Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Don't call DOCS on me yet

The one thing Ollie really enjoys doing is laying in his bouncinette watching the washing flapping on the line.

So why do I feel like I'm neglecting him if I leave him there so I can do some stuff in my study, barely 2metres away, with him fully visible to me?

Maybe it just smacks of Truby King too much...

So much to do, so little time

I have so many things i want to do right now, and, yes, one of them is blogging. I have been missing putting my thoughts to the eter lately, and there is a lot that has been happening between my ears recently, but there never seems to be the time to get it down. Right now I'm between loads of laundry from our skiing trip, so I've got, maybe 15 minutes to try and get some coherency out.

The simple stuff first: we went on a road trip to the snow. We spent a day in Sydney at Luna Park, which Patrick really got into, but not as much as the first time we took him there. Then we drove down to Canberra to see the outlaws, and then on to Jindabyne. The idea was that the outlaws would look after the boys whilst me and MrT hit the slopes, but on the first morning as we were getting ready to go, MamaT floored me with "I hate the snow: I hope you're not expecting me to hang around up there". I mean, FFS, that was the whole idea. And she knew it. She then proceeded to make the entire trip one long whinge fest. The accomodation wasn't good enough. It was too cold (I told her to put the heater in her room overnight, but, noooo, that would mean she had nothing to complain about). The boys were bored. It was too sunny. It was too windy. It was raining. Moan moan moan. I'd suggest something like "Take Patrick out to see the diggers (the snow groomers)", and she'd say, "Oh, no. I culdn't do that". "Take him for a ride on the chairlift" "Oh, no. I'm scared of heights". "Take him on the skitube and ride up and down the mountain" "Oh, no. I couldn't do that.""Take him out on the toboggan run""Oh. No." Let's put it this way: a two year old boy spent three and a half days at a skifield with his grandparents, and how many snowmen did they make? None. Not a single one. This is the level of apathy and crap we- no, wait, I had to deal with. Because I forced her to go there. All she had to say was "No, I'm busy that week" and I would've flown my mum up. And to cap it all off? Apparently I wasn't grateful enough. FFS. FFS. The answer is easy, though: I'll never ask her to babysit again. Simple. We spent 2K on a week where I felt that every time I was having some fun, I was personally responsible for her having such a crap time.

We spent 2 days on the way back in Canberra: Weston Park- which I remember as being the most awesome place in the universe as a kid- is now a sad, sad shadow of its former self. Whilst we were there, so many young adults came along and said "This used to be the BEST playground"- and it was. It looks like the ACT government hasn't spent any money there in the last 20 years. Truly sad. The next day we went to Questacon, which IS great: Patrick enjoyed it, but so did we- several times me or MrT were playing with something and then we'd look at each other and say "Where's Patrick" and have to run off and find him. He was both enthralled and scared of the robot dinosaurs: he kept on saying "More Dinosaurs!" but as soon as we took him in, he'd point at the exit "no! There!". A great place to visit.

Now- the harder stuff. Except I can hear the machine is on its last rinse.

Motherhood 2.0 is both better and worse. I'm not as depressed, but I still have days when I don't even want to get out of bed, and I can't see the point of doing much, as I have so little time to achieve anything. But there are also days when I feel so at peace and happy, I could just die. Oliver is a totally different baby to Patrick: he is happy and laid back. But he is also easily bored. MrT and Patrick caught the train home from Sydney (he blew our cover as cool Sydneysiders- we caught the train into the city from our suburban motel and he was "Train! Another Train! Blue one Train! Mummy! More Trains! Big one! Train goes FAST!". But his enthusiasm brought smiles from other commuters- a rare thing indeed). What was I saying? Oh, yes, easily bored- so me and Ollie drove home after a trip to Ikea: after stopping to feed him he started crying in the back seat- I figured out he was upset becase it was now dark and he couldn't see his toys- once I put on a light for him he was as happy as a clam.

Right. More... later, because the washng has finished and Ollie needs feeding.

Saturday, August 01, 2009

boy trouble

This is the play-dough snowman that P and MrT made yesterday. I was feeding Ollie on the couch at the time, so I heard most of the conversation.

MrT: Lets make a snowman! What does a snowman need?
P: Knees
MrT: Knees? Maybe he needs a head...
P: No, knees.

sometime later...

P: I get a carrot! I get!
runs to the fridge and pulls out the bag of carrots
(at this point MrT intervenes to make a small sliver of carrot for a nose instead of P sticking an entire carrot in)

P: I get sticks! (runs outside and returns with a fistful of jacaranda sticks)
MrT: he only needs two arms
P: Octopus
MrT: What?
P: Octopus snowman... dere

I'm not really too sure why the octopus snowman has sticks hanging out of his lower section too: I was scared to ask in case it was the octopus snowman's doodle

A day or so ago I was cooking dinner and needed some herbs from the garden- Patrick loves 'helping' MrT in the garden, especially when it comes to the herbs (plants you can eat! what's not to love?) so he loves to go out and bring in the herbs that MrT has cut. He handed me a fistful of parsely and went back to the back door to head out for the next instalment, but paused before going out:
"Say fanks, mummy"
On my own petard, hoisted.

And comments on the housekeeping
"I found a fluff!" (holds up dust bunny) "I put in wubbish bin... bye bye fluff! Errrk!"

Of course as soon as I reported Ollie's sleeping habits, he changed. The night after that last post he woke four times for a feed. That continued until yesterday when he slept through. But last night he woke at four... and then wouldn't go back to sleep. Yesterday was a horrible day: he would act hungry and then wouldn't feed... Just awful. He'd arch his back and howl. I was in tears.

Overall, though, he remains a happy little individual. He has got to that stage where he is learning to use his hands, and loves to stuff everything into his mouth for a thorough checking. I've no idea how much he weighs now, but he is in size 0 wondersuits, and that little blue outfit above fitted Patrick at 6 months, but he's busting out of it. He's too big for the bassinette, and tomorrow's job is to put together the new cot. We had thought that Patrick would be out of his cot before Ollie needed it, but so far.... (much touching of wood, digits crossed) he hasn't climbed out of his cot. [He can climb in, but not out. Go figure. I'd like to point out he climbs in not to go to sleep but to bounce up and down like it's a trampoline. Handy. But I suppose at least he's not going to bounce out and break an arm.]

I have so any things that I'd like to post, but I just never seem to get the time to put my thoughts in order. Why I couldn't have done it just now I don't know, but I'll put it down to persistant placenta brain.