Got Milk?

We looked for the milk this morning. As you would, we looked in the fridge. But to our surprise that shelf where the milk usually stood was empty. How peculiar. How were we to have our morning coffee in the absence of milk?

Maybe we had run out, it happens from time to time. Only neither myself or my husband could recall using the last drop and on inspection of the recycling bin, there was no empty bottle to be found.

Best to have a good think and retrace the last known whereabouts of the milk. Last night we all had hot chocolate and Milos before bed. Maybe forgetful old Mummy left the milk beside the kettle. Nope, no milk there.

I know! Mummy is a bit of a forgetful old sausage sometimes, maybe she was sooo tired when making the aforementioned Milos, she mistakenly put the milk away in the cupboard, thinking it was the fridge in her muddled-up way. It has been known to happen from time to time. But no, no milk in the cupboard. What about the freezer? Now that would be funny. But, alas, no milk in their either.

Oh dear this was becoming a worry. Aha! That Daddy has been known for night wandering, maybe he got up in the night and milk-napped that bottle of cow juice. He swore however that he never left his bed last night and a secret investigation revealed no traces of milk-napping.

Don't tell me someone broke into our house in the night to steal our one-third-full bottle of milk? It was beginning to look that way. How very concerning. And we thought this here was a nice town with nice folk.

Well, I guess all that is left to do is saddle up the pram, rug up the family and walk to the shop to buy more milk, and perhaps call into the cafe to fill that morning coffee void. What a puzzling mystery.

Where is the pram? Ah there it is, in the loungeroom parked and ready to go. Oh, but hang on, what's that in the basket underneath? The milk? The milk and the cereal container. Hmmmm. Interesting.

It seems the smallest one was prepared to take matters into her own hands when it comes to early morning breakfast and leave home with a bottle of milk and Sultana Bran!

"It is too early for breakfast Delilah, go back to sleep." is obviously no match for this young woman.

Good thing she can't reach the door handle.

Beyond the feathers

Leo has chooks. He loves his chooks, spends quite a bit of time trying to understand them. So much time in fact that I have come to believe that the rest of world has misunderstood chooks for their whole existence and Leo has been put on Earth to be their saviour and help the rest of the universe realise their ignorant chook ways.

He sits beside the chooks while they lay their eggs, then once a perfectly brown, oval and warm egg has been placed in the nest and the chook takes off for another peck around, Leo takes the egg carefully in his four-year-old hand and goes and thanks the chook for providing his breakfast and wishes the hen a good day. He then comes running inside to tell me the glorious news of a fresh egg, pulls a chair to the fridge and places it in the egg holder.

He can tell which chooks have laid which eggs and is not afraid to provide some constructive criticism, especially if one of his three beloved chooks has been off the lay. He encourages them to give each other cuddles and spent quite a bit of time counselling them over their archaic "pecking order" system when the third chook was introduced to the other two, constantly explaining the sharing concept at feed times.

Leo's chook giftedness (I am pretty sure that is an offical term) was discovered very early. His grandmother (a chook wrangler from way back) accidentally stumbled upon him having a quiet chat with one of her hens atop a 44 gallon drum when Leo had still to turn two. He was looking the chook in the eye having a serious conversation and somehow, the chook actually looked interested. It was then that mum told me he had the way with chooks like she had never seen before.

Funny really given that I am quite afraid of the things myself despite being a farm girl. I can clearly and wholly pin the blame of my broken leg when I was four on chooks, they broke my leg. And don't get me started on clucky chooks, talk about strike the fear of God into you.

In a Douglas Adams-type way I think Leo reckons chooks actually rule the world and we are just here to service them. That one day, they'll just say "thanks for all the scraps" in a bok-bok kind of way and that will be it.

He has instilled an excitement for his feathered friends in his little sister to the point where first thing in the morning, frost or no frost, I have my work cut out restraining the little sister before she is standing in the chook yard in nothing else but a nappy. They do have disagreements over whether the chooks should be let out of their very sizeable yard to roam the entire backyard or not. Delilah is a "free the whales at all costs" type whereas Leo is more concerned at what is best for the welfare of the animals concerned. In the chooks' case, he doesn't trust the visiting cats.

Leo came to me yesterday and said "Look what I can do Mummy!" and promptly bootscooted his way across the loungeroom in perfect steps, thumbs in belt keepers and all. Of course in a surprised and impressed response I said "Where did you learn that Leo?" His response? "The chooks taught me."

Another day when Grandma was here for one of her many exciting visits she asked Leo what book he would like to read. In his usual hilarious manner he brought her the atlas. In trying to outdo Leo's smartness, Grandma opened to a map of the world and said "Ok, where's Australia?" And Leo pointed straight to the correct country. So turned to a different map and asked the same question. And of course he again got it right.

So in amazement I of course ask "Where did you learn that, Leo." His response? "In the chookhouse!"

