Parking rage

This post is dedicated to the thoughtful souls who filled every single 'Parent Park' at Rangiora New World this morning with their child-less vehicles. That long walk across the carpark in the sleet was just what my 2 preschoolers and I felt like, and we all particularly enjoyed Caleb's half-way face-plant into the gutter, while about 100m from the front doors. Cheers for that. Hope you got a flat tyre on the way home ;-)


After 4 days cooped up in the snow, the driveway was finally clear enough to drive our car through, so I thought I'd pop into Rangiora to get some milk and fruit. Didn't really **need** to, but we were all getting just a little bit over these 4 walls and our white landscape (though now it's kinda brown and grey) so an outing seemed like a welcome distraction. And actually **popping** anywhere in Rangiora is a bit of a joke in these post-quake days anyway, now that a good percentage of ChCh has joined us in our conclusion that it's a pretty decent spot to live. Basically, I should have stayed at home, which is the moral of this post.

There are certain signs that give away a vehicle's child-status, and any half-witted parent can spot them a mile away. Obviously car seats and those tacky yellow 'Baby on Board' signs are a dead giveaway, but there are other, more subtle ways that a small person marks their territory. Things like food wrappers. Manky apple cores. Seventeen sweatshirts and odd socks, flung about the back and trampled upon until they might as well be a part of the upholstery. Books. Drink bottles. Basically if a vehicle contains none of these things, it is fair to assume that the owners do not have small children. Or that the vehicle belongs to my husband.

So it was with a sneer and a narrow-eyed glare that my children and I entered the supermarket this morning, after our harrowing journey across sodden asphalt and sudden splashing from vehicles unseen behind our chilly, hooded selves. Now if any of the assorted cars parked in the parent parks contained evidence of small children, or a disabled sticker (though they have parks of their own, I'm happy to share ;-)) I wouldn't have minded. In fact, with a nearly 3 year old and a 4 year old, I usually don't bother with Parent Parks. And even in my more stressed days as a new mother, I really only used them if I had both children with me. Today, I would have been happy to walk if I knew that those cars contained frazzled mothers and children who were spared the inconvenience of the ghastly weather. But they didn't.

One contained a tartan rug. Children? I think not!

One contained a washing basket with a spray bottle of some kind of chemical cleaner in it. Children? I think not!

One had a dog in it. A dog. One of those small, yappy, fluffy white things, wearing a tartan coat. A dog is not a child. Go to the back of the line, Lady. And what is it about tartan?

I spent the supermarket visit alternately snapping at my children and mentally penning my e-mail rant to the local newspaper. Was actually looking forward to seeing my venom in print, like A. Clarkson from Woodend, who has a very regular whinge. They should actually give him a column, he has so much to say. Possibly a retired school teacher who misses the union meetings...

Anyway, I was almost eager to bump into one of the park bandits as we left, but to no avail. So we jittered our way across the carpark in our wobble-wheeled trolley instead, saving our glares for the trolley boy. Poor soul.

Next time I suggest going out, just shoot me. Or at least give me a 'get-the-heck-over-it' pill.

General madness

Life is back to its busy term-time normality now. Week Two of Term Three is just finished and I'm suspicious that the last holidays were nothing but a figment of my imagination. We are all tired, ratty and frazzled... actually, maybe that's just me.

This term at school, we have our biennial musical. The less said about this stress inducing madness the better, but it is a major contributor to my foul mood and snippitiness.

At home, I have a four year old that is revealing a passion for art, craft and writing. She is at her happiest when she has a pencil in hand and a ream of paper to scrawl on. And if Mummy continues her current run of photocopying fails, then there will be no shortage of drawing paper anytime soon! She would actually thrive in school right now, but she is still 9 months away from turning 5 **looks to find a brick wall still standing after a year of earthquakes to beat head against**

Our lovely 2 year old is also a whirlwind of activity. He is revealing a great sense of humour, and a fondness for wearing Princess-themed dress-up frocks. I'm thinking the two traits are linked, especially when he minces past in heels and squeaks in a shrill voice that his name is now 'Ginger'. He is equally at home swinging a hammer or disassembling his train table with Daddy's missing flat head screwdriver. He is begging for real tools for his birthday, but my furniture couldn't stand it.

