Kidspeak

Kids are funny. Except when they aren’t. I have three, and one is my carbon copy.

‘Luckily’ for Miss 10, she is often reminded that she is my mini-me. When you tell her that she grins from ear to ear, confident that surely that must mean all good things. I often wonder if people are referring to her wonderfully strong will and boisterous exterior, her predisposition to embellish a good story, or simply the fact that Miss 10 is very much the image of me? In any event, I love her just the way she is, and I am sure everyone else does too. She also says some funny things at times and lately I have even wondered about setting up a blog for her to share her exaggerated version of reality – you know, in case we aren’t already alike enough.

 

Liv and I with my gorgeous niece in the middle.

At an after school football practise recently, she embellished a story about how she is left SORROWFUL (her word, not mine) every night because I NEVER (except for every other day) go in to her room to allow her to vent the days’ events. Sorrowful! Can you imagine? And then when the adults all chuckled at her response (or perhaps they were chuckling at the fact that today was MY day to have my worst parenting moments put on display) she continued, “I thought turning ten would be the BEST YEAR OF MY LIFE! It’s been nothing but HARDSHIP! I’ll have to make sure I warn all the nine year olds I know that turning ten is not all that it’s cracked up to be!” Oh the drama! (She assures me that the cruise she just returned from with her Nana is an exception to the rule).

I’ll have to tell Miss 10 that turning 37 isn’t all it’s cracked up to be either! I may be more confident in my own skin and happy with where I am in my life, but sometimes the constant demands put on a mum of three young children can suck a whole lot of fun out of a girl. (I can assure you that my recent trip to South America is also an exception to this rule).

Strangely though, I wouldn’t swap my children for anything; even when they are being funny or not being funny at all.

 

 

Surviving The EKKA With Kids - Part 2

Tips for surviving the EKKA with kids

I actually made it to the EKKA again this year, which was only possible with the help of my mother. Once I made the decision to actually head to the big smoke for the long weekend, I tried my hardest to convince The Farmer to join me. You know how it goes… farm will go into melt down if he leaves for a few days, such a long way etc. Once my mother decided to accompany me and the children we were ready to go!

Having made it through the day – barely – here are my tips for surviving the EKKA with young children.

1.      Start early. Avoid the huge crowds and make it onto rides with little to no fuss before lunch. The same rule applies for the showbag pavilion. Which leads me to point number 2.

The kids and I on a ride together. Sam and Darcy didn't love it as much as Olivia and I did! ;)

2.      Get yourself a locker (and if you have more than two children and plan on getting show bags) get yourself two lockers. You can ditch all your gear until you need it and then you are freed up for most of the day. We left showbags and cold weather gear (like jackets) in ours, but other people left baby gear in there as well.

3.      Make sure you grab yourself those police ID tags for your kids. Crowds are crazy at the EKKA. Good crazy.

4.      Pack as much food and drink as you can, without taking away from the EKKA experience. You will still need to score yourself some show food (whether it be a Dagwood Dog, strawberry sundae, or some Queensland fresh produce) to complete your family day out. My kids were like bottomless pits however, so some nibblies and water were particularly handy.

Mum and I sampling the amazing and iconic Strawberry Sundaes!

5.      It can get pretty warm in the middle of the day. Pack sunscreen, hats and extra water! And remember to use them.

6.      Get to shows early. We arrived at the Racing Pigs display about an hour early. It gave us a base for lunch (in the shade), and we managed to score great seats for the show – which packs out at least half an hour early.

 

The kiddies and I waiting for the Racing Pigs show to begin.

Having said all of that, my kids were completely exhausted by 4pm, and we made an early departure. So my final tip for the day (which completely goes against my number one tip) is:

 

7.      Pace yourself. We peaked too early. Start with displays, walk around, visit pavilions, and shows (whatever floats your boat), and the rides and showbags will still be there later. I’m thinking if we’d arrived at about lunch, we could still have seen everything we wanted to see, and then we could have stayed to see the night show and fireworks display.