Hmmmm, so these chooks of Leo's are quite incredible, they have taught him so many things, including some naughty words which I told Leo to let the chooks know aren't acceptable. I hope he passed the message on.

So now that I've caught up...

You will probably notice the posts up until this point were all written before their posting date. Well, after starting this blog in 2007, getting distracted by Facebook for a few years and always having this little corner of the web in the back of my mind, I have decided to return to the dark side and give this blogging thing a red-hot go.

Many people have nagged me to do it, so here I am (see, it is all your fault!) and clearly has nothing to do with the many written pieces that keep me awake at night burning holes in my brain wanting a tangible home.

To catch you up, I have copied over all the below from my Facebook page. This is where my writing will live from now on, it will relieve my Facebook friends from being force-fed nonsensical stuff and allow my brain time to heal from those burning holes. So, here goes nothing....

The real Masterchef (written Sunday May 9, 2010)

“It will be the biggest challenge of their lives” booms the voiceover for the MasterChef promo. As convincing as he sounds, I somehow have to doubt that claim.

I watch MasterChef, I love reality television. It is such a lovely escape into someone else's chaotic world. Occasionally I draw similarities; cooking for a fussy panel of judges with ingredients which can only be found in the cupboard in a limited timeframe. I do that on a daily basis, but that is where the similarities stop.

You know what would make that show a real challenge? Have the judges chew up the food and when they don't like it, spit it out on the floor. Make that food weetbix and have it solidify while the contestants have to deal with the judges' tantrum over the food being unacceptable because we all know dried weetbix doubles as cement when it comes to clean-up.

Contestants should have to come up with a delectable dish according to the whinge of that night. “Noooooooodles”, “I'm hungryyyyy”, “Is tea readyyyyy? But I'm hungryyyyyy” will all be yelled while the cooking takes place. And if it is the day before pay day, that delectable meal has to be made using only potatoes and a congealed lump of sausages from the back of the freezer.

Then (it gets better), the contestants must cook in a kitchen which harbours mysterious wet patches on the floor and lots of pointy, wheel-based toys. Now that would make things exciting. While dodging the obstacles, the contestants will also have the added challenge of a too-clever-for-his-own-good three-year-old overseeing proceedings commenting on how the carrots have been cut wrong and how he would much prefer his vegetables uncooked ALL while a small, hungry but awfully strong girl stands between the contestant and the bench where food preparation is taking place and pushes the contestant's knee caps in the opposite direction to their natural bend, crying hysterically at the lack of attention.

In between all the cooking, preparing and attempting not to burning, the contestant must sort out at least two fights over toys and who gets to put the place-mats on the table, hang out a load of washing and begin the pick up of those pointy and wheely toys.

The real challenge is to get the said meal prepared, cooked, served and eaten before tiredness kicks in and what is referred to as “arsenic hour” in our house commences. The contestants will have to stand in front of the judges convincing them the food is yummy and good to eat and saying things like “just have one more spoonful” and “no, you can't have ice-cream” and “it will make you grow big muscles”.

Now that would be the challenge of a lifetime. Only, I probably wouldn't watch as I have a feeling it wouldn't provide the same mental escape I am looking for!

Please sponsor this poor starving child. (Written Wednesday, February 10, 2010)

Quite obviously, the poor girl was starving, despite the two rounds of breakfast half an hour before. And of course the mother, aka 'the lady who get me things' was, God forbid, on the phone. So what does a poor, neglected, starving and awfully self sufficient girl do?

Goes to the pantry, removes a box of weet-bix and empties the entire contents. But don't despair, she emptied them on a plate of course...a dinner plate, which was still in the cupboard on top of the pile of other clean dinner plates, beside the pile of equally clean bowls. She had of course crushed the weet-bix up first to aid in the eating process. Such a clever girl.

The mother on the phone could hear the rustling in the kitchen and had one of those 'do I finish this conversation in the small hope that those sounds are good ones, or abort the conversation and go and investigate a matter I am sure I will not like the ending of'.

The mother finished the conversation...but only after the starving girl waddled into the newly vacuumed lounge room with a bread and butter plate in one hand and a bag of the very expensive muesli in the other, plonked the plate down on the floor and, you guessed it, upended that whole back of very yummy and expensive muesli on the small plate and as you would inevitably expect, all over the newly vacuumed floor.

It was then the mother hung up the phone and remembered why she usually saved phone calls for nap times and regretted putting the cordless phone back on the charger. She also went to look for a child lock for the pantry and looked to the positives - at least the starving girl didn't get as far as the milk.

If a photo is worth 1000 words... ( Written Thursday, November 5, 2009)

Well what are the 1000 words this picture would hypothetically be replaced with?
I'm the first to admit there is a good chance those words wouldn't begin with "The 2009 Mother of the Year Award goes to Rosemary Harris."

