Sticks and stones...are less scary than spiders

Did you know that one of the most famous naturalists in existence, the legendary David Attenborough – who’s now most well known for his exceptional narration of wildlife documentaries – began his boyhood journey as an avid collector of natural specimens and objects?  I’m reminded of this often.  Especially when little madam insists on constantly picking up sticks, stones, gumnuts of many sizes, bark, leaves....you name it, she’s got it...to add to her growing collection of “the outdoors” which she stores in jars and boxes in her bedroom.  ‘Oh she’s just like David Attenborough’, mum tells me, when I screw up my face at yet another jar or margarine container filled with an array of sticks, stones, gumnuts and leaves collected from her walks down to the creek near her grandma and grandpa’s (who are known as Oma and Opa to Little Madam and Little Man).  I guess now, when I think about it, I should have been a little more grateful that she was excited about collecting inanimate objects. 

A collection similar to Little Madam's

You see, what began as an interest in collecting sticks and stones, has rapidly developed into a desire to collect anything Little Madam can get her hands on.  Even rather quick moving things such as beetles, bugs...and even spiders.  This desire began a short while ago, when she began coming home from her days spent with Oma and Opa with worms, small millipedes, or even those revolting grey Slater bugs housed in a margarine containers with pin pricks for air holes.  Then, as summer approached and the sounds of cicadas filled the air, she started finding – and collecting – cicada shells.  One here, one there.  She now has a whole jarful of them.  At least they’re not alive, I thought to myself, when the cicada shell collection started building.  That was until Little Madam scored her very first LIVE cicada a couple of weeks ago.  Unfortunately for this poor cicada, Little Madam quickly forgot about her LIVE catch.  And I was completely unaware that one of the two shells she’d brought home in an empty clear plastic – and very airtight container, was alive.  WAS being the operative word.  Poor cicada. 



Little Madam's growing collection of cicada shells

Anyway.  The fascination with cicadas continues.  To make up for the mishap, the other day Little Madam even rescued one from being drowned under a steady stream of water as I provided my thirsty vegetable garden with a much needed drink.  She carefully picked the poor soaked thing up and transferred it to a tree far away from my freshly watered vegetables.  I think it was rather grateful that it didn’t suffer the same fate as one of its long lost cousins.  The cousin that was (by accident) left inside the airtight plastic container.  Because the following day she found yet another empty shell to add to her collection right near the same tree.    

Anyway.  Enough about cicadas.  The eight-legged point of this story is yet to come.  You see, yesterday Little Madam and Little Man were enjoying a bounce on the trampoline, when she came running up to me and said “I’ve found Harry!  He’s on the trampoline.”  Now if you haven’t figured it out, Harry is the nickname we’ve given to any Huntsman spider who has decided to take refuge in our house at one time or another.  And to be honest, these spiders don’t bother me a whole lot.  Well when they’re at a safe distance from me that is....like on the ceiling of the bathroom or huddled on a cornice in the hallway.  No kidding.  I even tell myself they are even an excellent w ay to minimise fly populations inside the house. 

Now I know most people would be horrified at the thought of leaving a spider – especially a large, hairy Huntsman - to live peacefully on the ceiling inside your house.  After all.  There are those that do believe in that myth about swallowing at least 3 spiders in your lifetime.  But I’m not one of those people.  And to be honest, I’d simply rather leave them up high because removing them is always much harder than that.   

I was grateful, however, that after quickly catching sight of the Huntsman on the trampoline, Little Madam’s attempts to catch it were unsuccessful.  But this afternoon, when I arrived home from work, to find my dad (Little Madam and Little Man’s Opa) - who’d kindly brought the kids home so we could all head up to Little Madam’s kindergarten for her lovely end of year concert – Little Man and a very pleased Little Madam, who had in her hand another hole-covered margarine container.  ‘I found Harry, mum!’ she said excitedly, as she waved the container under my nose, then proceeded to remove the lid to show me the latest addition to her collection.  Now do you remember what I said about not being bothered by Huntsman’s...when they’re at a safe distance from me that is.  Well.  Let me tell you.  A margarine container with a rather eager to escape Huntsman being held close enough for me to see its beady eyes looking up at me was not, in my opinion, a safe distance.

The beady eyed Steven Mr Skinny Legs was a little too close for comfort

I hope tomorrow I can convince her to set it free.  After all, I don’t think I’m all that keen on the newest addition to Little Madam’s collection.  Even though she has come up with the rather cute nickname of ‘Steven, Mr Skinny Legs.’ 

Thanks, Little Madam, for getting me closer to nature than I’ve ever been before.  Love you!     

 

A lesson in manners...courtesy of the staff at Bunnings

As a parent, I try to be consistent when it comes to reinforcing the importance of manners.  To both little madam (who is now five) and little man (who is almost three).  Sometimes it pays off, and on these occasions I feel proud that my efforts are not in vain.  Unfortunately, there are occasions I wonder whether my constant reminders to, 'say please', or, 'say no thank you', are a waste of breath.  And the other day, during our exit from a large hardware store known as Bunnings Warehouse, I experienced one of these rather embarrassing occasions. 
       