I often get asked if the stories I post about my children both here and on FaceBook are really true - I mean come on, could a pair of children really be that crazy? I filmed them in action whizzing down our orchard paddock the other day as proof of their day to day antics. Judge their madness for yourself...

DISCLAIMER: Many parents watching will be horrified at the speeds at which my children are hurtling down the hill without a helmet. They will probably also be concerned that they are wearing insufficient clothing for a Canterbury winter's afternoon. I firmly believe that children tend to bounce. Or at least mine do. Ignoring last year's brush with State Highway 72 our children have grown up surrounded by hazards and are constantly being taught to respect them. Mother Nature and the Laws of Gravity are great teachers! **braces self for calls from CYFS**

Anyway here they are in all of their glory...



Some interesting features you may not have picked up during the onslaught of raw Kiwi accent and poor camera handling / editing:

* Yes, those are chooks running about my lawn. And yes, they are meant to be contained in their lovely little chicken house on legs with fancy easy access laying boxes. And yes, Kevin the rooster continues to crow continuously at ungodly hours and incite similar behaviour among the other cockerels (**snigger**) within a 2 km radius. I am unimpressed. Their day of reckoning is coming. Probably in a fertiliser sack and a long one way trip to a picnic spot a long way away...

* Sophie does claim to have nearly "done wees" in her knickers due to the sheer thrill of downhill racing. And then proceeds to remind me of Caleb's penchant for peeing on trees. And then (this bit is muffled, but it's worth watching again just to hear it) she declares that she'd like to give it another go herself. Peeing on trees that is... and yes, she has tried and failed at this before. She's sometimes not a fast learner.

* I cut out most of the roaring that Sophie does to Caleb to get him to move from the bit of fence she wanted to crash into at the end of her run. It took 4 minutes before she was persuaded to actually stop yelling and get biking. I left the snippet in that you see, purely to share her wonderful line "GO. OR I'LL BUMP INTO YOU AND CHOP YOUR SKIN OFF!" She has a way with words, that child.

So that's us. It's meant to snow again this weekend, so more craziness is bound to be on the cards.

Snow days

It snowed this week! We don't get a lot of snow here - maybe one big dump every few years if we're lucky.

Lots of tom-foolery and hijinks were had. Am a tad worried that Steve's 'Adrenaline Junkie' gene is obviously dominant over my 'Will Just Sit Quietly and Have a Cup of Tea' gene, though. As long as they also have his ability to fall sensibly, then I shouldn't stress too much. They do tend to bounce, afterall.

Having had to pour two uncooperative and impatient preschoolers into miserable little shrunken excuses for gloves, I swear I could now successfully insert an octopus into a string bag. Who makes these things? They should come with a warning: "May lead to foul language and aggressive teeth-gritting, which in turn may frighten small children". Next time it snows, they are wearing socks on their hands. Or staying inside!

Here are some pics...




"I'm coming down!"


Mum and Dad's place across the road:


And... what snowy, wintery day wold be complete without mulled wine? I didn't really know what I was doing, but made this with a cheap and nasty bottle of merlot, orange rind, the juice of an orange, 2 cinnamon sticks and a few cloves. Oh, and a bay leaf and some brown sugar. And a slosh of brandy. Very scientific. Another batch was made the next night, using a nice bottle of Pinot Noir. Twas not as lovely, and the smell still permeates the house. Anyway, the first batch was truly lovely and I apologise for desecrating a nice drop on my second attempt.

Out of the mouths of babes...

I have a stubborn daughter. Actually, that might be unfair. I have a daughter who adores rules and order, and until I understood this pivotal aspect of her nature, we butted heads - even more than we do now! It irks her terribly when she sees rules being ignored (exceptions are at times given to herself, however) and she can't help but bowl in and solve the problem or demand that justice be served. When there are no clear rules, she is a nightmare. Every unstated or unwritten regulation will be tested and tried to the point of extreme exasperation. Once any boundaries have been outlined and discussed at length however, things are usually reasonably plain sailing. Unless of course she sees a loophole in said law, and then said law is put on trial, resulting in even more extreme exasperation.

She's actually quite lovely, really!