To me, however, it says what a responsible young girl slapping on the sunscreen before heading out in the harsh Australian sun. Clearly, she has a very responsible mother to have taught the girl that with the mercury rising in the thermometers, it is essential to apply the 30+. She has applied it so very liberally and covered near to the entire area of the face which risks the most potential sun exposure. Again, only an extremely responsible mother would have taught her this.

To others, they may question why the child was a) in the bathroom or b) left alone long enough to apply the 'sunscreen' so carefully all over her face. To answer "a", I place the blame fair and squarely upon the shoulders of the three-and-a-half-year-old making a hasty trip to the "loo" after insisting on three bowls of All-Bran for breakfast in the attempt to grow strong....and in his haste leaving the door, which is usually shut specifically to prevent and mischievous sister mishaps, wide open. I choose not to waste too many more of my 1000 words dwelling on such trivial matters starting with "why".

Sure, the sunscreen was actually toothpaste. But is was children's toothpaste and she did get a tiny bit on her teeth. This picture also says "I am Delilah. I am independent. I require no assistance. What is your issue? I am Delilah. I will do what I want and what clearly makes a lot of sense in my world. Your concern or horror is severely misplaced.”

With the obvious “Chhhhhhesssse” coming from her mouth through her profound lisp, this photo may also suggest the young lady, exactly a week off 16 months, may actually be quite proud of her effort in applying toothpaste to the face and is not shy about being photographed in the act, so much so that she will quite willingly, without any prompting, yell “chhhhheeeeese” to ensure you get her best side.

I also hope that a prominent part of the 1000 words hypothetically replacing this photograph would include a very detailed description of how healthy, clean and strong her teeth actually are, something only seen in children of very responsible mothers I am sure.

Look closely and you may also take note that getting toothpaste out of your eyelashes probably seemed like an easier task during the exhilarating and hasty application of the toothpaste than it did after the fact when your very responsible mother was attacking you with a face washer in the bath.

What this picture also screams is here is a young girl - and heaven knows what young girls have to deal with in today's world, even if you are only a week off 16 months – who has her priorities straight. Obviously she doesn't care excessively (or at all) for perfect dainty hair all done up in bows and ribbons or designer outfits for that matter, but she does care a lot about healthy teeth and being sunsmart or something along those lines, possibly blurred with the thrill of being caught and being downright naughty, but we won't delve too far into that. She was, after all, simply trying to save her very busy and responsible mother the bother one of the many jobs she has to do in her day.

Now I am not seriously going to bore you with the full 1000 words. I have made it to 500, I'll let you add the other half as clearly I think we have all come to the conclusion that this picture simply says “responsible parenting”. In fact I wouldn't be surprised if the Government put this on the front of their next lot of helpful brochures on how to bring up children the right way.

Yep, responsible parenting. Let's just say I can laugh about it now and I am somewhat glad it was toothpaste mistaken as sunscreen and not suncreen mistaken as toothpaste.

Her (Written Tuesday, October 27, 2009)

From the moment she was born she had her eyes wide open ready to drink in everything the world had on offer. Forget this newborn baby sleep-all-the-time business, Delilah had far to much to learn and do, now that she had finally hit earth.

Delilah, 30 minutes old.

Delilah goes. She never stops. Ever. Even in her sleep she moves around constantly. She has no time for lying still to have a nappy changed or standing still to get dressed and will absolutely under no circumstance waste her time standing still to have her hair done.

Having said that, there is one time and one time only when she does stop, that is when she is sitting with her Grandpa in his chair. That is the only time she stops. Ever.

Even more than sitting still, she hates being forced to sit still. So much so that she has devised a way of getting out of the high chair harness, the pram seat belt and the carseat restraint. Yep. All three. Like I said, there is no keeping her still. Luckily, for her safety, we discovered an extra attachment for such harnesses which she is yet to figure out, but we are sure it will only be a matter of time.

She goes fast. Sometimes too fast her her own legs. I am surprised we have made it this far without a trip to the Emergency Room. She climbs. Nothing is a challenge and won't give up until she has inevitably fallen off/on/onto something and sustained an injury. She will cry for a few minutes and then be ready to do it all again.

She is attracted to danger like a bug to light. Heights, powerpoints, breakable items, non-edible garden treasures, jumping in the bath, toilet cleaner. Yep, danger and Delilah go together like peas and carrots as Forrest would say.

She yells. It's what she does best, so she does it a lot - yells. On first assumption, one might think she is a disobedient child, always yelling and never, ever sitting still. And, traditionally, that would make up the basis of a child misbehaving. But lucky for her, her parents and older brother know differently.

For, you see, yelling is simply part of who she is. She is a loud individual and from the minute she was born, it was clear she had arrived to be someone. No fading into the background for this one, no following the leader. She was here to stamp her mark on the world and make no mistake about it, she will be in the foreground and be leading the leaders.