In any event, we came, we saw, we conquered. My plan for next time is to make it to the fireworks. We all had a ball and I didn’t manage to lose any children in the progress. I’d call that a win!

A Day For Mums

My children tell me daily that they love me 'more than the trees'. (A cute reference to how many trees they perceive there as being in the world). And today is supposed to be a day to pay tribute to me. Their earth mother. Actually, scratch that... just their actual mother.

I've never been big on 'occasions'. I love Christmas. I love the noise, the celebration, the time with family, the food, the time off. And if I am being entirely truthful, I actually do enjoy birthdays and Easter as well. I am a 'giver' by nature. Don't get me wrong. I like doing my fair share of taking too! But I get more of a kick out of doing things for others, and especially my kids.

I believe I may even have blogged once upon a time about how CP isn't big on gifts. Maybe that's the REAL reason I enjoy giving so much??

And so today was Mothers Day. I almost forgot. Thank goodness for teachers everywhere who send my little babies home armed with priceless treasures they have been concocting at school and Kindy.

My day started with Olivia entering my room and announcing loudly, "Oh my goodness! It's Mothers Day! You stay RIGHT THERE while I get you breakfast in bed! What do you want?"

I smiled sneakily and declared "Pancakes please!"

Olivia's jaw dropped and her right eyebrow raised questioningly. "Really?"

"No, of course not silly! Peanut butter on toast and a glass of juice would be fine." Actually, I'm not big on breakfast, but I was so excited about the prospect of Olivia getting it for me, that I would have probably eaten the cereal box, if she had served me that.

"And what would you like for Mothers Day, Mum?" Olivia seemed keen on making my day perfect.

"12 hours of solid, uninterrupted peace and quiet, please."

And again Olivia's jaw dropped and her eyebrow raised quizzically...

"Okay. Just a cuddle would be fine." I believe that's called compromise.

When Darcy and Sam awoke, I was set upon with cards and flowers picked from Granny's garden and cuddles. With a little help from Sara (au pair) during the day, I was also presented with a lovely short story (illustrated by Olivia, and partially written by Olivia too), and a gorgeous heart shaped cake. It was truly beautiful.

And then reality set in. I had piles of laundry to do, rooms to clean, floors to sweep, vacuum and mop. And Mothers Day was forgotten. But like I said... I'm not big on 'occasions', so technically there is nothing really to complain about. As I cleaned, and washed and folded and put away, I dreamed of an hour spent lying on a fold away massage bed. Hot rocks, essential oils, and gentle music playing in the background. In reality, children cried, fought and complained.

Tonight I am up later than usual. I am enjoying the serenity. I had the most wonderful dinner with my amazing family. I still dream of hot rocks, essential oils and gentle music, but I am incredibly satisfied with my little piece of farming paradise. My children tell me on a daily basis (and Darcy on a 100 x daily basis) that they love me 'more than the trees'. They are the three most amazing things to ever happen to me. They are little miracles. And even though I will always dream of a relaxing massage, I wouldn't swap my children for all the trees in the world.

Happy Mothers Day everyone!

A Farmer, A Wife, The Media

Today I was on my facebook page when an advertisement came up on the side of the page telling me I could meet a 'faithful Christian man', and the accompanying photo was this:

Of course, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that even if I WAS looking for above mentioned Christian man, (which I most definitely am not), I'm probably NOT going to be able to get in touch with this one (who probably isn't Christian anyway, but got paid for his modelling time regardless). But gee he looks nice in the picture. And if I was single, and lacking a little in the brain side of things, I could easily be duped into thinking this guy might want to be my pen pal and eventually we will get married and have loads of babies. Or not...

But it got me thinking about the way that media makes us think we can have what we almost certainly cannot.

Farmer Wants A Wife (the television show that essentially got my blog kick started - check out my first ever blog for a refresher at Farmer Probably Just Wants a Shag) returns to our screens Wednesdays at 8:30pm, on Channel 9. Hundreds, if not thousands, of single women from around the country will apply to find themselves a Marlborough -type man like this...

