A Tiny Recap

 One day not long ago I said to Matt that I was looking forward to Tiny starting school. For the simple reason that we would no longer have a tussle over what she will wear that morning. Nevermind the fact I'll be a sobbing mess, rueing the day my baby went off to school.

The truth is, I am not looking forward to Tiny starting school. Everyone knows that as soon as small children start school, it fast tracks them to growing up even quicker.

I need to have another baby.

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Tiny lay in bed with me the other morning, curled up in my arms. I was sleep drunk and just wanted to snooze, despite the incessant shrill of my alarm telling me otherwise. Tiny rolled over and told me my breath was stinky.

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On Thursday Tiny and I went to see the Doctor at his school as part of Education Week. Tiny sat on my lap throughout the very long concert, then told me she wanted to whisper in my ear. I leant forward, "Mum, your breath smells."

It's love. And halitosis.

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Friday is the day Tiny goes to the new daycare/preschool thing. I have been in strong denial that she even goes there. This morning she cried and cried because she didn't want to go. I held my wee one in my arms and told her it was just for a short time, and that she'd have fun.

During the day I thought of her, me at work, her at a new place full of new faces. I tried to call to check on her but no one answered.

Matt texted me later that afternoon to say he had picked Tiny up. She'd even told him she'd had a fun day.

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This makes me think I have bad breath. I hate bad breath. Moving forward I will not breath on anyone.

Papa Can You Hear Me?

I don't really know why this post is named what it is. But it is what it is.

We can however time travel, back, back to a place when I was about nine. It was the school holidays and my sisters and I - as a treat - were allowed to hire videos. Can you believe?! It was a highlight for us. I remember watching Mannequin many, many times. It is a rare talent indeed that I can still quote great sections of that quality film.

And this particular holidays I am talking about - we watched Yentl. And clearly we were impressed, because soon after my grandparents, Mars and Gramps, gave me a cat for my birthday - and Babs was such a hit - I called that cat Yentl. I am very sure with some persuasion from my two older sisters.

Enough of that. We're no closer to knowing why I named this post. Or what the crux of the post is. But it was a good story. Wasn't it?

By the way - many years ago I blogged about making a quilt for the Doctor. Well with a lot of help from my sister - this week the binding is being stitched on, and that sucker will be finished. It's only taken five and a half years. Gold star. Top of the class.

Toothless

The Doctor has lost his second top tooth over the weekend.

As he noted, it's the first tooth he's lost at home, all the others have fallen out at school - and only one made it home.

Not to worry. I wasn't pinning all my hopes and dreams on those lost teeth.

The Tooth Fairy came and went, and now he's checking his other teeth for wobblies - the Tooth Fairy is a lucrative deal.

It dawned on me today how big my boy is growing. He'll be seven before too long, which means I've been a mama for just as long.

There's the revelation that old people are right. The older you get, the quicker the time seems to pass. I can remember clutching that newborn to my chest after two hours of pushing.

A Snapshot: We're Here. Now.

Sometimes I forget to report back on stuff. And things.

Like how months and months ago I wrote about the Doctor battling with case after case of tonsillitis. And how I was determined to not let him have surgery if I could help it. After visiting a cache of different GPs - and most were not interested in finding the root cause of the problem.

 Of course I am not so bonkers that I wouldn't book him in to have his tonsils removed  if he had to, but I am someone who is determined to investigate alternate options. I clearly remember having surgery under general anaesthetic when I was just five, and that awful murky feeling that follows. Of course - that surgery - was unavoidable - and I am so gratedul my parents had my wonky eye fixed way back when.

And so research we did.

He's now been visiting the world's most rad osteopath, Jamie, for about five months.

Since he began going to see Jamie, guess how many times he's had tonsillitis?

Zero. Zilch. Nada. None. He hasn't had tonsillitis since.

This is brilliant in my book.

This last month he's lost a tooth too - a big one, one of the top front teeth. There was great excitement when the Tooth Fairy visited.  

Other than that, life is peachy.

Lego Land

The Doctor and I were having a chat. He was telling me what he was going to do when he was older.

He told me after he finishes school he's going to go straight to Lego Land (aka Denmark) and work in Lego Land. Then he's going to go to university in Lego Land.

I told him I'd miss him. He responded with: "I'll come back in the holidays and guess who I will visit?"

"Who?"

"YOU! And I'll even come back for your funeral. And for Dad's too." (Then he said, "Don't talk about it, it makes me sad.)

Phew. Glad we got that organised now.

image of the Doctor and I, in what he'd classify "happier times"

When The Chips Are Down

I'd like to just fast-forward straight to the weekend if I may. I'm sure no one would protest?

This is one of those weeks when Mamas should be paid danger money (for all the stinky nap-naps, snotty noses, late nights, co-sleeping with legs askew and just plain gross things we have to do). I'm sick of this week and am saying so long suckaz to it.

If I had to come up with a highlight I'd be totes scraping the barrel at saying I've really enjoyed the discount on Lindt chocolate at my local IGA ($2.99 a block -yeeehaaaw!). I mean, if that's the best this week has to offer, then something's definitely wrong.

So in a bid to oust the sickness, boring-ness, and just plain fuddiness, the Doctor, Tiny and I visited the nursery to bring a little green into our grey-ness.

I've been blatantly snaffling cuttings of neighbour's geraniums (a la Cath at Chunky Chooky). I know geraniums are not for everyone, but when I think of Paris, I think of looking up at those high apartments with the flower pots in the windows, with colour oozing out. And that's what I want in our home. Except we're not in Paris. And we're not living in an apartment.

So I've doused the stems in hormone powder and bunged them in a pot. This is a no-brainer. A confidence builder.

The Doctor and I also bought some cherry tomatoes. My Mum told me that they were pretty simple to grow, so we're having a go at those too. And some basil. Anyone for some bruschetta in a few months?

Kids, They Just Don't Give A Damn

One minute they're a wee little bean in your belly. A kick under your ribs. A kitten meow, then a wah in the darkness. Three hourly feeds, a part of you. Next thing they're wedging their hands, legs, anything under your body in the middle of the night. And then they're off. Not babies anymore. It all just seems so unfair that it happens so darn quickly.