She dances, a total groover. Can pick up the rhythm in any song and bop away. She adores music and even sings. And (in case you hadn't already noticed) she LOVES having her picture taken. Her second word was "Cheese". Her first word? Drink. Yep, drink. Closely followed by "Gumpa". Now she can say just about every word ending in "K". Drink, duck, stuck, clock, look, milk, pink, chook. Really, when you think about it, a lot of the words you need to begin like with end in K.

She likes to get involved and find out how things work, taste, smell, how far they spread, how flexible they are, if they are edible, how far they roll, how many you can stack on top of each other, if they bite or sting and who gets annoyed by her doing all of the above.

She doesn't mind getting messy, if fact she quite enjoys it and loves the fact that getting caked in dirt/mud/food or whatever else she can find will always and eventually lead to one of her top ten favourite pastimes - a bath.

She doesn't like to stop although she likes cuddles and "up". But at any given moment she will decide she has had enough and flip backwards out of the cuddler's arms, usually succeeding in giving the cuddler a heart attack at the shock of almost dropping the small girl. After such an event - that is one which involves scare tactics or shock to any present adult, a regular occurrence in Delilah's life - she will invariably follow up with her trademark laugh. Some might say it is decidedly evil, the laugh is cross between Woody Woodpecker and Mr Bean. It comes from the back of her throat and also slighty through the nose and has that deep "heh heh" sound and always leaves you feeling as if you missed the real joke and she is finding something far more hilarious at your expense.

She enjoys being upside down and has already taught herself to do somersaults. I believe this is part of the reasoning behind her unexpected cuddle bungee jumps...its all a ploy to hang upside down for the pure enjoyment of it.

The centre of her world is her amazing big brother. She loves being near him, following him, playing with him and sleeping in the same room as him. She loves it when he reads her stories and shows her interesting things about life that only three-and-a-half year olds know.

She laughs at him a lot and of course he enjoys entertaining her to bring on more and more giggles. Whenever Delilah is with her big brother she knows everything is ok, she goes about life with an air of confidence as if she knows he brother will always be there to fall back on, sometimes literally. She is discovering the many, many advantages to being a little sister each and every day, just as he mother has known and enjoyed for so many years.

Everyday Leo and Delilah go about making more memories and I wonder which ones will be those they laugh about over Christmases as their own children play about starting the cycle all over again. But, for the moment, they aren't concerned about the future. They live for every day in its glory. Every day is a brand new opportunity to play, go on adventures, make mistakes, learn, teach other things and simply enjoy each others company. What a glorious way to be.

Delilah loves horses. She will flick through a newspaper to find an article on the spring carnival, point excitedly to the equine animal and say "Look!" "Giddyup". She has a small plastic horse she takes everywhere, usually transported in the pocket of her overalls.

Lilah with her pet horse

Yes, overalls. Delilah isn't a massive fan of dresses. Or skirts. Or anything disguised as a dress or skirt. She ties to pull them off, that's if you can get it on her in the first place. She has so many pretty dresses, being the only granddaughter after among her six boy cousins. But I'm afraid she is going to be just as tough as the rest of them, no special concessions for being a girl. I got creative one day and sewed her a "field days" dress. I made it from an old neck tie of her Pa's, a tea towel and a cot sheet. That she will wear, the daggiest, cheapest dress she will wear. That'd be right.

Despite not wanting to be put up on the shelf like the precious dainty girl, Delilah does know how to use her big blue eyes, long dark eyelashes, cheeky grin and one dimple to her advantage. Trips to the shops always take three times as long with Delilah as she waves and grins and bats the eyelids at each person and waves like the Queen, invariably drawing in the "Oh isn't she gorgeous" and "Oh, look at those eyes" "You have a beautiful smile" from just about every person she passes. We are already measuring the door and windows for deadlocks. If can charm like this at 15 months....I shudder to think about 15 years. Oh dear.

Him (Written Wednesday, September 30, 2009)

She pulls his hair, he gives her a cuddle and shows her how to be "gentle Lilah".
She knocks over his carefully constructed Lego and he says "Oh, you want a turn Lilah, here you go."
She steps on his train tracks and he turns it into a game of the monster invading train land.
She sits in the tub of trains and tracks so he can't get any more pieces and he laughs and says "Look mummy, Lilah's in a boat, watch out for sharks Lilah."
She puts something in her mouth, he grabs it off her, she cries and he says "You'll choke, Lilah."
I lay her on the floor to change her nappy, he runs and gets a cushion to put under her head.
Sometimes he gets angry and yells "Move away Lilah-Lou".
She turns around and gives him a cuddle and pouts her lips for a kiss. He always obliges.
She eats all her food and yells, because that's what she does, yells. He breaks his in half and gives her some of his.
I worry he is taking on too much responsibility and explain that it is ok and Mummy can take care of things, he is allowed to eat his own food and sometimes say when he needs some Lilah-free time.
"Ok Mummy".
"Can I go outside"
"Sure"
"Can Lilah come too so I can push her on the swing and show her the chooks and we can dig for worms?".
She idolises him, despite the way she spends her days plotting how to aggravate him. When he has sleepovers at Nan's or Grandma's, she walks from room to room being miserable hoping he will appear and looks sadly at the other empty end of the back seat in the car.

