/P1050059.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>But that wasn't the end of it.<br />
<br />
Poor Missy Moo (a.k.a Little Miss S) also came down with the lurgy, and hence made her deposits round the house as well. At least they were smaller.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Just when she recovered and various parents breathed sighs of relief...<br />
Dad woke with a grumbling belly and whammo (at least he was able to make it to the toot).<br />
Mum, thankfully, was mostly spared.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aczPDGC3f8U">Where's the bucket?</a><br />
A great way to close out 2010.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="295" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/h4YYRbNfCVQ?fs=1" width="480"></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-88009998516177000642010-11-13T14:51:00.006+11:002010-11-13T20:33:23.959+11:00What you talkin' 'bout Sarah?<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5-F_pIus4TD0zxdWG_bhQ1gWkXYBgSJ3g9orsMhbKas87xaKfs4dVK_iLYtQSJatYfB5_8xqdHUDWHgTUalUEzVTwuPv7Uhyt2XK6vPnQKnFdQUUCzeSiheAqCssfkyBwsUO2g/s1600/P1040870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5-F_pIus4TD0zxdWG_bhQ1gWkXYBgSJ3g9orsMhbKas87xaKfs4dVK_iLYtQSJatYfB5_8xqdHUDWHgTUalUEzVTwuPv7Uhyt2XK6vPnQKnFdQUUCzeSiheAqCssfkyBwsUO2g/s320/P1040870.JPG" width="240" /></a>Yes, its been a while.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.earthsci.unimelb.edu.au/~awatkins/WWW/fred.gif">Its not our fault. Its the fuggin gummint.</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In the past cupla weeks we've increasingly noticed that Little Miss S is emerging, <s>caterpillar</s> butterfly-from-a-cocoon-like, from the communication bubble, and hence the blog feels the urge to emerge too.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It all started with the annual <a href="http://www.whitecapsphotography.com/apps/photos/album?albumid=10297996">Sandy Point Cup Weekend</a> windsurf trip.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">There we were, ignoring/listening to the babble that is Little Miss S of late, when others in the house said "She's talking".</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"No, that's just Sarah-babble."<br />
<br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"No, she's talking. Listen, she's saying 'ball!' ".<br />
<br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And she was. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Handed the ball she was as happy as Larry-ette.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DUw_YoT6rHTLOT3lAoBHBiIpoRD4DrZQTP77nsOj1kKMMN2hGYRH3bntTA3QVKaQsD0XT1zcTlJ0q6qDFrVtFAkRVjGBoSMXPXPJUoN-QjcKSnvH29V8xbJ0tQ1WbtQ-ADmZMw/s1600/P1040769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DUw_YoT6rHTLOT3lAoBHBiIpoRD4DrZQTP77nsOj1kKMMN2hGYRH3bntTA3QVKaQsD0XT1zcTlJ0q6qDFrVtFAkRVjGBoSMXPXPJUoN-QjcKSnvH29V8xbJ0tQ1WbtQ-ADmZMw/s320/P1040769.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>(And also clearly now ready to be taken to the footy.) </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Then she started jumping.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Jumpy jumpy" she said.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">MMmmmm...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Hat" she then said, pointing at, well, a hat.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Up!" was next, as she grabbed a fellow one year old, who is bigger than herself though still not walking, and tried to drag her onto her feet.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">(It didn't work.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">This was all finally and embaressingly topped off with "Jar!", which is a somewhat sad reflection of the fact that, being a second kiddie and all that, mum and dad have dispensed to some degree with all the pre-cooking and mashing of veges etc, and just resorted to Mr Heinz finest. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In a jar.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">(i.e., "Jar" = Food.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXK5JIrPvL62v-yQOV9dzQSfuf573b0G4WvT1Csdazb5uIHc0eFvkqR_F-BPBZhs-W-g49KyfXDoH5DyhB_magLc023PzgJa-uMvCHK5L5ia8NKaMnnLngIG_BKgIy7F73NWINiA/s1600/P1040583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXK5JIrPvL62v-yQOV9dzQSfuf573b0G4WvT1Csdazb5uIHc0eFvkqR_F-BPBZhs-W-g49KyfXDoH5DyhB_magLc023PzgJa-uMvCHK5L5ia8NKaMnnLngIG_BKgIy7F73NWINiA/s320/P1040583.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Dadda" and "mumumumum" have been around for a while too.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">While its one thing to mutter the odd demand, its another to feign ignorance of what mum and dad are talking about - surely a teenager, not a one-ager, trait. We know she's engaged in a bit of this because of late she's been giving the game away by actually responding correctly to the things she really wants.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A true trap for young players.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">It all started with a hairclip.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"I wonder where your hairclip is Sarah?" muttered, somewhat rhetorically, mum one recent day.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Who then noticed the girl running down the corridor and into the bedroom, emerging a tick or two later with...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">A hairclip.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Crikey" said mum.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuy2M12ItP7RpdpCQBI55AgMLlto8spb59kNyJiLtGAWP4hxgoAcQLaQNUK3kyp3w80d6QuuSAxajCnb_JiFtRyZ69EKTssilF_UtYG7EKLo3SpIUilAHGQOTMQ5cFHDTKDAsvmg/s1600/P1040817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuy2M12ItP7RpdpCQBI55AgMLlto8spb59kNyJiLtGAWP4hxgoAcQLaQNUK3kyp3w80d6QuuSAxajCnb_JiFtRyZ69EKTssilF_UtYG7EKLo3SpIUilAHGQOTMQ5cFHDTKDAsvmg/s320/P1040817.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>For dad it was toast related.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As per weekend-usual, there he was preparing his brekky of tea and toast - while intermittently humming the tea and toast song by the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weddings_Parties_Anything">Weddos</a> and swearing that the Sat'day Age hadn't arrived again and it was past 8am - when Little Miss S started pointing. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
At his plate and the jar of Vegemite.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
"Ok, if you want (my) toast, go and sit in your chair..." grumbled dad, while thinking "hehehe... she has no idea what I am talking about, but it sure sounds like I'm being a good parent...", only to turn around and see...<br />
<br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Little Miss S, bolting across the kitchen, pulling out the little kiddies chair at the little kiddies table, plonking herself up onto the seat, and smiling expectantly back.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
"Bugger," grumbled dad. "That just me cost half me bloody brekky." </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLNc8aXdoGgB3qzoTHoY9f_lX62nQELCTL8MktTM7gkKHkaUEavBLIECXw5cSojIfRhNmKBOhete6xf1ioKiITmo88erbTaD4ox2z1gyWK0pFYOCKJgYqAUq-BwZXqO-vDBi_FA/s1600/P1040299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLNc8aXdoGgB3qzoTHoY9f_lX62nQELCTL8MktTM7gkKHkaUEavBLIECXw5cSojIfRhNmKBOhete6xf1ioKiITmo88erbTaD4ox2z1gyWK0pFYOCKJgYqAUq-BwZXqO-vDBi_FA/s320/P1040299.JPG" width="320" /></a>(Soon followed by; "Where's me bloody paper?". </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And; "When are we getting a bloody 4-slice toaster - with 'extra little bit of toasting' option?")<br />
<br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Of course it hasn't been all been new talking and antiquated swear words in the Baghdad-end of Hampton.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Given the extreme time period since the last blog, we'll have to attempt a top ten (per kiddie) from the massive list of undocumented recent firsts.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><i>Little Miss S:</i></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG__X3jVugrk9Y4d3ZCZ-yqxesXZ3R-UltsbampqBoqkM7gLSUHXlYYWUlf3BSlubcs9ROdFzRcJKxIHddGiu5-oJ98furxWu8H-t14H-UTJFvQlVW6lCCUmto-yUdNzLJ0ufl6g/s1600/P1040720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG__X3jVugrk9Y4d3ZCZ-yqxesXZ3R-UltsbampqBoqkM7gLSUHXlYYWUlf3BSlubcs9ROdFzRcJKxIHddGiu5-oJ98furxWu8H-t14H-UTJFvQlVW6lCCUmto-yUdNzLJ0ufl6g/s320/P1040720.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><ol><li>First trip to the snow, including her longest car ride to date (400km+, which she did amicably), and of course her first time actually seeing snow (somewhat a shock and awe experience), first tottering about in snow in snowboots, first snowman (kinda scary/creepy cold white dude with a carrot for a nose and prunes for eyes - later eaten by <a href="http://birdsinbackyards.net/species/Strepera-graculina">currawongs</a>) and first ride in a toboggan, in which she fell asleep. Onto the other person in the toboggan. (Yes,this all occurred prior to her first birthday too... eons ago.)</li>
<li>First trip to the Show. As in the <a href="http://www.royalshow.com.au/">Royal Melbourne Show</a>. Hence she saw lots of farm animals, a guy on fire diving off a twenty metre high tower, a 'ride' in a fire engine, her longest train trip to date, and her first showbag (Seasame Street - she likes the Oscar the grouch umbrella). And it didn't even end in tears.</li>
<li>First concert (and first photo with a 'celebrity') - <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhujKmHDEEc">Justine Clark</a>e, who appears to be famous to people depending upon distinct age groups. Either; she's been on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f4pkKxiX2Ac&feature=related">Playschool</a> for about a million years, or if you're pre-Cambrian, she was the original <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ruth_Stewart_(Home_and_Away)">"Roo" on Home and Away</a>.</li>
<li>First dancing, including claps and twirls and common or garden variety jigging. Often to the aforementioned <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q55dqVHgyoU&feature=related">Justine Clarke</a>.</li>
<li>First swimming lessons - not that she's all that keen on going underwater, lying on her back or having water splashed on her head, but she does do a mean rocket ship. (You have to be there.) Lessons ended early as the poor lass developed an infected <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Preauricular_sinus_and_cyst#cite_note-6">preauricular sinus</a> (insert sad face), but she left defiantly with the Arnie Schwarzenegger Terminator-ism - "I'll be back."</li>
<li>First eating of nuts. (Not allergic.)</li>
<li>First "Come on, read me a book!". Though it goes more like 'pull a stack of books off the bookshelf, find one she likes, point it at mum/dad saying something we cant understand at a hundred miles per hour, then plonking herself down ready for action.'</li>
<li>First walk (unassisted) all the way to the milkbar... and back! (Yes, accompanied by mum.) Considering each step is about a tenth of that or mum and dad, that's not far short of pulling a cart across the Nullarbor.</li>
<li>First rides on a mum and dads shoulders - though she's yet to learn that yanking mum's glasses off means mum is running blind and rudderless. However little Miss S seems to think she has the solution; yanking mums hair like a set of reins. </li>
<li>First >100mm rainfall month (October 2010).</li>
</ol><b><i>Master M:</i></b><br />
<ol><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxVZEDdT1GLggNBltOCxjczj9Zkkw4jeQdVqDj6Ws9-kWb1EWznppJ5DKpBWBn1yf251MDF1j1hq-tv1KJFchU8C1vfGb67PpgpuqNhoV7jrFVW1uroMl9F6EFKTGEcMdgCsp6w/s1600/P1040864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxVZEDdT1GLggNBltOCxjczj9Zkkw4jeQdVqDj6Ws9-kWb1EWznppJ5DKpBWBn1yf251MDF1j1hq-tv1KJFchU8C1vfGb67PpgpuqNhoV7jrFVW1uroMl9F6EFKTGEcMdgCsp6w/s320/P1040864.JPG" width="240" /></a>
<li>First time on skis! Including first (two) lesson(s), first ride on a magic carpet, and first ride on a chairlift... with mum, who was so excited/nervous that she forgot to drop the safety bar till dad started yelling "drop the goddamn safety bar!" as they lifted several metres above the ground/snow. This was soon followed by Master M's first ski down<a href="http://www.mthotham.com.au/mountain/snow/cams/bigd.asp"> BigD</a> (between mum's legs).</li>
<li>First swimming badge (a seahorse) which means he can dogpaddle like Thorpy and hence goes up a class. No, we don't know why the badge isn't a dog either; seahorses are decidedly armless -and ipso facto crap at dogpaddle - last time we looked. </li>
<li>Can now pedal a bike, or at least his sisters pink trike. All the way to the shops. Where he thinks he should be rewarded with hot chips.</li>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><li>First washing of hair without cracking it - in fact he now even tilts his head back in the shower and washes off the "snow" himself. (Wonders will never cease!)</li>
<li>First Lego build. (Mum and dad can see the next obsession looming on the horizon... here's hoping the bank manager isn't reading)</li>
<li>First cloud identification - "That's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altocumulus">altocumulus</a>..." </li>
<li>First pash with a girl on the couch, and an older woman (Caitlin) at that; ohhh errrr! (Followed up the next day by "Not today Michael!" whenever he moved in for a hug. "Get used to it son..." Dad consoled.) </li>
<li>First pair of thongs. (Australian's understand this importance. Final initiation to Aussie manhood to go; own set of BBQ tongs.)</li>
<li>First toys ('Duncan and Charlie' from Thomas the tank engine) bought by saving up <i>his own</i> money. (Well, the change at end of the week in dads pants that was handed over for placing into the money jar if Mike had been 'good', where good is somewhat loosely defined as not being in the naughty corner at the exact time dad takes his daks off on Friday.)</li>
<li>First year with near-average rainfall... though he's yet to see a sprinkler. (We'll point one out to him in the museum.)</li>
</ol><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-77575544467008615012010-08-21T15:22:00.001+10:002010-08-21T15:23:42.761+10:00I am one.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIgJOKAZL-YBls_WRlkAix5EsyMMGIbjMde18-fGuT6R0uw7s_hIgvXo5dAw3vb_2kMoVr3PgNQGoSmfq6TYMrY80YXAKPM43U745razBIR_XOFyhzx5l__-9IdUpQJkhxQfc_RQ/s1600/P1040478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIgJOKAZL-YBls_WRlkAix5EsyMMGIbjMde18-fGuT6R0uw7s_hIgvXo5dAw3vb_2kMoVr3PgNQGoSmfq6TYMrY80YXAKPM43U745razBIR_XOFyhzx5l__-9IdUpQJkhxQfc_RQ/s320/P1040478.JPG" width="320" /></a>I am one.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Hear me roar.</div><div><br />
</div><div>(Or at least rush up and down the hallway a bit going "GRRRrrr".)</div><div><br />
</div><div>Master M gave me Trains. (Does he ever give any other present?)</div><div><br />
</div><div>Mum and dad gave me a Tea set.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Nana, Papa and Babcia gave me a Trike.</div><div><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImoDbEbnpcbtNWCOaqT4DCC-IqcmxnTI1fUe7jZRLQf3HRdx6l2bV5GhWLacmUtmH5g-xnwYmSvnmUDOs0X8yS99CJSEcO6K2lXFEZIorUct_gZimN73CByl6yZIMN4PFKCl-Xg/s1600/DSCN2625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImoDbEbnpcbtNWCOaqT4DCC-IqcmxnTI1fUe7jZRLQf3HRdx6l2bV5GhWLacmUtmH5g-xnwYmSvnmUDOs0X8yS99CJSEcO6K2lXFEZIorUct_gZimN73CByl6yZIMN4PFKCl-Xg/s320/DSCN2625.JPG" /></a></div>(Apparently it was "present starting with a T" birthday. </div><div>I ask you, where are the diamonds from Tiffany's?)</div><div><br />
I have three teeth.<br />
<br />
I've been walking for nearly two months.<br />
<br />
I sleep through the night (occasionally).<br />
<br />
I sleep in the day briefly (one sleep cycle twice a day please).<br />
<br />
I've managed to lose one of almost every pair of shoes I've ever owned.<br />
<br />
My favourite food is whatever I can scavenge from the cupboard when mum isn't looking (usually a jar of mush).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjinDv5V4WUdnheRSPeQxnjQyPpeRIA67ql4vnSc2klD5DzUAqmaGSsYPFbdXKgHmN73UxreFyxwZXoMxDTuJ3N7SyoI0h1_Nn0NaWKgCmc7UDn61VqQGQH4mSHOtFkAdyiou-uMQ/s1600/P1040466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjinDv5V4WUdnheRSPeQxnjQyPpeRIA67ql4vnSc2klD5DzUAqmaGSsYPFbdXKgHmN73UxreFyxwZXoMxDTuJ3N7SyoI0h1_Nn0NaWKgCmc7UDn61VqQGQH4mSHOtFkAdyiou-uMQ/s320/P1040466.JPG" /></a>My favourite song is "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Row,_Row,_Row_Your_Boat">Row row row your boat</a>", with a particular penchant for the crocodile scream bit in the second verse.<br />
<br />
My best friend is my big brother.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm statistically well placed to<a href="http://www.aihw.gov.au/mortality/life_expectancy/compares.cfm"> live past 2100</a>.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">But best of all, I'll always be pretty much smack on 40 years younger than my dad, so he better not forget my age.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My name is Sarah.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And I am one.</div><br />
<br />
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-20773739457092493062010-08-15T20:03:00.000+10:002010-08-15T20:03:02.976+10:00Walking the walk<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-C6ELU5RIrXinKQN_uYpWGGdIGaZ_TJaLVxTHt3wyD379PDeZgEPb-P3uIM1VhRbfHj9Mi6unlJ3FeD2RYw4sA67UrcFf9mjEifA0R6Be37Y2e1PzSJ7t6i-25g7tUOI3mpZ_Vg/s1600/P1040218.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-C6ELU5RIrXinKQN_uYpWGGdIGaZ_TJaLVxTHt3wyD379PDeZgEPb-P3uIM1VhRbfHj9Mi6unlJ3FeD2RYw4sA67UrcFf9mjEifA0R6Be37Y2e1PzSJ7t6i-25g7tUOI3mpZ_Vg/s320/P1040218.JPG" /></a><br />
Its been a long time between drinks.<br />
Spilled on the floor/over mum/down the back of the couch respectively.<br />
<br />
The last two and a bit months (has it really been that long?) has involved a myriad of firsts and adventures.<br />
<br />
Arguably the most significant being the girls first step.<br />
At a mere 10.5 months young mind you.<br />
<br />
Alll very exciting, and followed on from a few weeks of tottering with increasingly less and less hanging onto stuff - like mums legs, the couch or the underside of the clothes horse with her head covered in dad's Reg Grundies.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLThIlcofTxpzdIJfMQa8YAv10ftzVoY_r9rGe0rSaw-qzb5IsHyAU3fehqD8Mi_5mMR_Ixo8AJtbNRWw78nMR3-0RR50FQEw1ihbfiDjg3H2oLWO6mFaClu3YTg-UAsYk3mZ8dg/s1600/P1040153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLThIlcofTxpzdIJfMQa8YAv10ftzVoY_r9rGe0rSaw-qzb5IsHyAU3fehqD8Mi_5mMR_Ixo8AJtbNRWw78nMR3-0RR50FQEw1ihbfiDjg3H2oLWO6mFaClu3YTg-UAsYk3mZ8dg/s320/P1040153.JPG" /></a>Then came the biggy - Five successive steps.<br />
Yes.<br />
Five.<br />
In a row.<br />
And not only did she teeter the five steps in front of mum, but chose the mothers group to take her great walk, and hence had an audience who whooped hollered and cheered her across the room.<br />
And let mum take home cheesecake to celebrate.<br />
MMMmmmm.... cheesecake...<br />
{where were we?}<br />
Yes, teetering tottering little girl.<br />
<br />
Dad was phoned soon after to convey the news, as well as to convey that he needed to sneaker-net some data off to a big Bureau (deputy) boss. Which he did, told the story about the girl's mothers group sprint around the room, and was promptly told:<br />
"What are you doing here - go home son!"<br />
{Err... yes sir.} <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV5pA9phkZ3ixA_G_4hZxInEc5nk5iELwQG4O1gVA4qlplk4EhWe2OgB4VMw23LVGCQoXhpYHgSnlmIOO_gF7N55Rr6hOfd0XZiMABgbih-dq9mPcFK3GmNgoz-H4goy0BkDFUow/s1600/P1040027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV5pA9phkZ3ixA_G_4hZxInEc5nk5iELwQG4O1gVA4qlplk4EhWe2OgB4VMw23LVGCQoXhpYHgSnlmIOO_gF7N55Rr6hOfd0XZiMABgbih-dq9mPcFK3GmNgoz-H4goy0BkDFUow/s320/P1040027.JPG" /></a></div>Upon which the lass did a quick four-step just to show dad it wasn't a fluke.<br />
<br />
Well done little Miss S, 10 days shy of her 11th month in the outer world.<br />
That said...<br />
<br />
Is she the only person in the world who could walk BEFORE they grew any teeth??<br />
<br />
(She has now grown her first chopper. Which she literally uses to chop... or at least chomp... on anything which takes her fancy. She especially likes to chow down on a cup or glass, as it makes a little clinky sound that appears to amuse her no end. Makes it a bugger to feed her a drink, but hey, who needs H2O when you can have clinky-clinky noises?)<br />
<br />
The boy has also had adventures.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlRVFIuLKHO4S_bFDZ1UAgeDIp4V4qsUdJbeNmAzaZm_pjewwkJjh5xVA4flZFZw3sz_UrJSmziIb7VY0v6j_zOq2OK4jdTSIXvuKwsdLMnavNR3Zm9ugh7-C6i6yKPlK-3QiPg/s1600/P1030972.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlRVFIuLKHO4S_bFDZ1UAgeDIp4V4qsUdJbeNmAzaZm_pjewwkJjh5xVA4flZFZw3sz_UrJSmziIb7VY0v6j_zOq2OK4jdTSIXvuKwsdLMnavNR3Zm9ugh7-C6i6yKPlK-3QiPg/s320/P1030972.JPG" /></a>Not any gamechangers like walking, but still life lessons that will probably stay with/scar him for life.<br />
Arguably the biggest being "the kite".<br />
<br />
There we were at Smiths Beach on Phillip Island, flying dads kite. It was fun, but the boy was in severe risk of being lifted into the stratosphere, so it came time to pull out the k-mart special mini kite.<br />
<br />
We thought it would last 2 seconds before spiralling into a death dive and burning, hindenburg-like, on the sand.<br />
<br />
We were horribly mistaken.<br />
<br />
Instead this wonder of modern Chinese aeronatuical engineering flew like a dream on its single string, only slightly deterred when dad accidently crashed his stunt kite into its strings in some sort of stuka attack dive.<br />
But only slightly...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9hVSDM_NkmdGDiwg-43fRJ_rmGMDLf3c4GAMztxLKmGGeebZY9o9eHKKxNwo4wZLWbomNmEeqOQaMJUj1jLV1_W3cT_rpBWUS_BILV5KfnFl0y-MpJmY8p_sGyVbHKUVQmsgBfA/s1600/P1040007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9hVSDM_NkmdGDiwg-43fRJ_rmGMDLf3c4GAMztxLKmGGeebZY9o9eHKKxNwo4wZLWbomNmEeqOQaMJUj1jLV1_W3cT_rpBWUS_BILV5KfnFl0y-MpJmY8p_sGyVbHKUVQmsgBfA/s320/P1040007.JPG" /></a></div>Dad flew his kite.<br />
Mike flew his kite.<br />
There were smiles and grins until...<br />
Suddenly a kite flying sans boy.<br />
<br />
"Grab it boy!" yelled dad, as the kite stayed aloft and independant of its pilot.<br />
<br />
And started to head towards the grassy cliff.<br />
Which it ascended.<br />
The boy looked pensively skyward...<br />
"The string will get caught in the bushes" assured dad.<br />
It didn't.<br />
Up the cliff it went, higher and higher.<br />
(Those Chinese certainly don't fluck around when building kites.)<br />
And up and up.<br />
Mum grabbed the lass, and with the boy trailing behind, started up the cliff path following the still flying kite.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6A9OXK1D4IxtA8_y5SnngHEdQ8GPayVOKJT58n6RfiF8QE9zBDivN3nuSA5_6dGJaNtfrq8XgVCtlXnlPJRB8MHQDnRtogHlWTli5T-h9utSQvuNz6baBeMshHYf3NeWBOjMbg/s1600/P1040188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6A9OXK1D4IxtA8_y5SnngHEdQ8GPayVOKJT58n6RfiF8QE9zBDivN3nuSA5_6dGJaNtfrq8XgVCtlXnlPJRB8MHQDnRtogHlWTli5T-h9utSQvuNz6baBeMshHYf3NeWBOjMbg/s320/P1040188.JPG" /></a>And on it flew...<br />
Till eventually it's handle caught in the top of the only tree between Smiths Beach and some place in coastal south-west WA.<br />
<br />
And still it kept flying.<br />
<br />
By this time the family had clambered the several hundred metres up the grassy slope and along the cliff top to reach the still soaring kite. <br />
The boy looked up.<br />
Looked at dad.<br />
Looked up.<br />
Looked at dad, and, with wide and pleading eyes said...<br />
<br />
"Lets go to the shop and buy another one."<br />
And started to walk off.<br />
<br />
Go to the shop and buy another one?<br />
What in the wide wide world of sports have we spawned?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivc-qnHIs_nHFGE9ysFO4iHzn5g1yw7KK0-Nbm67GZaKYBBwRreQKLVcmJJCLqiMRA-bPQeobXBMV_ataBVJVFSqXsVo1aiIF2Wkrh6b91r66uJpB8rZm-ce-4hBaPEm1kqfLlPw/s1600/P1040250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivc-qnHIs_nHFGE9ysFO4iHzn5g1yw7KK0-Nbm67GZaKYBBwRreQKLVcmJJCLqiMRA-bPQeobXBMV_ataBVJVFSqXsVo1aiIF2Wkrh6b91r66uJpB8rZm-ce-4hBaPEm1kqfLlPw/s320/P1040250.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Dad promptly put plan B (which did not include a shop) into action and layed out his stunt kite, flew it into the sky, and, remembering the earlier beach kite battle, looped his kite over the renegade ones strings and brought it to the ground.<br />
<br />
Boy happy.<br />
Dad happy.<br />
Mum pooped fromm carrying the girl up the Hilary Steppe, sherpa like.<br />
(Kite shop, arguably, unhappy from a missed sale.)<br />
<br />
<br />
Walk on.<br />
<br />
