All I want for Christmas is my two f....fuck she wants a harp!

Pardon my French but that damn time is just about upon us once again.  Oh yes.  The big “C” is almost here.  I can’t believe I’m about to mention the “C” word.  Christmas, that is.  Oh, the joys of Christmas.   ‘Tis the season to be jolly, is it not?  Well.  I’d say “not”.  As, not only do we get to dig around in the back of our dusty, red-back spider infested sheds and drag out the busted up box containing the plastic tree (which spends its entire time on display in the house shedding tiny green plastic needles onto the floor), and spend hours upon hours decorating this tree, only to spend the next few weeks picking the baubles and tiny ornaments off the floor (after a little man decides pulling them off is far more fun than just admiring them).  UGH!

 And then there are the trips to the shops where, not only can you NOT find a carpark, but you have to endure crowds of people all hustling and bustling as they desperately search out gifts for loved ones amongst oodles and oodles of available crap; but where you’re also driven insane by the constant repetitive sounds of “Have yourself a merry little Christmas” playing over the loudspeakers Give me strength!  Well.  As you can probably tell, Christmas is not my most favouritest (that’s not a word, is it?) time of year.  Not that I don’t enjoy getting together with my loved ones on the day (the one time of the year where I will generally see my entire family altogether).  I do.  It’s just all the other nonsense that goes with it that makes me shudder. 

And, now that I have children, I have to add another fun-filled element to the whole thing; the element that involves the so-called visit from the fat man in red.  That’s right.  Santa Claus is coming to town.  Well.  Now that little madam’s four, she’s really getting into the spirit of things.  And she’s really looking forward to her visit from St Nick, not to mention the fact that he’s going to bring her something she asks for.  And, unfortunately for me (aka Santa), her one desire this year doesn’t involve two front teeth.  Although finding these might be easier than finding what she’s now put her hand up for. 

 

The Mahalo guitar...or ukelele

The terrific little trumpet, from ELC

Now little madam, I’m proud to say, is rather fond of music.  Seriously, for Christmas two years ago, she asked Santa for a guitar.  Well.  Thanks to the brand Mahalo, a guitar was a cinch to come by.  And only thirty dollars at the local music store.   Actually, it’s a ukulele but little madam is none the wiser.  The next year I thought was going to prove a little trickier when she pulled, out of her hat of requests, a trumpet.  Yep.  Thanks to...actually I can’t even remember how the trumpet came about to be honest...I found myself in a panic a few weeks shy of Christmas as I contemplated the, what I thought was going to be an impossible, mission of finding a trumpet small enough for a three-year-old (not to mention affordable enough for me).  Turns out, finding a trumpet wasn’t hard, after all.  ELC (Early Learning Centre) have an awesome trumpet on the market.  And, although it’s plastic, it’s not a bad replica.  And little madam loves it. 

 

The ELC sexoophone...I mean saxophone

Now I really didn’t think that I’d have too much of a challenge this year.  As, at the start of the year, she spotted Jimmy Giggle (that’s Giggle, from Giggle and Hoot) playing a saxophone.  Well.  The next thing she’s saying is (and has been saying all year, up until recently anyway) “For Christmas I want Santa to bring me a sexophone”.  Yes.  She actually pronounced it sexophone, not saxophone (funny hey?), but the point is, this request was (once again, thanks to ELC) going to be real easy for this Santa to accommodate.  That was, until her Oma (that’s Grandma, to those who aren’t familiar with German) decides, a couple of weeks ago, to take her to see Noni Hazlehurst and the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra.  And, as you’ve probably figured out, this Santa’s in for one hell of a challenge.  As, not only has little madam changed her mind about what she wants the fat man in red to bring her for Christmas, she’s changed her request to, a harp!  A bloody harp!  Where the fuck is Santa supposed to pull one of these from?  His red hat (or sack) I suppose.  But really, can you believe it?  And, despite my efforts of trying to talk her round, as little madam is fairly stubborn and difficult to negotiate with these days, I’ve find myself (since the request was aired) frantically searching Google for an affordable option.  One that isn’t $180.00 like the lovely thing pictured below. 

 

I know it's sweet, but seriously!

Any thoughts or suggestions would be most welcome at this point in time.  And, although I could take my slight dislike of the big “C” to the next level and tell little madam, “Sorry, but Santa’s just not a miracle worker!”, or even, “There are no harps in The North Pole!”, I’m determined not to let my scroogism (that’s not a word either, is it?) rub off on her just yet, and would really like to make the effort to try and bring her the one thing she’s asked for (given that I am quite pleased she’s showing a genuine interest in music, no matter how offbeat); providing it’s not going to break the bank, that is.             

Thanks, little madam, for setting this Santa a very difficult challenge.  Love you!