Truth is, when we decided to have Delilah, I spent a good amount of time mourning the loss of Leo's only child status. The decision to have another child outweighed that of remaining with one, but still there was an element of sadness we often discussed around Leo no longer being the centre of everything.
From the moment she came into the world, Leo's universe of having everything, especially his parents, to himself would become one of sharing, waiting turns and also some sacrifices. I worried a lot about how Leo would adjust.
We deliberately found out whether we were to have a boy or girl and we were lucky enough to decide on a name early on, so "the baby" became "Delilah". We thought that then Leo would be able to understand a little better, "Delilah" was always in mummy's tummy, not "a baby" who suddenly became Delilah.
I don't know why he still surprises us, but he did, when she arrived he took it all in his stride. Everyone else was doing the stressing out while he adopted the attitude of "ok, she's here, just like you said, it's Delilah, what's your problem?"

Leo teaching Delilah about Marine Biology. Delilah two days old.

Leo showing Lilah Lego.

I guess I underestimated that the massive change in his world would also become one of having a partner in crime, adventure, love and playing.
It would allow him to become the protective big brother and develop into an even more amazing individual.
From the minute Delilah came home, he sat down and started telling her things she needed to know, took her through photo albums and pointed out important people in her life.
He took charge of bathing her and making sure she was comfortable at all times. If she got upset in the car he would say "ok Lilah" and start singing to her.
When Lilah was two months old, he got really sick and had to have a long stay in hospital. Despite not being very verbal at that age (he has always been more of thinker than a talker), he kept asking if Lilah was ok.
Then there was the time he sat down with her and handed over all his 'baby' toys one by one, explaining their meaning and how they worked.
Now I watch them together and I think he has adjusted pretty well, all by his own attitude. At 14 months and three and a half, their relationship is stepping up to that next level where he can take her on his magical adventures and she laps up every moment.

He gets frustrated with her and occasionally he will lash out, especially when he is tired. But then he turns around and hugs her and says the obligatory "Sorry Lilah" and all is forgiven. He doesn't seem to mind that she can't say sorry yet.

I wonder how long it will last. I'm sure there will be plenty of fights to come. In fact, I know there will be. I am a little sister myself, quite a practiced one actually.
And I can even hear my mother's words echoing back in years to come "don't take her out in that car". "Remember she is little". I'm sure he will get to an age when he is embarrassed of her, an age when he is wary of any boy hanging around her, an age when he needs his space and she needs hers. But despite all that I don't think he will ever stop teaching her, being proud of her and guiding her. And he is only three-and-a-half.

That's our Leo, the big brother.

(Delilah, the little sister installment to come).

Leo helping Lilah straw the chooks' nests.

Boxes, books, buckets and the back yard. (Written Wednesday, September 16, 2009)

That's it.
Boxes, books, buckets and the back yard.
I am fairly certain, but before you ask, no, I don't intend to try, but I can still be mostly positive that if you took all my children's toys away and left them with just boxes, buckets, some books and the back yard, their smiles wouldn't fade.
I know this is sounding all idealistically soppy, and I don't mean it to be, truly, I don't.
You always hear people say "The kids love the box the toy came in more than the toy itself."
Its true.
Of course, the integral ingredient tying it all together is imagination. Children and their ability to sail through worlds without leaving the washing basket (ok, there is another one) or the cardboard box is simply amazing. It is a pity we lose that.
I am not saying there should be a world of Peter Pans. There is clearly a reason why we mature, our responsibilities change, we learn worlds of information and have clear choices to make in order to embark on our own life's journey.
Lately I been feeling like things are getting way too overcomplicated. Like children's toys. I am not going to start the "back in my day, we only had half a banana peel and a bean peeler to play with and we turned out ok..." speech, I promise.
But I genuinely feel like some of the things children are bombarded with is killing their imaginations.
In Melbourne, Leo played soccer in Camberwell. Now there is a nose-in-the-air bunch of people if I ever came across them. I used to say to Ash how people think poor people's children are deprived and these Camberwellian types are the ones with all the privileges for their taking. True. They have everything they could ever want. At two and three, they have never known what it is like to drive in anything other than the latest Vovlo or BMW, or to go from soccer, to ballet, to music lessons, to swimming and to one-year-old kinder. But I used to wonder, if you gave them a box, what would they do?
Leo and I were on the outer there to begin with. There were quite a few large differences between 'us' and 'them'. Our commodore wagon looked pretty out of place in the carpark to begin with and when we went to soccer (which Leo adored by the way) we went to get involved, and I would find myself getting more miffed by the week at trying to scramble through the legs of the natting mothers to retrive Leo's ball to do the next activity. The coaches used to have to ask the MOTHERS to be quiet so they could give the next instruction, not the kids.
Leo would try and interact with the other kids. He would run around with them and turn the lines on the stadium floor into train tracks, or the division between the sand and the water at the beach, the other kids would just stare at him blankly as if to say 'what is wrong with you?' 'they are just lines.'
There is no doubt that I experienced those first few heartbreaking parent moments at soccer. But the coaches loved Leo so much and he loved them and the activities, so in the end, we just went for us, a couple of times we went for coffee with the others and tried to see things from their perspective and 'fit in' I guess. But it was clear we were different and came from a whole different place to them and in their place they were simply unwilling to see the world from our point of view.
I got the overwhelming feeling that their children went to soccer so they could say 'my child goes to soccer' rather than actually going to soccer with their child.
Anyway, my point is, through that glimpse of that sort of (I am trying not to overgeneralise) inner-city child's life I came to realise that an overcomplicated life of someone so young can seem to kill the person they may have naturally have been through their own personality developing, rather than conforming.

