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.