The tale of Shadow and her two new friends

Did I mention that I have cat named Shadow?  Well, there you go.  She's a little black thing, and I'm quite fond of her.  Although, I'll regularly admit that she's in my bad books for committing the unforgivable act of weeing down my heating ducts.  Yes.  You read right!  She actually (despite the fact that she had a perfectly clean, full tray of lovely litter available to her in the laundry) decided to take it upon herself, some years ago, to give the dining room (yep...the place we generally go to eat), lounge-room (yep...the place we generally sit back and relax in) and bathroom (yep...the place we generally go to take a shower and clean ourselves up) heating ducts a try.  I mean, what better way to empty your bladder than over a warm blast of air.  And, as you can imagine, the smell is something that's never really left me.  And, despite the fact that my husband (and others) tell me I'm imagining, when the warmth of summer begins to fade and I feel the need for a bit of artificial house-heating, I'm certain that I encounter the waft of warm cat urine up my nostrils for a brief moment as the ducted heating comes back to life.

This is me every time I turn on the heating

 Anyway.  Enough about cat wee down ducts.  Back to the point of my story.  Shadow, my cat.  Or, as little madam likes to remind me, her cat.  Although Shadow was around many, many years before the arrival of little madam and little man, little madam (who's quite bossy at the best of times) has decided to claim her as her own.  Not that this worries me.  It's actually lovely to see how fond of Shadow little madam has become.  And, despite the fact Shadow is approaching thirteen years of age, and has practically been BANNED from entering the house (read paragraph one again if you need a reminder on why this is the case), she's actually in pretty good shape.  Not to mention, rather tolerant too. 

 

"I am tolerant...most of the time"

A good friend of mine often comments about how good she looks "considering what she's had to put up with in her lifetime".  What he means is this:  When we first got Shadow, almost thirteen years ago, we also had a couple of rather large and boisterous Rottweilers.  Rottweilers that were friendly enough, but more than capable of snatching possums off the fence by their tails as they attempted to perform balancing acts at night.  I won't go into detail about this, but as you can imagine Shadow's, "Welcome to your new home", moment, probably wasn't what a cat would ordinarily class as ideal.  Not that the dogs didn't love her.  They did.  And I'm not talking about for breakfast, either.  They really were very gentle with her.  But I'm just trying to imagine what she must have been thinking the first time she was brought home and introduced to her adopted siblings.  A big "What the f***!" I guess.

Anyway.  Skip a few years, and past the banishment from the house thanks to the unforgivable deed committed (again, refer to paragraph one if you need a reminder), to the arrival of little madam, then little man.  Well.  I bet she never saw it coming.  I mean, after all, what cat would bat an eyelid over a couple of small kids, after having to share a house with a couple of large Rottweilers?  Thankfully, she's a sensible old thing and has learnt (since the arrival of little madam four years ago) the dangers children pose.  Although, not that she can't give as good as she gets.  Little man only had to pull her tail once to learn what damage a small claw could do.  I can assure you, he's pretty gentle with her now. 

Shadow...assessing whether the hand might be considered a threat

 As for little madam, who has claimed Shadow as her own, she's taking the responsibility part rather well I'd say.  Although little man certainly enjoys offering his own interference.  For example, each morning one of little madam's little jobs is to feed Shadow.  She brings the food bowl inside, gives it a wash in the bathroom sink (I know this sounds disgusting, but it's the only sink she can actually reach without too much difficulty so I've just had to accept it), then fills it with food before taking it out to her eagerly meowing friend.  Nine times out of ten, this terrific beginning ends in cat food being sprinkled all over the back yard.  All thank to little man, who doesn't quite get the concept of Shadow not finishing all her food at once - and, not to mention, is rather inquisitive about everything around him (what is it with boys???? - and feels the need to chase her around the yard with the food bowl in hand calling repeatedly, "here's your food Shadow."  And this is combined with his own efforts of trying to refill her bowl (usually with mulch, dirt and other inedible stuff). 

Little madam begins the search for Shadow...
who's decided, on this occasion, to hide

Little man joins the search....

But, all in all, Shadow the cat has (after a few years of learning that sometimes, when it comes to children, it's far safer to keep your distance) a fantastic relationship with little madam and little man.  And, I'm pleased to say that (despite the couple of tail and fur pulls in the early days), they are as fond of her as gentle.  And, I'm pretty sure - based on Shadow's advancements towards them which occur on a daily basis - she's pretty fond of them too. 

Little madam shows Shadow some loving...

and little man showers Shadow with some affection too...
"Well.  I guess it's better than being showered with MULCH!"

Thanks little madam and little man, for learning to be good to Shadow.  And thanks, Shadow, too, for learning to put up with your two new friends.  Love you all!