<object height="295" style="background-image: url(http://i3.ytimg.com/vi/6jn5HJf5iuI/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6jn5HJf5iuI?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6jn5HJf5iuI?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="480" height="295" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-86434805853718003092010-05-22T22:08:00.002+10:002010-05-22T22:32:49.977+10:00CO2: We call it life.<div style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWteGnaKvga72l2SffLc6VhjVNFz8x8CxYAsOAr8SzZb9WV8_KUPhmNHZpar3Q_oDoPRfiOnfPHEgo0I02MHWJVZyzjK46uwB6DS90dMFum5GlG6L7PuGpLd8qYMkhR-E3_azwkQ/s1600/P1030879.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWteGnaKvga72l2SffLc6VhjVNFz8x8CxYAsOAr8SzZb9WV8_KUPhmNHZpar3Q_oDoPRfiOnfPHEgo0I02MHWJVZyzjK46uwB6DS90dMFum5GlG6L7PuGpLd8qYMkhR-E3_azwkQ/s320/P1030879.JPG" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">There's a coal-black sheep in every family. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Mum was agonising over where the family should start investing its hard earned when the house finally gets paid off - in the unlikely event that we ever reach such a point of course. </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">It was decided that all the family should be consulted.</span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">"Boy" she said, questioning the self-appointed smartest character in the house, "What should we buy? Bricks&mortar? Gold? Shares???"</span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">"Shares" said the boy in his best<a href="http://www.abc.net.au/profiles/content/s1889149.htm?site=news"> Alan Kohler</a> voice, barely glancing up from his train kit.</span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">"Which ones???" replied mum, eager to learn the inner workings of this fiscal genius.</span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">He thought about it for a moment, looked at his Thomas engines for inspiration, turned over a tender once or twice for good measure, then sternly replied:</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqwRSuds2rLL50TqTBNSK833RQYAIM4fDtvYfipO8ii5ljNppyROqhVScEUR41fwxxZm59ISo8jnnREwHr5h7xopdHX1799a2stuBewu1jf-6QCarDo505Bih8FoWf3DIWCD4xA/s1600/P1030777.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCqwRSuds2rLL50TqTBNSK833RQYAIM4fDtvYfipO8ii5ljNppyROqhVScEUR41fwxxZm59ISo8jnnREwHr5h7xopdHX1799a2stuBewu1jf-6QCarDo505Bih8FoWf3DIWCD4xA/s320/P1030777.JPG" /></a></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">"Coal."</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Coal. </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">The son of two climate scientists; oh the shame...</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">(The world is clearly doomed.)</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Still, we're hoping that nurture will take over nature - that or we'll beat it out of him - and there'll be hope for the future generations yet, despite the fact that Thomas the Tank Engine is clearly a mining industry shill. (Damn they're clever.) </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Indeed the nature v nurture grudge match has taken many forms in this family from the Baghdad end of Hampton. </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">And most noticably with the girl (now 9 months old by the way; as long 'out' as 'in').</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkzlP6wC-wEJRgHmYv0J9tzUIHav1ZbJn9eQ4HTTw31NqbAejhwRfwVu1I7wrdxThjAmgzqs0oTGLV7fIbcjbAz_T7fVFNgsizaXDvyO3iL53xImbsS27q7D2ePNgOHfs3o0b7g/s1600/P1030832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkzlP6wC-wEJRgHmYv0J9tzUIHav1ZbJn9eQ4HTTw31NqbAejhwRfwVu1I7wrdxThjAmgzqs0oTGLV7fIbcjbAz_T7fVFNgsizaXDvyO3iL53xImbsS27q7D2ePNgOHfs3o0b7g/s320/P1030832.JPG" /></a></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">There we were all thinking we were the models of modern parents and avoiding the boy/girl labels and all that (please ignore pink cardie in opposite pic), only to find the girl tending to her teddy one night, tucking him in and making sure he was all warm and cosy for the wee small hours... awwww.... </span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Not to mention being transfixed by unstacking the dishwasher and watching dad cook a Sunday roast. If, by transfixed, you mean doing a rap-dancing worm across the floor at dad's feet, which is really just the polite way of saying she was so excitied she was dry humping the polished boards in a somewhat unlady-like manner.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Not that it's always easy to be lady-like in this modern world.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Case in point. And bare with us - it's a long story.</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-w5H7kH3HaxnF41M3T1XXqMTT_i7D2PR8athXR2NZsZ3vQzybT6BA2gNcxr1jutam8Cqul6EnFQ5sFAeshl4zufap-ZlUwpvpJuT1nJSz3FoQ6FTUdB5B674U-vJCda-90RYcUg/s1600/P1030861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-w5H7kH3HaxnF41M3T1XXqMTT_i7D2PR8athXR2NZsZ3vQzybT6BA2gNcxr1jutam8Cqul6EnFQ5sFAeshl4zufap-ZlUwpvpJuT1nJSz3FoQ6FTUdB5B674U-vJCda-90RYcUg/s320/P1030861.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Her darling brother, Master M, has recently perfected the art of weeing into the toot standing up.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Yes. </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Genius.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">This has been at least partially come about through his increasing upwards growth, meaning his wedding tackle is now at the right height to flop his willy over the rim of the bowl and hit the target.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">And generally, like most blokes, he does.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Skip forward to mum, boy and girl cramming into the Griswald family truckster and motoring off to <a href="http://westfield.com.au/southland/">Westfield Southland</a> - a.k.a., the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_Star">Deathstar</a>.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">They arrived. </span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">They shopped.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">They drank a juice. </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRRER3XD1o_a0pNg3YLpQmd7XgN9Bv7mdBQ-XUoEOIiu8v0Gkc8AKisUKiCDC6NGwwUcbGthCqPheU-DGmh0hheKSGQmtGv4bdrHkdulfxAmTdDNg_WN7wY9zywWohM3z_ztjxA/s1600/P1030902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWRRER3XD1o_a0pNg3YLpQmd7XgN9Bv7mdBQ-XUoEOIiu8v0Gkc8AKisUKiCDC6NGwwUcbGthCqPheU-DGmh0hheKSGQmtGv4bdrHkdulfxAmTdDNg_WN7wY9zywWohM3z_ztjxA/s320/P1030902.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">"Mum... I need a wee!"<br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">No worries..," thought mum "they have these great family rooms..." (Indeed it may be the star of death, but it sure does come with some gee-wiz family rooms compete with a twin set of toots in case mum needed to go to, and in this case she did.)</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">In the past the lad would be plonked on the kiddie dunny and hence be somewhat immobile and helpless until retrieved by mum. But now, having achieved stand-up wee status, he wasn't quite so constrained.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Hence... boy standing at loo, shoes off, pants off and Reg Grundies kicked across the room for good measure, while mum abluted in parallel across the room, somewhat trapped with the girl at her feet. (The room had just been cleaned. Trust us.)</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Then it happened.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbyjbgc2lDhCRm7oJfxqesLZ-ygMEhW8I9MeDZIBMPg7nYG5F2Hd-pXFNp6fjo8T9AKmd0-fdpLaJvIw2YX28SxiBnENqMqijKSIJMql9TwrqD7IuvDIHkswS06U798oJp3nbwTg/s1600/P1030851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbyjbgc2lDhCRm7oJfxqesLZ-ygMEhW8I9MeDZIBMPg7nYG5F2Hd-pXFNp6fjo8T9AKmd0-fdpLaJvIw2YX28SxiBnENqMqijKSIJMql9TwrqD7IuvDIHkswS06U798oJp3nbwTg/s320/P1030851.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Little Miss S, showing her faultless devotion to her big brother, slipped mums grasp and did a bolt. As in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Usain_Bolt">Usain Bolt</a> - fast - across the floor, and before you can say "showers with a somewhat golden tinge", she was pulling herself up on the boys dunny.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">He, of course, received a bit of a surprise at seeing a little smiling face emerge next to his bowl, so looked down and smiled. </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Now, as they say in motorcycling circles, '<a href="http://www.roadsafetyawards.com/national/view.aspx?winnerid=76">where you look is where you go</a>'. </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">And indeed he did.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Right in/on her dial.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Mum was, well let say, somewhat shocked/stunned/mortified.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">For that matter, Little Miss S wasn't all that impressed with matters either. </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkz035Q8enznQldy1H1A983I3A5x0AScBzI2VPH2qdFKsbBSQFWH6nTdpIJ0moZSIAz4J9J7u41JvtqmspUjkV1iFneuvAgEFqGdMdVrh3Vs4_7ybEcx_SAiabtDXZkcDlNEWrw/s1600/P1030883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifkz035Q8enznQldy1H1A983I3A5x0AScBzI2VPH2qdFKsbBSQFWH6nTdpIJ0moZSIAz4J9J7u41JvtqmspUjkV1iFneuvAgEFqGdMdVrh3Vs4_7ybEcx_SAiabtDXZkcDlNEWrw/s320/P1030883.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">But like the good boy scout all mums are, a change of clothes was extracted from the pram, old clothes bunged into a selection of nappy sacks, and Little Miss S showered, this time with colourless water, under the wide-arcing faucets and dried off with a cloth nappy. </span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">And the family left with no one ever the wiser. (Well, until now.)</span></span></span></span></span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Not that, in the grander scheme of things, wee'ing all over someone, even your sister, is<i> that</i> bad.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">Like, its not as though the b<span style="font-family: inherit;">oy was the </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darth_Vader" style="background-image: none; color: #0645ad; text-decoration: underline;" title="Sith">Dark Lord of the Sith</a> (a.k.a., Darth Vader), or worse,</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> o</span>wned <a href="http://www.australiancoal.com.au/">coal</a>...</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"></span></span></span></div><br />
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http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-76228771319983938982010-04-23T22:03:00.005+10:002010-04-28T13:31:09.469+10:00Rock and Roll all night and party every day (II)Three.<br />
The boy is three. <br />
No, we can't believe it either.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9NFkPhz77dxP1wIABsVUMv9fhUqI1PXgU6at7zXD_fvNhqAzewYwQQjHRQapcw5M4oJtzGEPa6gKdGBpHl41E0-JrF7Dm7Zcn5yzQpBwkuC6DEMb20xtvLwnUfcndS_IAV-j2A/s1600/P1030737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL9NFkPhz77dxP1wIABsVUMv9fhUqI1PXgU6at7zXD_fvNhqAzewYwQQjHRQapcw5M4oJtzGEPa6gKdGBpHl41E0-JrF7Dm7Zcn5yzQpBwkuC6DEMb20xtvLwnUfcndS_IAV-j2A/s320/P1030737.JPG" /></a>But the boy could, and hence he announced to all and sundry that he would be having a party "just like Dash!" (Dash being his best friend. Well, unless he has declared someone else his best friend for the day.)<br />
<br />
And he declared who would be attending.<br />
"Aaron, Dash 'he's my best friend!', Baden, Ashley, Ava, Lily, Maladyn (actually Madelyn, but we dare any practising speech pathologist to get the boy to say it right), Mitchell, Owen, Archie, Georgie, Josh, Inge, Joseph..."<br />
<br />
"What about {insert name not on list here}?" suggested mum.<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
Ooookaaaayyyy then... <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFY8g8WSA7jw3ak7nph0xLRPvAMSHwZsikKmW_ENOpl5rJUqXGRDyvUsbFpgp_ekBr213BZUrZD2xHJURnLeyEt6ltlr1XqkxpBrKbGNRwZ0EHqaTJy9NoJ4ysKIgYHW783LbNQ/s1600/P1030664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPFY8g8WSA7jw3ak7nph0xLRPvAMSHwZsikKmW_ENOpl5rJUqXGRDyvUsbFpgp_ekBr213BZUrZD2xHJURnLeyEt6ltlr1XqkxpBrKbGNRwZ0EHqaTJy9NoJ4ysKIgYHW783LbNQ/s320/P1030664.JPG" /></a></div>The day started well enough - though arguably a bit frantic - with grandparents and Mistress P on food duty and dad on cake purchasing and "<i>get the boy to have a goddamn sleep or we'll all be in BIG trouble</i>" responsibilities.<br />
<br />
The latter involved whisking him off to the local pool for a toss about in the surf (the place has a wave machine; yes, we know, massive greenhouse footprint and all that. Hey, everyone's entitled to get a root on their birthday - in the boys case it was of the planet) and a slow drive home in a warm and cosy car.<br />
Always does the trick.<br />
Even for dad.<br />
<br />
The visit to the pool also presented the first age-associated conundrum.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhnbjnqakoFgPx5uoNTHnbzotoKJuu-obAWBV5n7eRgHtYsmMImaLEoYh-6kqVkgBnugkcCUeTnXTJvz_7Tk-bnfK8IYH3pik2WzO-x9ys_ukTDtmCpf3S3C_d8NnBt6Tnik6MjQ/s1600/P1030711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhnbjnqakoFgPx5uoNTHnbzotoKJuu-obAWBV5n7eRgHtYsmMImaLEoYh-6kqVkgBnugkcCUeTnXTJvz_7Tk-bnfK8IYH3pik2WzO-x9ys_ukTDtmCpf3S3C_d8NnBt6Tnik6MjQ/s320/P1030711.JPG" /></a>Kids under three - free. <br />
Kids three and over - $2.70.<br />
(Adults $5.50)<br />
<br />
In they walked.<br />
<br />
"Just here for a swim" offered dad to the nice lady on the desk as he handed over a tenner.<br />
"That'll be $8.20 thanks" she said. "Oh - how old is the boy?"<br />
Dad pondered momentarily. <br />
"He.. was... three... yesterday..." he grumbled.<br />
"Happy Birthday!" exclaimed the woman to Master M.<br />
"And here's your $1.80 change sir."<br />
"Thanks..."<br />
Dang nabbit.<br />
The free lunch is over.<br />
<br />
The party itself was all cheer and good wishes and presents of an embarrassingly generous nature. (We now realise how cheap we are- sorry everyone we've ever attended a party of.) As of Saturday, the Baghdad end of Hampton has become the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lightning_McQueen">Lightning McQueen</a> capital of the free world, with a fair dash of Thomas the Tank Engine and even Chuggington thrown in for good measure.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivaSkaOfXCL-MaoFbqbXKClbceNm-aQbkvgtAqx_OwsR43z81qLWN15YxceQgyq-FYM85O6f0K8OjG0zxwzMDh05WnDVOj2y1HR7sNOUpBfRMLQ7fXKcO4gLh047GFi3JhZ9h6w/s1600/P1030724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivaSkaOfXCL-MaoFbqbXKClbceNm-aQbkvgtAqx_OwsR43z81qLWN15YxceQgyq-FYM85O6f0K8OjG0zxwzMDh05WnDVOj2y1HR7sNOUpBfRMLQ7fXKcO4gLh047GFi3JhZ9h6w/s320/P1030724.JPG" /></a>There can't be a toy shop in greater Melbourne not in severe animated cartoon character deficit.<br />
<br />
This of course meant that the boy was, and remains, like a pig in poo.<br />
And not just because of the chocolate icing smeared all over his face.<br />
<br />
Of course there was the mandatory cake with candles, which refused to light in the seabreeze. Which is a bit of a bugger when you have to do it several times for all the little-uns to have a go at blowing out.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYsKlOAJyIhrb4_kLH4MwvRhyphenhypheneUUpcpseQc_tcHjgjSNj6FOV0V_9R3wArFRbjkd57RrvNMEt3VvKJDilEFOskk69A_8laHueyPCbw_RW-tr-rdXqUAvqdJkBEHe_pQ-6qE_Lqw/s1600/P1070166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYsKlOAJyIhrb4_kLH4MwvRhyphenhypheneUUpcpseQc_tcHjgjSNj6FOV0V_9R3wArFRbjkd57RrvNMEt3VvKJDilEFOskk69A_8laHueyPCbw_RW-tr-rdXqUAvqdJkBEHe_pQ-6qE_Lqw/s320/P1070166.JPG" /></a>Candle-blowing was followed by a few rather tuneless renditions of Happy Birthday, though (thankfully?) dad had had a couple too many and forgot to do a speech (he argues he didn't forget and that it was a party for the kids, so speeches weren't necessary. Some may argue if that was the case, neither was his beer.)<br />
<br />
Come closing time, Master M was doling out kitty-cute goodbye hugs and kisses with all his mates - which in reality may just have been a police-line pat down to ensure none were skiving off with one of his Lighting McQueen characters down their pull-ups - and all was declared a big success.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hZM6ZKywYJ4sdf8ff9q11DGdAv8ZbXFL79sP0UWRIACrbWB77_WmAwlcHrdgLXmFFm0BWVkmmIFpwBmnGWT2amyTd97JSnwy1ud3HWmEAQ3ZbsA2RpZVMUoOfTpZdw2mqUNDfQ/s1600/P1030735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hZM6ZKywYJ4sdf8ff9q11DGdAv8ZbXFL79sP0UWRIACrbWB77_WmAwlcHrdgLXmFFm0BWVkmmIFpwBmnGWT2amyTd97JSnwy1ud3HWmEAQ3ZbsA2RpZVMUoOfTpZdw2mqUNDfQ/s320/P1030735.JPG" /></a><br />
No fights.<br />
No tears (well, maybe one or two when some realised it wasn't<i> their</i> birthday...).<br />
No spewing.<br />
Ticked all the boxes really.<br />
<br />
Plus mum and dad had bribed the folks at work to turn on a pearler of a<a href="http://www.earthsci.unimelb.edu.au/%7Eawatkins/WWW/TEMP_IMAGES.dir/melbtemp.170410.gif"> 27°C autumn day</a>, foregoing the thrill of watching kiddies, parents and family flirt with hypothermia, as occurred at the lads first birthday.<br />
<br />
Granted, there was one downside; namely Mike's bottom.<br />
<br />
Or rather, its ability, late in the party day, to produce farts of stunning (literally) stink.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJDh3ndqKMpMW7nkHvBddwq0ArS4HpxE_izpSHTufX0q9Cr5Uqjq_d7GF2vfjTQKLMbNeLIRCEu8vw_l88lTXYJPqct670LJEhghrS_TK8hhuvBUkIcAfVVN5XXvxRWvCKdw9TtQ/s1600/P1070154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJDh3ndqKMpMW7nkHvBddwq0ArS4HpxE_izpSHTufX0q9Cr5Uqjq_d7GF2vfjTQKLMbNeLIRCEu8vw_l88lTXYJPqct670LJEhghrS_TK8hhuvBUkIcAfVVN5XXvxRWvCKdw9TtQ/s320/P1070154.JPG" /></a><br />
"Its probably been the crazy mix of foods he's been eating today" someone opined. <br />
"No it isn't" piped up the boy, "I've just eaten cake!"<br />
<br />
And so he had.<br />
As you should on your birthday.<br />
<br />
The Boy is three.<br />
Wow. <br />
<br />
<i>Addendum:</i><br />
1) The party also coincided with Mistress P's big four oh. Mike, ever the gentleman, allowed her a candle blow out and Happy Birthday rendition (one only).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>2) Little Miss S survived the day on only one sleep (she normally likes to get in two to three) and a concerted raid on the fairy bread. Yes. We know. Hundreds and thousands are possibly not exactly on the prescribed baby food list. Can't stop the party girl.<br />
<br />
.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-65989483587840508632010-04-23T22:01:00.001+10:002010-04-23T22:21:40.952+10:00Rock and roll all night and party every day (I)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcdvni4Vyloh8qDrUn9XhP_Ksm5D6NSJ4s-bEPBcXEiL95Nykyr-Wsx8Sekl4wspDPBPIMxItndOxd_BjkQHnDuI7tz4d6EeMYGwm00tRDc68v1suvsSvxo-M9BtNN2g1s8M73A/s1600/P1030620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcdvni4Vyloh8qDrUn9XhP_Ksm5D6NSJ4s-bEPBcXEiL95Nykyr-Wsx8Sekl4wspDPBPIMxItndOxd_BjkQHnDuI7tz4d6EeMYGwm00tRDc68v1suvsSvxo-M9BtNN2g1s8M73A/s320/P1030620.JPG" /></a><span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Ok</span>.<br />
That's it.<br />
We're moving to Queensland/<span class="goog-spellcheck-word">DoubleEwAy</span>/the <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">EnTee</span> if that's what it takes.<br />
<br />
Yes, it's that time of the year again.<br />
<br />
The switch from daylight saving back to sun time, and hence once again we're doing the baby <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">backstep</span> battle. Because, seeing as the majority of her life has been spent an hour out of whack, getting her re-whacked is proving nigh on impossible.<br />
<br />
Prior to the clock <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">switcharoony</span>, little Miss S was sleeping blissfully until 6:30-7am (i.e., 5:30 until 6am, sun time), when along comes the end of daylight saving.<br />
<br />
For adults, well its a <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">doozy</span>. In fact you feel, for the first few days at least, like someone has given you an extra hour a day to fritter away as you see fit.<br />
Its great.<br />
You get into work 'early', leave 'early' and generally spring about like there's 25 hours in a day.<br />
Which, if you have a sub-1 year old, is <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">prolly</span> what you need.<br />
<br />
Cos in our case... she kept waking at the same (sun) time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9DIhbZx4EX2VsksfOTH4dckCW8B1al-iOmm8yIeqvYwj_gsA58EQ4Q-MUjgxPzB6iQy31hKqFAb5GX7H9OOzZv_qEfirBrduqPupbEYHvQ1hjTFcIycZk8NGwbbF0K5bzOiUaw/s1600/P1030641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9DIhbZx4EX2VsksfOTH4dckCW8B1al-iOmm8yIeqvYwj_gsA58EQ4Q-MUjgxPzB6iQy31hKqFAb5GX7H9OOzZv_qEfirBrduqPupbEYHvQ1hjTFcIycZk8NGwbbF0K5bzOiUaw/s320/P1030641.JPG" /></a></div>Well, almost.<br />
And by almost we mean earlier.<br />
Way earlier.<br />
First morning: 4:40am (Just for clarity: Four. Forty. <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Ay</span>. Blessed. Em.)<br />
Then: 5:06am<br />
5:16am<br />
5:51am (we saw light at the end of the tunnel!!!)<br />
5:05am (...obviously the loco coming the other way.)<br />
5:05am (at least we're being consistent, though with a short nap in mum and dads bed afterwards)<br />
...and so on and so on. <br />
<br />
Its proving to be cruel and unusual punishment, and surely deserves a Geneva convention, if not full blue helmeted U.N intervention.<br />
<br />
The boy, granted, adjusted within a few days. Lets count our blessings there.<br />
<br />
Still, all this clock changing shenanigans hasn't stopped the girl from advancing on in leaps and bounds.<br />
<br />
The latest 'first' has been pulling herself up onto stuff.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCX8XSJhOKxAFzyFmPD_cIzccuzeiV1OdpbNO1LPmAd5X5Tkl-GEwZVq0OphfIv_bQby_fGvrJUg603L07jFyygyNrzKshlbvhM-rzt0jiAwWUCLaLuMvnju04Z9MMzfE1KMBsg/s1600/P1030655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCX8XSJhOKxAFzyFmPD_cIzccuzeiV1OdpbNO1LPmAd5X5Tkl-GEwZVq0OphfIv_bQby_fGvrJUg603L07jFyygyNrzKshlbvhM-rzt0jiAwWUCLaLuMvnju04Z9MMzfE1KMBsg/s320/P1030655.JPG" /></a></div>We'd kinda forgotten the joys this bring, such as finding your beautiful little daughter, tottering up onto her knees and raiding the bottom drawer of the change table, chowing down on a set of mum's disposable breast pads.<br />
<br />
Of course this also means that its back to baby-proofing the house again, and hence the hair tie has been strapped around the crockery cupboard drawers and, given her propensity to eat anything paper-<span class="goog-spellcheck-word">ish</span>, all books and magazines lifted at least two foot above the ground.<br />
<br />
We also figure that if the girl is mobile, she must be ready to move out of home. And hence... yes, at the tender age of nearly eight months, she's been packed off to childcare.<br />
<br />
<span class="goog-spellcheck-word">Ok</span>, its right next door to mum and dads work (perfect for a lunchtime snack on mum's <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">mammaries</span>), and it is only one day a week, but still... she's out there and doing it.<br />
And without much grumbling either we must add.<br />
<br />
As for the boy - well, it appears he likes chocolate. And that he's quite aware that mum and dad think there should be some form of rational thought into how much gets eaten in one sitting.<br />
Which is not much (that should be eaten... there should <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">argubly</span> be lots more of the rational thought).<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTsxhE7C1HJWXLMFaJs1KXTjJF72tR83BpO-GtgGK9s7dLeJmoIAbPk-EbJaiJ8FG-IBNVWj_HPM03Hl0Y6DsJXMv4qvJ_swpyu-Rsa1eCFphbHEIdrPG9vY2XnkFWeQropxTqw/s1600/P1030537.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458378796542483810" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdTsxhE7C1HJWXLMFaJs1KXTjJF72tR83BpO-GtgGK9s7dLeJmoIAbPk-EbJaiJ8FG-IBNVWj_HPM03Hl0Y6DsJXMv4qvJ_swpyu-Rsa1eCFphbHEIdrPG9vY2XnkFWeQropxTqw/s320/P1030537.JPG" style="float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 240px;" /></a>The lad, on the other hand, thinks too much chocolate is barely enough, and hence when he laid his hands on a slab of the Easter bunnies finest that dad decreed exceeded the volumetric boy-intake limit, he (as in the boy) stuffed as much as he could into his gob in one <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">gaggingly</span> large hit.<br />
<br />
Let us describe it in mathematical terms.<br />
One massive <span class="goog-spellcheck-word">chocco</span> blob + gushing boy-drool (cos its chocolate) = a Syd-<span class="goog-spellcheck-word">harb</span> worth of brown slobber distributed across the floor.<br />
<br />
And his shirt and himself.<br />
<br />
But he wouldn't spit a molecule out, despite its suffocating qualities.<br />
<br />
"Breathe through your nose!" said dad, arguably being helpful.<br />
The boy did.<br />
The boy survived.<br />
The shirt didn't.<br />
<br />
The kids know how to party in the Baghdad end of Hampton. <br />
<br />
