The Ninja Kangaroos are back...

and this time they are taking no prisoners. Drowning local dogs and harassing friendly dog owners.

I propose that we take them off our National coat of Arms... that will show them!

http://www.smh.com.au/national/rogue-roo-a-fearful-combatant-in-dam-attack-20091124-j91v.html

Doormats have feelings too

I let a swear word fly from my mouth this evening and then stormed into my room slamming the door behind me.

The tooth brushing episode is what started it (at least tonight).

The parenting magazine that I just freshly finished reading seemed to have all the answers for getting a 2 year old's teeth clean. I tried every. single. method in that darn article. It turns out LQ hasn't read the article, though. So despite singing, exclaiming that her teeth were finally clean and were saying "thank you", letting LQ bush my teeth and various other forms of coercion I was still left with a resounding "NO!" from the wet naked child sitting in my bath tub.

With gritted teeth (nicely brushed) I then explained it was time to get out of the bath.

"NO!"
"You can watch Mickey Mouse while you are getting dressed"
"NO!"
"Ok. Time to get out. Bye-bye bath."
"No, No, No"
"One, Two, Three"

And we are out. Out but not down. LQ struggled against the towel wrapping. She thumbed her nose at me when I warned her not to run on the tiles with wet feet.

The swear finally surfaced after LQ spent a few minutes writhing on the floor as I attempted what seemed like an impossible task - clothing a kangaroo on crack.


In my room I pondered on the complexities of my relationship with my daughter. When did I stop being the assertive but loving disciplinarian and start being LQ's doormat?

Does it get any better? From what I have seen there isn't much hope of ever regaining control. My struggles with LQ, it would seem, have only just begun. (Cue music "It's only just begun").

But as I delved deeper into the whys of my reaction this evening, I knew it wasn't only LQ that I have been fighting. I have been fighting and losing to an ever decreasing sense of self. I have been fighting against that last shred of who I once was completely being drowned by the barrage of "NO's" that I get daily.

Who is this woman who only a month ago thought she had it all figured out? Why is this new version of me letting a 2 year old get to me so easily AND walk all over me? Did I really sign up for THIS?

Will I lose my identity completely if more children come along? I don't want to completely lose my self and come out the other end of this child rearing stage of life with a bewildered look and vacant stare. How do I find the balance that is right for me?

AND when I am at the very end of my tether and wanting to do anything but touch and hold my child lovingly, how do I still find joy in motherhood and divinity in my role as mother?

Dal once said that he liked when my blog posts were resolved by the end. All wrapped up neatly and ready for another day. But this time I don't have a resolution. All I have is a mothers fragile psyche and a wedge shoe ready to throw at the next person who dares to walk through the bedroom door.


Note: Dal WAS there helping out where he could and when I lost it he completely took over. Had I been a single mum, LQ would still be running around naked sipping on an energy drink.

Because I love her

This a few pictures I recently took of LQ.

I tried to take photos with particular themes; thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. But she wouldn't have a bar of it. I ended up taking photos of myself - not pretty at all.

After watching me have so much fun take pictures of myself, LQ let me take a few of her waiting on the stairs.







And then there's this one. I was playing around with the lighting in the house so I could get the shadow on the side of her face.

A public service announcement.

I used to have a sense of humour.

I think I may have lost it during the great 'quake of LQ back in 2007. I'll let you know if it ever comes back. In the mean time, I'll put you to sleep with my tales of reupholstering chairs and how truly unfit I really am.

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I have found a place just around the corner from where we live - ok, maybe a little further than just around the corner, but still... - that is almost as grand and entertaining as Disneyland.

Really, it is amazing. When mum suggested I visit the "Tip" shop I balked. I wasn't about to buy my dining table at a place that regularly trawls the garbage for their stock! But mum was in charge of the car, so that's where we started our search for the second hand dining table of my dreams. And that's where it ended.

LQ and I try to go at least once a week to pick up something that we may "need". Last week I went to buy some paint. White paint for $2 and then standing there amongst the dust and the light was MY chair. One I have been coveting on every other design blog for the most part of a year. A quick scan determined there was no price attached. A brief chat with one of the ladies and it was mine for $30. I could have left it how it was because the fabric did in fact match the colour scheme of LQ's soon to be redone room, but I had other plans for it.

and now, here it is in all it's reupholstered glory. I bought the fabric from Spotlight for $6 a metre. It was on sale because it is no longer winter here and this, my dear friends, was winter fabric. Yippee Skippee!