Her somewhat anti-social behaviours have been the target of our parenting bootcamp at regular intervals since she hit an age where it became obvious that it was needed. Basically when I realised that the reason little old ladies had stopped cooing over the curly-haired cherub in the pram was because she was turning them to stone with her withering glares.

We do a lot of role play. You know: "when *** says / does *** what would a good friend say / do to solve the problem?" Basically all of the feel-good blah that you read in parenting books. We didn't have much choice though, because only the playgroup Biter (every group has one - is it your kid?) gets more social derision than the rude little monster that sticks its tongue out at anyone that glances sideways in its direction.

Anyway, I think we might be making progress. She still has to make a conscious choice to be polite. She isn't naturally predisposed towards pleasantness, and still needs to vent a long spiel of negative happenings in her day before she is relaxed enough to sleep. A bit like poor old Eeyore, actually.



But she is thinking about her actions. She has realised that other people have feelings. She has realised that her behaviour influences other people's feelings - beyond manipulating parents, of course. She realised that a LONG time ago! And she is coming out with some classic comments, usually said in a loud, indignant voice.

Like this one:
"Mum, that lady didn't have a smile, so I gave her one of mine. It was a NICE smile, and she's STILL grumpy. Must be a pretty bad old day SHE'S having."

**cue mother to die a thousand deaths**

Or:
"Mum, those kids aren't 5. I think they're actually only 3. They're not allowed on that equipment without an adult."

Or:
"Excuse me, can you get out of the way? Slides are for going DOWN, not UP."

Note, there is no screaming or tongue-sticking (AKA 'The Tongue Dance' - Rule Loophole #213) just clear, stated opinion. Not particularly welcome, but not entirely offensive at this stage either. I no longer fear she's heading toward a childhood spent as a social pariah (though to be fair, she probably wouldn't care, as long as she was justified!) and she might actually be grasping some pretty important concepts about human behaviour. If she's smart - like her father - she'll use them well in life and charm her teachers and superiors. If she's not - like her mother - she'll just have to put her bossiness to good use and BE the freaking teacher!

"Just sit with me, Mummy"

Caleb has Man Flu. To be fair, he has had a wretched night - sobbing, coughing, groaning, generally keeping us all awake as much as humanly possible - but he sure knows how to milk it.

Parenting has been hard work with our two cherubs lately. Sophie has hit four with a vengeance and to be honest, she could do with starting school. However, the Ministry of Education and I differ in our opinions on this matter (and many other matters, but lets save that for another post ;-)) so I have another year of four-ness to relish before I unleash her quirky fabulousness on Mrs Pester in Room One. The arguing is almost constant, the 'no nonsense' sticker chart has somehow evolved into a a negotiating tool that would challenge the best UN peacekeeper, and she has revealed a temper that has startled more than a few innocent passers-by. Our current sanity saver is Nigel Latta's 'Ladder of Certain Doom' but I'm sure its tenuous reign will soon end.

Caleb is two. Need I say more? He sometimes tricks me into thinking he's older (in depth discussions about poisonous berries and the classification of dinosaurs and insects will do that. It's entirely his fault) but essentially, he's contrary because he's two. I hope. "I will do it MINESELF, thank you!" is a common declaration, but due to two-ness, it often goes badly. He also adores breaking things, and will do so on purpose to get attention when he decides he warrants it. Particularly high on his destruction list are precious things belonging to the female members of the family, due most likely to them giving the most impressive display of negative attention. Of course after serving his sentence, he'll be at his most charming, wheedling his way back into our good books with his tear-stained hugs, kisses, and "I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to".

Needless to say, there has been a fair bit of barking going on here, and it ain't coming from a dog...though wouldn't that be nice **subtle dig at dog-disliking husband**. I have noble ideas about dealing with Caleb's behaviour, but very often they end up being discarded for the 'easy' option, which is generally lecturing, growling, threatening, confiscating, more lecturing (using longer words), door-locking, etc. Often the level of naughtiness escalates before I have my plan of attack sorted - what started as a sneaky poke in Sophie's ribs as she walked past, turns into a handful of hair being yanked out of her head in moments. Rascal!