.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-91462627469562921242010-03-20T09:46:00.033+11:002010-04-10T15:18:06.577+10:00Dinner table talesThe family that eats together, well, eats together.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikZG5zlbeZZklMex2XsXg0xQ82FMOfb0Pttx8n0pP1xTWEBKYKykBcMJZdSj5eP44dts7w2OCafMPbPdLqPLGS7Y9u3KfQzqwRPNcABHlejNmsXCvi0-tJ-9DYwAxym1La7RE_Q/s1600/P1030499.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikZG5zlbeZZklMex2XsXg0xQ82FMOfb0Pttx8n0pP1xTWEBKYKykBcMJZdSj5eP44dts7w2OCafMPbPdLqPLGS7Y9u3KfQzqwRPNcABHlejNmsXCvi0-tJ-9DYwAxym1La7RE_Q/s320/P1030499.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458308342980094162" border="0" /></a><br />And in the shambles that is our little corner of the Baghdad end of Hampton, it can be an eyeopener every night.<br /><br />For little Miss S, its all about The Food.<br />Glorious food.<br />The girl loves it.<br />And not just the mushed up rice stuff and apple either, we're talking real world nosh.<br /><div><br /></div><div>Yes, the girl has decided that this baby food caper is somewhat beneath her, and that it's about time she was given full voting rights at the evening dinner table.</div><div><br /></div><div>Case in point...<br />The family sat down to a slap up feed of home made pizzas (ham off the bone, pineapple, capsicum, mushrooms, tomato paste and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">mozzarella</span> on a pita bread base) while little Miss S was given mush of the day (rice meal, apple, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">quinoa</span> - which is actually <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">pronounced</span> "keen-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">wa</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisbNg0o3-WMX41SAsrQX4BVJJMPvQHPO1jmgADfnUlwUPLN2V_8RXqU_l0F4fx3rqTccGNstZOByQZd2R6xQA4uA98JiQRcdP9M8P_Ogb2o-G0Ss3swSDsJlVkdp05xrgELq3rsA/s1600/P1030579.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisbNg0o3-WMX41SAsrQX4BVJJMPvQHPO1jmgADfnUlwUPLN2V_8RXqU_l0F4fx3rqTccGNstZOByQZd2R6xQA4uA98JiQRcdP9M8P_Ogb2o-G0Ss3swSDsJlVkdp05xrgELq3rsA/s320/P1030579.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458311013790463634" border="0" /></a>"; you learn something new every day). </div><div>She ate a bit.</div><div>She watched a bit.</div><div>She decided that the family homemade pizza looked like more fun than a nappy full of marbles, so demanded in.<br /><br /></div><div>She stopped accepting the mush (granted, after downing her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">bodyweight</span> in the stuff; the girl certainly knows how to put it away), and grizzled towards the pizza.</div><div>Dad offered her a crust.</div><div>She grabbed the crust.</div><div>She gnawed on the crust (as much as you can with no teeth).</div><div>She loved the crust.</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYh-hgCvNv0GsT98rQloxnNFMDTnrv4Wqiu1pi1AWfGB1jTiOuait2IaCHC6WRNG-vJL0wsk6DZmkYbENVfP6Q4yvnSlfatpJiLyrb-ZUurab9-Ehx8UtK9_UaywhBOr0WyhlLQ/s1600/P1030386.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYh-hgCvNv0GsT98rQloxnNFMDTnrv4Wqiu1pi1AWfGB1jTiOuait2IaCHC6WRNG-vJL0wsk6DZmkYbENVfP6Q4yvnSlfatpJiLyrb-ZUurab9-Ehx8UtK9_UaywhBOr0WyhlLQ/s320/P1030386.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458302177379567746" border="0" /></a></div><div>So much so that when she dropped it, as you do when your motor skills are in their infancy, she let the table (and anyone with aural abilities withing a 50 m radius) well and truly know about it.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Ok</span>, sure, giving a kiddie wheat-product at this early stage is not exactly in any of the kid wrangling books, but, well, she <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">didn't</span> keel over. At least not in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">anaphylactic</span> shock - just with delight at being one of the family eating what mum and dad and big bro at the dinner table.<br /><br />She's now gone on to sample the delights of beef casserole (pronounced "cassowary" by her big brother - we're noting this here so we have written proof in the event of an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">FNQ</span> parks ranger overhearing the boy talking; no officer - we've managed to avoid eating<a href="http://www.uq.edu.au/eco-lab/cassowary-sighting"> endangered birds</a> in this household thus far), shop bought pizza, chicken, the family staple (pasta) and even corn on the cob (yes... somewhat cruel when you <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">don't</span> have any teeth; still it gave her many minutes of gumming pleasure).<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjViWLTKTIOSMSvqm31messWDFiSFUrMl9R860k2DEVyxYnCfnXbKUjSvubcFF3LinWRhLwog_rXZONXj8s0cpRRJttid1ZE57PRrR8JAelAbWkpNTkri7dktaVDW992-vuxfNKLw/s1600/P1030554.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjViWLTKTIOSMSvqm31messWDFiSFUrMl9R860k2DEVyxYnCfnXbKUjSvubcFF3LinWRhLwog_rXZONXj8s0cpRRJttid1ZE57PRrR8JAelAbWkpNTkri7dktaVDW992-vuxfNKLw/s320/P1030554.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458309261077014306" border="0" /></a><br /><br />All this eating has, somewhat inevitably, lead to a great deal of growing.<br /><br />And all that growing means we now have a little girl bending like a banana in her car baby capsule and hence... about to join the ranks of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">vehicularly</span> upright. If she's anything like her brother, the first trip will be in a daze as the world rushes by at incredible speed. (Dad still recalls reading the wonderful <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">nineteenth</span> century "scientific research" which stated humans could not live at over 60 mph.)<br />Either that or, (granted the far cheaper option) she becomes a banana.</div><div><br />While all this has been going on, the boy has decided that he also wants to step up a notch or two, and if at all possible, make his parents redundant.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqhfc3O1_DxaLBxicstHV75P2b0s_yR0XnNRjY2MzkUZBfgZpntbGAfzU0N40dOmIDniOpSDxuyaHMAFqpr1QGYoDqwnHIw_w8NNhFZnf7QBs6MbesPlFENm5hyWR6YRVGJnppg/s1600/P1030581.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMqhfc3O1_DxaLBxicstHV75P2b0s_yR0XnNRjY2MzkUZBfgZpntbGAfzU0N40dOmIDniOpSDxuyaHMAFqpr1QGYoDqwnHIw_w8NNhFZnf7QBs6MbesPlFENm5hyWR6YRVGJnppg/s320/P1030581.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458310223522292882" border="0" /></a><br />There, again, was the family sitting round the dinner table, with the lad's lazy good-fer-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">nuthin</span> parents doing useless things like EATING ("What a pointless activity that is..." thinks the photosynthesis-only boy - though granted his appetite has been a bit better since we started him on tissue salts) when all he wanted his folks to do was read him his new Henry (from Thomas the Tank Engine) book because, as he said, 'he didn't know the words'.<br /><br />("I think he's trying to rote learn all his books" said mum, "No, seriously, its a bit scary really...")<br /><br />Dad asked him if, rather than evolve into a parrot boy, he wanted to learn how to read instead. The boy responded; "Yes."<br /><br />Hence he's been trying to learn his letters and, granted, doing quite well at it too. And much to his credit, its largely self taught too <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV2xgeKqU6v-mhy61oqEdSdVbwwagqPQxzjv7lTscTx5_FgJvusmm7j1liUr0fUOXZWyzcPo8pqBkYvMHABImBRsdJFSWElywT1Yed1mOwNKtFlHelbr_zo4cZrWI6YLqbE-RDUg/s1600/P1030481.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV2xgeKqU6v-mhy61oqEdSdVbwwagqPQxzjv7lTscTx5_FgJvusmm7j1liUr0fUOXZWyzcPo8pqBkYvMHABImBRsdJFSWElywT1Yed1mOwNKtFlHelbr_zo4cZrWI6YLqbE-RDUg/s320/P1030481.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458306719933854034" border="0" /></a>- he can whip "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Maisy's</span> ABC" into the video recorder faster than you can spell dyslexia.<br /><br />That said, he is at the crawling stage of learning to read, and hence tends to get a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">teensy</span> bit frustrated at times. His way round this? Well he simply demands that a word means what he says it means, and not the other way round. (Possibly handy if writing a dictionary.)<br /><br />Case in point:<br />"Mucks Sleepover" said the boy, pointing at the words on the cover of a book with <a href="http://www.bobthebuilder.com/au/meet_muck.asp">Muck (from Bob the Builder)</a> on the cover.<br />"Yes," replied mum, "That word says Muck, but that word is just the letters 'BBC'."<br />"NO! Muck..."said the boy correctly pointing at the word Muck... "Sleepover" <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">po</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRpnxdOrmd7IDQyM0JGXntML2AtufmJDtOiDkc413445ygLCmbZ0LYLavSjezHrpC7X14nEN_hdsSbC7EzPLj_DJ1uwWD45E2z8Ncb_cAv3fxeyLe-pFxoGFEFYPD5uPfdjWwOtw/s1600/P1030577.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRpnxdOrmd7IDQyM0JGXntML2AtufmJDtOiDkc413445ygLCmbZ0LYLavSjezHrpC7X14nEN_hdsSbC7EzPLj_DJ1uwWD45E2z8Ncb_cAv3fxeyLe-pFxoGFEFYPD5uPfdjWwOtw/s320/P1030577.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458311792482134466" border="0" /></a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">inting</span> at the letters BBC.<br />This went on for some time.<br />A true battle of wills.<br />"Cant win, don't try" opined dad from the peanut gallery, borrowing from his favourite Homer Simpson quote.<br /><br />That said, the lad is making better progress with his numbers.<br /><br />He's certainly got zero to nine down pat, and now moving on to numbers 11 through 99, which can make walking down the street somewhat slow as he stops to read every letterbox.<br /><br />This has all come about because, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enigma_machine">enigma</a>-like, he's cracked the adult code for numbers. Or so he thinks.<br /><br />Any dual digit number is<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YhVOEWhSnruQsUvxB9xMxYRyX9saUQKfnAANDobGCPKerZGS7qHPNujr5rWi6Yk4q6DILweKyr7Y5zpgbFG5FWS55pistcvbITo3f2WKLrh-bb750MrNW65YuhWr4b_Q7Vkcng/s1600/P1030415.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2YhVOEWhSnruQsUvxB9xMxYRyX9saUQKfnAANDobGCPKerZGS7qHPNujr5rWi6Yk4q6DILweKyr7Y5zpgbFG5FWS55pistcvbITo3f2WKLrh-bb750MrNW65YuhWr4b_Q7Vkcng/s320/P1030415.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458303335990582994" border="0" /></a> "{number}-tee {second number}".<br />Which is all fine and dandy for 42, 95, 61, 79 etc., etc.<br />But 33 is "three-tee three", 18 is "one-tee eight" (though of late he has learnt that that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">isn't</span> quite right, so sometimes its become "eight-tee one", which at least sounds right, if still wrong), and 26 is two-tee six.<br /><br />Ten out of ten for effort and application though.<br />Or rather one-tee zero.<br /><br />But back to the dinner table.<br /></div><br />There we were once again, and once again the conversation was getting a bit dull for Master M, so he took it upon himself to entertain the family with a story.<br />"It was a beautiful summers day on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Sodor</span>..." he started.<br />...which sounded vaguely familiar.<br />He kept going... and going...<br />"...'Burst My Boilers!' Thomas said"<br />and going...<br />"...was to fix the Lords summer house..."<br />and going.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoMgOyqgO5ySNIwxUShivWAGGJNdWtxQtjerF50hdrzkyG21U-WNLd54aMo0vaZjpblAdPsOVM8PHAYpIAPYb9TGE4eFW424iLWKUpxkDceErTJRxFhhU3mzXUlN7Ng0hRPbDG3A/s1600/P1030465.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoMgOyqgO5ySNIwxUShivWAGGJNdWtxQtjerF50hdrzkyG21U-WNLd54aMo0vaZjpblAdPsOVM8PHAYpIAPYb9TGE4eFW424iLWKUpxkDceErTJRxFhhU3mzXUlN7Ng0hRPbDG3A/s320/P1030465.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458304345310238946" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Now to anyone without a two to four year old, this may have sounded like the ramblings of a mad child, however mum and dad stopped eating and sat, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">agasp</span>, in awe.<br /><br />In all, the lad recited approximately the first five minutes of the "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hero_of_the_Rails">Hero of the Rails</a>" Thomas the Tank engine movie... line for line, with changes in tone and inflection for about half a dozen different characters.<br />Seriously.<br />Five Minutes.<br /><br />Finally he stopped.<br />"Well..." said dad, "Bugger me."<br />The boy smiled.<br />The family applauded (...the boy, not dad's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">indiscretion</span>).<br /><br />You <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">wouldn't</span> be without a dinner table for quids.<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/z6zeYnvEAA8&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/z6zeYnvEAA8&hl=en_GB&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br />.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-5145997845782801622010-03-14T08:38:00.035+11:002010-03-15T13:26:30.969+11:00Long time between drinks<div><div><div><div><div><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Yup. It's been a while between blogs.<br />(We blame society.)</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6CjQ48bmnUNLvtWkDeQYOmM68QiqEylLNr8xKqa2nRinYxyLSJX0QvKuVAKQczpNzwOojOkMfOD3iNIsqAmxTQMh-uZsTjQQTULIoZ5DzoC_nHyYnOsfE3pW51RGGjWdhcGyrA/s1600-h/P1030248.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px; float: right; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448427631715277394" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6CjQ48bmnUNLvtWkDeQYOmM68QiqEylLNr8xKqa2nRinYxyLSJX0QvKuVAKQczpNzwOojOkMfOD3iNIsqAmxTQMh-uZsTjQQTULIoZ5DzoC_nHyYnOsfE3pW51RGGjWdhcGyrA/s320/P1030248.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And when you're only 6 months old, you can crank up a fistful of firsts in only a few weeks, so stettle in - we've a bit of ground to cover.</span></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The latest set of firsts have included (but been far from limited to), her first plane ride (to Sydney and back - thank Ford for "</span><a href="http://www.earplanes.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">earplanes</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">" and hence no 1000 decibel screaming kiddie landing), the first crawl (13 Feb 2010), first tooth (9 March), first 10+ hour sleep though without even a faint whine (14 March) and, of course, her first six months of life (17 February).</span></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The crawling (in so far as the traditional baby commando shuffle can be called a crawl; she'd be a star if/when required to slither below barbed wire under enemy fire) has been an unmitigated success. If only so she can access her current favourite food (newspaper); the first crawl coming after the temptation of a juicy copy of the local '</span><a href="http://leader-news.whereilive.com.au/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Leader</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">' rag became all too great, so she took matters into her own hands and tootled off across the room to fetch it. </span></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Her talents for m</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfK5Fj23EqswKZHlmp_edFXJTftMLQlTuJGLmKEFG31oqucjdfx1XcUILc6jwxmPnXszbVPUwfprR2TANnzvrCL3J0dHAETviqfM-b3gaNw-2TBvtu2UNM9Flj8sdbSc19DCX78g/s1600-h/P1030278.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px; float: left; height: 240px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448424885082591730" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfK5Fj23EqswKZHlmp_edFXJTftMLQlTuJGLmKEFG31oqucjdfx1XcUILc6jwxmPnXszbVPUwfprR2TANnzvrCL3J0dHAETviqfM-b3gaNw-2TBvtu2UNM9Flj8sdbSc19DCX78g/s320/P1030278.JPG" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">obility have since extended to chasing (via amazingly rapid commando crawls) her significantly bigger brother all round the house - that said, our house is smaller than some Rosebud foreshore tents - trying to steal his favourite Thomas trains, leading to our first case of parent enforced child separation before the lad instigated punitive actions against his aggressor.<br /><br />There's also been no stopping the lass in the combined crawling and eating department - her balanced diet, as alluded to above, consisting of both tabloid and broadsheet.<br /><br />(Never let it be said this family doesn't like to devour the Saturday Age on the weekend - literally. Come Monday there was semi digested newsprint strewn from welcome mat to compost bin until Mum decided that a solely printers ink diet didn't appear in any</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_FN-0lwNS9IhzfPNqTTfSivLOefAcrhwBgmJZ7axdrxHvcxBfTTQQtBlL4l4bNHJ6bLaKv67REV9w_dufp3sf0ExXXBC84reo5kyyVarDp9apI1OX26-AWwOpF8-HgiM-FUbjNA/s1600-h/P1030205.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_FN-0lwNS9IhzfPNqTTfSivLOefAcrhwBgmJZ7axdrxHvcxBfTTQQtBlL4l4bNHJ6bLaKv67REV9w_dufp3sf0ExXXBC84reo5kyyVarDp9apI1OX26-AWwOpF8-HgiM-FUbjNA/s320/P1030205.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448435164779587762" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> of the standard kidwrangling texts and hence should be curtailed.)<br /><br />In fact it must be noted that Miss S is an avid eater in general; and not just of the (r)Age sub-ed's finest work. She can devour a jar of Heinz Organic's in minutes and watch out anyone who gets between her and a slice of banana; they </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">will</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> lose fingers. In fact, at times she appears to eat more than her big brother, who goes through extended periods digesting so little we've decided he must surely be generating his sole energy source through photosynthesis. We figure it's an evolutionary sidestep, if not advancement.<br /><br />It must also be noted that all this food the girl devours has been gummed, not bitten, down.<br /><br />The first tooth has indeed been a strange one. </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;" class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0lbx3AO4a3qUSB5wC1jYcxjD6b_p9dLl7uLR0QWu24G7C9R-9K_24pFy28CUUy6C9pa03VeRL8rcRq4QgnMIiCEZUEUyRq1Za6mPomidPrLd3IciTktxSxGXUmsmwqQoYA1qGw/s1600-h/P1030303.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 240px; float: left; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448429217868706146" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0lbx3AO4a3qUSB5wC1jYcxjD6b_p9dLl7uLR0QWu24G7C9R-9K_24pFy28CUUy6C9pa03VeRL8rcRq4QgnMIiCEZUEUyRq1Za6mPomidPrLd3IciTktxSxGXUmsmwqQoYA1qGw/s320/P1030303.JPG" border="0" /></a></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">At the same age, and much to mums breastfeeding peril, Master M had a mouthful of choppers. Not so the lass. When finally one tooth did start to drop down from her top gum, it took one tiny sliver look at the world.... then disappeared! </span></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Tru dinks.</span></span></div><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Straight back to being gummy. (Not that mum's boobs are complaining...) Ok, you can feel a little tooth under there waiting to rear its head again, but it appears in no hurry.<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Still, all this gumminess doesn't stop her grabbing a fistful of steamed carrot and mashing and masticating it into easily digestible bits; just takes her a little longer.<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And in fact, combined with her new found passion for crawling, has embarrassingly led to another A4 dropped into the "dont tell the council nurse" file...</span></span></div><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br />A parent (name deleted to protect the female) had been feeding the lass (or rather, letting the lass feed to herself) steamed sticks of steamed carrort, stalks of broccoli and the odd bean or three, resulting the inevitably detritus spread far and wide on the floor beneath the high chair. (Dad has taken to laying newspaper on the floor below- no, not as dessert, thanks for asking.)<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Lunch over, said parent started doing the dishes/answering the phone etc, and popped </span></span><span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0y81nOzOP4Qmrr-N9HGNBICP4AIYQgEQgQxem7E9HGAeFZwyBnhejqAkF4HqIiXyTP8Bm2uIhRnV1ppPCzWiwcsU2q2lmod3dgCTC3lcVK7G2oKVc8t_Gv7NJkZ_mGWAQhFPP3A/s1600-h/P1030191.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0y81nOzOP4Qmrr-N9HGNBICP4AIYQgEQgQxem7E9HGAeFZwyBnhejqAkF4HqIiXyTP8Bm2uIhRnV1ppPCzWiwcsU2q2lmod3dgCTC3lcVK7G2oKVc8t_Gv7NJkZ_mGWAQhFPP3A/s320/P1030191.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448437222420900162" border="0" /></a></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">lit</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">tle M</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">iss S on the floor at their feet to play. Sure enough, it wasn't long before the lass grew a little sick of curre</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">nt surroundings and was orf.</span></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:georgia;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">No worries... </span></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:georgia;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Until said anonymous parent realised she hadnt heard much "talking" for while.</span></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /><br />So they looked.</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:georgia;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> And there the girl was...</span></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:georgia;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">...beneath the dinner table, happily eating the foo</span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:georgia;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d scraps </span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:georgia;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">she'd dropped off the high chair.</span></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /><br /></span></span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Oh well... saves buying a dog and it did indeed clean the floor; maybe we should rent her out to </span><a href="http://www.dyson.com.au/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Dysons</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> for evaluation.<br /><br />Finally, the big first for little Miss S (and for mum and dad and Master M too): a true sleep through - no grizzles - from her 7:30pm laydown to a some vaguely decent hour (in this case 6:15am). Not that 6:15am on a Sunday is civil in anyones language...<br /><br />The whole sleeping caper reached a head when Master M was emphatically denying that his sisters frequent nighttime cries and wakeups were not effecting him in the slightest, while at the same time his eyes were hanging out of his head and he'd developed an attention span measured in microseconds.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXSF8NRtJTMsvID8HlDCIoZ3bqiuB-c_27OLxeeDkRINnNQWUkqW_oL9v-GdPpdJ4K_NYKi-8bxYimAbf5HbxVvNUt2x8Mte5JMbrOU9YNBU7emKQaUbBauOV5hJsi7Q7YoAeVg/s1600-h/P1030347.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 240px; float: left; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448431650173813010" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXSF8NRtJTMsvID8HlDCIoZ3bqiuB-c_27OLxeeDkRINnNQWUkqW_oL9v-GdPpdJ4K_NYKi-8bxYimAbf5HbxVvNUt2x8Mte5JMbrOU9YNBU7emKQaUbBauOV5hJsi7Q7YoAeVg/s320/P1030347.JPG" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /><br />Not to mention that mum and dad were going insane(er).<br /><br />Hence reactive parenting went proactive, and in was called a sleep angel; i.e., a nice lady with some ties to a horse-piddle and a knack for getting kids to sleep and parents to sanity.<br /><br />In her words, Miss S was having a bit too much of the good life; all late nights, boobs and getting (milk) drunk whenever she dam well felt like it.<br /><br />Hence it was onto the 12 steps of Mammaries Anonymous.<br />The first step is admission.<br /><br />"My name is little Miss S, and I've been a nightime boobaholic for 6 months".<br /><br />Going cold turkey overnight wasn't easy, and mum and dad staggered through the daylight hours for a few days like the terminally undead, but it soon came.<br />Only 3 wake ups.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXwYc5yC-aeSpyVKB4t_68Lw8fI-jE18npjkydXtDtihWLUBFQX0NmDlBMApT0CQibBeWcFxsCJypTnWuHOePN1S-Kc4rDOsg71m4thCQ6WIoB7hVahd0LxuRKrnLaR3ojz3uTQ/s1600-h/P1030184.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKXwYc5yC-aeSpyVKB4t_68Lw8fI-jE18npjkydXtDtihWLUBFQX0NmDlBMApT0CQibBeWcFxsCJypTnWuHOePN1S-Kc4rDOsg71m4thCQ6WIoB7hVahd0LxuRKrnLaR3ojz3uTQ/s320/P1030184.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448436373186354578" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Then only two.<br />Then one. (Then one. Then one. Then one.)<br />Till finally...<br />Only self-settled grizzles.<br />Ahhh.... sleep.<br /><br />On the boy front we've discovered he has a memory like a steel trap; don't dare get one word wrong in any book he has read more than once, even if you think you haven't read all of it before.<br />Case in point: "Daddy - no, no, no, no.... its Jerry Smith"<br />Dad: "No, Phil Jacobs"."Daddy... no, no, no; Jerry Smith..."<br />Dad: "Phil Jacobs".<br />"Daddy... no, no, no..."<br />It went on like this for eons; arguing over who was listed on the inside front cover of the Thomas books as a co-illustrator with </span><a href="http://www.jacketflap.com/persondetail.asp?person=134055"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Robin Davies</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">.<br /><br />Seriously.<br /><br />Then Dad opened the next book.