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My body is falling apart.

Not in any sick leprous way. In a "I'm a gimpy walking old lady with too many sore muscles to care about life" kind of way.

I am only 28 years old for heavens sake! What happened to easing into my pain ridden years? For two whole months I have had lower back pain that has now crept down my left leg.

Does anyone have a diagnosis for me? I have an unreasonable dislike of visiting doctors... they scare me with all the judging they do. I went to the doctor about my back pain 3 weeks ago. To determine the source of the pain Doctor Old Jerk started pressing on my lower back... right where my soft and squishy love handles are.

Doctor Old Jerk: "What's this?" pressing more on the squishiness than the back. I think he may have liked squishing my back fat, just as much as I enjoy squishing playdough.

Doctor Old Jerk: "Well you are overweight. Just don't gain anymore weight."
Me: "Oh ok." It's like I enjoy walking around feeling like that fat elfin santa.

I have decided it is because I am unfit. So I am looking for motivation to move my butt in a sort of routine that will slowly melt away my tummy fat. Any suggestions? And please don't tell me to "just start doing it" because I've already tried that. That sort of motivation doesn't work for me.

I am almost nearly certain that I think I might just maybe try it

It has been weighing on my mind for a while now.

Everyone else is doing it.

I see the great results from putting every ounce of your being into getting it right.

But potty training just downright scares me.

The art of procrastination has become carefully honed as I try to avoid what will happen eventually. I stall saying that I don't have enough information about it yet. I stall by avoiding the "big girl underpants" section. I stall if given a flicker of evidence that I should wait a little longer.

The facts remain and the facts all point to the same thing. LQ warns me of her impending poo. She demands that I change her nappy when the wetness makes her uncomfortable. She is pulling down her pants quite regularly now. If I was any sort of mother I would be a bit concerned about that last one, particularly when it goes hand in hand with her shirt lifting.

I quite clearly need procrastination tips from DeNae because despite all my fussing around doing nothing we now have E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G needed to become a BIG GIRL. My heart and stomach were switching places when we decided on the Dora Big Girl Undies.

I must remind LQ tomorrow that it is NOT ok to flash your Dora Big Girl Undies to people. I am sure I don't know where she gets this exhibitionism from.



I am scared

Paint Pots and Candy Corn

My creative juices (and internet searching skills) were flowing the past two weeks. Here is some of what I did.

I used these paint pots that I made myself at the Halloween Party. A quick tutorial is below.


This is my candy bouquet


I made the lollipops myself. I got the idea from Martha Stewart.




I also made the candy corn. I guess you could tell when you saw the colours in the wrong sequence. Oh well... nobody was any the wiser at the party - until I told them. I got the recipe from here. The recipe doesn't mention any candy temperatures. I was kind of guessing at the temps and if I do it again (not likely, it's very time consuming) I would boil the mixture to soft ball temperature.



Ok. Here's my paint pot tutorial.

Wash as many coke cans as you will need. I also took off the little ring pulls.

Grab some black poster paint.


Paint TWO coats of black poster pain on to the sloped part of the coke can. I used smaller coke cans (250 mL). Let the first coat dry before applying the second coat or you are going to have streaks of red showing through.


Measure the height of the straight part of the coke can - from edge of slope down to where the red and silver meet at the bottom. My measurements were precisely 67mm. I then took a burnt orange A4 piece of cardstock and cut a rectangle 67mm wide with the length of the A4 paper. Having the rectangle the length of the A4 paper means it will double around when you glue it to the coke can, but I was too lazy to trim it and I don't think it looked any worse for it.

P.S. Glue the rectangles to the painted coke cans.

Print out some labels and glue to the paint pots.


And there you have it. Easy paint pots that you can just dispose of once you are finished with them. I am thinking of making some for LQ to use here at home. I probably wont spend much time prettying them, though.

I was going to cut out some carved pumpkin faces to glue on other cans like these, but just didn't get enough time to do it.

Australian Halloween

We aren't as practiced in the art of Halloween down here in Australia. We do, however, have a few half American children down here in Hobart who need to be taught in the ways of the Americas. So we put together a Halloween party.

I was late (because I couldn't find the park!), but still had enough to set up the activities that I had planned - Halloween cookie decorating and wand making. Just none of my decorations!