Except he's happily married to a beautiful woman. With three gorgeous children. (It's no secret that I am, even to this day, still physically attracted to my husband, and as such, like to shamelessly promote him).

So maybe someone like this then...

But wait - that's Farmer Scott from Mungindi, not far from here, who featured two seasons ago (on Farmer Wants a Wife); THE most popular applicant EVER, with over 500 (or was it 1000?) applications.

Oh, and he's taken now too.

Looks like he and Clare (who he picked as his 'potential wife' on the show) worked out after all. And good for them. Welcome to the fold, Clare.

ANYWAY... single ladies, this 'type' of guy will be put out on display for women everywhere to fawn over. On paper he will look like a demi-God. A multi-generational farmer, who presumably works for himself. All this and more is his (and could be yours) if you make the final cut. If you make the final 3, you will be lucky enough to spend time with him at the farm. Have a look and see if 'Mungindi' is actually the town of your dreams. If you are really lucky, you will be the girl of 'farmers' dreams, and be able to date without cameras etc. in your face to see if you've got what it takes to make it as a couple. And if you can survive the isolation.

Applicants will have read that farmer X lives 500km from major city Y. Do city folk even know how far 500km really is? I mean REALLY? You hear that Cyclone Yasi is 500km in diameter and you freak out because it is so big that it makes Australia look small, but would you drive that far to watch a movie? Or do a cheaper grocery shop? Or get your hair done by a hair dresser who you can afford? Or go to a dentist? Because that's what you're signing up to when you go on a show like that. It's not all country dances and shirts with collars up, and girls wearing pearl necklaces.

What you see on this show is often a farmer with a lot of spare time on his hands. A farmer who likes to sit out on a picnic blanket overlooking a picturesque dam, or organise for a flat screen television to be set up on the back of a ute, so you can watch movies under the stars. The reality is that once the cameras stop, so does much of that behaviour. You will see him between the (summer) hours of 6:30pm (but often later) and 4:30am. This is all well and good when you are dating, but once you are married with kids, these are also (conveniently) the hours that sit outside of 'the witching hour' with the kids, all major meals, and they also consume most of your intended sleep time. This leaves you and your farmer approximately 1/2 an hour to say hi, kiss each other goodnight and then shower and get to bed.

What you won't see on the show are the seven extra siblings (and your in laws) who also live and work on the farm. You'll need to learn how to *change a tyre in case the one on the car you are driving on the white rock road goes flat and no one is there to help you. (* This is not the case with me. I don't expect to ever be able to change a tyre, so clearly this part of my blog is exaggerated for entertainment purposes only). You also won't see arguments about money and travel and school. All that comes later. So do the realisations of things such as:
- Your farmer doesn't shut doors, to ANYTHING. Cars, cupboards, rooms, windows. They will be left open all or much of the time.
- Your farmer will probably stop cooking meals for you shortly after you are married, and definitely before you have kids. Even if he swore black and blue that he would always cook for you. This excludes BBQs, which he will happily cook meat for you in front of your friends and neighbours, and then take full credit for the success of the meal, even though you will have slugged your guts out over salads and accompaniments for the 3 hours leading up to the BBQ.
- Your farmer will insist that there are inside jobs and outside jobs. This is not an even competition.

This is all assuming you don't work on the farm with your farmer hubby. Some women do. And kudos to them. One day I might take more of an interest. But with 3 small children, it's just not something I can even entertain at the moment. It looks like 'Almost Farmers Wife Clare' helps Farmer Scott out on the farm. (According to Womans Day, which as we all know is not known for it's excellent and accurate reporting). According to this fantastic source, Clare and Scott have gone into business together! Read: Clare actually helps Scott on the farm (possibly driving tractors etc. but also by cooking for him and joining him on trips to town to buy replacement parts). In all fairness to farmers wives (and in fact any wives anywhere) could any hard working husband survive without a wife who cooks and cleans for him? Well done Womans Day for letting me know that CP and I have gone into business together... the business of surviving on a farm.

