Mata ne
24 September 2008, 17:41
McG left for Sydney today for Web Directions South – leaving a little girl who asks rhetorically every half an hour “Where’s Daddy? Daddy’s at work. In the airplane in the skoi. Makin’ the money. So we can buy strawberries.” It is her mantra. Bless.
Permanent Link | CommentsAuditioning for E.T
22 September 2008, 17:39
I killed the iPod...
17 September 2008, 20:16
...but I swear it was in self-defence.
Shuffling off this mortal coil
Ever wondered what an iPod would look like if it went through a wash (delicate cycle, but nonetheless)?
Wonder no more.
Permanent Link | Comments [1]Her First High Heels
14 September 2008, 19:15
I wish I didn’t love these. So, so wrong on so, so many levels but so, so feckin’ adorable. Would I ever put my child in a pair? Ahem, NO, are you frikkin’ kidding me?
I actually want them for myself. Such guilty pleasures…
Babysitter's Club
11 September 2008, 20:20
As a Babysitter I would have made a great mum. I’ve never been particularly “maternal” but picked up the occasional babysitting job when I was an impoverished Uni student in Queensland.
It was easy money – $10 an hour (yes, this was a long time ago) and mostly it was kinder-aged dolls who played with my hair for an hour or so before passing out in a post-hair-playing-stupor. I did have a rather hardcore babysitting job all day Sunday looking after 5 kids from age 2 to 11. Yes, 5 kids. Age 2 to 11. But all I can say is kudos to the friggin’ Little Mermaid – she saved my arse when I was lying flat on my back after an overdose of trampolining with 2 very energetic pre-pubescent Montessori girls. God Bless You, Ariel, God Bless You.
Today, I just felt like recounting my most memorable babysitting experience. It was for the Vice Chancellor of U of Q and his socialite wife – nice enough people, but the wife had a DIET, yes, a DIET on their fridge for their 6 year old daughter (the one who loved to play with my hair). She was a lovely little girl with a bit of baby fat, but no more than any other 6 YEAR OLD, so this amazed me.
The VC had 2 kids, the other being a 4 year old boy (still in nappies, but I can’t talk yet – Scout has no inclination whatsoever of losing the nappies and she’s 2.5) let’s call him “Tacker”, who had….. issues. Now I don’t want to question the parenting skills of his mum and dad, because at the time, I was hardly a paragon of maternal instincts, but ah fuckit, what the hell – his parents had raised an extreme tantrum-throwing screamer who would go MENTAL if I asked him to do anything. Which, as it turns out, is quite normal for a toddler, only I didn’t know that at the time.
One day, though, when I arrived at their posh-o house, I must have scared little Tacker as he was watching his third hour of TV, and he spun around and started SCREAMING “She HIT ME! SHE HIT MEEEEEE!!!!!” Omigod. I threw my hands up like a slapstick movie criminal in an “I didn’t do it” pose and the mum, well, she knew he was foxing and said “don’t worry about it”, but still, omigod. What 4 year old has that in his box of tackle, I ask you? The She Bloody Well Hit Me vibe, don’t leave me mummy or THAT IMPOVERISHED ARTS STUDENT LADY WILL HIT ME AGAIN!
Funny thing is, at the time I thought he was a total little bratty shit, but looking back on it as a mum now my heart goes out to him. His parents were out on the voluptuous party circuit every second night (and that’s not an understatement) – of COURSE HE HAD THAT IN HIS BOX OF TACKLE. What normal, self-respecting child would not?
So, any babysitting horror stories out there? I’m in the mood for some vicarious living…
In the Garden
10 September 2008, 12:36
Scout is obsessed with the “wormies”. We got her early into the reuse and recycle philosophy – we have a small food scraps bin on the kitchen bench and she is really good at putting her food scraps (alas, mainly veges) into the bin to “feed the wormies”.
Pay day is when mummy or daddy take her out to the compost bin/worm farm to feed the wormies. And sometimes the two mice that live in our neighbour’s shed. There are hundreds of the little critters (worms that is, not mice) and Scout is obsessed with them. Heaven forbid we buy her a pony.
Now we just have to figure out how to instill in her the philosophy of not letting litres of water go down the plughole while she’s fartarsing around brushing her teeth…
Permanent Link | Comments [2]The Cat sat on the Matt
6 September 2008, 08:59
I asked Scout yesterday what she thought daddy really wanted for Father’s Day.
Her reply?
Beer. And whiskers.
Honestly
3 September 2008, 19:58
Mums stay home or ‘baby’s brain suffers
...if you’re going to continue to make mothers feel crap and inadequate because they are not doing everything possible for their child in spite of the majority doing their absolute best, then for fuck’s sake, shut the hell up and actually do something about it rather than wanking on about how we are disadvantaging our children right out of the blocks. This whole “mums should have 2 years of maternity leave” rhetoric feels like a carrot being dangled, doomed to rot in the mire of the vege crisper, whilst we are left looking for ways to assuage our guilt.
Look, I understand the theory (no doubt a competing theory will arise refuting it) and in an ideal sublime culture where no-one has to pay a mortgage and has a carer on hand should this full-time parent need a rest from the constant demands of a baby/toddler, then theorise til hell has a home in heaven.
I couldn’t have managed one-on-one care for 2 years with Scout – I would have gone totally mental. Would that have been good for her cognitive development? I don’t think I would have taken up the offer of 2 years of maternity leave, but then having a child was my choice so whilst I appreciate my child care rebate, thank you very much, I also don’t expect the tax-payer to pay for 2 years of
me being at home.
And what of the dads? Is their role redundant now? I know of couples (not many) where the dad stays home with bubs and mum goes out to hunt and gather – I bloody well salute them and doubt their kids are suffering cognitively.
End. Rant.
Permanent Link | Comments [2]Rude Cow
3 September 2008, 14:13
This morning, Scout and I went along with some of the other mums from mother’s group to a “Dancing” session at Fairfield Library.
There were about 30 kids there, with their parents – half of the kids were reluctant to dance, including Scout who looked truly freaked out by this hardcore woman wearing a leotard, yelling commands and singing off key with dodgy hand gestures that she was “encouraging” them to follow.
She kept stopping the music asking the mums and dads to stop talking. Fair enough, but half of those recalcitrant parents were actually just trying to get their kids to dance in the easiest way possible – communicating with them (noooo!)
Scout was snuggling into me on the sidelines, very uncharacteristic for her as she is the first to perform in front of a bunch of kids – I’m guessing she found the whole atmosphere a bit confronting, as you would if you were two.
Then our silly dancing twit, who had the child interaction skills of a slug, stopped the music, huffed a bit and said to the parents who’d coughed up $6 for the privilege of being shouted at:
“If you can’t stop talking, then go out into the corridor where we can see you but can’t hear you or PUT A SHOE IN YOUR MOUTH.”
Omigod, Scout and I left at that point – and as I left I muttered to the woman at the door “Rude Cow”, hoping that I’d say it loud enough for her to hear, but she was off on a dancing tangent, busy shouting at the kids to PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR LIE DOWN SLEEPING! 1 2 3 WAAAAAAKE UUUUUUUP. ROUND AND ROUND WALKING WALKING WALKING ROUND AND ROUND LIE DOWN 1 2 3 WAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE UUUUUUUUUP.