<br />And what did it say:</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUS4ci833Urdc-dOJwU1zYTXRPNCT5bPpRJ8kBaCgi7dzTwc5A68cbUpbKiRehCDU4dtY8kvWVERIrf5-fnqLX9pqovnaA8Ol5QQi5Zyrygzta8C4S1EGW-GFWZLU2Nuw1e8wCQ/s1600-h/P1030238.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUS4ci833Urdc-dOJwU1zYTXRPNCT5bPpRJ8kBaCgi7dzTwc5A68cbUpbKiRehCDU4dtY8kvWVERIrf5-fnqLX9pqovnaA8Ol5QQi5Zyrygzta8C4S1EGW-GFWZLU2Nuw1e8wCQ/s320/P1030238.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448439805902748354" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Illustrations by Robin Davies and Jerry Smith</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br />Oh, you gotta be kidding.<br /><br />We've also moved forward rapidly with the potty training, and now have a boy who, if he puts his mind to it (</span><i style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">if!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">), is able to spend a full day in the Reg Grundies with no accidents, and make it through many a night barely putting a drip into his pull-up.<br /><br />However, there is one downside/learning experience we've encountered that we didn't imagine but in retrospect can almost understand. Almost.<br />{The squeamish should look away now; its been nice talking to you. Promise the next blog wont take so long to write.}<br /><br />The boy took himself to the toilet (not potty), hoisted himself up on the ladder and kiddie seat attachment and did a great big </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZAeRT56epMKGhoNrsS_QC3d-HFhkNRl4cd4vxlHTfhrRpJxMXwMEB7608yIEEOomeDAhiKrDASHlqKCFasVMAwk0tczMxAXnd3VqOB_m0hdRDEbXk2Ru7WHLS3TI4yW6F0nC3Q/s1600-h/P1030335.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 240px; float: right; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448429927632256866" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZAeRT56epMKGhoNrsS_QC3d-HFhkNRl4cd4vxlHTfhrRpJxMXwMEB7608yIEEOomeDAhiKrDASHlqKCFasVMAwk0tczMxAXnd3VqOB_m0hdRDEbXk2Ru7WHLS3TI4yW6F0nC3Q/s320/P1030335.JPG" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">poo.<br />Well done.<br />Then there was silence.<br />Followeed by a Homer Simpson-like howl from mum: "NNNNNoooooooo!!!"<br /><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Prologue:<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Post poop, boy had hopped off the seat, turned round, and retrieved something from the toilet.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /><br />"Its a pea." he said proudly.<br />And so it was.<br />Partially digested.</span></span><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><div style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">He lifted it towards his lips....<br /><br />"Its for eating!"</span><span style="border-collapse: collapse;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /><br /></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Mum: "NNNNnnoooooooo!"<br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br />{Told you to look away.}<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Ok, to ease your mind/tummy; he didnt actually eat it.</span></span><br /><object style="font-family: lucida grande;" width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Od1Vtx2-t5o&hl=en_GB&fs=1&"></object><br /><br /><div style="font-family: lucida grande;">.</div><span style="border-collapse: collapse;font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px;" class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></span></span></span></div></div></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-91422079348644712762010-01-23T11:08:00.027+11:002010-02-06T10:03:36.237+11:00There's never a camera when you need itThere it was.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CdISpeKs5UclvZCg1dQlvclo6iWaD5rfY3Ykf5wjF0qntRuPaUf_dZctnShCXt_TC5WAXKW0IUi2D7UWyrYqLI5NHc53knNNO8vx1N4XryDUWnvBvK3Fsqe5xK8Qumo6E4Yalg/s1600-h/P1030082.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 240px; float: right; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434857790612765794" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CdISpeKs5UclvZCg1dQlvclo6iWaD5rfY3Ykf5wjF0qntRuPaUf_dZctnShCXt_TC5WAXKW0IUi2D7UWyrYqLI5NHc53knNNO8vx1N4XryDUWnvBvK3Fsqe5xK8Qumo6E4Yalg/s320/P1030082.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br />A rogue hair in the dinner.<br />And another on the table.<br />And a bunch in the plughole of the bath.<br /><br />Yep... its that time again.<br />Oh yeah, {to the tune of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c4L4CPfQY8">Hammertime</a>}, Moulting time.<br /><br />As with all things baby related, the changes not only come thick and fast for the bub, but also for their long suffering mum.<br /><br />In the case of hair loss, its all down to mum's hormone levels, cos during pregnancy the oestrogen thingys delay the hair folicle growth resting phase when the hair normally falls out. This delay leads to luschous manes and hence sexy mums.<br /><br />But, as an old lecturer of mum and dad used to say, what you gain on the swings you lose on the roundabouts, and hence, a few months after birth... out comes all that extra hair and the Farrah Fawcett phase comes to a close.<br /><div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoFU8ZxUkyqs-uFoEeAnBvsMhpPYPJurfoJRpZGiG24K8JPgnAbpslMvi_lDU5MS1dQfCsg1hkZp4a_WWJDkyRsx13je7G2i39OOCgNBu0rnMyAbPcIkEHbZwFdMK6KyA1QKsFMQ/s1600-h/P1030098.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 240px; float: left; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434866100124788786" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoFU8ZxUkyqs-uFoEeAnBvsMhpPYPJurfoJRpZGiG24K8JPgnAbpslMvi_lDU5MS1dQfCsg1hkZp4a_WWJDkyRsx13je7G2i39OOCgNBu0rnMyAbPcIkEHbZwFdMK6KyA1QKsFMQ/s320/P1030098.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><br />All in one big "waiter there's a dozen hairs in my soup" fashion.<br /><br />(In fact there's one of the blighters on the keyboard here as we write.)</div><br /><div>If only losing a few extra hairs was all mum had to endure.</div><br /><div><div>Lets just say, at least in Mistress P's case, swimming can be dangerous. </div><br />Especially if you're mum to a spectacularly keen little fish (lets, for sake of argument, call him Master M) who has developed a Thorpy-like kick off the pool wall.<br /><div>Cos that's what he did.</div><div>(Just as instructed by his coach.)</div><div>Do a Thorpy-like kick hard off the wall.</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCehVCN2DBHjLgM0GG9aTU-OtvujBMyApC-N3Hx_mULu26CoRduRMWAeryYR216mB4QkIB_xSTfV3_Sv90rKlB91GJNaUicOyPWkqkXRzj5i1xumai2xKmgZJCExf05DQQgmcHNg/s1600-h/P1030093.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCehVCN2DBHjLgM0GG9aTU-OtvujBMyApC-N3Hx_mULu26CoRduRMWAeryYR216mB4QkIB_xSTfV3_Sv90rKlB91GJNaUicOyPWkqkXRzj5i1xumai2xKmgZJCExf05DQQgmcHNg/s320/P1030093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434888632711762450" border="0" /></a><div>And headbutt (with the back of his head) mum clean in the eye, knocking her semi-senseless and giving her a doozy of a shiner.</div><div>Ouch.</div><br /><div>Strangely, dad's suggestion that mum just put purple eyeshadow on the other peeper to match wasn' t taken seriously. Or, for that matter, appreciated.</div><br /><div>"And don't go round doing that 'she burnt the chops' joke either" warned the black eyed one.<br /><br />Right you are.<br /></div><br /><div>For some reason, the past fortnight has actually been a succession of such "<a href="http://channelnine.ninemsn.com.au/australiasfunniesthomevideoshow/">Funniest Home Video</a>" moments, if not non-PC jokes.</div><br /><div>At least one involves Little Miss S, who at the ripe old age of 5 and a bit months, is finally able to sit up on her own.</div><div>(You kinda forget how such little milestones actually are so big.)</div><br /><div>Ok, she can't actually get herself vertical on her own, but once plonked in position she can balance there for a fair old while and seems dam pleased with herself into the process.</div><br /><div>However, and as alluded to by the "for a while" bit, she inevitably overbalances sideways and clonks her head on the ground/pillow/parent.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8cqK7h4umlqWowFLGJjM4SmBZSK2WBbEcZUxTjPPqg54qP36-XvV7RkQcqtBX5GsMrt1I8oKx8PeLxcDn72xOWQKr5Y0PUvSvDyjdHqFwZArM5SSLHhVJpl2pEegWqokUgUqIg/s1600-h/P1030056.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8cqK7h4umlqWowFLGJjM4SmBZSK2WBbEcZUxTjPPqg54qP36-XvV7RkQcqtBX5GsMrt1I8oKx8PeLxcDn72xOWQKr5Y0PUvSvDyjdHqFwZArM5SSLHhVJpl2pEegWqokUgUqIg/s320/P1030056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434887587460492914" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>That said, not all the video moments in the <div>household involve getting clonked (unlike on the show).</div></div><div><br /><div>For instance, what do you get if you mix a 2.75 year old who keeps wanting to go faster, a 40th birthday party out in a park in the (<a href="http://www.earthsci.unimelb.edu.au/%7Eawatkins/WWW/TEMP_IMAGES.dir/melbtemp.310110.gif">36°C</a>) heat, a playground complete with "wizzy teacup thing" that you sit inside and spin round at warp speed, and eating too many chips?</div>(You're probably way ahead of us already.)<br /><div><br />Dad was watching from afar, and suddenly noticed the "whoop whoops" of an excited lad had turned into a sudden and decidedly un-2.75 year old quietness plus a chameleon-like colour change to some shade of green. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkrRU51MiyOaNtel9zCLy3wp51ZjsGM06aYFHHcpcufx8T7AVmWpfBQ4K4lFmoyx-FdtTvMjDTYG-TLz4esVsLBJDFUHItBE2CJfRcZKU7VZTJ7PxBcLO88EppjikF28jr-imkTQ/s1600-h/P1030119.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkrRU51MiyOaNtel9zCLy3wp51ZjsGM06aYFHHcpcufx8T7AVmWpfBQ4K4lFmoyx-FdtTvMjDTYG-TLz4esVsLBJDFUHItBE2CJfRcZKU7VZTJ7PxBcLO88EppjikF28jr-imkTQ/s320/P1030119.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434884090083249346" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div>Dad leapt up.</div><div>Ran over.</div>Stopped the cup.<br /><div>"You ok mate?"</div><br /><div>Lets just say the reply was in technicolour, covered much of the teacup/playground including wider surrounds, and that its always amazing how much more it seems when its coming out rather than going in. </div><br /><div>Poor lad.</div></div><br /><div>That said, we are actually very proud of some of the stuff that comes out of him. Or rather, his growing ability to control it.</div><br /><div>Yes, we have a lad who is almost (...almost)... {da da daaa daaaa} potty trained.</div><br /><div>The process thus far has involved wall charts of stickers, a couple of Thomas the Tank Engine bribes, a bag of Freddo frogs (rewards for a dump well done), and Rory the racing car - who is really Lightning<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOrY7ypzkR2LCmRqLHRwQtfQT8YdiGWnIOueX85EE8qO8kSE8VKC-3W58iNE2EwEikPMegXDlj-MXtWo6iKxQ3xRvBc0Vl4P6dyT5izQJFEhDYYgpEn6AmaVFKp3W_aYzbcr7mHA/s1600-h/P1030112.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOrY7ypzkR2LCmRqLHRwQtfQT8YdiGWnIOueX85EE8qO8kSE8VKC-3W58iNE2EwEikPMegXDlj-MXtWo6iKxQ3xRvBc0Vl4P6dyT5izQJFEhDYYgpEn6AmaVFKp3W_aYzbcr7mHA/s320/P1030112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434889129923279650" border="0" /></a> McQueen - pull-ups soon replaced by a six pack of 'Rory' Reg Grundies.</div><br /><div>The turning point may well have been his childcare.</div><br /><div>Dad arrived to take the boy home to find the lad dancing round a pole.<br />As you do. (Thankfully minus the heels and g-string.)</div><br /><div>When he saw dad he bolted over, dispensed with the customary hug, grabbed dads hand and lead him away.<br />To the dunny.</div><div>Dropped his duds.</div><div>Dropped his pull-ups.</div>Sat up on the (special mini kiddie) toilet.<br />Did a wee.<br />Jumped off.<br />Put on his pull up.<br /><div>Pulled up his pants.</div>Fushed the loo.<br />Washed his hands.<br /><div>Dried them with paper towel.</div>Put his rubbish in the bin.<br /><div>Then stood there - all smiles and waiting for applause. </div><br /><div>And well he might. </div>What a bloody good effort.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLcFhYHJ8ffphaJRlYrn0x5eF5qNN1JKxJ3wp40xBhYnx7-zjfAChMn_9LwFbuG67lDcvem1GJ3LD6mv-YT9vfkiQ9bFfjf22Btd6UpNrEbYthR5020S44NP7lmMAvytbWsprag/s1600-h/P1030152.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDLcFhYHJ8ffphaJRlYrn0x5eF5qNN1JKxJ3wp40xBhYnx7-zjfAChMn_9LwFbuG67lDcvem1GJ3LD6mv-YT9vfkiQ9bFfjf22Btd6UpNrEbYthR5020S44NP7lmMAvytbWsprag/s320/P1030152.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434891092269972674" border="0" /></a><div>Encore!</div><br /><div>But it didn't end there.</div><br /><div>Fast forward a few days and there's Mum, freshly out from the morning shower and enjoying a moments solitude.</div><br /><div>She hears footsteps and a pushing at the closed bathroom door.</div>Followed soon after by a rattling at the closed and latched back door flyscreen.<br /><div>Then quick running steps down the corridor and the distinct creaking and clanking of the front door being swung open. </div>Then.<br />Silence.<br /><div><br />Mum realises the boys done a runner, out into the street.</div>Flings on a robe, bolts through the house and bounds out into the f<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWn9WXWVPUa4Uk0ibhbP8PH0BMjT-BJIjmG5w47AXbx1WluacLGvdpYzrqiKKBR63EW8mfGq_84yGmcL9UeNpISiQbAtewXhov9D7t1uFF4vUuCqv40JL7roLzb9ElOmR9aJTokw/s1600-h/P1030095.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWn9WXWVPUa4Uk0ibhbP8PH0BMjT-BJIjmG5w47AXbx1WluacLGvdpYzrqiKKBR63EW8mfGq_84yGmcL9UeNpISiQbAtewXhov9D7t1uFF4vUuCqv40JL7roLzb9ElOmR9aJTokw/s320/P1030095.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434894566788815378" border="0" /></a>ront yard praying not to see boy pizza on the tarmac/that her bits are all exposed to the general populace walking by, only to find...<br /><br /><div>Master M, middle of the front yard, duds 'round the ankles and pull-up at half mast, having a wee on the grass. A Funniest Home Videos moment if ever there was one.</div><br /><div>(Note image for someone travelling past: Front yard of dying grass containing a somewhat dishevelled and panting lady in dressing gown and sheepskin slippers standing next to her naked son while he's having a wizz on the lawn. We're all class here in the Baghdad end of Hampton. Here's hoping the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Google_Street_View">Googlemaps Street View car</a> wasn't driving past.)</div><br /><div>But as dad points out, this is also one of the key realisations when becoming a man:</div><div>The world is my toilet.</div><br /><div>(Dad is so proud.<br />Always.)</div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DzoTGH0NadQ&hl=en_GB&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DzoTGH0NadQ&hl=en_GB&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div>.</div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-90411438559119659322010-01-15T07:10:00.038+11:002010-01-20T22:19:37.444+11:00Festival of the firsts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2ceahq1Ml3z86h2i0hOcV0S9YaY9c85l17uXvGneEbFKBR-T5m-QtSV08aG0QhE9Fw2ZTmCYhVmxmW-dv94ppdn_dvC5r_Dr0TiB-8GGnngJhxVUNy2gYyoKIQdiS5s0jznwAg/s1600-h/P1030030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2ceahq1Ml3z86h2i0hOcV0S9YaY9c85l17uXvGneEbFKBR-T5m-QtSV08aG0QhE9Fw2ZTmCYhVmxmW-dv94ppdn_dvC5r_Dr0TiB-8GGnngJhxVUNy2gYyoKIQdiS5s0jznwAg/s320/P1030030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428756178764848050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Ok. </span>We don't know what's been put in the water round here (aside from flouride and some form of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brave_New_World">soma</a>), but 2010 is already proving the Year of the First.<br /><br />We're talking real life-changing, big-time, no-going-back from here matey, firsts.<br />With a capital F.<br /><br />For little Miss S, well it almost comes with the territory, being a professional card-carrying 5-month old and all that.<br /><br />She's had her first shower in a real shower. And not even a water saving one (ohh... errr...).<br /><br />Her first meal in a pub (the Dava in Mt Martha; scored five 'Yeehas!' out of five on the playground scale from Mike, though inversely scored five rat droppings out of five on the Gordon Ramsey "Fook me this is crap!" scale for the food.)<br /><br />Her first time in a cot (as opposed to a basinette).<br /><br />Her first sleep in her own room (well, mum's study really).<br /><br />Her first sleeping bag.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgISYXzkheLTKctVLhUPMJ9FS4wDg6zwvPGEnPqyvEx4nThULoX9OgM5IBeCRlnOUgvHRT3eY7Z3GWzZbWWKEGc-T_pnnBObB62ikQhozhn6WNGGga3DM5XHgfURXMxPiXXjRoqTA/s1600-h/P1020994.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgISYXzkheLTKctVLhUPMJ9FS4wDg6zwvPGEnPqyvEx4nThULoX9OgM5IBeCRlnOUgvHRT3eY7Z3GWzZbWWKEGc-T_pnnBObB62ikQhozhn6WNGGga3DM5XHgfURXMxPiXXjRoqTA/s320/P1020994.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428769174412530834" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Her first roll over from back to front (soon mastered).<br /><br />And then her first roll from front to back (arguably still a fluke).<br /><br />And then there was the biggies....<br /><br />After gradually showing more and more interest in the family dinner times, and not being content any more with being banished to the rocker on the floor, she was plonked on a lap. Which lead to her staring intensely at every mouthful of food ingested by mum, dad and the <a href="http://www.bamix.com/de/">bamix</a> (imagine the mess a bamix would make if applied to your dinner at the table. Thats about what happens when a 2.75 year old is let loose on <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKLn_IoxEL79Y8-4tRwW8anSvEhksDQEIv_AY42PS3DQ51AKT1zWcxNDMo1LSKuwl_A8EQnwGHCrFWZV-GVV6tiZiMkN_sK45IdyDMAb_-uF9WMztVpMdnIvCecxutFiLQGkbqA/s1600-h/P1020892.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidKLn_IoxEL79Y8-4tRwW8anSvEhksDQEIv_AY42PS3DQ51AKT1zWcxNDMo1LSKuwl_A8EQnwGHCrFWZV-GVV6tiZiMkN_sK45IdyDMAb_-uF9WMztVpMdnIvCecxutFiLQGkbqA/s320/P1020892.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428766813017472498" border="0" /></a>a plate of spiral pasta bolognese with a fork). And arguably her first genuine whinge.<br /><br />Hence, and somewhat contrary to <a href="http://www.who.int/child_adolescent_health/topics/prevention_care/child/nutrition/breastfeeding/en/index.html">WHO gu</a><a href="http://www.who.int/child_adolescent_health/topics/prevention_care/child/nutrition/breastfeeding/en/index.html">idlines</a>, it was time for...<br /><br />...her first solid food.<br />MMmmmm... mashed banana...!<br />Slurped off her mums fingers like a 4.5 month old possessed (<span style="font-style: italic;">Date: 29/12/2009</span>)<br /><br />She's now had an assortment of textures and flavours, with the current fave being farax (i.e., rice meal) mixed with Gold 26 formula milk and a formerly frozen cube of pumpkin.<br />Or Banana.<br />But never the two at once.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSvz8UeJ_Q2TefvGNS2zmpora6daSyhRKQqw6qywBOniDkyk9efGBqjHp9psj9hS3cyR442KFCtCIjKnUDC5RD5nALsNG55Y6b7ulaPDjM1HlTe7IT9yEYcgA-vFVfXng2bE-IKg/s1600-h/P1020968.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSvz8UeJ_Q2TefvGNS2zmpora6daSyhRKQqw6qywBOniDkyk9efGBqjHp9psj9hS3cyR442KFCtCIjKnUDC5RD5nALsNG55Y6b7ulaPDjM1HlTe7IT9yEYcgA-vFVfXng2bE-IKg/s320/P1020968.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428769788988928002" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This solid food caper has, inevitably and unfortunately, lead to her first...<br />...stinky poo.<br />(<span style="font-style: italic;">Description removed for the weak of stomach.</span>)<br /><br />The other biggy from the girl was, finally, after literally a couple of months of persistant coaxing... drinking from a bottle.<br />First 50ml (in one go).<br />Then 100ml.<br />Then 150ml.<br /><br />To the uninitiated this means... freeeedom.<br />Mum no longer has to be within tittie flopping-out distance of the lass at all times, rather she can indeed rock and roll all night and party every day, safe in the knowledge that her bub wont starve without her.<br /><br />Of course mums boobs may explode unless vacuum pumped at regular intervals, but that's a relatively minor inconvenience in the grande old scheme of things. (The aforementioned bottle feeding also lead to a mum first by the way... her first full day back at work without bub.)<br /><br />The final first for little Miss S; well being of the climate-changed generation <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHkEM-Q7JpNgI7n7CUwzMg33tWJi1tf72KxcOtVde7HHrvucjHHs0GUbtGcviKYO4biEQ4nt6KiSG0EMRv0ekO04cNW569EX5b-B148FzjhU8s15riWnMdvq3TYgE1Ew2FXCk9Bw/s1600-h/P1020870.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHkEM-Q7JpNgI7n7CUwzMg33tWJi1tf72KxcOtVde7HHrvucjHHs0GUbtGcviKYO4biEQ4nt6KiSG0EMRv0ekO04cNW569EX5b-B148FzjhU8s15riWnMdvq3TYgE1Ew2FXCk9Bw/s320/P1020870.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428764922211726898" border="0" /></a>(Gen Z the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generation_Z">internet</a><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Generation_Z"> generation</a> - phooey), it was about time she went through her first <a href="http://www.earthsci.unimelb.edu.au/%7Eawatkins/WWW/TEMP_IMAGES.dir/melbtemp.110110.gif">43.6°C (110.5F) day</a>. After all, her brother had already seen four of them; seriously and sadly, the same number as anyone who lived the entire 20th century in Master M's Melbourne.<br /><br />The corresponding night was also the <a href="http://www.heraldsun.com.au/news/melbourne-swelters-through-hottest-night-in-more-than-100-years/story-e6frf7jo-1225818603986">equal hottest Melbourne night</a> (minimum 30.6C) since records began in 1856.<br />Indeed we knew it was hot; the boy kept demanding that his "heater" be turned off.<br />"Mate" reasoned dad, "that's a fan - it'll keep you cool."<br />"TURN. HEATER. OFF!"<br />"ohhhkaaay..."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd_TIhTTEZCQQTFYRbLFOrBx49z1dGuZ1JDnDUNwoLOqt4i9JZ972feNaHV3JZQj0-S7656_HSdeMM_jarykpvqXuFnz9Dd1q-83LHdxvTGJHRELpMKM42EpV-kGnTy4yyslZ5gA/s1600-h/P1030034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd_TIhTTEZCQQTFYRbLFOrBx49z1dGuZ1JDnDUNwoLOqt4i9JZ972feNaHV3JZQj0-S7656_HSdeMM_jarykpvqXuFnz9Dd1q-83LHdxvTGJHRELpMKM42EpV-kGnTy4yyslZ5gA/s320/P1030034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428759180011425026" border="0" /></a>Yawningly... there's one first still lacking from the little Miss S tally.<br />Sleep.<br />Not one full nights kip through in five months.<br />Sleep oh sleep; why have you forsaken us?<br /><br />Of course the firsts don't end with the girl.<br />The Boy is racking them up at a fine pace too... can't be outdone by your little siss after all.<br /><br />The big <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">BIG</span> first was the first poop in the loo.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Explanatory note:</span> If you don't have kids; imagine the joy you'd get from lying in your favourite chair at your favourite spot in the world eating your favourite food from your favourite chef all the while having horizontal mumbo with the A-list celebrity your spouse has given "ok, if you ever get the chance you can bonk them, {sigh}" rights to, well... thats approximately half the pleasure you'd get from not having to change one nappy overtopping with crap cos the kid deposited it themselves in the toot.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzyecMOjp9iQZ5H6H2kxV2pS597gslWx7QMI6R65jUx_eb9ZJiWSKmmQITJ5bJUnN0-OWWR4tIvuIsK-dMGJMCvfTGrGyU1u57vILrZnA701y95v-3LGQuMpznm-twEjvgsAzyA/s1600-h/P1020863.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzyecMOjp9iQZ5H6H2kxV2pS597gslWx7QMI6R65jUx_eb9ZJiWSKmmQITJ5bJUnN0-OWWR4tIvuIsK-dMGJMCvfTGrGyU1u57vILrZnA701y95v-3LGQuMpznm-twEjvgsAzyA/s320/P1020863.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428763241727602770" border="0" /></a><br />This is all part of the first attempt at potty training.<br /><br />As a result, right now we are on high level "<a href="http://ttte.wikia.com/wiki/Spencer">Spencer</a>" alert; that be "Spencer" from the Thomas the Tank Engine movie. (The boys first ever full length movie by the way.)<br />Hence...<br />A wall chart, stickers, and 20 poops/wees and Master M is on the first bus, front row, to Spencer city.<br />He is somewhat excited.<br />So are wee (scuse pun).<br />He's almost one of us.<br />Nappie-less.<br /><br />As part of this pot-trainin' process we've also had...<br /><br />His first day in <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=grundies">Reg Grundies</a>. Or at least first few hours...<br />...a little boy emerged running into the unfortunately closed bathroom door pleading "potty!", the delay resulting in<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivI4lgRqdHqzXXxMQUxUzmtR6enHkgt76WUSRfaHaq9q_lxBHqgYb_Qyj9AevINVj6CrQFkmuycnbkYkzmPEsmtqyF77uZnjz5X960YAFZd_KhsIAh1QYMIZ2K1rqTfvAXaYxtHQ/s1600-h/P1020831.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivI4lgRqdHqzXXxMQUxUzmtR6enHkgt76WUSRfaHaq9q_lxBHqgYb_Qyj9AevINVj6CrQFkmuycnbkYkzmPEsmtqyF77uZnjz5X960YAFZd_KhsIAh1QYMIZ2K1rqTfvAXaYxtHQ/s320/P1020831.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428761419378375010" border="0" /></a> somewhat sodden nethers and subsequent demanding for a <a href="http://www.huggies.com.au/OurProducts/Pullups/default.asp?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=pullupsbrand&247SEM">Pull-up</a>.<br /><br />"No mate, you want undies" recommended dad.<br /><br />"NO!" replied the boy, while raiding the change table, finding himself the last "Rory the Racing Car" (who is actually Lightning McQueen from the movie <a href="http://adisney.go.com/disneypictures/cars/main.