Over the next few weeks I'll be watching the new season of Farmer Wants A Wife. I want them all to find true love if that's what they are after, and heaven knows I want to see the farmers happy. Especially this one. He's not on the show, but I think he could give Farmer Scott a run for his money in the popularity stakes.

It's my brother in law.  He's single-ish (I never can keep up), a pilot, miner, multi talented, all round nice guy. And best man at Scott and Clare's wedding. And he's a bit on the cute side.

Interested parties can apply within. :)

If You Don't Laugh, You'll Only Cry.

I've written about Darcy before. I probably didn't mention that she has a very bad habit. And it's not that she sticks things up her nose sometimes. She's only done it twice. But it's genetic. When I was little I did it too. She also draws on things...

*These photos were taken about two years ago. If anyone is wondering about Darcy's turned eye or the patch, it has all been rectified.  Please click here for details.

It was just after breakfast, and I went back into my room to make my bed. I saw this immediately. I think I started having heart palpitations at the exact moment I saw this, and it was my gut reaction to seek out the guilty party and punish them solidly for defacing my property. And then I wanted to cry. These were my favourite sheets. And then I thought about it logically. I had probably left the pen that was used within the reach of a small child. I created the temptation. And then I started to laugh. I found my camera, and started taking photos, just on the off chance that one day I might laugh about this.

And then I disappeared into our ensuite to fetch some cleaning  products or something that might be able to help with this situation. And I saw this. On the wall above the toilet. I think I probably started crying again. But then I pulled out the camera and took more photos.

On the wall to the right of the toilet was this. Some random scrawls, which, in the eye of a small child, could possibly be your family.

And this a little further across the same wall. Becoming familiar with circular patterns.

And on the opposite wall near the toilet paper holder, some better circular patterns. Clearly this wall was done last. Much better technique.

By now I had composed myself enough to call in the two little cherubs who were my suspects. Butter wouldn't melt right?
"Do you two know why I have called you in here?" Olivia: "Because Darcy drew on your bed?" Darcy: (Crying). "I didn't draw on your bed!"

"Are you sure Darcy?"
"OKAY - I did... please don't be angry Mummy."

"I'm not cranky. But this was VERY naughty. Tell me what you did Darcy."
"Well... this is my name..."

Olivia: "No Darcy. That's not real writing. Tell Mum the truth."

"This is when we went to the park." 

"This is when we went to town." (Actually, it looks like a very good heart...)

"And this... I forget what this is."

Olivia:"Tell me about this one again Darcy."

"Mummy - stop taking photos! This isn't funny!"

"No Mummy! STOP IT!"
No means no with this girl.

I did eventually get the pen out of the sheets though. And the pen off the bathroom walls (even if I did lose a layer of paint in the process.) And I got cranky. But I put it into perspective first. They're only material possessions. And they're only children.

 It's not just Darcy though. Olivia has been known to deface property as well. When she was very small she drew in pen on my uncle's new leather lounge. I was devastated. But this is my favourite. It was on the wall of our front verandah. You have to walk past it to get into our house. I knew who was the guilty party as soon as I saw it. "Ol Persse Art" is the giveaway. Darcy couldn't write, and Olivia was learning at the time it was done.

I asked, "Did you do this Olivia?"
To which she replied, "No Mummy. It was Darcy." And then I was more cranky about the lying than the graffiti! I made Olivia help me remove it, and she cried the whole time. She hasn't done it since.

The thing with small children is that they're opportunists. You leave a pen out, they'll draw on your stuff. They don't mean to hurt your feelings. They don't want to cause you extra work. They just want to be children. And I for one am glad of the memories. Here I am two years on, laughing, not crying about it.

The Lies We Tell

white lie

n.

An often trivial, diplomatic or well-intentioned untruth

I am a stickler for the truth as a general rule. I cannot tolerate lying in any shape or form. And yet I have become quite proficient at telling 'white lies'.