Good old Bunnings Warehouse

You see Bunnings (as we have recently discovered) can quite often be an enjoyable place for children.  Not always, though (as we found during a recent stage during which we were required to visit the store almost weekly while we constructed a cubby house).  But, when visits aren't required weekly (or at least every other week) the place can be a lot of fun.  After all, with mini trolleys to push around, face painting (which happens at our local Bunnings store most weekends), a small playground, and regular goody handouts (courtesy of the endless array of friendly, tradesman-like staff that patrol the large store) what child wouldn't love a trip to Bunnings?  Oh, and with the promise of a delicious barbecued sausage on your way out the door, what parent wouldn't either?  

Little madam pushing her Bunnings trolley

 
 


Little man getting his face-painting fix

The other day our trip to Bunnings started out really well for little madam and little man.  After all, it began with them being handed a balloon on a stick on their way into the store.  Then, after a decent play at the playground, a milkshake from the cafeteria, and a dab of facepaint, we made our way (after paying for our purchases) to the exit.  Unfortunately, this is when things started to go a little pear...or perhaps balloon is a better term...shaped.  You see, the lovely balloons that were handed to little madam and little man on the way in, didn't respond well to being thrown up in the air repeatedly and, as a result, one after the other, they broke with a rather loud BANG!  Little man's went first.  And, by the time he'd recovered from the shock of losing his balloon, it was time for little madam's to suffer the same sad fate.  Unfortunately, this resulted in quite a few tears of distress from little madam.

 
Sadly for her, she was so caught up in her own world of pain, mourning the loss of her lovely balloon, she didn't notice the kind lady manning the exit offer little man a replacement gift in the form of a really cool plastic blow-up hammer.  And, I guess if she'd been able to settle down and pay attention, rather than responding to the kind lady's offer of the same cool gift, with her very rude and abrupt:  'No!  I want a balloon!' she might have been lucky enough to receive a blow-up hammer too. 
             
Instead, because I was totally mortified by her rudeness (not that she meant to be rude, she was just really upset) I apologised, declined the kind lady's offer from behind my glowing red face then left the store.  As you can imagine, after ushering little madam away, who by the time we arrived at the car realised what her rudeness had caused her to miss out on (as little man had unwrapped his awesome little gift by now), her distress over losing a balloon, turned into her world turning upside down because of what she'd missed out on. 

And, although our ears were a little worse for wear by the time we arrived home that day (thanks to the carry on we had to endure the WHOLE journey home) there is a positive end to this story.  I have noticed that since this day, little madam has been a  little less forgetful in the manners department, and I'm fairly certain the experience has had a lasting impact on them.  Well.  Time will tell, won't it?

Thanks, little madam, for...well...actually...I've got nothing to thank you for this time.   Sorry you missed out on the blow-up hammer, though.  Maybe next time?  Love you!
  

Diddled by distractions

As I sat and watched my children playing today, I suddenly realised how precious time spent with them is.  And by spending time I don’t just mean being present.  Because if being present was the same as spending time, then I could claim that I spend a whole lot of time (heaps of time, in fact) with little madam and little man.  But what I mean is, actually spending time on them, and them alone. 

I mean amongst all the usual chaos, it’s not all that often I get to sit back and observe little madam and little man in action without all the distractions home has to offer.  Distractions which are about as pleasant as a poke in the eye mind you.  Distractions which include the washing (which never stops growing for some reason), the dishes (which continue to pile), the toys (which I continue to find scattered all over the place) and the never-ending list of other things I find necessary to do around the house to keep me believing I’m still relatively sane. 

Yes...this definitely looks like mine!

But as I sat today, away from the home and all of its distractions, I discovered that by sitting back and actually observing little madam and little man (as they repeated the task of riding the flying foxes at a park we visit every now and then – one which is usually packed but, due to today’s dampness, was practically deserted) I experienced happiness and bliss, along with the realisation that quality time spent with little madam and little man is so extremely valuable.    

Now don’t get me wrong.  I love spending time with my kids.  Most of the time, anyway.  But I usually find that, especially when we’re at home, I’m torn between them and an endless array of thoughts about a whole range of things (including thoughts about when I’m going to get around to ticking the distractions I mentioned early off my list of things to do).  So actually being able to experience (for a good hour or so) the joy of just sitting and watching little madam and little man in action today, made me really appreciate the time a whole lot more.  And it made me realise that moments like the one I experienced today, are not always going to be so readily on offer. 