The wand making station - I'll tell you how to make those cute little paint pots in another post.
All I can say is... it's a good thing we drink so much Coca Cola at our house.


The most gorgeous butterfly working meticulously at making her wand the prettiest.



Dora had so much fun her costume ended up being replaced. It had too much "fun" all over it.



Concentrating on making the best Harry Potter wand.


An Alien Baby....


with his Alien spaceship (he forgot his antennae after he landed)


Before her 50 wands, Nurse Bibby managed to decorate a number of cookies. This girl is a MACHINE!


No words... well, except "I want to eat those cheeks!"


We told the motley crew they wouldn't get any candy until they stood and endured a few photos. I notice though, that there are a few children missing from this group. This is the best photo I could get. Notice LQ - I am certain she would have done well in pictures taken in the late 1800's.


The Trick or Treat Hunt. LQ managed to bypass all the candy and picked up six party blowers. Uh, sorry everyone else.


TWO!!


Is B saying something really exciting to N? or is N just acting excited?


My little Tink on a slide


I have decided that that may be enough pictures for one post and will show you my cooking brilliance in the next post.

One mother's zit...

I have a nice juicy pimple sitting right underneath my nose. It is a hurty one, so I have resisted all urges to squeeze and let it be.

I have a daughter. A daughter who has found GREAT delight in pointing out the well cultivated pimple below my nose.

All day she has pointed, laughed hysterically while shouting with glee "NOSE!!!"

I am taking a guess that this wont be the last time LQ makes fun of me.

Granny Jules

My lower back is collapsing in on itself. It has become progressively worse over the last 4 weeks and today I am almost completely incapacitated.

This means two things. LQ gets run of the house (lots of cartoons, crackers and plenty of old floor food) and I am jacked up on painkillers.

While the cartoons play and LQ kicks whatever she feels like kicking, I have been looking through old photos (going back to 2004 - really old) on our external hard drive.

One particular photo I really wanted to show you is of me and my mother-in-law. I am not sure if I have any other ones quite like it. This one makes me want to tell you all about my wonderful mother-in-law.



The first time I met Granny Jules (who wasn't Granny Jules until some time later) she was wearing a very loud, very garish sequined vest. Her mother had been given the task of picking Dal and his mystery girl up from the airport and delivering us straight to the house. So as we walked through the garage into the house we were greeted by a brightly coloured and very busy Granny Jules. She was on her way to join some other garishly dressed gals to sing to a bunch of old people. She gave me a big hug and such a warm smile that I figured I must have done something really good in a previous life if I got to marry into this kind of family. Not that marriage was on the cards at that point in time. Or was it?

Granny Jules is a beautiful singer. LQ has a lullaby CD filled with Granny Jules singing just to her (sort of).

Dal's family are a group of quick-witted bright people who all seem to talk at a mile a minute. But Granny Jules is always happy to listen to whatever I say as I slow down the pace of the conversation. I never feel as though I have said something stupid (except one time... and I really did say something stupid, so it was totally my fault. I made myself feel stupid). I adore listening to Dal and his mom talk to each other. They seem to never lack in interesting conversation.

Granny Jules has very high standards and morals. I think this may be one of the reasons she has such wonderful children. Despite her love for the Twilight series, it seemed that once they started to become a little shady in the moral arena, she didn't think twice about putting them down. She is uncompromising on her standards even when her sons give her a ribbing for it. And I so dearly admire her for it.

From the moment I met Granny Jules she has made me feel loved and at ease within her family. I love that I got so lucky with getting such great in-laws, especially Granny Jules.

My Flapper Princess

I haven't given much of an update on what LQ has been doing recently and so I am here to amend that.

She has turned into such a beautiful little girl with very strong opinions on certain things.

• Her favourite foods are olives and cheese. She LOVES, LOVES, LOVES eating any kind of olive (kalamata, black spanish, green, etc). The olive fetish started well before November last year when we went to a friends house for dinner. As is customary, LQ refused to eat any of the lovely dish (enchiladas) that had been prepared so in a frustrated bid to have her eat anything I threw some olives on her plate. She's been sucking them down ever since.

