Wednesday, 28 December 2011

Parent, Not Observer

The other week I was in the supermarket - my home away from home - with the Little Dude and Squeaker. I spend an inordinate number of hours in that place. We currently live in a small unit with a small pantry and two small bar fridges for food storage.  Well, one-and-a-half fridges: there are no shelves in one of them and only one freezer compartment works but frosts over within a week.

The pantry also doubles as a crockery cupboard. As a result, we trek into town every other day to load up on victuals. A lot of my insights into how other parents operate come from passing other trolleys in the hideously over lit, retina-destroying aisles of despair and seeing, blearily, how a parent engages their progeny.

Saturday, 17 December 2011

When the Training Wheels Come Off

Did I mention that my kids tag-team me?  Yeah, they do.  Somehow a three-year-old, the Little Dude, and an eight-month-old, Squeaker, have come to a conspiratorial arrangement where they pool their talents to defeat a stronger foe.

I must admit I once had low opinions of children, something like a sack of potatoes with dribble ducts was about as much credit as I would extend them. But then Athena bore me one, a baffling trick of uterine evacuation that she repeated to yet more astonishment.  These little people have smarts in spades.  Not a day has passed that I haven't shaken my head at my naivete. Combining two of them more than doubles their power, like a pack of prowling wolves, the sum is much greater than its parts.

But enough armchair anthropology.

The daily cycle
This morning started around 12:30am.  I was going to bed.  First mistake of the day, and it was still really yesterday.

Monday, 12 December 2011

Hello, world!


Too formal?  What if I told you I am wearing nothing?  Sadly, that would be a lie.  But despite the conspicuously placed boxer shorts, this is me, now bare to the world, wee hours of the morning, unable to sleep and setting myself up for a fall tomorrow.

I am sure the Little Dude and Squeakmonster will eat me alive in the morning demanding food, cuddles, tickling and through all the above, love. These are the ingredients of their daily struggle. Ingredients I must bring to the table a hundred times a day when rested, a thousand when exhausted.

Unexpected commentary from the shampoo: rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat...but it doesn't say when to stop. The curlew outside my window seems to have a bottle too.  The soothing sounds of nature have failed to lull me to sleep.  Again. Yet again.

And don't forget to tune in for the rematch in 24 hours' time.

Perhaps I'll slide into the unused side of the bed. Hopefully my goddess, Athena, doesn't stir.  Hopefully I won't be her curlew.

Hence, we are your actors, introduced in part, for your enjoyment, in this memorably forgettable farce that doesn't have and end.  In life, there is no third act. And if we are lucky, the second act will drag on til eternity.

A double-shot espresso in the morning, methinks. Definitely a double.

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