Sure. It is easy for me to sit back and make judgements, having had the luxury of both the city and country living and by no means do my observations apply to all children living in the city, in fact I know some particularly amazing city-living children with wild imaginations and incredible personalities. In my experience, it seems to come down to the amount of time and encouragement allowed to a child to become themselves.

We have a rule. There is one set of AA batteries in the house, they rotate between the battery operated toys. You might be thinking 'oh great, one of those high-and-mighty-deprive-the-child-and-keep-them-sheltered types'. You are wrong. To put it simply, I can't stand the things! Most of them are American and, let me tell you after you hear the "ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZee" song turn into "A-A-A-A-A-AB-A-A-A...A-A-A-A-AAAAAAA-AB....(you get the point?)". You will understand my battery rule.

Bunnings had buckets on special for 84c each. Leo asked if he could have one, sure I thought, so I bought six. Buckets, I have come to discover are great. They are drums, enough for the bigger and the smaller drummer so fights are kept to a minimum. They are useful to put things in as Eeyore would say. Lots of things, even little sisters fit with a little coercion. Put one on your head and you are a robot. They make good seats. You can throw things in them, like pairs of socks. Somehow they are also spaceships and the roller that Grandpa drives at work.

I marvel at how simplified things have become since our move. I worried so much over having to explain to Leo why we no longer went to soccer, play centres, the Aquarium, the city, the shops, McDonalds, on trams. Don't get me wrong, he wouldn't have swapped those experiences for the world. But over the near three months of country living, just once he has asked to go to Big W. We went out the back and planted spring onions instead, he didn't mind.

A child's imagination is an incredibly amazing thing. And it seems that boxes, books, buckets and the back yard are on the top of the list for my two imaginative beings. I wonder where it will take them tomorrow.

My favourite photo (Written Tuesday, September 8, 2009)

I enjoy taking photos. Have done ever since I started off as a nervous cadet journalist who was too young to have a car licence and would hang the (manual) SLR camera around my neck and ride my bike from my square leg position at the local cricket, to the bowls, to the tennis and back over to pony club, the 40th wedding anniversary at the RSL and of course the infamous 18ths and 21sts which were apparently a must for the social pages.

I have never had any photography training, I was handed a camera and told what to take pictures of, but I have come to really appreciate photographs and the art involved in capturing a good one. So much so that I don't own a video camera, I find more joy in looking at a still image and drawing the story from it or being told the history behind a fading black and white image of times gone by.

Anyway, my point, I'm getting there! Just after Delilah was born Ash bought me a Digital SLR, my Canon EOS. From that point on I joked about having three babies as the EOS went everywhere with us and almost deserved it's own seatbelt. You may have noticed this from the 91 albums I have uploaded.

I have near 20,000 photos on the Mac at present, that start from Leo being born. But out of all those pictures, the other week I happened to capture my most favourite of all. I could hardly believe what a perfect picture it was until I saw it before my very eyes on the clear computer screen.

You see, on the surface it may not mean much to anyone else, but to me, this picture captures my children's personalities perfectly in a snap, to be preserved forever.

Leo is aged three and three months. The look on his face is the look he usually has. Happy, of course, but a thinking look. He is always the thinker. Most people upon meeting him think he is shy or even naughty as he tends not to greet people. But the fact is most people don't give him enough time. He has to deeply process every part of every situation. He will make sure it is safe, ok with me, that Delilah is ok and then try and figure out where this person or event fits into the scheme of the world. Then, and only then will you start to see the beautiful Leo personality. He is awfully clever and witty and has the most amazing imagination I have ever come across. I also love in this photo that he still has his bike helmet on (he has ridden to the park). Always safety first for Leo, and as always, he was right in being so safety conscious as soon after this picture was taken, he fell head-first off the flying fox, but thanks to the helmet, he came out of it just a little pride-injured.