• LQ is very sensitive to any kind of spillage. If her drink spills on the table she will point at it while making a whiny half cry until someone (mummy) wipes it up. Things get a little crazy at nursery when every other child is tipping their drink out on to the table just for fun. She stands quite firmly in spot and says "Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!". I am not sure whether I should be concerned about this. Dal, Hel and Bel went to a friend's house for dinner and to play the other evening. They decided it would be fun to play with some gloop (cornflour and water). LQ just stood there looking at the other children (and me) stick their hands in the gloop and just generally get messy. She couldn't understand how we could derive any pleasure from getting our hands all messy.

• I have to admit, her aversion to mess may be my fault.

• LQ is very good at doing puzzles all by herself. Although she would prefer if mummy or daddy did them with her.

• She loves to take a bath when mummy has a shower in the morning. This means I have to carefully plan when I have my shower now. No more rushed showers before we go out. LQ likes bubbles, but not on her face. She is getting better at laying down in the water to rinse her hair out. She knows that if she doesn't lay down then mummy pours water all over her head and face and LQ doesn't like that.

• LQ still has a pacifier to help her go to sleep and on the rare occasion that mummy lays down with her LQ will shove one of her "bit bit's" in mummy's mouth.

• LQ enjoys seeing grandma and grandpa and will ask for them as soon as she knows we are going to church (we go to the same ward).

• Daddy and LQ love being silly together and when daddy gets particularly silly (like shoving things up his nose) she gets a beautiful belly laugh that is quite contagious. We love taking daddy to work and sometimes we get to see him at work. LQ LOVES the "chairs" that are at daddy's work and squeals with delight whenever she sees them.

• Bunny Bear is her favourite stuffed toy. He is constantly undressed, redressed and put in nappies.

• LQ had a haircut the other day. I was a bit concerned as to how it would go as she HATES me touching her hair. Of course if it's for anyone else she will be a dream about it. Which happened at the hairdresser, too. We even got to give LQ some layers!

That's all about LQ for the moment. I will return to my usual crappy posts soon!

Fat Babies

Dal's brother and wife just had their first child.

Ten pounds and 3 ounces. Ummmm.... OUCH?!

Dal's brother posted photos on facebook for those of us who are maybe in a different part of the world or couldn't be bothered to see the real deal.

The comments have already started:


"Dang! That's a big boy"

several more comments about how big he is.

"I hope Amy had the epidural she was planning" (I couldn't help but say something)

"He's going to surpass my eight month old in weight soon"


All of these comments are of course said with no malice whatsoever, but it reminded me of a time before LQ was walking (and even a little bit after).

Although born at a measly six pound 11 ounces LQ quickly worked her way up the buddha ladder . She didn't quite make it to complete buddha status, but if I had a guess I would say she was at least buddha's apprentice. Her insistence on being bald for so long didn't help one bit.

Her chubbiness (chubby - the word used to describe fat babies) solicited many comments not unlike the ones her cousin is now getting.



"Wow, she must like her food!"

"You must have GOOOD breast milk" (excuse me? does it look like I want to talk about the milk that is causing me so much pain?)

"She's big for her age. How old is she?"

"Isn't she a healthy looking baby" - I have since learned that the word healthy is only used to describe babies when they look fat.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" (ok... I just put that one in because I like being asked that question when all the poor kid owns is pink clothing. Figure it out yourself dumb bum)

"She is such a bonny baby" (This one is my favourite. Because I haven't heard anyone else use the word bonny except for our dear friend Gran Denny - Loves to you Gran Denny!)



I never knew there were so many ways to comment on the fatness of one's baby. Do you think that if I used these phrases when I next meet a really fat person they wouldn't be offended?

"Good grief! You ARE big for your age!"

I can see my future and I think I am being sat on by a really big lady.

Aaaaaages

me (grooving along to a music cable channel): Ooooh! I haven't heard this song in AAAAAGES!

Dal acknowledges that he's heard me and continues staring at the television. He's possibly in a lack-of-LQ induced haze brought on by too many hours of sleep and movie watching.

me (still grooving while I put on my face): Oh wow, I love this song. I haven't heard it in ages!

Dal picks his ear.

me (standing stock still as Prince mesmerises me with his moves): Isn't his video just mesmerising? I haven't heard this song in ages!

Dal: Prince is a MAN.

me (searching the hotel room for some jellybeans. Still grooving): Oh goody! I haven't heard this song in AGES!