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cars</span></a>, but lets not burst a bubble here), Pull-up. Putting it on himself (itself a first) and tearing off like a man possessed.<br /><br />Note to selves: leave door open.<br /><br />Finally... a first for dad.<br /><br />Or rather three.<br />All unfortunate, all (possibly) related to lack of sleep, and all demonstrating why mum is amazing in how togther she is after 5 months of waking nightly.<br /><br />First first (and one for the "don't tell the council nurse/Victoria police" file.)<br /><br />First drive off in the car with boy unbuckled. (Only discovered when approaching the home driveway and the rear view mirror revealed a boy standing up, getting himself ready to leave prior to the car coming to a stop.)<br /><br />Second first: Arrive home, same trip, to find the house front door wide open. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4NxG6L53kAc1EFkfrn09teNHr_o_LEvjkF-Dqzr7BlMsn-M6GHbKeEVERVOTnEcMRpN08WGTBsb101O8QIdPen4nREWTrmMhATaBjsGjHmTyS1CSrPaJiqZW-GItvPPk_KFs7Q/s1600-h/P1020929.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4NxG6L53kAc1EFkfrn09teNHr_o_LEvjkF-Dqzr7BlMsn-M6GHbKeEVERVOTnEcMRpN08WGTBsb101O8QIdPen4nREWTrmMhATaBjsGjHmTyS1CSrPaJiqZW-GItvPPk_KFs7Q/s320/P1020929.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428770430226661922" border="0" /></a>(To any burglars watching.. note; first time. And we have a cricket bat.)<br /><br />Third first: juggling the two kiddies (and himself) to get breakfasted, dressed and de-pooped, dad managed to successfully burn, nay cremate, SEVEN slices of toast!<br />Seriously.<br />Seven.<br />They were counted out as they dropped into the compost bin; the rats (after their entree at the Dava) ate well that night.<br /><br />Ahh... the festival of the firsts.<br />January 2010.<br />You gotta love it.<br /><br /><object height="340" width="560"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rXxiK9WYbgc&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rXxiK9WYbgc&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="340" width="560"></embed></object><br /><br />.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-86156824263421104352009-12-26T10:40:00.019+11:002010-01-06T13:46:04.313+11:00Xmas 2009; Doin' it for the kids<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsaBTaoIC8kcXCcak3cXTdHIJ-5F2L_0zHc-uOj6OWJ5TtZJjyIhH2wuQGOKKTAN8Bjj4iMgjfOts2iT3KqxHsy_pF8SAsE3-cJunuVKgnLcmTrJ4rZSPckttSfaq8KIPAhtIJg/s1600-h/P1020751.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsaBTaoIC8kcXCcak3cXTdHIJ-5F2L_0zHc-uOj6OWJ5TtZJjyIhH2wuQGOKKTAN8Bjj4iMgjfOts2iT3KqxHsy_pF8SAsE3-cJunuVKgnLcmTrJ4rZSPckttSfaq8KIPAhtIJg/s320/P1020751.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423207412812940146" border="0" /></a>We made it out alive.</div><div> </div><br /><div>From Xmas day that is.</div><div> </div><br /><div>The girl's first ever and the boy's first where he actually understood the concepts of Santa, presents, being good and eating till plum pud pours out your pores.</div><div> </div><br /><div>Unfortunately Master M didn't seem to quite grasp the associated concepts of:<br /><br /></div><div>a) Giving people what they want ("What do you want to get Dad Mike?" questioned mum. "Salty!!" {Salty being a Thomas the tank engine character...})</div><br /><div>b) Keeping presents secret ("Dad, Dad,... I got you Salty!!")<br /><br />c) The exact date of Xmas ("Dad, Dad,.. open your Salty present NOW!!!" ...demanded on Xmas eve.)<br /><br /></div><div>d) Sharing ("Dad, Dad,..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNWBrSZainBP3Fr8XI9cQuMOcYccmeyO7UnmH3kP2z7wStxDuYweBfQcOEKf-UmA8So686VABk-WjNeXuTRX1JwFmz40oEeuDpCRnUX2h9hyhy_TYsIUxdguSTL3YAmoixnH_1g/s1600-h/P1020668.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNWBrSZainBP3Fr8XI9cQuMOcYccmeyO7UnmH3kP2z7wStxDuYweBfQcOEKf-UmA8So686VABk-WjNeXuTRX1JwFmz40oEeuDpCRnUX2h9hyhy_TYsIUxdguSTL3YAmoixnH_1g/s320/P1020668.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422829079281968930" border="0" /></a>. you share your toys; I want Salty!" declared the boy.<br />"Ok... I'll give you Salty if you give me Bill {one half of 'Bill&Ben' of Thomas engine fame; not the doper weeds}" replied Dad.<br />"NOOOO!!!!" cried the lad. "I have both! Gimme Salty.")</div><div> </div><br /><div>Such a day was, we imagine, fairly typical of a million kiddies houses in Melbourne alone.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>The girl, of course, had little concept of what in the wide wide world of sports was going on, other than this coloured paper stuff was great to chew on and sparkly ribbon things got caught in your toes.<br />Hence her antics were decidedly everyday.</div><br /><div>Eat.</div><div>Poo.</div><div>Sleep.</div><div>Cry.<br />All the good stuff.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div>Ok, she rolled about a bit and indeed displayed many feats of strength as discussed previously.</div>And she did seem rather chuffed with a couple of her pressies; the soft-yet-crinkly book<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAtWCf53nrALJdgO6UnBPTBDGEUEiF_E8o5h4NGUXNlZ2I-A6jSySiUJ2-xIxMhsSoDY67EETzvI9Ba_RMgzwksvYBQevh-tQmNT3U2Bdb1GH3Wqnfbu6QUVD9TixBYyifK9BZrg/s1600-h/P1020689.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAtWCf53nrALJdgO6UnBPTBDGEUEiF_E8o5h4NGUXNlZ2I-A6jSySiUJ2-xIxMhsSoDY67EETzvI9Ba_RMgzwksvYBQevh-tQmNT3U2Bdb1GH3Wqnfbu6QUVD9TixBYyifK9BZrg/s320/P1020689.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422830121739997426" border="0" /></a> (which she chewed) and most of all the teething ring from Nana that she gummed on for much of the day. <div> </div><br /><div>For the boy, however, it was anything but ordinary. </div><br /><div>The fun started at the ford-foresaken hour of 6:15am.</div><br /><div>There was the sound of little footsteps and a muffled "ooohhhh..." followed by the unmistakable rustling of wrapping paper being interrogated by little fingers.</div><div> </div><br /><div>"Hey Mike,... whadchya doing?" mum called.</div><div> </div><div>"Errr.... n.o.t.h.i.n.g...." came the all too innocent reply.</div><div> </div><div>"Has Santa been?" dad queried.<br /></div><div> </div><div>"YESSS!!!"</div><div> </div><br /><div>There was clearly going to be no stopping of this irresistible force, hence out of bed it was for all and sundry to the wonderful sound of sparrows farting. </div><div> </div><br /><div>Granted the boy was a little confused about the actual status of Santa's visit. T<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoj1HY_jDkhFoan9HRzueyfFdxOweeZ-Py3BcaJBVfO8YbWo51nioAlv9TbD-H-YFRV_bmKL2PC_3lYyTpBwF_X0i9UkunVnUYgpz6En2YMyHWRhj_jinFpT8MUPC41VRIFbVMeA/s1600-h/P1020760.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoj1HY_jDkhFoan9HRzueyfFdxOweeZ-Py3BcaJBVfO8YbWo51nioAlv9TbD-H-YFRV_bmKL2PC_3lYyTpBwF_X0i9UkunVnUYgpz6En2YMyHWRhj_jinFpT8MUPC41VRIFbVMeA/s320/P1020760.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423208242874230050" border="0" /></a>he problem being that the little bit of milk left in the glass and mostly eaten Christmas cake and crumbs left on the side table by the tree actually said to him that Santa hadn't been. Or rather, as there were left overs, he was at least due back.</div><br /><div> </div><div>At this juncture we offer some worldly advice.<br /><br />One trap for young players that we learnt from last year; don't have all the chocky for breakfast - the sugar rush is too much for a present tearing toddler to bear and it all ends in tears about an hour later. Instead we had tea/hot milk and toast while perched in front o<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7gxhPgauxc-XLoJxYfhmURg8G-WAMc8chfM8HTXdrn9uMnKzDa2gK1YbUguOS-Cof6vD09wzK0vOJ_2u-zMjuwgpimU0PiJxrFkwRT_U-hVRhzWtldOSdBFMfrxmfj6o0f030xw/s1600-h/P1020795.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7gxhPgauxc-XLoJxYfhmURg8G-WAMc8chfM8HTXdrn9uMnKzDa2gK1YbUguOS-Cof6vD09wzK0vOJ_2u-zMjuwgpimU0PiJxrFkwRT_U-hVRhzWtldOSdBFMfrxmfj6o0f030xw/s320/P1020795.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423210210382283922" border="0" /></a>f the brand spanker new "Hero of the Rails" Thomas full length feature movie.<br /><br />All before 7am.<br /><br />It was almost sane.<br /></div><div> </div><br /><div>Presents done, it was off to the paternal family do.<br /><br />More food, more kiddies, more chaos, and a wonderful walk to the beach afterwards to burn up the pore pouring pud.<br /><br />This, of course, being our second Christmas feast of the week.<br /><br />Two days earlier it had been the maternal nosh up, complimented by a good old Au<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEityfcWK3Kp0AK2pcCuN66klAwC4tB3L4Jl20Iw5ShTeqOnxkOSGGYEBis-lfEsmMY9P5SjrHPmjacDlTbZidbK5vnXkQF75ZMsdj9G4CGPcP8CPO60RP7CAG077x1cnxrMpB5YQQ/s1600-h/P1020736.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEityfcWK3Kp0AK2pcCuN66klAwC4tB3L4Jl20Iw5ShTeqOnxkOSGGYEBis-lfEsmMY9P5SjrHPmjacDlTbZidbK5vnXkQF75ZMsdj9G4CGPcP8CPO60RP7CAG077x1cnxrMpB5YQQ/s320/P1020736.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423206490474432626" border="0" /></a>ssie stinker of a <a href="http://www.earthsci.unimelb.edu.au/%7Eawatkins/WWW/TEMP_IMAGES.dir/melbtemp.231209.gif">hot afternoon</a> (39degC /102.2F) to go with the roast chicken, amazingly yummy nutloaf for the vegetarians (which always gets dad singing "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2YAfqZk7P1M">nutloaf city limits</a>"; he cracks himself up), lashings of gravy and the funny hats/terrible jokes.<br /><br />Finally, and in the spirit of dad's Welsh ancestors sending all the pre-pubescent boys 'down pit', we give you a Christmas tale of father and son.<br /><br />Dad had received a remote control plane for Christmas.<br /><br />It is small and very light and hence quite twitchy in a bayside seabreeze.<br /><br />Add that to the fact that dad is at best an amateur<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPYl48VHsnF57GHhenhiSc85mRz1lf92eUJTTGl-dGYFNH693n7vHR6g2odIknLWWG6PDOn_EM9iiZxMiD9JJqWoVXYlGHIhstB6JK1FsASmxOgNYIXRd73h-Qg41fdOiFiSPyTw/s1600-h/P1020774.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPYl48VHsnF57GHhenhiSc85mRz1lf92eUJTTGl-dGYFNH693n7vHR6g2odIknLWWG6PDOn_EM9iiZxMiD9JJqWoVXYlGHIhstB6JK1FsASmxOgNYIXRd73h-Qg41fdOiFiSPyTw/s320/P1020774.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423211730193212978" border="0" /></a> aviator/moron and you get a plane performing a perfect stuka divebomb into the backyard hedge and ending up on the ground wedged deep behind the undergrowth against the fence.<br /><br />"Awww crumbs {or words to that effect}" said dad, as he tried to think of ways to retrieve the damn thing from the impenetrable wilds of suburban Melbourne.<br /><br />"Mmmm... small hole under bush; dad too big (especially after pud) for hole; must find something small and monkey-like... HEY BOY!?!?"<br /><br />Hence;<br />One boy sent down pit.<br />One plane rescued.<br />One dad happy/possibly in breach of UN child labour laws,<br />One Xmas saved.<br /><br />But of course it's all about the kids.<br /><br />.<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-59367672798322428722009-12-20T09:11:00.031+11:002009-12-26T10:31:53.493+11:00Festivus and the rest of us<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiasBsFCMFT8iJM_BX2U-DtynE0I8T3LArqLBqlpDBU-v9CMOGRbpuPR6vgSvafYSIeHRaSlVhxcWjVg0E7gDxlva4m6ejQlgUgXRmrygUlxUlnQSaFt_KIahCKIQ4S0uqlnihcaQ/s1600-h/P1020589.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiasBsFCMFT8iJM_BX2U-DtynE0I8T3LArqLBqlpDBU-v9CMOGRbpuPR6vgSvafYSIeHRaSlVhxcWjVg0E7gDxlva4m6ejQlgUgXRmrygUlxUlnQSaFt_KIahCKIQ4S0uqlnihcaQ/s320/P1020589.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418732269992524322" border="0" /></a><br />Ah, Xmas.<br /><br />The silly season.<br /><br />In the little house at the Baghdad-end of Hampton we appear to have a split in the ranks when it comes to the festive season.<br /><br />First there's the girl.<br /><br />For those with a working knowledge of Seinfeld, little Miss S appears to have adopted the Costanza family tradition of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festivus">Festivus</a> (for the rest-of-us), including a fascination with alumimium poles (high strength to weight ratio so the dangling toys can be yanked upon with force - though traditionally our household has actually had a stick; seriously), airings of grievencences (i.e., lots of crying when in need of cuddles/nappy/feeding) and finally, most importantly, displays of feats of strength.<br /><br />In the Seinfeld version this final aspect from Festivus involved wrestling the head of the family to the floor until they were pinned.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXomzFW1b5LzC8XHQmhmN95VOQb_X1muq2YGNofLndQgg6lCNNyrZ4xIJYVxWznKLfYyDab-TIU1GoOLcusphM1Eq6D1e4F4qbzM1XKSjpmEj4ktAzePOAP9i7ZwSghRkU4wqPdA/s1600-h/P1020598.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXomzFW1b5LzC8XHQmhmN95VOQb_X1muq2YGNofLndQgg6lCNNyrZ4xIJYVxWznKLfYyDab-TIU1GoOLcusphM1Eq6D1e4F4qbzM1XKSjpmEj4ktAzePOAP9i7ZwSghRkU4wqPdA/s320/P1020598.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418731802042718354" border="0" /></a><br />It could take hours.<br />However little Miss S has chosen to demonstrate her feats in ways peculiar to herself.<br />Namely: 1) a vice like grip on any finger to stray within reach, including the subcutaneous fingernail insertion (dads still too scared to cut them after last time), 2) atomic powered tummy time, completely with head raised in a super <a href="http://www.yogajournal.com/poses/474">up-dog yoga</a> pose, and 3) the most impressive feat of strength of all, her incredible tummy crunches/sit ups.<br /><br />No, we've never heard of a 4 month old doing sit ups either, and yes, we're serious.<br /><br />She lies on her back and lifts and holds her upper body in the air for ages, cooh'ing and ahh'ing as she goes.<br /><br />The girls going to have better abba-dabba's than Sports Illustrated-era Elle. (Lock up your men folk. No, seriously. Lock em up.)<br /><br />The boy on the other hand appears to be a bit of a Yuletide traditionalist; he's a Santa man.<br /><br />Hence; "I phone Santa!" announces the lad at seemingly random intervals.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLfLp12ouhDwhEdEtiwHKOM7EjyDejK8rB9oaqYqR5f1LMqlW6Gb1m2aBa_bkdx0yKSe7BPxAUx3rwWerYCQUrJ-gU2hV_9pj1rwPzvKP2xAibvOCdvViR9ls7gZaAuymiN8q3Qg/s1600-h/P1020583.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLfLp12ouhDwhEdEtiwHKOM7EjyDejK8rB9oaqYqR5f1LMqlW6Gb1m2aBa_bkdx0yKSe7BPxAUx3rwWerYCQUrJ-gU2hV_9pj1rwPzvKP2xAibvOCdvViR9ls7gZaAuymiN8q3Qg/s320/P1020583.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418735270765360226" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Case in point - family at the evening dinner table.<br />Boy dials north pole on imaginary phone (here's hoping he has one of those cheap phone cards).<br />"Brrrring Brrrring, Brrrring Brrring..."<br />{Dad, hiding behind little Miss' S head on the opposite side of the dinner table...}<br />"Hello. You've reached Santa's workshop. Your call may be recorded for evaluation purposes. To assist us to provide the best possible service, please press (1) if you've been naughty or (2) for nice."<br />{Boy, somewhat confused, takes a little while to make a decision:}<br />"1 and 2!" he announces proudly. (Score one for honesty...)<br /><br />Similarly, on the way home from one birthday/Xmas BBQ and onto another, the lad decided that a follow-up call to the big man was in order, as he'd spied a "Bill&Ben" Thomas trainset <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO2b5FASUCoi3aF2ru3Biju5pj_fo96YGYtqLn5KADr3SegVO4GZ-MJC5jfEsUw5NPfg5GtVTz0ySFwZJVeTIn7GvP8SJDL1i5KcKb6iXyPoA2fk9pnPaF5M2lfrAuDLaiswqP8A/s1600-h/P1020517.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO2b5FASUCoi3aF2ru3Biju5pj_fo96YGYtqLn5KADr3SegVO4GZ-MJC5jfEsUw5NPfg5GtVTz0ySFwZJVeTIn7GvP8SJDL1i5KcKb6iXyPoA2fk9pnPaF5M2lfrAuDLaiswqP8A/s320/P1020517.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418738478179538034" border="0" /></a>that morning that he had (note, not just "wanted") to have.<br /><br />Therein began a half hour conversation with the dude in a red suit.<br /><br />From the front seats we could hear the following;<br />"Santa, how are you...?<br />...I check my list ok???<br />...I already have a guitar!<br />...Thomas - yes.<br />...Bill&Ben.<br />...Dad! Santa wants to speak to you!"<br /><br />And so on and so on.<br /><br />We were in fact heading to the (amazing) Mothers group BBQ where Santa him very self was due to pop by from the North Pole (via Highett) at precisely 5pm. Hence dad did a little checking when handed the 'phone'...<br /><br />"Hello Santa" said dad, speaking into his fingers as he negotiated the partly tipsy drivers of Hawthorn East on the last Sat'dy before Xmas, wondering what is there would be a traffic infringement for chatting on an <span style="font-style: italic;">imaginary</span> phone...<br />"Hmmm.... yes, he's been good.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2m3UERkuN8DrmEFbxZFCN_QisXzCIH3-JMV6ZMEkgoxprE_WO1NWVJPA6Uv54qLwpQlySXxSUfDs5HwS8iWRaTc054y-obHvAvYih9nNh_AOPTYzXkvjTOobHbFUBvUQZUMHzA/s1600-h/P1020536.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2m3UERkuN8DrmEFbxZFCN_QisXzCIH3-JMV6ZMEkgoxprE_WO1NWVJPA6Uv54qLwpQlySXxSUfDs5HwS8iWRaTc054y-obHvAvYih9nNh_AOPTYzXkvjTOobHbFUBvUQZUMHzA/s320/P1020536.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418736088729390002" border="0" /></a><br />...yes, Sarah too!<br />...Oh, Bill and Ben? Yes, he'd like that.<br />{Big grin observed from the back seat}<br />...Ohhh. Really. Today? We'll see you in half an hour then?<br />Would you like to speak to Michael?"<br /><br />And so on and so on.<br /><br />The end result of all this was an incredibly familiarity between Saint Nic and Master M, and hence when Santa really did turn up at the BBQ half an hour later, Master M was ready.<br /><br />Front and centre, standing slap bang in the middle and within beard whipping distance of the big man the whole time; the entire kiddie cast of the Mothers group otherwise sitting politely behind him on their rugs.<br /><br />"Sit down in front!" was the call from the photographer mums. (And fair enough too; Master M would have been in every shot of every child on Santa's knee.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_P_mnMdtBEbrlDnNbiNgAcSaspGxuPeK6Pl7M6Pls75xufHE0HHDHyUMLiKwMMzcj0_0ErQj0WOff7UZ4HoiK1t_S_2RCrWKke26e3E_KJvayKlB-8TFoEtQvhkv3sTEI3llwSQ/s1600-h/P1020558.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_P_mnMdtBEbrlDnNbiNgAcSaspGxuPeK6Pl7M6Pls75xufHE0HHDHyUMLiKwMMzcj0_0ErQj0WOff7UZ4HoiK1t_S_2RCrWKke26e3E_KJvayKlB-8TFoEtQvhkv3sTEI3llwSQ/s320/P1020558.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418737071393772946" border="0" /></a><br />When eventually Santa pulled a pressie from the big sack for Master M, the lad lept onto Santa's lap faster than you can say "It's better to give than receive!".<br /><br />We don't know what they chatted about, but we suspect it may have included the words "good", "trains" and "Bill&Ben".<br /><br />Sarah just slept through it all of course.<br />Even when Santa called her name.<br /><br />"Santa..." she dreamed "Phhooey... I could pin that old fat guy to the floor any day."<br /><br />Merry Xmas to all our friends and family 2009<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CGJgm8sKvhE&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CGJgm8sKvhE&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br />.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-58583449109227798172009-12-07T18:36:00.029+11:002009-12-17T12:01:11.342+11:00Oh yeah, Wiggle Time<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Hi!</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHkSqlwErb38QVbDNz1rduRrQ6NDx-Ry0yvGj3Uv1S7H3C93ySpBYerCF9MXwsVEcQFZQPmyQCUzo8kAhpA_bo-qsNdT0s5NIGN3d1dStn6MFATZzzSRx6WszoP3nEtLUposjjw/s1600-h/P1010961.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglHkSqlwErb38QVbDNz1rduRrQ6NDx-Ry0yvGj3Uv1S7H3C93ySpBYerCF9MXwsVEcQFZQPmyQCUzo8kAhpA_bo-qsNdT0s5NIGN3d1dStn6MFATZzzSRx6WszoP3nEtLUposjjw/s320/P1010961.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415975695389928306" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><br /><a href="http://www.thewiggles.com.au/">We're The Wiggles!</a></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm Greg(/Sam)!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm Murray!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm Anthony!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm Jeff!</span><br /><br />If you're wondering what in the wide wide world of sports the above is on about, you clearly haven't been a parent of a toddler in the past (two) decade(s).<br /><br />If you do know these lines syllable by syllable, you've prolly just felt a little thump of dread in your heart, if only for the overuse of the exclamation mark. And because now you have a little one plonking themselves in front of a video for the ten millionth time unable to be crowbar-ed from position.<br /><br />Sunday the 6th of December 2009 was clearly only ever going to be Wiggle<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> Day in the Baghdad-end of Hampton. And for the rest of toddler Melbourne too it seemed. As this was the day the Wiggles<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> came to town.<br />Live.<br />In the flesh.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjdKFp2KeNpGsld_6fVN4BUNsffH_O1kqURRgXrNP7jQmdUcw4i1lA9iTXmXvgKay3qkyOqWGWm52Hx_WFO1An4uS3STIaavtXUt-o8Mwj0Rwgq8OmJVK-SgQGD1e9AQ3JlaEXA/s1600-h/P1010956.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjdKFp2KeNpGsld_6fVN4BUNsffH_O1kqURRgXrNP7jQmdUcw4i1lA9iTXmXvgKay3qkyOqWGWm52Hx_WFO1An4uS3STIaavtXUt-o8Mwj0Rwgq8OmJVK-SgQGD1e9AQ3JlaEXA/s320/P1010956.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415975244125647266" border="0" /></a>If you think Elvis (pre triple peanut butter and bacon burger days) and MJ (pre baby dangling and detachable nose era) playing a double act, fresh from a tour of purgatory, would be big gig, well to a 2-4 year old, this is <span style="font-style: italic;">WAYYYYY</span> bigger.<br /><br />Ok, lets be honest.<br /><br />Master M knew something about The Wiggles<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> was about to happen, but in reality we think he imagined we were going back to Dreamworld/Wiggleworld, and hence he'd tootle about in the big red car for hours all mouth agape like last time, and maybe get a little freaked out by the occasional Gold Coast teenager dressed up in a dodgy Henry the Octopus suit.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfFTm3sHrBIrGyoG6amrWb6U5qhNl3ORybNouv85BvywrGEWMDb0f4AlwFKD7kclijcGxZVkq0osHkPtHihyphenhyphenEcsLPpl923m5gQl5f6SfN4KqMHqAFhf_hW7NJk2_rzqDv7nfWzg/s1600-h/P1010970.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfFTm3sHrBIrGyoG6amrWb6U5qhNl3ORybNouv85BvywrGEWMDb0f4AlwFKD7kclijcGxZVkq0osHkPtHihyphenhyphenEcsLPpl923m5gQl5f6SfN4KqMHqAFhf_hW7NJk2_rzqDv7nfWzg/s320/P1010970.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415979959933561282" border="0" /></a><br />Instead...<br />Well we arrived at Rod Laver Arena and Master M was instead a bit freaked out by all the kids and mums and prams outside.<br /><br />It was a kid/mum/pram frenzy. (Dads optional.)<br /><br />He composed himself and demanded he walk up all the outside steps on his own, which took us sometime into the next millennium.<br /><br />Once inside and seated (about half way along, directly opposite the main circular stage, and about 10 rows up from the floor - very good possie we must say; thank you online <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKzr4d3NZDDxCIK6Xk3rIoOILlg6TSRd4YFYToma378Ad58a8bAuwUIL5mZVwLQ3ouWZc2qlbOfzUK9zrKt6JZbeXK0CYUgjl3a0XMeOg4YDlDcEmiQiJULp_3wJa_3K8uvo8Qg/s1600-h/P1010966.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKzr4d3NZDDxCIK6Xk3rIoOILlg6TSRd4YFYToma378Ad58a8bAuwUIL5mZVwLQ3ouWZc2qlbOfzUK9zrKt6JZbeXK0CYUgjl3a0XMeOg4YDlDcEmiQiJULp_3wJa_3K8uvo8Qg/s320/P1010966.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415995885257183778" border="0" /></a>booking and Google calender reminders of the very second the ticket box opened), he discovered the giant screen on the wall and hence sat, mouth agape, watching 15 foot high Wiggly adventures.<br />Plus the odd advert for Volkswagon (clearly, like McDonalds, they have a "get em while they're young" marketing philiosphy).<br />Master M was like a pig in poo.<br /><br />However, when The Wiggles<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> did arrive on stage...<br />He kept watching the screen.<br />"They're down there boy!" reminded dad.<br />He turned and looked at the stage.<br />Then back to the screen.<br />"No.. down <span style="font-style: italic;">THERE</span>. That's the real Wiggles<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span>!!!"<br />He looked back.<br />Then it seemed to dawn on him slowly.<br />The real, live, yellow/blue/red/purple Wiggles<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span>.<br /><br />You could almost see a haze of daze come over his face.<br /><br />After that he sat on his chair, then later on dad then mum's lap, with mouth agape (again).<br />Not clapping.<br />Not singing.<br />Not dancing.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYsETtqSP3PUPGSpbHo0wrpW4PEe2BcsV_6LJSHLMUwujcfrQKFEXSYj-Ml1x6z59WaABG8itj3SdcwinW9f0Nn21FaOZGJ99zlkYClGvWafm7OzlscTgDaUzTemtwVaKD50HT8g/s1600-h/P1010972.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYsETtqSP3PUPGSpbHo0wrpW4PEe2BcsV_6LJSHLMUwujcfrQKFEXSYj-Ml1x6z59WaABG8itj3SdcwinW9f0Nn21FaOZGJ99zlkYClGvWafm7OzlscTgDaUzTemtwVaKD50HT8g/s320/P1010972.