Delilah is around 13 months. She is crazy, in a good way. She never stops. Never. Oh, except for when she is on her Grandpa's lap. She will stop for her Grandpa, but no one else. This photo captures her personality so well. She is always talking and yelling. She has so much to say and refuses to accept the fact that she is still a baby. She has never been a baby. Her big blue eyes were wide open to the world from the moment she was born, we have the photo to prove it. She can't see why she can't climb up to the big slide like Leo or why someone else has to get her dressed. The polar opposite of Leo, she thrives on attention. In fact if we are waiting in line in a shop and she sees some grumpy looking man in his work clothes who has clearly had a long day and really doesn't want to hear a baby whinge, she will smile, bat her eye lids and even go in for the kill with the dimples until eventually he comes over and utters the words she has been waiting on "aren't you beautiful?". She loves photos. Her first word was "cheese". She thought it meant photo before I even taught her about the food variety. She is always happy, oh except for the growing of the teeth, that is not a happy time, but I don't blame her. Delilah loves kisses and cuddles. Ash will give her a kiss before he goes to work and she will chase him down the hallway for another and another.

I love the blue tunnel in this photo, as both Leo and Delilah have the most vibrant blue eyes and the blue tunnel is at their favourite park in town on a gorgeous sunny day - pretty much what our new life is all about.

What to write? ( Monday, September 7, 2009)

So I feel inspired to write something, not too sure what to write about though, so I figured I might start telling you (or boring you) with my day and we'll see where we end up.

My children are early risers. There is nothing I can do to change that, despite trying many things. It is very odd, I do not understand how they possibly came to adore the first few hours of light (and often before light) so very much. I am as far from a morning person as you can get, anyone who has ever lived with me will vouch for that.

I still detest mornings, still, despite three years of Leo trying to convince me otherwise. Every single morning I wake with a groan and still have that small hope that when Delilah starts poking me in the eyes and lying on my face and Leo starts with the the "Brekky mummy, the sun is up, can I watch cartoons, can I check for eggs, I need to get dressed...hang on, I need to do a wee" I still hope, that when I groan in a near inaudible mumble "everyone go back to sleep, it's too early" I still hope, that they might go "Oh, ok mummy, sure, you are so right, it is far too early, what were we thinking" and toddle back to their respective sleeping places and not stir until at least 10am.

However it doesn't happen, it hasn't happened yet and I doubt it ever will, but that won't stop that small hope creeping back tomorrow at 5.30am.

But give it an hour or so and all is forgiven. I always know that once my dreaded morning transforms into my day I wonder why I always feel like that in the mornings, but that won't stop me from doing the same in the morning. Sort of like exercise. Once I do it (well from what I can remember the last time I did it) I feel fabulous and wonder why I spent so long procrastinating about it , but that doesn't help the next time I consider it and then invariably put it off. But please, don't let me lull you into any false sense of my being a fitness fanatic. Golly, if I was both a fitness fanatic and a morning person I might find myself running 10km before the kids even got out of bed instead of the eye-poking alarm clock I now have. But I'm neither of those things so let's leave that there.

Ok, so we get up and have breakfast because Leo's tummy is "noising" and he "just cant wait to have the brekky cereal with the grape and the spoon". He is eating Sultana Bran for the first time, he usually has Weet Bix or Nutri Grain. He decided on Sultana Bran (or more accurately the Aldi version of Sultana Bran) because it had a picture of a grape and a spoon on the front, forget about the happy looking bear on the Honey whatits. Or the chocolate milkshake monkey dude. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince him that there wasn't actually a grape or a spoon inside, and that's when we got into the discussion about the technicalities of grapes and sultanas. But I'll save that story for another day (bet you can't wait!)

I feed Delilah Sultana Bran also as she is getting to the "I'll have what he is having" stage. Hmmmm, to an unsuspecting parent this seems pretty normal, but to me, to me, the little sister youngest-of-five from way back, to me is means that the "it's not fair" stage is right around the corner and that stage can't be fun for anyone on the outside, I guess I am about to get a dose of my own medicine as they say. There was a good part of my childhood where I should have just changed my name by deed poll to "It's Not Fair Hoye". Truth is, it was a whole lot fairer for me than any of the others.

So breakfast is done, dishes in the dishwasher (I have a dishwasher, how fabulous am I? I love my dishwasher). Then we get dressed. Leo insists on wearing his pants backwards, his prerogative really. And after starting in Delilah's room and ending up in the backyard, I eventually struggle to throw/pull/tie enough clothes on her to last a little while. She doesn't stop for anything. Least of all to get dressed.