I lie to my kids. I tell them that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are real. (I suppose they are - I mean, I am a living, breathing organism no matter how you look at it). I also tell them the Tooth Fairy is real. See above excuse. But the lies are never that simple when you have kids.

What's that present you accidentally found in the back of the car/the cupboard? Ummm... It's for Hayley and Clancy... or, I just buy the box and Santa/Easter Bunny fills the box on the right day.
You swallowed your tooth honey? Ummm... never mind, we'll write a letter to the Tooth Fairy and explain everything. The Tooth Fairy forgot to come? Ummm... she must be REALLY busy at the moment. Never mind, I am sure she won't forget today.

And the good old "don't pick your nose because your head will cave in, or your hand will fall off." Total B.S. Mind you, once we were at a party and there was a guest who had lost a hand in a childhood accident. When Olivia noticed, being the child that she is, she asked him IMMEDIATELY where his hand had gone. And quick as a flash, he replied that it had fallen off from picking his nose too much. Olivia was mortified, and I was delighted. I could not have come up with a lie that good to save my life! It was priceless. And if Olivia never remembers anything else ever again, she remembers that night, and she hasn't been anywhere near her nose ever since.

But why would any self respecting woman be proud of someone lying so blatantly to her child? I'll tell you why! Because it was one less lie I had to tell her myself! Honestly, sometimes I feel like all I do is lie. I am flying by the seat of my pants for several hours of the day. Winging it if you will. Just because I am a parent, doesn't mean I get it right all the time, or that I know the right answer to every question my child asks me.

Children ask a million questions a day. And I am all for trying to educate them and feed their thirst for knowledge. I want to give them the truth as much as I know how to, but sometimes my 'truth' just isn't enough. Sometimes the truth is just 'I don't know.' My girls ask me questions about God, and how the world started, and where is heaven, and what happens when we die. I give an answer that is 'part what I think they should be hearing', and part 'keeping their minds open to new ideas'. I never tell them anything that will frighten them or make them feel insecure. I own a book that offers the kinds of answers to tough questions kids ask. It has helped a lot. (Go to: Questions Children Ask: And How To Answer Them - by Miriam Stoppard).

Sometimes when we are driving in the car, a song with swear words will come on the radio or iPod. When my girls think they have heard a swear word, I deliberately start singing the wrong words to them. For example: "Sex is on Fire" becomes "His legs are on fire"... It's all about protecting their innocence.

The thing about telling white lies to children, is that we do it to keep them little for as long as we can! There is an innocence that is lost when children start "learning the truth", and I for one am keen on delaying that for as long as possible. I like my kids being kids.

My lies don't stop with my kids. I lie to my husband too. Mostly about purchases I have made, but other stuff too. And before you judge me, please refer to the definition of "a white lie" I included above.

When dealing with husbands, it's important to remember that "it's not how much you spend, it's how much you save." Charlie rarely asks what I have spent (it's probably for the best), but we have a mutual trust that we won't make 'major purchases' without approval from the other first... Even though there was that time he bought the work ute without asking... but I digress... In any event, the white lies I tell Charlie sound something like, "I have saved you SO much money! This item was almost 50% off the original price." or "This old thing? I've had it for ages..." or "It was on sale!" or "I only buy nice things and clothes to make me a better wife. I'm so much happier for having this new phone/dress/hat/bag/shoe". You get the picture?

Sometimes I exaggerate times with my husband too. Times that "book club" starts. Times that I was on facebook etc. Not that my husband makes me feel guilty about doing 'my thing'... but CP is a busy man, and sometimes it's just easier to be more productive. I justify doing my thing as having "mental health time".

The thing about lying is that you ultimately always get caught. Think about Santa, the Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy. Think about your new purchases, and things you have said. And that's why I stress the importance of white lies in my life as opposed to the nasty, hurtful ones.

So call me a liar. I am a liar. Tell me something I don't know. But something you should know about me, is that I only tell white lies. I swear...