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415991016558111858" border="0" /></a><br />Just jawdropped. (And just as he was at Wiggleworld).<br /><br />At the very end of the whole show - literally when The Wiggle<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> started saying their goodbyes - he waved back to them and clapped approval.<br /><br />We suspect (just like at Wiggleworld where he froze like a statue but later claimed "I high-fived Henry!"), that over time he will be telling all and sundry that he was down there on stage wearing his own customised Wiggle<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> green skivvy.<br /><br />This was all in some contrast to little Miss S.<br /><br />Much as mum and dad were somewhat fearful of the poor Miss being blasted with sound and made hearing impaired for life, wailing uncontrollably until she was marched out by security, she in fact loved it.<br />Absolutely loved it.<br />And was arguably more animated than her older brother.<br />She watched.<br />She listened.<br />She was ohhed and ahhed.<br />She decided it was interval and requested a drink, so mum gave her a feed, commendably there infront of the 5000 others, not that anyone would com<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKRRgqZ4Sz26Z_HZSQN1ddhbOv3-J3fgKnOWaYYYlJe2P5OvHrbIjkGcBaCfVoEUegINErtiMQflGKFnhSZjqtrUE_Lll4-Tl0VlPfDU_-OeZp1QE8hXdsFAM2QV-ehSjLyLu0w/s1600-h/P1010980.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKRRgqZ4Sz26Z_HZSQN1ddhbOv3-J3fgKnOWaYYYlJe2P5OvHrbIjkGcBaCfVoEUegINErtiMQflGKFnhSZjqtrUE_Lll4-Tl0VlPfDU_-OeZp1QE8hXdsFAM2QV-ehSjLyLu0w/s320/P1010980.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415991612222611618" border="0" /></a>plain. Well, maybe one lot of people,... if they knew.<br /><br />"Babe..." whispered mum to dad "I think I sprayed the people in front..."<br /><br />When it all was over and the Wiggles<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> were safely tucked away in Rod Laver's bowels gearing up for their next show in only an hours time, and after a quick chip frenzy ("NO DAD! They're MINE!") both boy and his amazingly animated Sis collapsed, necessitating a long carry of a partly comatose and hence dam heavy lump of a child back to the car where both kiddies slept like cherubs on the way home.<br />And then woke up.<br />Too early.<br />Both of them.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZ3ORR_0P0iYceAQswF4ackeQcu7dmQHz2Dq0ZXcrcxS03OIg8EGG0z-l-WpkfKOD_mcctt5_HnrPpT9yM9TjlO9KxmdeLC0W2nYYAW9wtUloTaTw4IahzzVSjsRC0jFroz9BDw/s1600-h/P1010967.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghZ3ORR_0P0iYceAQswF4ackeQcu7dmQHz2Dq0ZXcrcxS03OIg8EGG0z-l-WpkfKOD_mcctt5_HnrPpT9yM9TjlO9KxmdeLC0W2nYYAW9wtUloTaTw4IahzzVSjsRC0jFroz9BDw/s320/P1010967.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415992060967058290" border="0" /></a><br />Hence the afternoon was, mmmm..., challenging.<br />Lets just say the naughty corner/mum-dads patience levels took a pounding.<br /><br />Curse you Wiggles<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span>. <span style="font-size:100%;"><br />If only for having us all singing "Monkey Man" (dad does a mean Kylie Minogue cameo) for the rest of the day/week, and putting on such a great show we'd happily go through it all again.<br /><br />Still, if you cant beat them (even with a feathersword) you may as well join 'em.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Hi!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">We're the Ws!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm Dad!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm Mum!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm little Miss S!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm Master M!</span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Postscript:</span><br />1) We bought Master M some merchandise.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgMLqvsC2I7TiIKKJPNh_vlqlhI45ZhSNKjkPSxhIAceSwLmaEoMpD5or-PvvnazkP8M8boJvI_JbcFE8-sjnwRRXie7-g9A1RP-yolKWP7Jq2kgFV5Oaf5QjWBgQw7LH1t36sQ/s1600-h/P1010981.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcgMLqvsC2I7TiIKKJPNh_vlqlhI45ZhSNKjkPSxhIAceSwLmaEoMpD5or-PvvnazkP8M8boJvI_JbcFE8-sjnwRRXie7-g9A1RP-yolKWP7Jq2kgFV5Oaf5QjWBgQw7LH1t36sQ/s320/P1010981.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415992978889015362" border="0" /></a>He took said merchandise to child care the next day as he appeared to epoxy welded to it.<br />He fought with another boy over it.<br />It broke.<br />He announced "No problem" Santa would fix it (sheesh... we're rooted!).<br />2) Given the amount of sweat Murray (a.k.a Red) Wiggle<span style="font-size:78%;">(TM)</span> was pouring out of his body - notably dripping on the floor below when sitting on a trapeze playing his guitar - after running up and down through the crowd, we were somewhat glad to hear he survived the day sans heart failure. Best lay off the dim sims and get back on the fruit salad (yummy yummy), Murray.<br />(But you're still dads favourite.)<br /><br />.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-74233367644172074362009-11-29T06:32:00.016+11:002009-12-05T22:22:53.359+11:00Cock a doodle dooThank <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brave_New_World#Fordism_and_society">Ford</a> for daylight saving.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYWD3eELigK0phZ7_il9vCDAi5PHTO8fit6JiIp99gE3UXzweRSyBHtKtN0Tp5uRB0ELW0Hpxqngk4rQhDTOv6rifzQ9gYJ-UGJN_M-3JRwGn5nEWcs95gf_7m_awn0ifW1hTUQ/s1600-h/DSC02185.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqYWD3eELigK0phZ7_il9vCDAi5PHTO8fit6JiIp99gE3UXzweRSyBHtKtN0Tp5uRB0ELW0Hpxqngk4rQhDTOv6rifzQ9gYJ-UGJN_M-3JRwGn5nEWcs95gf_7m_awn0ifW1hTUQ/s320/DSC02185.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411700529022711090" border="0" /></a><br />Ok, yeah, it may well confuse the cows, make nights too hot, get kids late for bed and fade the curtains.<br /><br />But on the flip side, and far more important than its <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daylight_saving_time#Energy_use">energy saving</a> and hence greenhouse gas reduction capabilities, it means that we're writing this blog at 6am on a Sunday.<br /><br />This may sound seriously delusional, but think of it this way; the boy insists on waking with the first of the farting sparrows, which at this time of year is at <a href="http://www.earthsci.unimelb.edu.au/%7Eawatkins/sunset.html">0553 EDST</a>. But in sun time, thats 4:53.<br />FOUR BLOODY FIFTY THREE AM!<br />Being awake at 4:53 on a Sunday is for people in nightclubs and nursing homes.<br /><br />Hence, thank Ford for daylight saving. A whole hour closer to reasonableness.<br />A case of beer for you <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Vernon_Hudson">George Hudson</a>.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpc60PY5R21OEqnP_1YQfKm2apahJ-F9J4hUQOGy9boZTmHfftI08qTC186plsW7l690n9qBt_bZf76kwl3ByDEc_TeipH7bJVpyVGgI-daHDNpJKNuryrvsIhw-FjXkVLmScBxg/s1600-h/P1010763.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpc60PY5R21OEqnP_1YQfKm2apahJ-F9J4hUQOGy9boZTmHfftI08qTC186plsW7l690n9qBt_bZf76kwl3ByDEc_TeipH7bJVpyVGgI-daHDNpJKNuryrvsIhw-FjXkVLmScBxg/s320/P1010763.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411705711585851170" border="0" /></a><br />Not that all this sparrow farting is having any great impact upon the boy. Even if we're as blunt as yesterdays porridge at such an ungodly hour, he's firing with great insights.<br /><br />Case in point.<br /><br />For some reason, the breakfast topic shifted, as you do, to "Which came first, the chicken or the egg"?<br /><br />Master M, without missing a beat, replied:<br /><br />"The Rooster."<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqP7kSG3g0aisd1EiVAII97inTEQE2dSa9NqoqIH1ILMI3HzPMi-gl75vptjK_XBRrwosCi-yyuk96iV0ybuNumfAomKQ4iNIsxzvlsIJrRClKGPWqFiqKTCRwQb6Fd5IenMBTEQ/s1600-h/P1010917.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqP7kSG3g0aisd1EiVAII97inTEQE2dSa9NqoqIH1ILMI3HzPMi-gl75vptjK_XBRrwosCi-yyuk96iV0ybuNumfAomKQ4iNIsxzvlsIJrRClKGPWqFiqKTCRwQb6Fd5IenMBTEQ/s320/P1010917.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411705168337615906" border="0" /></a><br /><br />MMMmmmm...<br />In an animal husbandry sense, well, we guess he did.<br /><br />Meanwhile, little Miss S has not only leapt past the 100 day mark, but is making her presence known too, only in a slightly more voluminous sense.<br /><br />It seems we've reached that time when not only has she realised who mum and dad are, but that getting hugs from them is a damn good thing and should be insisted upon at all times.<br /><br />Hence: lots of crying.<br /><br />We know its just a stage.<br />We hope our backs hold out to 200 days.<br /><br />Physically she's ticking all the boxes, but its still damn unnerving to watch her heart beating through her head.<br /><br />(Don't freak out.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YBLFQcBLtrZpYkSEmdWUHiSewJHBMQyVMOQ4xqXAXLJID9t2xPrV9kLT2z18076l_JwarWpQC43Js5ecsSmKAqm-GpwxcZ2JraCTi_rJ6rADdwC9GIdFAEXJapR-B_M0SwFwZg/s1600-h/P1010949.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YBLFQcBLtrZpYkSEmdWUHiSewJHBMQyVMOQ4xqXAXLJID9t2xPrV9kLT2z18076l_JwarWpQC43Js5ecsSmKAqm-GpwxcZ2JraCTi_rJ6rADdwC9GIdFAEXJapR-B_M0SwFwZg/s320/P1010949.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411704694893003186" border="0" /></a><br />All entirely normal; a baby's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fontanelle">anterior fontanelle</a> is where the bones of the skull haven't joined yet in order for the head to make itself a little more conical if need be - something mum's probably quite grateful for when the bub is trying to get out through the birth canal. The plates of the skull don't join for up to two years, and hence there's a little soft spot where, if she's still, you can watch the skin on her skull bounce up and down like some sort of inverted drum.<br /><br />It's also a lot more visible because of her thin hair.<br /><br />Speaking of which...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfW1cnGlFnF6Jcll68dvQDMbzCKA9woqh1NM5pBLF5aVbrmo2aYknvWeatKkVMbamX_x92P8S8MGz4MaHdAXKw3iAoSp9dtt29lQ13njj1yPfh1kgsOxrGQkWwfQcPz0kgj6VZyg/s1600-h/P1010790.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfW1cnGlFnF6Jcll68dvQDMbzCKA9woqh1NM5pBLF5aVbrmo2aYknvWeatKkVMbamX_x92P8S8MGz4MaHdAXKw3iAoSp9dtt29lQ13njj1yPfh1kgsOxrGQkWwfQcPz0kgj6VZyg/s320/P1010790.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411706766497244882" border="0" /></a><br />Many babies, like their mums, go through a period of hair loss as the hormone levels change after birth.<br /><br />Nothing out of the ordinary here.<br /><br />But for little Miss S, she's been losing hair everywhere except right at the very top of her neck/bottom of back of her cute little head.<br />As a result, our sweet little girl now has a severe case of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bogan">bogan</a>-itis.<br /><br />Yes, she's sporting a genuine, Frankston passport, rat tail.<br /><br />We'll forgive her.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vc7j_IIDNQ-afZ6qYn6xp2rQ4UPbxCdo8gzXYIJHwr3VEnqK3uKz3NeGfNmdUyI2pZrmOtuEeKiTgzv6CYO-A6iZTwRayFOSLc9sYK_QiESUY82MgkGu1oyivRVKGg26gs7xmA/s1600-h/P1010814.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vc7j_IIDNQ-afZ6qYn6xp2rQ4UPbxCdo8gzXYIJHwr3VEnqK3uKz3NeGfNmdUyI2pZrmOtuEeKiTgzv6CYO-A6iZTwRayFOSLc9sYK_QiESUY82MgkGu1oyivRVKGg26gs7xmA/s320/P1010814.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411707497665785282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />For now.<br /><br />Finally, we end on yet another one from the "don't repeat this at my 21st file".<br />Again starring the boy.<br /><br />"Mum... my testicles hurt".<br />(Yes, he does know the word testicles, we're not cleaning this up for the faint hearted...)<br />"MMUUUMMM!! My testicles hurt!"<br />"Alright..." said mum. "Gimme a look."<br />Off with the nappy.<br />And there it was.<br />His sloop pointing north.<br />(i.e., His first conscious erection.)<br /><br />Wont be the last time that thing causes you pain boyo.<br />Just ask the Rooster.<br /><br />.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-87624667790431003102009-11-18T16:59:00.009+11:002009-11-18T22:00:39.505+11:00Family quarterly resultThree months old today.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOugKuxAYYTSD7QZc3ivtvz1Y2mzLXkLEiopQk8wk5DsC44MLi9mfqngX_m6Ioa4l9qK-vZt2CCezjmauPC17Go6gTvspXUGdrFiLrxyulP5fk_lsOrkaI75LuaksMR9xH7PtkA/s1600/DSC02177.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOugKuxAYYTSD7QZc3ivtvz1Y2mzLXkLEiopQk8wk5DsC44MLi9mfqngX_m6Ioa4l9qK-vZt2CCezjmauPC17Go6gTvspXUGdrFiLrxyulP5fk_lsOrkaI75LuaksMR9xH7PtkA/s320/DSC02177.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405349692145075186" border="0" /></a><br />Three months old today.<br />Everybody clap their hands,<br />We're three months old today.<br /><br />(Well, actually yesterday, but we don't like to ruin a good story/swim-class song with the facts.)<br /><br />Yes, little Miss S is a full season old <span style="font-style: italic;">already</span>.<br /><br />And right on cue, (well a day prior actually; 16/11/2009), Little Miss S did her first ever roll over.<br />Back to tummy.<br />Genius.<br /><br />The end of the fourth trimester also means that we no longer have a bub who eats/sleeps/poos, but rather one who eats/plays/sleeps. Then /poos.<br /><br />It's a definite and clear demarcated transition in life; the first eyes wide open stage, where the outside world starts to come into the brain and things like dads and brothers and (sadly, this is true) television start to get noticed (her favourite appears to be the Simpsons); anything with colour and light which moves and shakes and stimulates the grey matter into making new pathways.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhekpwbTsW4voPo7gAsFiEalN68zMKdB5JZKLXw6Q0yURDgz3ry7XJ7MW-_JBocM-Q1frbzQi3-zVYa7VO_MNxrtDcwLWy5ya3zpxIDS53_bKoj6-oLcgYIkKgZzfkE7bTkZco5Jw/s1600/P1010650.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhekpwbTsW4voPo7gAsFiEalN68zMKdB5JZKLXw6Q0yURDgz3ry7XJ7MW-_JBocM-Q1frbzQi3-zVYa7VO_MNxrtDcwLWy5ya3zpxIDS53_bKoj6-oLcgYIkKgZzfkE7bTkZco5Jw/s320/P1010650.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405387698170278786" border="0" /></a><br />Cos lets face it, you can only have eyes for mum's boobs for so long.<br /><br />Its all very exciting for a parent (not so for others, granted), because it means she's starting to think.<br /><br />Now if only she'd start thinking about chugging down a bottle of mum's mammaries finest homebrew we'd be laughing. Granted she does now make a tiny effort, and dad did manage to get a whole 2o ml into her in one go. (Woohoo!) Which he learnt is about a fifth of what she should drink in a session. (Boooo...)<br /><br />Speaking of television and battles and learning about things other than breasts; did we mention The Boy?<br /><br />Master M has covered all of the above in having accomplished what many a 50's baby-boomer (as opposed to a Naughty's baby boomer, as we're sure this lot will be<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHEd7nus49ugxGB3LPMl_QD0v24mcZOO1mTYqaHIwzthf5hefjvRSfp4RF8GMRAfrBiJEzsNX3S79x2JQJSSLaDcUOVjbvuS94djsvpCbIzvLRnrsYP0wSjJMYEdqYCg65mW8DQw/s1600/P1010740.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHEd7nus49ugxGB3LPMl_QD0v24mcZOO1mTYqaHIwzthf5hefjvRSfp4RF8GMRAfrBiJEzsNX3S79x2JQJSSLaDcUOVjbvuS94djsvpCbIzvLRnrsYP0wSjJMYEdqYCg65mW8DQw/s320/P1010740.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405390909005203810" border="0" /></a> known) has failed to achieve in their lifetime; he appears totally capable of working a television and video recorder. (For those reading this in five years time, a video cassette recorder, a.k.a VCR, is a big box into which you plugged a slightly smaller box which contained magnetic tape onto which was recorded moving pictures. I'm sure there'll be one in a museum somewhere. Alongside the garden sprinklers.)<br /><br />Hence he can now fire up said box, eject tapes he doesn't like (i.e., dads windsurfing stuff) and put on things he does like (e.g., The Wiggles), and change the channels on the telly until it comes up with "<span style="font-style: italic;">a seven!</span>" which to him now means 'video will play soon'.<br />(Dam us for teaching him numbers so early...)<br /><br />On the "one step ahead" front, he hasn't yet discovered that the power switch on the wall renders all the above obsolete.<br />And if he works that one out, we'll change the VCR to channel eight.<br /><br />But all this, frankly, is chicken giblets compared to the real offspring story of the week.<br /><br />(I warn you, its not pretty. Weak hearts leave the room please.)<br /><br />There was dad, doing his best as little Miss S had scratched her face, sitting on the deck with her lovingly laid in his arms under the rays of a setting Sunday sun, trying to clip her fingernails...<br /><br />"C<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2B3yBYi-MBV09IWG3W09KFoGs5FSnY79jUTxxQkgOdoZ7gdWH6rtp-vyeOrzNHV4h046n1JE6fUxMuvWkZKkNwzVK1wYLm8EUpb2qiU9bDnx7fzkZ-9VcGKv0cDGld8ILnwU88w/s1600/P1010729.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2B3yBYi-MBV09IWG3W09KFoGs5FSnY79jUTxxQkgOdoZ7gdWH6rtp-vyeOrzNHV4h046n1JE6fUxMuvWkZKkNwzVK1wYLm8EUpb2qiU9bDnx7fzkZ-9VcGKv0cDGld8ILnwU88w/s320/P1010729.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405389407339297778" border="0" /></a>lip".<br />One gone.<br />"Clip"<br />Gettin' there.<br />"Clip"<br />"ARRGHH!!"<br />Not only did he clip the nail but also managed to take a sliver of fingertip off with it into the bargain. (He could tell how much - it was still there in the clippers.)<br /><br />The girl yelled.<br />Dad freaked a bit.<br />(Ok, a fair bit.)<br />Blood flowed.<br />Pressure applied, and after a few quick sucks to clean it up, the bleeding stopped.<br /><br />As, remarkably, did the crying.<br /><br />Still, just to be sure to be sure, mum bunged Miss S into the car seat (in which Miss S soon fell fast asleep...) and had her all checked out at Monash medical centre, where remarkably there was no queue and lots of<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtr9OjNClDNdYb1Sy2-pfnM1FJi2Vm86BUugZ1i1XUVMdUencYIz-Di9ydA-H9sfF4NSqnMm1uXebHR1opcHWt40U1W3TJm7iNqvZ1PShtw5qYuPCIh-YSjU2u451JeNIYXXP_g/s1600/P1010724.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtr9OjNClDNdYb1Sy2-pfnM1FJi2Vm86BUugZ1i1XUVMdUencYIz-Di9ydA-H9sfF4NSqnMm1uXebHR1opcHWt40U1W3TJm7iNqvZ1PShtw5qYuPCIh-YSjU2u451JeNIYXXP_g/s320/P1010724.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405388694484681842" border="0" /></a> apparently semi-bored paediatricians, and even a plastic surgeon (who quite enjoyed looking through a microscope at the sliver which mum had brought in a small box), eager and willing to offer opinions.<br /><br />And they all agreed.<br />It wasn't that bad; there'd be a little scar and maybe a slightly shorter finger nail, but that putting in a stitch would only result in an equally non-obvious scar anyway, so...<br /><br />Officially Miss S' first accident, band aid (not even a Wiggles one either) and Mercurochrome (ouch).<br /><br />Good one dad, you muppet.<br /><br />Still, there's nothing like a good old disfigurement of your offspring to convince yourself you love them more than life itself.<br /><br />"Sorry."<br />Love,<br />Dad.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/h16CJ6-NjQs&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/h16CJ6-NjQs&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br />.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-8895320450888816822009-11-08T07:08:00.030+11:002009-11-09T21:28:19.955+11:00Baby boob bottle battle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCaSRTjcuSj_rTQ-YOknToVSmjf0VZ1ueHcPpfslgZcvrJaYpeWjiqLN14C2FwVIl-fsOPcpFNiX-dPkU82-iX40PhiczeU-zFHc2m8O2buySUIn3Jn9rqCKPYmYLj-QTHzfwrbg/s1600-h/P1010453.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCaSRTjcuSj_rTQ-YOknToVSmjf0VZ1ueHcPpfslgZcvrJaYpeWjiqLN14C2FwVIl-fsOPcpFNiX-dPkU82-iX40PhiczeU-zFHc2m8O2buySUIn3Jn9rqCKPYmYLj-QTHzfwrbg/s320/P1010453.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402027014652267106" border="0" /></a>We're having a battle with the bottle.<br /><br />No, not the Boris Yeltsin "too many sherbets" common or garden variety bottle battle.<br /><br />Nor even a Dr Suess beetle battle in a bottle with their paddles with the bottle on a poodle and the poodle eating noodles. ... a muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle bottle paddle type battle.<br /><br />We're talking the drinking bub bottle battle.<br /><br />It seems that the irresistible force (that be workplace admin: "Mistress P, your planned maternity leave up") is meeting the immovable object (that be little Miss S: "I wont drink from no stinkin' bottle, gimme a boob you bastards").<br />And hence we have a battle.<br /><br />We've tried warm milk, cold milk, slow flow teets, fast flow teets, mum feeding, dad feeding, holding her close, holding<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqWCVYmpmnYq3QAWpMOM-RS4zVgWDXY-n691bJUTmem_-sFxn6MHlg8rgOlQSGzjAYckXYNZh1LcdbDe19MLd9FqGjN-rPijSRVVR3BpJSsIWQrLUdwrZFn6MlVlg30Mr-PvJc7w/s1600-h/P1010560.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqWCVYmpmnYq3QAWpMOM-RS4zVgWDXY-n691bJUTmem_-sFxn6MHlg8rgOlQSGzjAYckXYNZh1LcdbDe19MLd9FqGjN-rPijSRVVR3BpJSsIWQrLUdwrZFn6MlVlg30Mr-PvJc7w/s320/P1010560.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402041478390216418" border="0" /></a> her away, holding her facing down, holding her facing up, tickling the lips, itching her cheek, doing when she's calm, doing when she's happy, doing when she's hungry...<br />Nuthin.<br />Zip.<br /><br />Well almost.<br /><br />The light at the end of the force-feeding tube is that now she'll at least not howl with derision when she is just <span style="font-style: italic;">shown</span> the the bottle.<br /><br />The only remaining thing to do appears to be the old hold out.<br />Who can crack first.<br />She who's hungry, dads sanity, or mums exploding norgs.<br />(If you never hear from this blog again you'll know who won.)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdv-jaPj5_2oJW-SQsTEGdsNdnw7wsnp8NOqzQE10Bkdgcxg01jUqLmamdhhiIDwH-qKJjmghpaoyBQA1Y9MZAlnb2ArLfN7hiwCfA7RPcDtk2BKaZtStUT7YRm47BZoGvr1COA/s1600-h/P1010538.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdv-jaPj5_2oJW-SQsTEGdsNdnw7wsnp8NOqzQE10Bkdgcxg01jUqLmamdhhiIDwH-qKJjmghpaoyBQA1Y9MZAlnb2ArLfN7hiwCfA7RPcDtk2BKaZtStUT7YRm47BZoGvr1COA/s320/P1010538.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402040609008642066" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Not that life has been all baby bottle battles.<br /><br />By our reckoning, as of 9 November, it will be 11 weeks since we had a night of continuous sleep.<br /><br />Ahhh...<br />Sleep.<br />Alright, the girl is doing a lot better than she was, usually making it to 3 or 4am each night and mostly just one wake-up. And given daylight saving we really cant blame the boy for waking up AT 5:50AM ON A BLOODY SUNDAY, so we shouldn't be complaining. Still, all this sleep deprivation has lead dad to ponder the question of how to get a suitable quota of shuteye, and hence reach the considered decision that (and we quote) "I'd give my left testicle for 8 hours continuous sleep."<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkQUiDV3b9vchwqgXkafcWmzGxrUR9alGTQfGVB2u4MnTWMf7VnLF_3Mbvc9FkGt9C2-ohEp2FBDGmnZoHuQlvYLw92SVFrK_xE_A_U4ktmCs2TCOtvb1h7LAYAZ4NJT5skYiUg/s1600-h/P1010494.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXkQUiDV3b9vchwqgXkafcWmzGxrUR9alGTQfGVB2u4MnTWMf7VnLF_3Mbvc9FkGt9C2-ohEp2FBDGmnZoHuQlvYLw92SVFrK_xE_A_U4ktmCs2TCOtvb1h7LAYAZ4NJT5skYiUg/s320/P1010494.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402040031273060962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Seems a fair trade.<br /><br />The other conundrum this raises is that of (child)free time.<br /><br />In days of old, free time was measured in days and hours.<br />Now it seems to be minutes and seconds.<br />Hence come 9:00pm each night the question must be asked; kids are finally fedded and bedded, do we a) hit the sack and give ourselves at least a chance of near 8-hours accumulated sleep, or b) have some couch collapsing telly time just by ourselves like normal developed country humans. In the end it's a compromise; a quicky mug of Cadbury hot chocolate, ANZAC bikkie and a typically futile flick through the channels cos there's nothing to watch. (Dam you reality TV.)<br /><br />Still, it hasn't been all bottle battles and scene setting for castration in the A+P+M+S household.<br /><br />The last two weekends we've been out of town, making it three in a row. (Hence the lawns look<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2lBf5uTYnf2D2TjClWm6JfeJi1i4-LZ6QgaSLxoScsXBz5iN84yAaDgRchACqxh6EBIpLieAoU47mu4RPgSE365CK7AaClYu0_WwzVpasWlm5969aH5Uw6Pq4qnRL3xVb2JGMew/s1600-h/P1010527.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2lBf5uTYnf2D2TjClWm6JfeJi1i4-LZ6QgaSLxoScsXBz5iN84yAaDgRchACqxh6EBIpLieAoU47mu4RPgSE365CK7AaClYu0_WwzVpasWlm5969aH5Uw6Pq4qnRL3xVb2JGMew/s320/P1010527.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402037695391561490" border="0" /></a> more like a jungle.)<br /><br />Following on from Cry Baby weekend (see last blog post), the tribe packed the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085995/">Griswold family truckster</a> twice more, the first time heading to the beauty of <a href="http://www.parkweb.vic.gov.au/1park_display.cfm?park=217">Wilsons Prom</a> where all and sundry gathered to celebrate Uncle Ray's 70th.