So anyway, he's sick. He needed a sleep. I took him to bed, did the usual quiet sleepy time business, and he kicked up unholy Hell. Much screaming, door banging, wretched sobbing etc. I started to threaten and then realised I couldn't be bothered. I walked into his room and a pitiful wee voice said "Just sit with me, Mummy". And I did. And you know what? He was asleep in less than TWO MINUTES.

Perhaps I need to do more 'sitting' with my kids. Maybe armed with a cattle prod to give them a gentle nudge every now and then ;-)

Sophie and Caleb's first foray into the film industry

After entertaining (or possibly torturing!) the fair citizens of Rangiora with endless renditions of The Three Little Pigs whilst shopping this afternoon, we got out the groovy puppets a friend gave Sophie for her birthday and acted it out. After a few renditions, it suddenly occurred to me that I should record their efforts, because they'd be excellent humiliation ammunition for their 21st birthdays.

So here is a few (long) minutes of what we got up to. Poorly edited and shot, but a bit funny if you can bear the length of it. Or maybe I'm just turning into one of those mothers that think their children are amazing / amusing / beautiful when they're actually gormless little twerps who drive every otherwise normal person within a 10 mile radius insane **twitches slightly**

Anyway, what struck me as I watched the video, was how much I interrupt my children - SHOCKER! How rude. And how often I interrupt their wonderful, creative ideas with how the story *should* go. Must stop that. Whose game is it, anyway? And who cares? What am I actually teaching them by doing that? That things must be *right*? That their ideas aren't as good as the *right* ones? Not ideals I want to imprint on them in any case. I should video myself parenting more often - I suspect I'd change a few things as a consequence...

Anyway, here it is. Feel free not to watch, and let me know if I'm in danger of descending into blinkered parent territory.

Here 'tis!

Minutes of Bell Family Meeting - 22/5/11

Present:
Dad (Smirker in the Corner)
Mum (Chairperson / Secretary / General Dogsbody)
Sophie Bell (Chief Whinger and Complainer of All Things Unfair)
Caleb Bell (Holder of Bottom Rung in Pecking Order)
Buzz and Lemon Meringue the goldfish (no speaking rights)

Apologies:
Barry the Cat (didn't bother showing up - rude!)

Matters Arising:
1) Meeting is called to order by Mum and rules of the 'Talking Stick' explained.
2) Rules of the talking stick clarified once more.
3) Sophie takes hold of Talking Stick and explains reason for meeting - Caleb is guilty of stealing precious Hello Kitty clock (purchased with own money) and throwing it in his room, resulting in it being "smashed to bits". Demands that a new one be purchased, this time a Princess themed one (over Hello Kitty phase) that can hang on wall, out of pesky little brother's reach..
4) Stick passed to Caleb, who freely admits stealing and smashing said clock, and proceeds to tap fish tank with Talking Stick, unperturbed.
5) Stick passed to Mum, who reminds all parties that new clocks cost money, of which Caleb has none. Mum and Dad should not send their money on clock when they have no involvement with crime.
6) Dad mentions particularly sad state of family finances due to yet another nasty lawnmower repair bill.
**Muttering heard from Mum's end of the table about lemons and second-hand ride on mowers. Unclear and spoken out of turn, so not minuted**
7) Mum asks Caleb how he can get some money.
8) Caleb suggests going to the shop and buying some money, before removing himself from the meeting. Slips on book left on floor and bangs head on corner of magazine rack. Cries.
**Meeting adjourned briefly until order restored**
9) Caleb returned to meeting and instructed to stay until issue has been resolved.
10) Rules of the talking stick clarified once more.
11) Sophie suggests chores for Caleb to earn money.
12) Caleb flogs Talking Stick and runs away.
**Meeting restored briefly until order restored**
13) Role of Talking Stick clarified once more.
14) Sophie raises hands and shares her carefully thought out list of appropriate chores.
- Feeding Minty twice a day for a week
- Picking up stones.
15) Sophie reminded that Minty eats grass and no-one ever feeds her, so that is not an appropriate chore. Talking Stick abandoned.
16) Dad gets gleam in eye at prospect of stone removal from lawn, potentially preventing further nasty lawn mower repair bills.
17) Mum agrees.
18) Sophie smirks.
19) Restorative justice achieved and meeting adjourned, 2:05pm.