Next thing is to make banana and choc chip muffins. We use Leo's home grown free-range, over-loved eggs and the bananas which are turning a darker shade of yellow. Leo is an exceptional cook, he can crack eggs, sift and stir with little to no spillage. Delilah yells at things. It's what she does, she yells at the eggs because they could probably be bigger, she yells at the choc chips because they didn't introduce themselves. She isn't so much into the cooking, but dancing, she is a fabulous dancer, you should see her move. So, she yells and dances while Leo cooks. It is 7.30am. Ash gets ready for work. I have a shower! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Ok, I'll let you all go wake yourselves up now. Man I can go on!

It wasn't until... (Written Sunday, August 16, 2009)

It wasn't until we needed to find some stones to irrigate the tulips we were planting that it really hit me how much different my children's city upbringing would be to my own country childhood.

They say hindsight is a wonderful thing and in my opinion, never more so than when you become a parent. Growing up on the family farm, a good 20km from the nearest shop, I would often wonder what it would be like to need milk and just pop down the street to grab it, rather than to the cow shed to milk the old milking cow. Never would I have dreamed then that I would one day be bringing up my own son and daughter in the suburbs of Melbourne, with every imaginable convenience at our fingertips.

I am yet to decide who is the better off – myself or my children. While McDonalds trips were a rare occasional treat when we travelled the two hours to the nearest city when I was young, at just two, my son can already point out each McDonalds sign we pass and yell “chippies” excitedly. And I may have had all the space in the world to play in while my son is confined to his backyard of our rented home, but never the convenience of choosing from a world of organised sports to take part in, or a quick trip to the beach or the museums and sights of the city.

So it was when I decided to introduce my son to the wonders of horticulture, I realised just how different his perspective on the world would be. We found a pot to plant his two tulip bulbs in, and then as I tried to cast my mind back to doing the same thing as a child, I remembered a handful of stones off our long driveway stones in the bottom of the pot were the key to proper drainage. But, where were we to find a handful of stones in our perfectly manicured suburbs? We walked and searched to no avail and eventually had to settle for some small pieces of broken brick we found under the house.

Then I began to worry, how can a boy grow up without stones? And my mind wandered onto other things...mud, a boy needs to make mud pies, where will we find mud among the concrete jungle? What about day-long adventures of finding treasures down the back paddock or sailing boats in the channel. It hit me like an axe to the wood chopping block that everything I had taken for granted in my farm childhood would be unknown to my son. His paddock adventures would be walks along concrete paths, with strict supervision due to those city dwelling unsavoury characters us parents are always warned about. Daily mail deliveries, garbage trucks, traffic, neighbours...all these things would be his 'norm'....

~~~~(Fast forward six months)~~~~

It wasn’t until I was hanging the washing in the strong country wind upon my very own slightly leaning Hills Hoist clothesline that the words from my three-year-old truly confirmed we had made the right move.
“Look Mummy!” he squealed excitedly, looking down at his gumboots he had previously rarely had the need to wear.
“My boots are hiding in the grass!”
“Thank you Mummy,” he said with the most satisfied tone I had ever heard him utter.
Unsure of what the connection was in the wild imagination of a boy in his backyard I replied “Thank you for what, Leo?”
“Thank you for my new house Mummy with grass that hides my boots.”
Simple as that - grass that hides his boots. Forget your expensive battery operated toys, you can keep the swimming pool and the five days of karate followed by music class, no need for massive play centres or McDonalds around the corner. Yep, all this boy has longed for is a backyard big enough to spend a whole day in, interesting enough to find snails and sand and versatile enough to accommodate a three-year-old’s imagination.
I love watching Leo and his little sister Delilah playing in their new yard through the laundry window. Oblivious to my supervision, they excitedly run, well rather, Leo encourages Delilah to run, from one amazing discovery to the next.
“Lilah-Lou!” Leo yells.
“Lilah-Lou! Eo found a liz.”
Lilah-Lou is the name Leo has made up for his little sister, none of us are exactly sure where it came from, but we all agree it is incredibly cute and will probably stick for a lifetime. A “liz” is a lizard and “Eo” is how Leo refers to himself, always in the third person like he is the protagonist in his own amazing magical journey of his own life. As if it is all too amazing and beyond comprehension to really be happening to him.
As Leo carefully examines each piece of bark in the garden looking for the “liz” and Lilah hangs on his every movement eager to find what her brother is so excited about and tries in her own clumsy way to sort through the dirt and sticks invariably getting distracted by the feel of the new textures, and of course tastes some soil and chews on some grass, I stand in our very own laundry and look out knowing that somehow, despite the stress and huge worry over whether we had made the right life decision for our family, somehow, I reckon things would be ok.

Finding interesting little somethings in the grass.