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. ************************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.******************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. ************************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. ************************This makes me think I have bad breath. I hate bad breath. Moving forward I will not breath on anyone.
Have you ever read Francesa Simon's Horrid Henry books? Well. Maybe not you, but your kids?They are very, very good. The Doctor adores them. They are funny, and clever - and just what little people like. Humour that's totally read-able, a little bit of mischief and a few illustrations tossed in. But did you know they made a film of Horrid Henry? Just like the books, it is super good - and stars the ever-beautiful Angelica Huston, the cerebral and stylish Richard E. Grant. It's a great film - and Tiny loves it (she's four), just as the Doctor does (he's seven) just as Matt and I both do (we're in our 30s). The good news is I have a Horrid Henry giveaway. One that's perfect for the Winter school holidays.There will be two winners. One winner will receive the Horrid Henry DVD and a hard cover activity book. The runner up will receive one copy of the HH DVD.All you have to do to enter is tell me in 25 words or less (and I am strict so I don't get into trouble with the law):What was so horrid about you when you were small?---------------------------------Open to Australian residents onlyEntries are open from Saturday 30th June 2012 - winners will be announced on the PottyMouthMama Facebook page on Wednesday 4th July 2012.You must be easily contactable.There will be no disputes, no arguing and strictly no haggling over the winners.PottyMouthMama is the judge of all entries.PS - I love you.
The other day Tiny asked me to read her a book. I agreed. Then she brought this out to me.
I spent some time in the garden yesterday. Actually a lot of time. With secateurs in hand. The reason for this spate of Gardening Australia? I had to find the water meter for the water meter reader man. Do you think I found it? Nope. Despite hacking into everything - and being completely disgusted with the weeds that think it's ok to procreate in my garden. I still have not found the meter.
However I did find my inner gardener, my inner Peter Cundal. It was sprinkling and cold and yet - I was stalwart and continued hacking into those overgrown bushes (not that bush, manners, please). I must be channeling my mum. And my grandmother. Both keen gardeners. Now there are piles of clippings all over our garden. And nowhere to put them. Novice fail.
It was good to do physical work - to feel the physical tiredness, and see tangible results.
In other ground breaking news Tiny went back to preschool today - and I got to spend some time with her and her classmates, decorating picture plates. Boy it was funny, I was chuffed to spend time there, and today was a triumph. Tiny wore jeans. Crumbs. She gave me a cute attack.
Tonight Tiny told me she wanted to climb onto my back and never hop off, no matter what, she'd just ride up there on my back - and never-ever- everlet me go, then she would yell: "this is paradise". Chris Martin has been brainwashing her.
Sigur Ros. This is beautiful. A good reason for me to move to Iceland. Good music and crazy knits.
Tomorrow, on ANZAC day, we're planning to head into the city. I enjoy seeing the diggers, waving, acknowledging them. I'd like to take the smalls to see that, with rosemary pinned on.
Tiny is putting me through my paces these last couple of weeks. That little innocent face? Yes. That little person, hamming it up for the cameras, has been a complete and utter whirlwind of mischief. First stop - weeing on the Doctor's bed in the morning.When asked why she did this - her response:"I couldn't see the toilet."Second stop - a number two not in the loo - in the bathtub, together with a bath towel and a bath mat. The girl is gross. She did not even deny this.Third stop on this whistle stop tour of havoc - this time - a jolly big wee on her bed.And today friends, I went to pick the Doctor up from school - I pulled the scooters out of the boot because I thought - what the hey - it will be fun! Tiny rode her scooter all of 1 metre, then threw herself on the ground and chucked an almighty wobbly. Almighty in the sense that every other parent who walked past gave me that knowing look, and I almost listed her on eBay. Yes. That kind of almighty look.At home she's been turning her bedroom into a librarian's nightmare by tossing all her books all over the floor. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. Together with a nice mix of clean and worn clothes. I've given up assessing whether the clothes need washing or not, fold half of them and toss the others into the wash. Then there's the kamikaze attacks on the Doctor. I arrived home from work last week to find the Doctor sporting a hefty bite mark on his cheek. Seriously?And on a separate day, the smalls were in the bath, I walked in to find the Doctor completely covered in scratch marks, and Tiny reclining at the other end of the bath. They now have separate baths because they fight too much.What is going on with Tiny? Do I need an intervention? Or just a holiday?
Yesterday my darling Tiny turned four. I guess she's not Tiny anymore, but she will always be my wee babe. She swam into this world, a baby mermaid, four years ago. We enjoyed the day home together. I took the day off - last year I was at work - and it pained me greatly to be away from her on her birthday. So we hung out yesterday. Ate a lazy breakfast. I took the Doctor to school for his last day of Kindergarten. We went out for morning tea. Perused a bookshop. And ended the day by going to our local Chinese restaurant - just the four of us. We came home, and because of my 'Je suis la fatigue' (Dad, that was for you), I hadn't mustered the energy to make a cake. Sorry Tiny.But we did have a Freddo icecream cake and the smalls had a hoot finding Freddo heads, managing to go through three rounds of cake before I said 'Enough my little friends!'. Today I will make up for my non-cake baking by making her: a pink, and purple, and blue cake - by popular demand. My stomach is turning at the idea of all that food colouring.
To my wee babe - I'm ever grateful that you're in our lives. You are funny, clever, cuddly, smart and oh-so-cute. You're a dancer, a mermaid, a puppy, a catty, a princess - you are the bomb Tiny. I loved one, two and three, and I know four is going to be super.
This is Tiny. This is Tiny running ridiculously late for preschool. This is Tiny after staying up half the night, sleeping in 'til 8:20am, being hurried through breakfast, wearing all purple and veto-ing any other footwear other than her trusty yellow gumboots - yes they will be the best choice of footwear on a sweltering summer day. This is Tiny who somehow, despite running late, manages to somehow negotiate a fresh pain au chocolat from the French boulangerie, sitting on bench with her mama, sucking in a few extra moments before heading off to preschool. This is Tiny.
