Credit

My 3 month old starting sleeping through the night from when she was 6 weeks old.

Did you just think, "How lucky of you to have such a good baby" ? That's the response I always get. And it annoys me. Yes, this baby actually is really good. She has a calm and chilled-out nature. She's alert and very responsive to human interaction. But that's not why she sleeps so well.

She has been put on a strict routine of sleeping, feeding and wake times since she was 1 week old. This has involved waking her up at times when I just wanted to let her sleep, and putting her down while awake (she, not I) to settle herself to sleep (translation: cry). The long term (ie lifelong) goal is to stabilise her hunger and sleeping habits. The short term effect is that she sleeps through the night from what seems to many to be an impossibly early age.

So while I agree that this wee bundle of joy is indeed a good baby, please note that the more important factor is that she and I have worked very hard for this result. Three kids on, it's still heart wrenching to listen to your baby learn to settle themselves to sleep. It was more than "luck", and more than having a "good baby". Give me some credit man!

Rant over.

PS. I'm always happy to give tips on implementing routines to those who ask :)

Ain't nobody got time (School Edition)

My shadow girl has been going to school for a year now. And in that year, I have found out that I am a pretty useless parent as far as "supporting the school" goes.

Before
I dropped the kid off at daycare at 8am sharp, and picked her up at 5:30pm (just). They cooked for her, fed her, changed her, clothed her, educated her and entertained her. I just provided a home for sleeping at night.

Now
I have to make morning tea and lunch for the kid to take. I have to arrange and pay for before-school care and after-school care. I get emails every week from the PTA asking if I want to help with the school disco, the school fair, organising school lunch fundraising or running cake stalls.

No? Then perhaps monitoring the school crossing will tickle your fancy. Or maybe you might like to try your hand at volunteering time to run a lesson for your child's weekly Inquiry day, where you could teach about your culture, your job, or anything else outside the regular curriculum.

Ok, maybe none of those suit. But surely your friends and family will want to purchase an Entertainment Book to support the school? Ok not this week, how about next week? The week after?

ARGH!!! Make. It. Stop.

The first few times I was like, damn, I'm not free, maybe next time. But the truth is, there is no next time. There is just no time. I struggle to stay alive as it is, and ensure my little humans stay alive too. Never mind the damn goldfish (who is only alive by the good grace of God). And the career (hanging on by a thread). Then there's homework, and those "things you can do at home to help your child's education" (like WTF?). So the school committee stuff? Well, it's on the priority list, but kind of squished at the end. (Like when you went to a birthday party when you were young, and only your rich friend brought a present and card, so the rest of your gang added your names at the end of the card and eventually it ran out of space so the last few names were really tiny and kind of running downwards)

So for the good mums and dads at the school who actually contribute to the school with their time and expertise, on behalf of the disorganised, lazy, dazed and confused parents, I say a heartfelt thanks. My kid benefits greatly from the quality of education and care that the school provides as a result of your input.

As for me, I'm gonna continue with my plan of upping my "school donation" to make up for my non-participation. Problem solved.

Hurting hearts

Parenting can be such a mother ...

Like when you try to convince your 5yo that you are not making them wear the big blue jacket because you want them to be fugly, but because you know it will be a cold day and they've got bronchitis and asthma, but all you get in return is defiance ...

Then you discipline them, try to teach them the importance of obedience, the value of the advice of those who love you ...

And they look at you, their big old teary eyes filled with anguish, and say, "My heart hurts, Mummy. My heart hurts because you are angry at me."

Then you hate yourself ...

And you eat two whole packs of kekesaiga to make yourself feel better ...

And you just end up feeling fat, fugs and still a bad mother.

99 Problems

1. Work is out of control busy.

2. I am super lost (i.e. aivalea) at my current work assignment.

3. Having a primary school kid and having to arrange your life around the fact that there is no more full time care for your kid during all your working hours ... it's a new discovery, a new challenge, and my goodness I feel so bad for all you other working parents out there! Let's get together and have a whine-fest (or even better, a wine-fest!)

4. I still haven't won Powerball. Obviously, or problems 1 to 3 would be resolved.

5. Ant is such a boy of a baby. He hasn't given me a smooth complexion, a "glow" or shiny/tamed hair like Lali did. Instead, he has given me a grand appetite for spicy bratwurst, bacon butties, churros and all else that is needed for getting elephantiasis.

