Tiny Style Tips:: Moody Judy

On the odd (very odd) occasion, Tiny let's me style her outfit. We pretend I'm a fatter, less blonde, less orange version of Rachel Zoe sans cameraman and paparazzi following my every move. But no matter. Off I go.

This was her second outfit for today, Matt having prepped the first, had his selection wee'd on, then stripped immediately and tossed onto the floor. How's that for rejection?

And so it was that today was truly blessed. Tiny let me at her wardrobe, and to put her into some pieces she rarely ever wears. Halleluljah!

Like the little pink cords. Like the little vintage cardi that the Doctor used to wear. Man I love that cardi. My love knows no bounds when it comes to that cardi. I'd wear it if I was Rachel Zoe's size. And the piece de resistance - the scarf. Tres chic.

But what I didn't style was:

- the poses;

- the tantrum that took place at the park, where Tiny lay on the ground screeching for what felt like forever;

- the beserko that happened when Matt tried to put her pyjamas on (on her, not him)

Tiny's Top Style Tips:

- don't be afraid to accessorise - pink does not stink!

- pose with your brother! Don't be shy! And work that leg to make it longer! (and like you've just come back from holidays in Florida)

Life With A Small Feral Beast

In the immortal words of Katy Perry, she's hot then she's cold, she's yes then she's no, she's up then she's down, (and I'll ad lib the rest) she's cranky then she's happy, she's hungry then she's not. She's charming then she's feral, she's on the floor limbs flailing, then curled up playing cubby houses, she likes Barbie then she doesn't, she wants to cuddle, then she's in attack-mode, she's sleepy then she's wide awake.

The Tale of The Tantrum

Tiny is in a whirlwind of tantrums. It's not that she's themed herself for Halloween, it's just that she's in the mood to be feral. Really, really feral.

It's. Zapping. My. Will. To. Live.

I feel treacherous and like a big traitor, but I have to tell you, I can't cope with the constancy of the curdling screams.

And if I say something a little terse to her, she instantly cries "Daddy, daddy", or vice versa. It's doing my head in.

I need a lobotomy or a bottle in front of me.

If only someone could tell me how long this is going to last because it feels like it's going to be forever and it's playing with me.

I think it's the sleep deprivation coupled with acute (not cute) feralness. She comes into our bed around 2am, and I am so tired I just can't take her back, and have fallen into an ugly rut of bad sleep. It's messing with me. I'm in a really bad mood. I don't want to hang tough with anyone. In the words of Greta Garbo - I want to be alone.

I don't know where that image is from. Too tired. Sorry.

Thursday. And It Goes All Day.

Right now at PMM HQ Tiny is being feisty. And loud. And a little bit cross. Actually, really cross. On Monday we were at a cafe. A couple moved away from their table, very quickly, with their glasses and cutlery in hand when Tiny started bellowing.

Usually it doesn't worry me. I can ride it out. But that day I got a bit teary and wanted to disappear.

I am hoping that when she turns three in December she'll magically be out of the terrible twos. David Copperfield can be my homeboy if it happens.

But right now, she's acting as the ultimate contraceptive.

Life Buoys? SOS!

Seriously kids, Tiny is completing doing my head in, flipping flap jacks with my brain, making risotto with my mind, turning my intelligence to squid soup.

First we started off with another 12:30am call out. This time Matt had fallen fast asleep so it was me to fend for myself. Darn it. That Tiny sure knows how to screech.

And this morning she rose at the very novel time of 8:30am. Novel for her. Nightmare for the Doctor and I who were attempting to leave the house at 9am sharp.

Thankfully I had to be elsewhere but a babysitter was coming to look after Tiny.

30 minutes after I had left Tiny with the babysitter I receive a text message saying: She's having a massive tantrum. She won't stop crying.

Hey lady - I'm paying YOU to deal with the tantrums. YOU deal with it. Ok not really, but I what am I going to do when I am on the opposite side of the city?

And so it is, tonight, after two million tantrums and the subsequent realisation that the terrible twos really do exist, and they are alive, and very, very well, I find myself perusing photos of Tiny when she was really tiny and only had eyes for her mama. And wasn't scaling the side of her cot. And head butting the floor. And scratching my face. And screeching 'not yours' at me.

Tired? You bet your bottom bippy.

PS - that photo down there is NOT me with a goat. We don't have a goat (and I don't own any scrunchies - PHEW!), but we do have a psycho rabbit.

Parenting An Almost Two Year Old

This is what my almost two year old's breakfast looked like at our house today.

I served Tiny her breakfast in one of my very favourite 'Tres Bon' New Zealand made vintage bowls. Big mistake. She walked over - tipped out the contents. I raced over to rescue the bowl, but before I could get there, she really did toss it on the ground and ker-smasho.

This has pretty well set the scene for the rest of our morning.

I thought the terrible twos were an urban myth. A horrible urban myth. The Doctor never went through them. But apparently Tiny is here to set the record straight. The terrible twos are a no-good-horrible-very-bad-very-real-ugly-hard-to-live-with-terrible-awful-insidious-honest-to-goodness truth. As further testament I have no hair after pulling it out.

The end.

Hear Me Breathe

This year's shaping up for a super fun Christmas. The Doctor grasps the excitement, he keeps getting me to re-write his Christmas list. Each time it's longer and longer, to the point I had to interject the other day and say "whoa, this list is huge, I don't think Santa's going to be able to bring you all of this, I don't think it will fit in his Santa sack." Quick thinker that he is, the Doctor responded, "Well Mummy, I have a great idea, we'll get Santa some new bags so he can!"

How can you trump that?

Needless to say, I think the simpler the gifts for my little ones, the better.

I've almost finished the shopping. The Doctor accompanies me to most places which makes 'Santa' shopping VERY tricky. And further to this, it's as though K-Rudd has been in his ear, single-handedly the Doctor is doing his best to restore the economy by forcing me to buy random things or he'll mutiny. Kinder Surprises come in handy, yes?

Anyway, this weekend we continued our crazed Christmas crafting. While I did this tree (which I know is a wee bit wonky), the Doctor threaded pom poms with a very sharp needle. And I have to say, the little dude Loved it. Capital L intended.

The little felt Christmas tree was an idea I saw on The Black Apple a year ago. It's been in the back of my head since then, and well, I bought all the stuff, the foam tree however met with the Doctor's teeth and he bit the top off. Hence, no felty Christmas tree. Until now. It's got lumps and bumps in all the wrong places, but don't we all?

Before I blow a gasket and feel like Christmas is spinning me 'round on my head, hear me breathe. Calmly too.