<br /><br />Not having accommodation in the Park itself, the tribe was ensconced in a cabin at a caravan park in Yanakie, about 30km away from the action, necessitating a somewhat "exciting" post-party midnight drive back to the shack dodging the scenery. Lets just say it was only through the grace of the mechanical geniuses at Fuji Heavy Industries (a.k.a Subaru) that we managed to arrive back at our humble adobe minus the coat of arms moulded into our bonnet.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HaP1rYaQWvPOIHwS8G79ZYvJEdKbqPDhyphenhyphendCu5a6K0pj5C2XIbsjXVPqoPw_UNeHWTl9YkQMnUhdyKhzFjapzdLwip9o5eGjGrosjGumCPh_YwfOslm2uLZUMkeRVpPwpcUtUpw/s1600-h/P1010458.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6HaP1rYaQWvPOIHwS8G79ZYvJEdKbqPDhyphenhyphendCu5a6K0pj5C2XIbsjXVPqoPw_UNeHWTl9YkQMnUhdyKhzFjapzdLwip9o5eGjGrosjGumCPh_YwfOslm2uLZUMkeRVpPwpcUtUpw/s320/P1010458.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402036922286825218" border="0" /></a><br />And not by lack of trying either.<br /><br />The following day was rather magical. While mum and dad contemplated a sprint for home during midday kiddie sleeping routines, the boy had other ideas.<br />"Nanna Pappa's caravan!" he cried, indicating a desire to head back to the Park and see his grandparents caravan, and presumably, grandparents too.<br /><br />(We later learned it was the 'different from his' Thomas train collection in the van that he <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>wanted. Kids eh...)<br /><br />A quick call to N&P and the family was back in the truckster, only not to nanna and pappa's van, but to the northern end of the park and "Five Mile Road", where rumour was that there were some amazing wildflowers after the big fires of earlier that year.<br /><br />And indeed there were.<br /><br />As Master M noted, there were <a href="http://www.thewiggles.com.au/au/about/">Jeff ones</a> (i.e., purple), Murray ones (i.e., red) "Yellow wiggle" ones (guess that colour...), but no Anthony (i.e., blue) ones. Hence an Anthony hunt was on, with Pappa and Nanna and mum and dad and little Miss S marching over hill and dale, until... there it was.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfol1eL8rM91aR_-MNnS8n-7vDUMbeYopLRhrPACDMpOEze29mDIcuLBLOTjLU0J-t8mVIuXOtWI3OsBESG0aWHdS7_yrnLdRa-zoMZio0wgl4yefymEyUa02HLPZFeKQcwmqIaw/s1600-h/P1010362.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfol1eL8rM91aR_-MNnS8n-7vDUMbeYopLRhrPACDMpOEze29mDIcuLBLOTjLU0J-t8mVIuXOtWI3OsBESG0aWHdS7_yrnLdRa-zoMZio0wgl4yefymEyUa02HLPZFeKQcwmqIaw/s320/P1010362.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402034903498420818" border="0" /></a><br />The one Anthony flower in the entire Park.<br />Which Mike tried to pick and bung in his pocket.<br />Oh dear.<br />(We luckily made it out of the park gate unmolested by enraged Rangers.)<br /><br />The following weekend it was back to Sandy Point for the annual "<a href="http://www.shq.com.au/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=309&Itemid=57">SHQ Melbourne Cup</a>" weekend windsurfing event and hooten-anny. Only this time there was not much windsurfing (one brief session for dad) and not even much hooten-anny'ing. Most of the time was spent with Master M getting reacquainted with Miss C, his girlfriend from the previous year's windsurfing weekend (only last year she didn't have much hair, and hence he called her baby, even though she is actually older and arguably wiser - lucky he didn't try to <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092890/quotes">put her in a corner</a>), and her brother Master D.<br /><br />All the fun and excitement of weekend ultimately culminated in a "too little food, too little sleep, too late at night" tantrum of John McEnroe-esque proportions from Master M.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUAiV-rn-Qy4Lg08pA6lAfp1j4S9xVzqlUKXqlIIh96DZGOTAn11fPr3Y4wu-pSE_P5B9jt60u8Ve14J4oynmtFKSwZkrjq56hRvTsjYGnkCNBWT5pbaTmDg5o-sXOaWIRek7tZw/s1600-h/P1010374.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUAiV-rn-Qy4Lg08pA6lAfp1j4S9xVzqlUKXqlIIh96DZGOTAn11fPr3Y4wu-pSE_P5B9jt60u8Ve14J4oynmtFKSwZkrjq56hRvTsjYGnkCNBWT5pbaTmDg5o-sXOaWIRek7tZw/s320/P1010374.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402031567192899410" border="0" /></a><br />Oh the shame.<br />We're not sure if the first-time parents-to-be (in 4 weeks) sharing the house have recovered.<br /><br />But it wasn't all tantrums.<br />There was lots of walking too, mainly a bit before 7am in the morning when Master M would bound into life and hence a stroll was in order with dad to prevent waking everyone in the house, and particularly the poor childless chap sleeping off the previous nights partying on the lounge.<br /><br />During one morning stroll, a sad and sorry wombat that was somewhat passed his use-by date, courtesy of a mistaken believe it could out-headbutt a car, was spotted on the side of the road. He/she/it was still remarkably wombat-looking, though lying on its back with paws stuck up in the air.<br />"Wombat!" the lad exclaimed.<br />"SSShhh.." said dad. "He's sleeping".<br /><br />On arrival back at the house the lad was very keen to tell others that they'd seen a wombat but <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-nEdiBKxIHwpl4NYMHgUnlsu2Va7kJBwcfb24h-3405bvPKkZ14dqh4dVeDxfaE7F4bHliQNIox5wLjIaVsJnxlfsjvK7Ow-dB0UNmt59Iyvs01y2odH3kRkBznYcyC5nvfMVeA/s1600-h/P1010600.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-nEdiBKxIHwpl4NYMHgUnlsu2Va7kJBwcfb24h-3405bvPKkZ14dqh4dVeDxfaE7F4bHliQNIox5wLjIaVsJnxlfsjvK7Ow-dB0UNmt59Iyvs01y2odH3kRkBznYcyC5nvfMVeA/s320/P1010600.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402042850752021522" border="0" /></a>had let it continue its rest. Though he apparently failed to recognise it was still there the next day. And the next. Only it had been tipped back upright by a kind soul and didnt seem to mind the flies on its nose.<br /><br />This was not the only wombat story of the fortnight.<br /><br />There we were, reading "<a href="http://books.google.com.au/books?id=hODzavpFscoC&dq=diary+of+a+wombat&printsec=frontcover&source=bn&hl=en&ei=Ter1SuHfKNj-kAWihfSlAw&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=8&ved=0CCAQ6AEwBw#v=onepage&q=&f=false">Diary of a Wombat</a>", when it occurred to dad that a) this was an Australian book (unless theres been a mass wombat immigration program going on we haven't been privvy to) and b) there was the odd Americanism in the book. This lead to the following dad/boy exchange;<br /><br />Dad {reading book aloud}: "Wombat bashed the garbage bin."<br />Dad {pondering aloud} "Mmmm... wonder why they didn't say 'rubbish' bin?"<br />Boy {seriously}: "Maybe wombats like rubbish bins?"<br /><br />The lad is a lateral thinking genius.<br /><br />(If only he could work out how to win the baby booby bottle battle...)<br /><br />.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-78852099305457036102009-10-22T20:14:00.042+11:002009-10-27T09:53:02.647+11:00Cry Baby Weekend #1We all thought it would end in tears.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMb2bNoUoYLG3o-tnxRileDYp7EXWGlO9AmjeGOo_F70gMYZE-vmYA2nfvIDoj9QbavLRUA0fLae1b107Jtn5vPgHKRnQ3GvJOpWmBRd3fLRxXW5UHlfxmnJ07gAX9a7UmcWK5yA/s1600-h/P1010213.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMb2bNoUoYLG3o-tnxRileDYp7EXWGlO9AmjeGOo_F70gMYZE-vmYA2nfvIDoj9QbavLRUA0fLae1b107Jtn5vPgHKRnQ3GvJOpWmBRd3fLRxXW5UHlfxmnJ07gAX9a7UmcWK5yA/s320/P1010213.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396811547841987394" border="0" /></a>The inaugural "Cry Baby" weekend, starring four babies under the age of 6 months plus Master M and his trusty sidekick Master A, was held in the very same house at Sandy Point that dad and Mistress P were married in. Its all rather circular really.<br /><br />The babies in question were all related, though not in the common or garden variety way, but rather through employer; all being produced via at least one parent who worked in the climate section of the Bureau of Meteorology. The last time such a baby boom occurred in the same workplace was the disastrous El Nino of 2002/03, hence it was with some trepidation round the water cooler when a baby onslaught was on the cards again. Trepidation proven correct; we've been bubbling at the edge of an <a href="http://pandora.nla.gov.au/pan/47625/20090816-0000/www.bom.gov.au/climate/enso/index.html">El Nino all year</a>, with dust storms blanketing Sydney, Melbourne's driest first six months on record, and record breaking heat in winter. And now it appears Cry Baby weekend may well be the straw that<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXCJrjHBLHestkN2_eeu9vkZBF3e9nXuKPkNDFfSdIsAmHyN0Wfpu16JYrGBcOhZmQqnZVrDAr-rQEd1e15ohMHnwoAtdh40knNF_ObNkiPzqgsQwfxddGvLe5hQfJBIrAAuSIw/s1600-h/P1010242.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXCJrjHBLHestkN2_eeu9vkZBF3e9nXuKPkNDFfSdIsAmHyN0Wfpu16JYrGBcOhZmQqnZVrDAr-rQEd1e15ohMHnwoAtdh40knNF_ObNkiPzqgsQwfxddGvLe5hQfJBIrAAuSIw/s320/P1010242.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396809240219651506" border="0" /></a> breaks the thirsty camels back - the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Southern_Oscillation_Index">Southern Oscillation Index</a> has fallen 8.3 points since Cry Baby weekend alone (and still falling as we write).<br /><br />In days of old a trip to Sandy was all beer and BBQs and stories of bravado, where too much windsurfing was barely enough and nights were for regaling the boogie boarding adventures of the day.<br /><br />How things have changed.<br /><br />The hardest-core activity of Cry Baby was changing the morning stink-bomb nappy, while days were spent either strolling the streets and beaches with a pram, eating, lounging on the couch while your bub had a nap, eating, feeding a carrot to the horses, eating, and catching 40 winks infront of the coonarra. Oh and eating.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMoi-T5vO5CvHeOajASqgLPh082JTUWP750w4jh7-RMsgydnbugA1Yt2HLIdvuGivNu9ePUwYU3MzEKWj7pliIN_excThkt6TbrcOXN3ZD3acAqa5aCt8QM82we19nxky1IbaAg/s1600-h/P1010121.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrMoi-T5vO5CvHeOajASqgLPh082JTUWP750w4jh7-RMsgydnbugA1Yt2HLIdvuGivNu9ePUwYU3MzEKWj7pliIN_excThkt6TbrcOXN3ZD3acAqa5aCt8QM82we19nxky1IbaAg/s320/P1010121.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396807583220717218" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Given the eating, and in particular the number of desserts everyone brought for the weekend, "Cry Baby" may have been otherwise termed "Cake Biting" weekend. We think we ate approximately our body weight in Pav alone. Each.<br /><br />As for the kiddies, well they were on their best behaviour all weekend. And much as we all thought they'd be triggering each other off in Dresden-like crying firestorms, it was quite the opposite. If anything they appeared to calm each other, allowing photoshoots on the floor and lots of "ohh-ing" and "ahh-ing" from the mums and dads. (Or maybe the serenity from the bubs was simply a by-product of them always having a view/smell of at least one lactating mum at all<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq71vYqvoVlU1kVcr_qEDTX6yiriuZQTtFvLbnH6X4QRLh7t_s3aQ4uObCasKM8E1zLkX_sW4XkUNu2UCD42Nq10jSg2v2sEgneoizvVmz-kU_kzo4aiP4Go0iYxMGfc1X-zzOww/s1600-h/P1010186.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq71vYqvoVlU1kVcr_qEDTX6yiriuZQTtFvLbnH6X4QRLh7t_s3aQ4uObCasKM8E1zLkX_sW4XkUNu2UCD42Nq10jSg2v2sEgneoizvVmz-kU_kzo4aiP4Go0iYxMGfc1X-zzOww/s320/P1010186.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396808070890054914" border="0" /></a> times.)<br />In fact much of the weekend seemed to be spent just staring at bubs.<br />And conversely for the bubs, boobs.<br /><br />Apart from the older two kiddies that is. They decided that playing with trains would be high on the weekends schedule. Only problem being it had to be the train that the other one had. Hence they were either a) clutching an armful of trains as though their life depended upon it, or b) crying and/or chasing the other to get whichever train they needed (note: not wanted; <span style="font-style: italic;">needed</span>).<br /><br />For all this battle of train wits, when it came time to go home there was Master A yelling out "BYYYYE!!" as he jogged up the driveway, while Master M leaned out the doorway waving a hearty "SeeYaaaaaa!!", just like the couple of old mates that th<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3x0lnpxY5LKXcvMeVkW1CnVvlpfsbdT979_H5G1fmXB0QqqWtI3no-fREsLnqk41LFu1-GHJUxL0dG1j6pPJRDjOatFqaqC_YB2rgCyrCcQj8RtajJHv1qbSfM0t9n5-I1xslQ/s1600-h/P1010068.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3x0lnpxY5LKXcvMeVkW1CnVvlpfsbdT979_H5G1fmXB0QqqWtI3no-fREsLnqk41LFu1-GHJUxL0dG1j6pPJRDjOatFqaqC_YB2rgCyrCcQj8RtajJHv1qbSfM0t9n5-I1xslQ/s320/P1010068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396806574719674962" border="0" /></a>ey now are.<br /><br />In fact master M loved the weekend so much that when he arrived home he decided that he actually did not care much for the humdrum life in the Baghdad end of Hampton, rather he wanted to be back at "<a href="http://www.sej.com.au/cgi-bin/clients/sejohn/profile.cgi?gid=24101&ForRent=1&searchid=1&proptype=-1&parse=1&type=ForRent&propertyid=1738866">someone-else's house</a>" - that being the name he adopted for the place we stayed in after mum and dad explained to him that we weren't going to be spending the weekend at home, rather at "someone else's" house.<br /><br />He wanted to be back there so much that when he returned from childcare the following Monday, he refused to be coerced into entering the slum he previously called home, but announced that he was off to Sandy Point/"someone-else's house" and bolted out the driveway. Followed by mum, who didn't manage to catch the sprinting little devil till he was a dozen house<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8oOBnWDcEm6ceRkgErd7mlwIWIwg1cBZ2sJ7vVzrzojWyjqxhHkhLVjgfZ7qCK5vgd7F0NotzOvJlqxMKco22JvasuaydLzxXBHdrNGOJQ334ZFEiHDflLLjaswsDtZE2bPshg/s1600-h/P1010231.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8oOBnWDcEm6ceRkgErd7mlwIWIwg1cBZ2sJ7vVzrzojWyjqxhHkhLVjgfZ7qCK5vgd7F0NotzOvJlqxMKco22JvasuaydLzxXBHdrNGOJQ334ZFEiHDflLLjaswsDtZE2bPshg/s320/P1010231.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396806001125815762" border="0" /></a>s down the road, as running while clutching a pillow you use for breast feeding a bub + a flapping flat nappy can slow you down a bit.<br /><br />This enthusiasm for a home away from home wasn't even dampened by the long drive back, during which the lad almost managed to down a full bottle of luke-warm milk + read his newspaper (a Thomas the tank engine flyer on safety at train stations; the only thing we can heap praise onto Connex for) + admire the rushing scenery on a windy road near Korumburra. We say "almost", as he regurgitated the previous and now somewhat-curdled contents of the bottle all over his clothes/seat/newspaper leading to an impromptu roadside stop and strip.<br /><br />After which, he announced that sitting in his seat was a bit "tough".<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCmvzr7q7EOJr-uGWz2PG4O5ZJB0Ruopd8Cqzzx19KCEIpW_Xav9mACYOk_n-vbbtPTns2YQtMe5ld3y0GlJKUTC_-v-j38-1ux-aaMO9lbR2O2vbBOTROG3FV-e3KZdKqEYlJg/s1600-h/P1010052.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCmvzr7q7EOJr-uGWz2PG4O5ZJB0Ruopd8Cqzzx19KCEIpW_Xav9mACYOk_n-vbbtPTns2YQtMe5ld3y0GlJKUTC_-v-j38-1ux-aaMO9lbR2O2vbBOTROG3FV-e3KZdKqEYlJg/s320/P1010052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396805328236523106" border="0" /></a><br />And indeed it would have been.<br />It bloody stank.<br />(Arguably second worse stink of the holiday after the trips-end nappy overtopping bin at the house. "Smell that'll outlast religion" as <a href="http://www.kennythemovie.com/">Kenny</a> would say.)<br /><br />In a vaguely similar manner, about half an hour later little Ms S also started demanding milk of the mum's-boobs variety, and hence another impromptu stop was called for. This time in the sleepy Westernport hamlet of Lang Lang, long known in family circles as the place where a) dads-dad used to ride his bike an impressively long way - from East Brighton - to work on a farm cos he loved the cows, and b) where dad did his Non-Commissioned Officer training when his school demanded a second year of army cadets from him, and dad reckoned he'd rather be a 'yeller' than a 'yellee' if he had to keep doing it. About all Lang Lang taught him (apart from how<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTs_s7c8iY5oH05gbJhxOlkeTCHe3aOjckyZOo6AsnsiXVfH7xERePxCVrS_U6-owHyvn8ZY9ods6-GAVjPUsO1Noq7VcnkxogQyh4CTdVOW4j3qXkbw3eYfKL_gMSUFDmC0wOdA/s1600-h/P1010292.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTs_s7c8iY5oH05gbJhxOlkeTCHe3aOjckyZOo6AsnsiXVfH7xERePxCVrS_U6-owHyvn8ZY9ods6-GAVjPUsO1Noq7VcnkxogQyh4CTdVOW4j3qXkbw3eYfKL_gMSUFDmC0wOdA/s320/P1010292.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396804862928874482" border="0" /></a> to yell) was that huntsman spiders don't particularly like having <a href="http://www.mortein.com.au/aerogard.php">Aerogard</a> blown on them from a can. While its being ignited into a flame thrower.<br /><br />Hence... Lang Lang playground it was for a Ms S top-up and nappy change. Which lead mum and dad to muse that having kiddies will actually get them to see a whole lot more of rural Australia than they ever did being footloose and fancy free and tearing through every country town at 10% over the legal limit.<br /><br />That said, they'll mostly be seeing playgrounds.<br /><br />When finally home there was no peace for the wicked, with Ms S having to go see the council nurse for her first ever jabs. Poor little tike; an oral dose of vaccine-goo plus a needle in<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbMgkZuGi8-FKH36BffUCHFZ2lZ_CUjpOTzmvxHC3wUMglcGi66Qnp_MaD9GxGRizjEvEhp8Mo16LggIH_punJwgrziouCAsZ5YKzutDiqZUfVS1ndNWOv2Y74cov5PRywbK5aVw/s1600-h/P1010299.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbMgkZuGi8-FKH36BffUCHFZ2lZ_CUjpOTzmvxHC3wUMglcGi66Qnp_MaD9GxGRizjEvEhp8Mo16LggIH_punJwgrziouCAsZ5YKzutDiqZUfVS1ndNWOv2Y74cov5PRywbK5aVw/s320/P1010299.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396804416260440370" border="0" /></a> both legs.<br />She yelled.<br />Dad cringed.<br />Mum stayed safely outside in the playground with Master M.<br /><br />And then Ms S, just as her big bro did 2.25 years earlier, slept right through the night - if you call 9pm to 5am all through the night - for the very first time, just like a (slightly perforated) angel.<br /><br />Cry Baby weekend #1.<br />We all thought it would end in tears.<br />But actually it ended in very big smiles.<br />(And a rather smelly bin.)<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-28498843672116173352009-10-19T20:42:00.020+11:002009-10-20T21:49:29.751+11:00Chocolate dreamingCherry.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSKjrdGF73B8uLx6KwlfLtrpr5nYUNRjmA4EHDu5QkL3mUKFA6G4pSxnfJv1Ds2-BzNlHiUVnhVKL7DlVbZVL59CMCRCWYXUKo8gALCmNd-hoZm-UJ4yQqpUzmt2ZZmaAJbos0w/s1600-h/P1010035.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMSKjrdGF73B8uLx6KwlfLtrpr5nYUNRjmA4EHDu5QkL3mUKFA6G4pSxnfJv1Ds2-BzNlHiUVnhVKL7DlVbZVL59CMCRCWYXUKo8gALCmNd-hoZm-UJ4yQqpUzmt2ZZmaAJbos0w/s320/P1010035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394614202393167682" border="0" /></a><br />Sad to say, but the first taste the girl will have had besides milk will be, as for her bro, cherry.<br /><br />And no, it wasn't <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-K1y4xoyJg">cherry chapstick</a> (not that theres anything wrong with that), rather cherry flavoured 'panadol for kids', the end result of a very unhappy little girl with a sore tummy.<br /><br />In fact, cherry is now arguably the first taste a modern noughties kiddie gets outside of milk and spew. Which probably tastes like milk.<br /><br />The reason for the upset tum tum??<br /><br />Well, it <span style="font-style: italic;">may</span> have been the cake.<br /><br />The story is something like this..<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCvuFoF3Ew64zC2Fwa4DeTduJwqmIWWflPwZkqCdP6tpE5DxN8VGxK9mclX14-AwGOM-VCJwLA6dKLxulxUpylpUtuff1J15RpjjnSB5kZKkM0tE96f-AqCQ5_WnQJFDDmFWU9sw/s1600-h/P1000956.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCvuFoF3Ew64zC2Fwa4DeTduJwqmIWWflPwZkqCdP6tpE5DxN8VGxK9mclX14-AwGOM-VCJwLA6dKLxulxUpylpUtuff1J15RpjjnSB5kZKkM0tE96f-AqCQ5_WnQJFDDmFWU9sw/s320/P1000956.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394615174831243762" border="0" /></a><br />Having been somewhat indisposed on his birthday (what with a certain little miss coming into the world and all that), dad didn't really get a chance to celebrate the 40th anniversary of his birth. Hence the somewhat amazing chocolate mud cake from some fancy schmancy Mt Eliza bakery was bunged in its box and into the freezer for safe keeping.<br /><br />Gordon Ramsey would have had kittens.<br /><br />Hence said cake was kinda forgotten about till the weekend before last.<br /><br />"Hey, lets do birthday cake...!" chimed dad.<br /><br />So they did. With a nice organic decaf plunger coffee on the back deck in the glorious spring sun.<br /><br />The thing was so solid yet sticky you needed a crowbar to lever your own gums apart when eating, but it was divine - at least the quarter the family was able to eat before they all started rolling about like Mr Creosote.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFohv2rhxUpT4K7FYCjsb5rt7JP2igTPaGDu0wzU3hImnzuoL2XzEg_Z-rXnJjLyWb8MU1wX1WEfIBcL9RkIj_6bvRsvkvFsucr-Qc4xG0enTDmKLOByqxHbbhnOP-sb2E6gLIQ/s1600-h/P1000975.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQFohv2rhxUpT4K7FYCjsb5rt7JP2igTPaGDu0wzU3hImnzuoL2XzEg_Z-rXnJjLyWb8MU1wX1WEfIBcL9RkIj_6bvRsvkvFsucr-Qc4xG0enTDmKLOByqxHbbhnOP-sb2E6gLIQ/s320/P1000975.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394615555110828834" border="0" /></a><br />By the end of it all, Master M looked like he'd stuck his head in a bucket of mud. It. Was. Bliss.<br /><br />But bliss it was not for poor little Miss S, who subsequently was ratty as all get up, most uncomfortable in the aforementioned tum and windy. Indeed, not a happy camper at all.<br /><br />Could we have evolved the worlds first chocolate-averse daughter???<br /><br />Being scientists we needed a repeat experiment.<br />(Plus Master M wanted cake and was singing the song.)<br />And sure enough, it does appear to give Miss S's tummy the grumbles.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4M6kZFK3JvlzIRNTA8Mtm7lbbnrjZxq_LSqLTyVKDcag9y9C-e7pLk0E-mvm2fDGsYseLxVLIiJFGF78VOfGo0njep4TAMh7vJCmrUqwhD9OOgJmzeworKWud3ndQBhrCE7vmWw/s1600-h/P1000995.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4M6kZFK3JvlzIRNTA8Mtm7lbbnrjZxq_LSqLTyVKDcag9y9C-e7pLk0E-mvm2fDGsYseLxVLIiJFGF78VOfGo0njep4TAMh7vJCmrUqwhD9OOgJmzeworKWud3ndQBhrCE7vmWw/s320/P1000995.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394613734787978530" border="0" /></a><br />Granted the medical profession probably hates us, but a quick look on the web reveals that it probably wasn't the caffeine getting into <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/894424">mums milk</a>, rather it may well have been the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theobromine">theobromine</a>, a.k.a the stuff that makes your dog puke if the bugger eats your easter egg collection.<br /><br />And while common or garden variety Cadbury's probably doesn't contain enough to knock many people about, it seems the fancy bakers chocky actually has the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theobromine_poisoning">highest theobromine</a> of all and is a definite suspect in the tummy trubs.<br /><span style=";font-family:arial,helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:85%;" ><br /></span>From now on we get our cakes from Brumbies.<br /><br />In the mean time master M and dad have been sneaking the odd bit of cake from the fridge without letting mum see.<br />It's less cruel that way.<br /><br />In fact to compensate for his sister, Master M has subsequently developed a choccy fixation that appears to be entering his wider psyche.<br /><br />e.g., He no longer sees "Scrufty" jumping in muddy puddles in his Bob the builder books. He's jumping in chocolate. (And woe betide the parent who tells him otherwise.)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SK3THpRW1lWCgM6sU2oZBNTjCQu8uHSqNSuSon0keLrkjQmzJAYZZaqeVMFZVtKnImkaqpvVietnXrNz0hyphenhyphensalPZNMiBoq2ys10SrFniq8vjXLW6P4Uu-H2tS-W94623rlSMwQ/s1600-h/P1000935.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SK3THpRW1lWCgM6sU2oZBNTjCQu8uHSqNSuSon0keLrkjQmzJAYZZaqeVMFZVtKnImkaqpvVietnXrNz0hyphenhyphensalPZNMiBoq2ys10SrFniq8vjXLW6P4Uu-H2tS-W94623rlSMwQ/s320/P1000935.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394613214591368146" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And arguably somewhat un-PC, he arrived home from childcare proudly announcing how he'd played with his little dark skinned friend that day:<br /><br />"I licked Kulkin! Kulkin made of chocolate!".<br /><br />Oh dear.<br />That's so 'Hey Hey its Saturday'.<br /><br />Its entirely possible all this chocolate thought has fired him up a little too much though, cos the lads learnt to run.<br /><br />We're not quite sure when it officially happened as we're not Olympic walking judges able to white flag away a gold in one fell swoop (we still feel for you <a href="http://walking.about.com/library/walk/blolyw20k.htm">Jane Saville</a>), but its clearly happened.<br /><br />However... (there's always an 'however') it unfortunately appears that the boys running has the nimbleness of an oil laden supertanker, and hence his dashes are somewhat restricted to a straight lines.