6. I work in the middle of Wellington city. You would think that being surrounded by cafes galore it would be easy to find a date scone when you crave one, right? Wrong. I had to walk around in circles, visiting 5 cafes on a rainy morning before I could find one! Not impressed.

7. Our neighbour's visitor parked on the road in such that a way that impeded me from backing out of our driveway the way I wanted to. The hubby wisely volunteered to ask him to move, preventing a mad-preggo-lady altercation and possible charges for destruction of property ( though I would have only removed the rear bumper of his car ... that was part that was poking into our side of the driveway ... )

8. I'm sure I have about 92 or so more gripes on food and fat. Ugh. My sister takes photos from amazing angles that make me look a quarter of the size I am. People see them and say "You look so great! Upload more photos!" No thanks. I will only upload the photos that pass the "Pregnant But In Impossibly Great Shape" criteria. Hence why there aren't many.

9. Looking at Crazy Cakes and Just Desserts Facebook updates is driving me insane with cake cravings. I am refusing to do any baking right now though, because I can see it turning into a slippery slope ... of ganache and whipped cream and buttercream and custard!! Joy.

Two more months. I can do this. Just focus on the prize at the end ... that bowl of oka. Nommmm ...

Bugger it

Winter bugs are going around. In our household's case, it's the second time they have come around this winter.

I hate it when the Shadow is unwell. I hate that helpless feeling I get when I see struggling to breathe through her nose (coz she's a bit anal about having to breathe through her mouth...lol), or getting delirious from a fever, or trying to get that cough muck out of her throat and throwing up everywhere ... and I can't take it away.

And naturally at times I get a bit short of patience (from lack of sleep the night before due to her nonstop coughing...and the fact that I've got the same bug myself). But then I see her knocked out from exhaustion, looking like a little (sick) angel, and I'm ready for the next round.

I melt.

Yes

It has been about a month since my last post. There was no particular reason for the fast...except laziness. That's a valid reason.

Anyway yesterday afternoon, I promised a dedicated blog fan (ha!) to post an entry within 24 hours. I am fast approaching that deadline, and am now where I work best...adrenaline-pumped at the 11th hour, and working (ok, blogging) at twice the speed I usually do. I did seriously contemplate not blogging. But last night at our life group study, one of the Bible verses we studied was about letting your "Yes" mean "Yes". Note to self: Don't say yes.

So taking it slow on my blog return, I'll do one up-one down. One good thing and one bad about the past 4 weeks.

One Up
Our little family - the man, the kid and I - have decided to spend our first Christmas at home by ourselves, instead of travelling to Auckland (to my family) or to Samoa (to the man's family). This was a bit of a down, because we will miss the gigantic extended family gatherings that we're accustomed to, along with a lot of noise, not enough space, and way too much food. Instead, we'll be decorating our home (first time!), planning our own Christmas meals and activities, and possibly starting our own family traditions. It's exciting times. I think what really nails this as an "up" is the massive financial saving. Lol! Time to get our own copy of the Boney M and Mariah Carey Christmas albums. Ooooh yea...

One Down
Two words - toilet training. How on earth do you toilet train a child? What is more confusing is how I don't know the answer to this, being the eldest of 7 children. Anyhow, the kid is now "of age" to be toilet trained, but she's not co-operating. I've asked friends how they did it and they shrug and say "Dunno, daycare trained them." Maybe I should get their daycare to call my kid's daycare, because they have a strange notion that I somehow have to be involved in the whole process. What? Isn't that what I pay you for? It seems not. Now I will have to read articles / books and parenting forums, for tips on toilet training...no, sorry, that PC term is toilet "learning" because it's about the child taking the lead and blah blah snore snore snore. Help.

Big promises to little people

I have learnt a valuable lesson. Do not make promises to your kids in the spur of the moment.

For example: About a month ago, one of the kids at Lyla's daycare celebrated their birthday party by bringing a Kung Fu Panda cake to share. Lyla raved about the cake and then she said "Mummy, when it's my birthday, will you come to my school and have some of my Percy cake?"

Your wada what?

With a big fake smile on, I asked "Who is Percy?". It turns out that Percy the small engine is one of Thomas the Tank Engine's mates. Oh ok then, I thought. How hard can it be to make a Percy cake? That was my first mistake.