Dal waggles his bottom at me.

me: Good grief this is an oldie. I haven't heard this song--

then it hits me. I haven't heard ANY song in AGES. I am a mother of a 2 year old. I had better quit saying it before Dal does more than waggle his bottom at me.

going to Hel...

I have had plenty of nicknames in my time. Just to name the ones I remember:

Chark
Twinkle Toes
Cluffy
Cluffy's Sister
Helga
Helgs
Hel Bel
Hels Bells

I am sure you are getting the picture. That top one there... that's my dad's name for me. He has called me Chark from before my memories even begin. Just like going through phases of grief, I have gone through phases of owning that nickname.

First I owned it. It was MY name and there was nothing wrong with it at all. As I grew and became more aware of others, I realised that the name "Chark" didn't fall into the normal category of names. It was something to be ashamed of. I secretly prayed that dad would not call me by my nickname in front of my school friends. If the subject of nicknames came up, I would lower my head and if called upon to give my name I would mutter that I didn't have one.

Highschool brought with it a feeling of less embarrassment and more pride. I still didn't want the name to be divulged to anyone unless it was on my terms but I was more willing to tell others my unusual name.

Now in my old age and wisdom I am able to own it again. It is not often that I hear it, but when dad calls after me "see you later, chark" I feel a certain warmth and fondness.

My current nickname that I use online is more of a mistake than anything else. I named our blog Dal, Hel and Bel because I thought it sounded cute. As a default Blogger decided to give me the same nickame - Dal, Hel & Bel. In my blogging ignorance I didn't change it. I didn't realise I could have a different nickname. Until someone mentioned that she didn't know whether she should call me Dal, Hel or Bel or Hels Bels. In a panic I deleted the Dal and Bel and I became Hel.

I have been called Hel many times before in my life and I have to admit it doesn't bother me so much. But now having American in-laws and friends has made me aware the if I added another 'L' to my nickname I would be offending at least half of them on a regular basis.

Every time I post a comment and the comment box asks for my name, I hold my breath, type those three little letters and say a little prayer in the hopes that no one will take me to task on my name. I use it because people (all three of you) recognise that nickname.

So in the interest of less offending names, if I were to change my nickname what do you think is a good name? (please note I said LESS offensive!)

stepping out of my corner

I was reading Heather at the EO's post. She told me to head over to Elizabeth Esther's blog and join in with the Saturday Evening Blog Post.

I am not usually one to join in with blogging social events, just because I like my little dark blog corner and I am content and comfortable with how things are. But this particular post is suggesting I link to my favourite post of September. I actually HAVE a favourite post this month, so I thought I would give it a go.

Click here if you want to see my favourite post. And go on over to Elizabeth Esther's blog if you have a favourite post and want to share it with random people.

thinking it over

I think a lot.

I think while I am shaving my legs. I think while I lay in bed waiting for sleep to take over. I think as I am doing the business that should be private but never is once you have children. I am prone to interrupting my daily routine to blankly stare into nothing while I think.

I may stare at a wall envisioning the grandeur of a project that may never leave the dark recesses of my mind. My eyes may be closed in an effort to lull my body to sleep but my thoughts reveal in great detail grand designs. Dal is barraged with life's deep questions at the very moment he slides from awake to semi-consciousness. Many tasks that are started go by the wayside as I think of more efficient ways of doing them. Often I will think in blog posts. My laundry is no longer a chore but a very interesting post about separating colours. The image in the mirror is not seen while I brush my teeth and talk of many subjects that are important to me.

But put me in front of a computer with my blogger dashboard on the screen and you could hear your own echo bounce around my skull. I sit and struggle with my lack of thoughts, willing those ideas that were once plentiful to poke their heads around the corner and just give me a hello.

I sit still, wanting you to know that I think of important issues ALL. THE. TIME. I need you to know that I have an opinion on politics. I am willing to share my insights with you, but they are never there when I need them. My views on religion are beautiful and simple. I take my thoughts on motherhood quite seriously.

And yet, whenever I have these thoughts I am never quite in a position to tell them to you. And like the bubble floating through the air and popping, so do my thoughts and ideas. Although unlike bubbles they usually come back to haunt me as soon as I close the laptop.

So instead of grand ideas, spiritual thoughts and deep philosophies, I give you....

my naked child.

And then I poke fun at her (she ran around the basement after this photo, trying to avoid being clothed). And I like it. Because although I would like you to think that I have a brain, I don't really. And naked photos make me giggle.