<br /><br />Which would kinda explain his inability to divert around a tree that was in his path when he went all Usain Bolt on us at the zoo.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZuayU9KyvG7nNnNsY2Be8MKBYs5sDxJ-SxARHZoJkLVLFcHOPEGmpaI15tAO72WCXoRYjP7M3dxSL_uX2_RVGcjk5AhXOUAoeseFTRsjb9d7tdEDPD73gtCZbmXtZZdGJEgbbYg/s1600-h/P1000988.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZuayU9KyvG7nNnNsY2Be8MKBYs5sDxJ-SxARHZoJkLVLFcHOPEGmpaI15tAO72WCXoRYjP7M3dxSL_uX2_RVGcjk5AhXOUAoeseFTRsjb9d7tdEDPD73gtCZbmXtZZdGJEgbbYg/s320/P1000988.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394617461350479458" border="0" /></a><br />'WHACK!!!"<br /><br />Nose first, straight into the sapling.<br /><br />The sound alone brought tears to our eyes. Let alone his.<br />He subsequently looked like he's gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson, only the parallel universe Mike Tyson that bites noses instead of ears.<br /><br />Poor lad.<br /><br />We bought an icy pole to try and get something cold onto his proboscis, however as soon as he realised it <i>was </i>an icy pole, he stopped his shallow moaning (yes, remarkably there was only momentary crying, and more an understandably sooky moan) and he just wanted to eat it.<br /><br />(Oh the healing powers of cheap icy confectionery. Surely if they could combined flavoured ice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGVl2_GbarExOhkULA60XRNCm4oBhyphenhyphenUQ925p4Ch7NXvqXzZ-qIqeOUNie2r3LQb57KfLBRldPCRowIxLcw2ecj3u0tq1m243shV4yC8W9CTc55Yh3xGKv4EBL0FCdGqJ3REhYig/s1600-h/P1000927.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGVl2_GbarExOhkULA60XRNCm4oBhyphenhyphenUQ925p4Ch7NXvqXzZ-qIqeOUNie2r3LQb57KfLBRldPCRowIxLcw2ecj3u0tq1m243shV4yC8W9CTc55Yh3xGKv4EBL0FCdGqJ3REhYig/s320/P1000927.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394620524071577362" border="0" /></a> with penicillin humans would live for all eternity)<br /><br />The upshot of all this - everyone said "Ouch!" when they first saw him, and he proudly would announce "I ran into a tree!" as though it was an act a sane person would do.<br /><br />Note to parents; teach them to turn.<br /><br />Finally, a couple from the "from the mouths of babes" file.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Article A:</span><br /><br />"Sarah s talking!" said the boy...<br />"Is she? What's she saying?" asked mum<br /><br />"I love Michael!"<br /><br />Awwww.... schucks.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONeoyVP4IpWwmB3OdTs65N8k0k5X4ZFcgH_dWWqjhql8fC2AAHhTotbjKjvZ6z63ah0z7WVuZwtSDaffDZ75b2aFcspCe6ge11cece_DZKwuXfqWzq3Zbxdqb0n_4G-KOh14Rog/s1600-h/P1000964.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONeoyVP4IpWwmB3OdTs65N8k0k5X4ZFcgH_dWWqjhql8fC2AAHhTotbjKjvZ6z63ah0z7WVuZwtSDaffDZ75b2aFcspCe6ge11cece_DZKwuXfqWzq3Zbxdqb0n_4G-KOh14Rog/s320/P1000964.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394622104312796770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Article B:</span><br /><br />Mum was chatting with dad about how things used to be pre-progeny, and started saying "...yes, but, if we cast our minds back to the old days..." when the boy interrupted sharply.<br /><br />"NO. It's the way it is."<br /><br />So right you are lad.<br />So right you are.<br /><br />Ok, we would end there but we really had to add this one.<br />The best name we've encountered for a child care worker thus far - master M's new carer...<br />Ms Smack.<br />(Tru Dinks.)<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-40633813628674105172009-09-26T18:22:00.023+10:002009-10-03T21:53:56.899+10:00Break it down -Tummy Time.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7Fry7BZrH9k9tR7lC0AS8WOAvRI_d_lRZEgRVai63J_m1j4uLMS8YZ9Pd0E1BThKQWfKFiEurUXki1rLp1Sl562uJUCXLndYDkSXK9dPIpSkJ7tr9cu_wgQfn97nHDLyQpy_rg/s1600-h/P1000836.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7Fry7BZrH9k9tR7lC0AS8WOAvRI_d_lRZEgRVai63J_m1j4uLMS8YZ9Pd0E1BThKQWfKFiEurUXki1rLp1Sl562uJUCXLndYDkSXK9dPIpSkJ7tr9cu_wgQfn97nHDLyQpy_rg/s320/P1000836.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388321331226994850" border="0" /></a>You're bleary eyed from waking in the night.<br />Your shoulders hurt from so much rocking.<br />Your shirts all have vomit stains on the shoulders.<br />And Lady Macbeth-like; your hands have that faint eau-de-poop you just cant get off.<br /><br />Yet the little girls first smiles and coos make you go all wobbly at the knees.<br /><br />Yup - we've already skipped over that first few weeks when you barely get a "hows your father" from the bub and we're into the next stage.<br />The stage of vague recognition of the world.<br /><br />Unfortunately this recognition of the world also includes the dreaded witching hour, and hence there is an increase in the cry factor - right on cue when dad arrives home from work.<br />"Hi dad. How was your day? Mum was really nice to me. I started crying 20 minutes ago. I'm going to scream at you now. "<br /><br />But its not all tears and tantrums.<br />The little miss is slowly managing to sleep just that little bit longer in the night. Well, kinda...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5PRmmR1UWyAoNSBMukuUXQlIOMEpc-YHjbTuxJemAldY61RHbf-njzLkHnNeXmn6LEWKtaRE3hGMeSMzQzYQo2f39xofFWylGMW2H3oQ3X69UbtN73ET2oaJMtqNWhU7sLor3Bw/s1600-h/P1000846.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5PRmmR1UWyAoNSBMukuUXQlIOMEpc-YHjbTuxJemAldY61RHbf-njzLkHnNeXmn6LEWKtaRE3hGMeSMzQzYQo2f39xofFWylGMW2H3oQ3X69UbtN73ET2oaJMtqNWhU7sLor3Bw/s320/P1000846.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388322769885362546" border="0" /></a><br />Case in point.<br />Mum&Dad being the sleep zombies they are, had gone to bed in time with the girl - 9pm (yes, being a parent is that wild) - fully expecting to be woken the ISO-standard 3 hours later with a bub demanding a grease and oil change.<br /><br />Sure enough, sometime later, bleatings were heard in the dark.<br />Something felt a bit different.<br />Mum&Dad rolled over and stared at the clock.<br />2am.<br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">2am!</span><br />That's {counting fingers} FIVE HOURS STRAIGHT SLEEP!<br />("There is a god!" rejoiced dad.)<br /><br />However contrary to expectations, the bleatings were not the girl but rather number one son in an extremely rare nocturnal wandering, complete with subsequent swan dive onto the marital workbench and none-too-subtle request for bed buddies and/or Chuggington DVDs.<br /><br />Which subsequently woke the blissfuly sleeping little Miss S and it all ended in 2am tears.<br />("Geez, gods a bit of a prick reall<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhn8VKebDfcFkv9X8G_1mjdx5hjjD7VXlc_8ajqEg_-zxQdAHGfSAlh1QMJrmtxGhBsvfnxvpH0kPXMAg5S6b7YtUI4XpyS5iNz82U9K_9kfw3YtltxMy0yeTUVHwtHjZEZZcsA/s1600-h/P1000854.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhn8VKebDfcFkv9X8G_1mjdx5hjjD7VXlc_8ajqEg_-zxQdAHGfSAlh1QMJrmtxGhBsvfnxvpH0kPXMAg5S6b7YtUI4XpyS5iNz82U9K_9kfw3YtltxMy0yeTUVHwtHjZEZZcsA/s320/P1000854.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388322193907192898" border="0" /></a>y..." mumbled dad.)<br />Cie La Vie.<br /><br />But anyway,... she's slowly/occasionally sleeping more hours and that has to be a good good thing.<br /><br />As are her somewhat amazing abilities with Tummy Time.<br />(We'll have to pause here; we cant help but sing "Tummy Time" in tune to "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c4L4CPfQY8">U Cant Touch This</a>", a.k.a, 'Hammer Time', by MC Hammer - its the curse of living our formative years through the eighties.) Only we're already having to be extra careful if we pop her face down on the change table as it seems she is somehow (levitation maybe?) able to move herself several inches forwards and backwards. Now thats, as we say in the parenting biz, extreme tummy timing.<br /><br />Just, hopefully, not off the edge of something high. Onto something hard.<br /><br />All this cuteness of the early childhood weeks is also a constant reminder to Mum&Dad that - barring unforeseen cock ups (scuse the pun) - we wont be seeing any of these stages again in our lives. Which is kinda sad. Well for the cute stuff anyway; the sleep deprivation and poo up to our elbows we can probably go happily to our graves without repeating.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_x__D59zfhK4WJg0N2FSbjIhM-IiPFnX6Ag61ienU_uZDda0634B3aMn1hqLVLU1jswCxbmSj9C9eOVTN-wGHpNmgR_fZY9X__OV0ffBqSjjDoCOxXaIrXQ13DgiPWtwu0GkjQ/s1600-h/P1000746.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_x__D59zfhK4WJg0N2FSbjIhM-IiPFnX6Ag61ienU_uZDda0634B3aMn1hqLVLU1jswCxbmSj9C9eOVTN-wGHpNmgR_fZY9X__OV0ffBqSjjDoCOxXaIrXQ13DgiPWtwu0GkjQ/s320/P1000746.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388335754569812418" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As for the boy...<br />Well he is slowly coming to terms with the little Miss, and hence his hugs are now genuine acts of affection and less attempts to smother her out of existence. (Its a fine line...)<br /><br />And he's still cute as a button too. And still going through his very own firsts.<br /><br />Is this case (and only parents will understand the joy this brings to a parents heart), the first time he has announced he <span style="font-style: italic;">wants</span> to use the potty.<br />Yes.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Wants.<br /><br /></span>Mum&Dad were so stoked they said "You get a reward! What do you want boy??"<br />"CAKE!" he replied.<br />As we had no cake, he was offered another first.<br />His first Tim Tam.<br />What we haven't told you is that this all came about because he was in the bath and didn't want to wallow in his own pee. Hence he ate the TT in said bath, dipping it in a few times for good measure.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXNAN4-_wVdONWAJOuVPaivrlZmHJPx-oASbiyBxmVjonqEEAF7dzAZqbX5y9RAqBcuvwE-VB0QkCdOuuTY0BXOyQ5URYPJyI9e-LxizY2iR4KctnxaTkKt36vajrXQgDBPl9DA/s1600-h/P1000834.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXNAN4-_wVdONWAJOuVPaivrlZmHJPx-oASbiyBxmVjonqEEAF7dzAZqbX5y9RAqBcuvwE-VB0QkCdOuuTY0BXOyQ5URYPJyI9e-LxizY2iR4KctnxaTkKt36vajrXQgDBPl9DA/s320/P1000834.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388334371249952242" border="0" /></a> Tim Tams, bath, applauding parents - he was like a pig in poo.<br />Just not his own.<br /><br />Next day dad had a shower (as you do).<br />"Whats this brown ring round the tub??" he bellowed.<br />That be arguably the worlds first Tim Tam bath ring.<br />Here's hoping the cleaning lady didnt think it was what it looked like. (It was all a bit "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Th_aBzrV37M&feature=related">Chokito scene from Caddyshack</a>" really.)<br /><br />Its also a somewhat significant, if not slightly depressing, time when your progeny first teaches you something you never knew. No, not as in "don't hold a naked baby above your head when they haven't had a wee for a while" indirect<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BAv3J7y0uaqI4WG2bHxJDBbD-ls2An8T0_Rt0pN9A6aG4qiRR2lhRGdumKV7-rVz0uO7O4Ke5DxuAbOdLljBhkvYzNVnAt7nVXOxUfE1AMgf7Qktf1bgxxcJhceRUn57HKYYVg/s1600-h/P1000869.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BAv3J7y0uaqI4WG2bHxJDBbD-ls2An8T0_Rt0pN9A6aG4qiRR2lhRGdumKV7-rVz0uO7O4Ke5DxuAbOdLljBhkvYzNVnAt7nVXOxUfE1AMgf7Qktf1bgxxcJhceRUn57HKYYVg/s320/P1000869.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388334702293985330" border="0" /></a> teaching, rather common or garden variety master-to-grasshopper education.<br /><br />In our case it was train signals.<br />While looking at yet another Thomas the Tank Engine book, dad asked Master M what the "arm out" semaphore train signal meant. M said "Stop".<br />When he asked about an arm down signal, M said "Go."<br />As dad had no idea he just nodded in agreement, with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Signal_Home_Semaphore_R_%26_G.svg">later investigation revealing</a> the lad was spot on. How he learnt this we have no idea - it isn't in the text of any Thomas we've seen - so we'll just have to assume that humans are born with this instinct which is subsequently lost with the progression of time.<br /><br />Finally, the lad has also decided that if mum can nickname little Miss S "Pumpkin", we all need vegetable names. Henceforth, according to Master M, his new name is 'potato', mum is 'broccoli' and dad is Mr 'Bean'.<br /><br />Some may say, how very apt.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk66oTbsZPp0Qe83ggLd4b-AN-IZc6mwvijxGZhddqvAYQbEDv4eIq2kgCW9HO20kiBee3il0tBor47w1c2R8IDD94PM9QSwXBnnS73BQJHnIZP4ogu7EEaQFsfNAMLkPsKg4Gfw/s1600-h/fathers_crop.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk66oTbsZPp0Qe83ggLd4b-AN-IZc6mwvijxGZhddqvAYQbEDv4eIq2kgCW9HO20kiBee3il0tBor47w1c2R8IDD94PM9QSwXBnnS73BQJHnIZP4ogu7EEaQFsfNAMLkPsKg4Gfw/s400/fathers_crop.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388340210671469170" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/S6TqxEL9zrw&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/S6TqxEL9zrw&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-71661949646661743652009-09-17T20:45:00.007+10:002009-09-17T22:46:21.577+10:001/1008<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6t-vIkZe_E86t3HdtFqXtuSif934_E7JKWqV0rqVQhe0Uj_ZTwO9ss1sstHB_3jFI9evxb9d-6VthMmrPETalPbzjfg117DrBi5Dw8weDS4Wbige9p35hw_X4mtwnIvknTxNtbw/s1600-h/P1000791.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6t-vIkZe_E86t3HdtFqXtuSif934_E7JKWqV0rqVQhe0Uj_ZTwO9ss1sstHB_3jFI9evxb9d-6VthMmrPETalPbzjfg117DrBi5Dw8weDS4Wbige9p35hw_X4mtwnIvknTxNtbw/s320/P1000791.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382395837373599474" border="0" /></a>One month old today.<br /><br />Yes.<br />Seriously.<br />Already.<br /><br />Seemed like only yesterday mum & dad were hanging around in a big white room waiting for a doctor to hurry things up, reading the newspapers, snacking on jelly snakes and twiddling their thumbs thinking the girl would never arrive, then...<br />WHAMBAM...<br />a month old.<br /><br />Just like that.<br /><br />It'll be bras, booze and boys (not necessarily in<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzT9-A4G0MQjogLN3IatCqKRa4gRm_I46Cec-TdXpsQ7qrbejfoVvIqvWxTgCTzq3zyo40vsMbuVqGDDq36acB3nUI3OPsUfRz4xoChdB2sX0Ra7YEOuWMwZz-ZLKlzAx0wwjMww/s1600-h/P1000700.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzT9-A4G0MQjogLN3IatCqKRa4gRm_I46Cec-TdXpsQ7qrbejfoVvIqvWxTgCTzq3zyo40vsMbuVqGDDq36acB3nUI3OPsUfRz4xoChdB2sX0Ra7YEOuWMwZz-ZLKlzAx0wwjMww/s320/P1000700.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382396701595563362" border="0" /></a> that order/with dads blessing) before we know it.<br /><br />In the meantime there's a beautiful little girl who can already lift her head up off the floor during tummy time, has grown her first ackers (baby acne is stock standard stuff, with the added bonus of being a window onto her teenage soul), is experiencing the joys of her first sickness (a dreaded cough, brought to you via big brothers childcare; surely the petri dish for all modern man's sicknesses), and felt the warmth of her first global warming enhanced Melbourne temperature record (29.9°C in the first half of September).<br /><br />Better pace yourself grrrl.<br />One month down.<br /><a href="http://www.aihw.gov.au/mortality/life_expectancy/compares.cfm">At least 1007 to go</a>.<br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ugPKey5J6hI&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ugPKey5J6hI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35283363.post-59959645059832896992009-09-09T20:07:00.021+10:002009-09-10T16:23:05.332+10:00Sleep, suckling, and sparrows flatulence"What in the wide wide world of sports did we used to do with all that spare time???"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaW2LW7iETFCpOUNya4ItDcvG5zl0aC4a2bLa_hi3SO4p4MXD0MTYpTonRAfYBIVZ7IBa4RDzyEb8bTde50vU3jDlla9XV4ht7UoTaSjuOEvQwaeqQ8aNEV1T5k56Al4ZWUff0Kw/s1600-h/P1000543.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaW2LW7iETFCpOUNya4ItDcvG5zl0aC4a2bLa_hi3SO4p4MXD0MTYpTonRAfYBIVZ7IBa4RDzyEb8bTde50vU3jDlla9XV4ht7UoTaSjuOEvQwaeqQ8aNEV1T5k56Al4ZWUff0Kw/s320/P1000543.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379703849141781538" border="0" /></a>We seem to remember asking ourselves this exact question when Master M was a wee lad, but <span style="font-style: italic;">now</span> we look back at that era like we were fair dinkum bludging it in lazy land; we'll call it our <a href="http://www.crikey.com.au/2008/02/08/crikeys-weekly-wankley-awards-and-the-lifetime-achievement-award-goes-to/">Paxton</a> phase.<br /><br />Ok, so with the first babe you're wondering what in Fords name to do in every new and unusual circumstance, feeling out of your depth and the proverbial fish out of aqua all at the same time, and indeed it is hard yakka - dont get us wrong, but...<br />...with a second, while you know the ropes (well, vaguely remember stumbling through their tangles), everything has an added "other child" complexity factor that you never even dreamt about.<br /><br />Lets, for example, take the seemingly simple act of sleep.<br /><br />Sleep.<br />Ah yes, we remember you well.<br /><br />While the lass is still feeding every 3-4 hours during the night, at least with number one you still had a vague choice about when you got up in the morning; i.e., if the<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM70deJ-RbbxQzQgO52ga2CL33_Rglb_ImlEmau3zi8VK81HPs3iJkqDtfIN0QY0yjAScihUEjAzlxdfT0elM8zC1PG0_xuMRl8YWmWPZ4s1TkSvVl2Mq0-f0R9qdGF-ERDI9HrQ/s1600-h/P1000565.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM70deJ-RbbxQzQgO52ga2CL33_Rglb_ImlEmau3zi8VK81HPs3iJkqDtfIN0QY0yjAScihUEjAzlxdfT0elM8zC1PG0_xuMRl8YWmWPZ4s1TkSvVl2Mq0-f0R9qdGF-ERDI9HrQ/s320/P1000565.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379701139225008050" border="0" /></a> bub had a feed at 5am you may well be able to rest till 8.<br />But when it comes to having bub number two, well, 8am... tell 'im he's dreaming.<br />Cos number one is up at 6am, or earlier if woken by number two feeding, and then thats it.<br /><br />You're up sunshine.<br />Even if the sunshine isn't.<br /><br />And it seems no amount of "Does the clock say 7? It isn't getting-up time till the clock says 7..." will cut it with the lad.<br />He wants up.<br /><br />Not to mention that being spring and with twilight officially commencing at 6:05am, it means the birds are a chirpin' well before the alloted awakening hour, and hence Master M cant be convinced that the rest of the world is not up and about and watching Thomas the Tank Engine videos at such an unFordly hour.<br /><br />"Birds are talking!"<br /><br />Yes.<br />The birds are talking.<br />Thank you Mother Nature.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cTsreHGRBznAOM9gNBbXjfSpawkw4-lSokdUIk7tAxB0zI8b7RpPY6wEYHsP4b8An2H8Et6HFyNTD1ki3HoqGcBQlIYWwzgtLX2tCkfEVodlSP4kKtOE9CpCqrAuoTM6WmxGEA/s1600-h/P1000609.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cTsreHGRBznAOM9gNBbXjfSpawkw4-lSokdUIk7tAxB0zI8b7RpPY6wEYHsP4b8An2H8Et6HFyNTD1ki3HoqGcBQlIYWwzgtLX2tCkfEVodlSP4kKtOE9CpCqrAuoTM6WmxGEA/s320/P1000609.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379705790275957170" border="0" /></a>All that said, the little Miss is not too bad in the wee small hours, and has managed a couple of four and even five hour breaks between feeds during the hours of dark. Which is a pretty stunning turnaround from the first few days at home when night was day and day was night and its seemed never the twain shall meet.<br /><br />She's an impressive learner this one.<br /><br />Not to mention grower.<br />We're now up to 4.4kg and motoring along powered only on premium unleaded mum juice.<br />Sure she has already had her first cold, and sure she has had Krakatoa-like vomits (usually over mum and/or dad) that leaves you thinking there surely cant be anything left in the tummy, but it doesn't stop her coming back for more.<br />And more.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo93k7VA_kDJV7zF_KdKHGIflAt7O-VjOzhbyVIL_JQHVzXY12lNp81GREMwV78fUPgYwE0or4HT1cX2_rMJmFcwzf6F68ENOw5pm0KPHGJI6-Yn0stAvHMGdlMXK_KAG4ShkkwA/s1600-h/P1000566.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo93k7VA_kDJV7zF_KdKHGIflAt7O-VjOzhbyVIL_JQHVzXY12lNp81GREMwV78fUPgYwE0or4HT1cX2_rMJmFcwzf6F68ENOw5pm0KPHGJI6-Yn0stAvHMGdlMXK_KAG4ShkkwA/s320/P1000566.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379704740463330530" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But then mum's glad for it too.<br />Indeed all the mums.<br />Being a second kiddie, we're still doing the weekly catch-up with the first kiddie mothers-group mums, a number of whom are also dealing with suckling infants.<br />At one such catch-up, dad was somewhat perplexed at the high correlation between a) infants crying, and b) new mums crossing their arms. Till it was explained that the wonders of evolution have resulted in a "let down" (as in milk) reflex which accompanies the cries of a newborn.<br />Even one that isn't your own.<br />Its kinda cute.<br />If not moist.<br /><br />We're also now discovering the differences/joys between boys and girls.<br /><br />First, pink is good.<br />Which is infact great when Dad puts the new red towel in the wash with the new white baby suits 'n booties and pinks the lot.<br />"Hey, who'll know - she looks great!"<br /><br />Secondly, quicker nappy changes.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNgrAZF4npqhWpQj5DJfos-ZdWR0pd2J_aUwnVM3EIn7X3xCBNMW0VoALdtGbWNObq_ji_kRlLzyC-1brW18Wi1JRuCAKhTu2pn-n_h_06s4V7EwqROGfMVWLbUFSTAUATag-pg/s1600-h/P1000537.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNgrAZF4npqhWpQj5DJfos-ZdWR0pd2J_aUwnVM3EIn7X3xCBNMW0VoALdtGbWNObq_ji_kRlLzyC-1brW18Wi1JRuCAKhTu2pn-n_h_06s4V7EwqROGfMVWLbUFSTAUATag-pg/s320/P1000537.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379700408317999234" border="0" /></a><br />Dad reckons he's saving seconds every change by not having to check that the willy is pointing down and into the nappy, as opposed to up and allowing overtopping during wee wees.<br />("Thats potential extra sleep time gained right there...")<br /><br />Finally, the boy.<br />Boy oh boy.<br />Theres a tad bit of jealousy going on, which is taking the form of random acts of naugthiness in order to get attention.<br />Any attention.<br />Which has also been accompanied by an apparent confusion between the english terms "why" and "how".<br /><br />Hence the question "Why did you hit mummies arm?" is responded to by:<br />"I did it like this!"<br />...followed by a second, albeit lighter, demonstration arm whacking.<br /><br />We know its not a put on cos when the question was:<br />"Why did you hit your head on the chair?"<br />he also tells us he did it like this...<br />...and clobbers himself again. Complete with "thats-gotta-hurt" factor.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5ny6neqxR5tj592jGLmF2LZYnq7n13klKzRL0bYR_QBPgKHmRhb4w5wUpNuEJSZ0rMe-tH45k7tpvxaK0npR4z-17dc7pVFXlRrcaEeGztkPn7kLvKRsRXPFkAAAOcq1PmLD1Q/s1600-h/P1000671.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY5ny6neqxR5tj592jGLmF2LZYnq7n13klKzRL0bYR_QBPgKHmRhb4w5wUpNuEJSZ0rMe-tH45k7tpvxaK0npR4z-17dc7pVFXlRrcaEeGztkPn7kLvKRsRXPFkAAAOcq1PmLD1Q/s320/P1000671.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379703170098007218" border="0" /></a><br />And yes, we did indeed try rephrasing the question to:<br />"What were you thinking when you did that Michael?"<br />to which he paused, thought and answered;<br />"Wiggles!"<br /><br />Fair enough hairy mutt. (At least he's honest.)<br /><br />Finally, Mike has also supplied us with his version of whats happened over the past few weeks.<br /><br />In his own words, here is the Michael Henry Watkins abridged version of this very blog;<blockquote>"Sarah was in mummy's tummy.<br />Then in her house. <span style="font-style: italic;">{i.e., the house of blue light humidicrib}</span><br />Then she came to visit."</blockquote>She's here to stay lad.<br />She's here to stay.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXx3zyi6dmqcK0-GG7ql6CuntjMV0MH5DNUmepit8Ex-ThmQa0oR8JlVzgaVxkT6QuDAK9ylrIy9idTRfg9QsauJerH-Sxcq0rRjs5cQszg-GWaJYqsmDjFeEst4eQhfDgRgXHA/s1600-h/P1000635.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXx3zyi6dmqcK0-GG7ql6CuntjMV0MH5DNUmepit8Ex-ThmQa0oR8JlVzgaVxkT6QuDAK9ylrIy9idTRfg9QsauJerH-Sxcq0rRjs5cQszg-GWaJYqsmDjFeEst4eQhfDgRgXHA/s320/P1000635.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379702396834653330" border="0" /></a>(You reckon we get bags under our eyes like this for mere drop ins?)<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Postscript:</span> Sarah's first brush with "fame"... Mum noticed a nice chap at the next table making goo-goo eyes at lil Miss S while mum and dad were having a coffee and filling out Ms S' official Birth Registration form at Ricketts Point Cafe'. Mum had no idea who it was, but dad pointed out it was <a href="http://www.paulmercurio.net/">Paul Mecurio</a>. We figured either he was admiring her twinkle toes or wondering what she'd taste like (with a nice beer of course), but he came ..t.h.i.s.. close to being asked to sign as witness on Miss S' birth certification. (We chose our wonderful friend <a href="http://us-plusone.blogspot.com/">Lyn</a>.)<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Postscript II:</span> To all the incredible mums from the mothers group who have brought us dinners (one every Monday and Wednesday!) - you are amazing.<br />And we're so lucky.<br />Thank you.<br /><br />.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Original post, including images and video, at
http://bigtum.blogspot.com</div>WindJunkyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05393957347161549014noreply@blogger.com1