So I solemnly swear, from this day forward, I’m going to spend a lot less time getting distracted from the housework and more time with my children.  What the fuck!  Who am I kidding?!  No.  In all seriousness, today’s realisation – the realisation that I’d like to spend a little more time enjoying little madam and little man, and a little less time being  distracted – will result in me trying my hardest to find a few more moments to sit back and enjoy little madam and little man.  I suppose now that the warmer weather is on the approach, and we can head outdoors and away from the home a little more, following through on this might just be possible.  But, at the very least, I’m certainly going to try and remind myself that one day, in the not too distant future, little madam and little man will be less interested in spending time with me, and be more caught up (like I am, most of the time)with their very own distractions. 

Thanks, Little Madam and Little Man for making me forget my distractions today.  Now, who left all their toys in the lounge room AGAIN!?  Love you!

Little madam flying

Little man flying



The Real Reason I Won't Be Mother Of The Year

As a mother with two young children – a little madam, who is now five (going on fifteen), and a little man, who is almost three – I’ve had my fair share of wonderful experiences.  I’ve also had my fair share of the not-so-wonderful experiences that make me realise that I’m not going to be in the running for an Australian Mother of the Year Award; anytime soon, that is.  I realised quite early on, in fact, that a nomination for this award – the annual award that’s aimed at recognising mothers and the important role they play in our society – was going to be quite a way out of my reach. 

I guess the first time I truly realised this, was the time I carelessly, (but by no means deliberately), left a young little madam – who was only a wee five-month-old at the time – on the couch, while I quickly disappeared into the kitchen to warm a bottle of milk only to, seconds later, have my ears filled with a surprisingly loud THUD.  In case you haven’t realised, this was the sound little madam made as she rolled off the couch onto the floor (which, mind you, is hardwood, not carpet.  Naturally, this thud was followed by a terrifying howl.  And, although this howl still haunts me to the day, amazingly I still hadn’t learnt my lesson when I made the exact same mistake with little man – who was also only a wee five-month-old – a couple of years ago.  On this occasion (ironically) the same loud THUD, which was followed by the same terrifying howl, preceded the same realisation.  Looks like I’m not going to be in the running for that award, again!

Although I believe my lesson, with regards to leaving littlies unsupervised on a couch above a hard-wood floor, has now been learnt, I guess (given I’ve decided two is enough children for me) I will never have the opportunity to prove it.  And, of course, as there are no instruction manuals that come with the task of raising a child (or children), and it’s trial and error most of the time - I guess in my case (and probably in the case of the majority of mothers out there, I’m guessing) it’s the latter -so unfortunately, these two incidences aren’t the only reason I'm certain I have a long way to go before I will even come close to being eligible for a nomination in the Australian Mother of the Year Awards. 

Take a more recent incident.  Perhaps one that occurred at the very start of the year, when I promised little madam an afternoon outing to the park; only to find myself having to renege on that promise, due to the fact that I had to cook dinner, then clean up the mess I had (in order to allow myself a few spare minutes to chop vegetables and brown meat etc) allowed little man to make.  He had pulled almost everything out of the cupboards in his reach (and in my small kitchen, this is quite a number and, as a result, amounted to quite a lot of stuff on the floor; stuff which included half a jar of sprinkles!), then tend to a never-ending pile of washing, which was nearly as high as the ceiling (this is also, mainly, thanks to little man, who wasn’t the cleanest of individuals at the time and insisted on needing his outfit changed several times a day).  So, by the time I’d gotten around to doing all the “necessary things” – or perhaps, “things I considered necessary”, is a better term - I was forced to have to explain to little madam (who has a memory like an African Elephant) that there wasn’t going to be time for the park, after all.  And, despite the fact that I promised her we'd definitely go the next day, I’m fairly certain that the pleading, which became crying, which then became an uncontrollable sobbing fit (and a very loud tantrum) could have been translated into the following statement: “You are not going to be in the running for the 2012 Australian Mother of the Year Award!” It's hard to believe, I’d managed to blow my chances in only the second week of the New Year! 

I guess, in summary, if I were to list, and describe, all the incidences that have occurred in my time as a mother so far, that make me consider myself undeserving of a nomination in the Australian Mother of the Year Awards, I could fill an entire book.  Instead though, I guess I should try a little harder to focus on the positives; the moments when I actually take the time to observe my two littlies and realise that I don't need an award, or a nomination, to realise that I’m actually doing a reasonable job of this parenting gig.  And, although I’m guilty of doing things most mothers do, but don’t want to admit to - such as yelling a little more than I should, focussing a little too much on the state of my house at times, rather than on little madam and little man (did I mention the washing is nearly as high as the ceiling, though?), and, not to mention, making promises that are sometimes impossible to keep – the truth is this:  The real reason I won’t be in the running for an Australian Mother of the Year Award is because, at the moment, little madam, and little man, are still far too young to be able to write up their nominations.  Well, that’s the excuse I’m going to use while I can, anyway.

 

Thanks, little madam and little man, for reminding me that babies and couches are a terrible combination.  Love you both!