So against all my natural inclinations, I tried to be organised about it. First step, Googling this Percy person to see what he looks like. Second step, find a good cake recipe. Thankfully, I "knew" (stalked) a Domestic Goddess over at Sleepless in Samoa, and she gave me her secret ingredient chocolate cake recipe, and it was very good.

Before I could tackle step three, which was practising the decoration side of things, I lost my mojo. And next thing you know, it was the Thursday night before "Percy cake day". I hit the Panic/Turbo button and somehow from somewhere amongst the failed batches of buttercream, self taught piping "skills" and "all those baking spillages" (as my wise husband put it - wise by completely avoiding having anything to do with this Mission Impossible), I managed to produce this result:

Ta dah!
Chocolate cake, with base Betty Crocker choc frosting,
and topped with piped buttercream "graphics"

And even though the cake was finished and I was exhausted, I couldn't even sleep properly because I was so worried of how Lyla the Perfectionist Monkey Queen would critique my cake.

No more promises from this big person to a certain little person.

Me version 1.1

Those who know me and my wee family know that our nearly-three-year-old daughter looks nothing like me. Well, to be more precise, she looks just like her father but she has her mother's eyes (yes, like Harry).

What I didn't give her in terms of physical attributes, I made up for in the personality area. She is a serious, introverted and slightly OCD-like little girl. At the age of 2, she pays a great deal of attention to detail, is a bit of a perfectionist and (as much as I hate to say this) legalistic.

As excited as I am to see myself in this kid, I also hope she doesn't "inherit" my flaws. So of course, like the paranoid creature I am, I have put a few steps in place to help her not have these "issues"

Reptile phobia
I'm sure there must be some kind of scientific name for this, but I hate reptiles, in particular the type that slither and are represented by Voldemort's second-to-last horcrux. Yes, those things-that-shall-not-be-named on this blog. *Shiver*
I let Lyla watch Diego, the Latino animal rescuer, Dora the Explorer's cousin. His show features a lot of these little buggers *ew ew ew*. So when Lyla is happily following Diego's instructions to slither like one-of-them, I try not to spew or faint or run away or turn off the TV. And when she's in the bath and decides to make one-of-those out of her wash cloths ... I don't panic and run from the bathroom screaming. I just die inside.

Fear of bodies of water
Yes, I did grow up on an island. In fact, I lived about 100 metres from the beach. And the drive to school and back every day was along the coast. But I don't like bodies of water, from about the size of a filled laundry basin (getting goosebumps).
So we give Lyla baths at night, and let her spend time alone in there. So far she loves it. She tells herself stories and plays with her bath toys and if I let her have a wash cloth she would sometimes even start scrubbing the bath (oops...not that it's grimey or anything).

Unsportiness
I suck so much at sports I can't even play the video game versions. So every time Lyla brings a ball to me and says she wants to play basketball or soccer or whatever the Bubble Guppies are playing, I happily join in. Never mind that I lack basic knowledge and basic skills, she could be the next best [insert sport with heaps of money to be made] player. I will not be the one who stood in her way.

Fear of heights
Ok, I know what you're thinking, I have a lot of issues and may need professional help. That's not the point, but thanks for your concern (email me any recommendations..ahem).
Lyla loves climbing. At her previous daycare, they identified this very early on, from when she just started learning to walk, and they really encouraged her to climb unaided (koikiki pe lo'u faku the first time I saw her on the jungle gym!). I myself prefer to stand on solid ground (i.e. am scared of heights). Taking her to the playground is such a struggle because it takes everything in me to not hold her completely while she's climbing these ridiculously high and tricky bars / ropes. When she's old enough I'll take her to one of those indoor rock climbing things. She'll love it. Me...not so much.

The list could go on forever, but pretty much the gist of it is that I would like to break the cycle with me. I want her to be like me, but be an even better version of me. With known bugs resolved and some flashy enhancements added - Me v1.1

Sponginess

Toddlers are sponges. The kind of sponge that absorbs only what it is NOT meant to absorb. And then chooses the best time to display their newfound knowledge/skill.

A few new characteristics Lyla showed today (thankfully in the privacy of our home)

Tact
I tried on a hat and asked "Baby, do you think I look good?" She looked at me, looked at the hat, paused, then said "Mummy, I don't like tea." Ha! Changing the subject when she didn't want to tell me that I looked like the cat in the hat's fat aunt. Nicely done. I will take credit for this trait.

Stealth
This photo says it all.

The hand with a mind of its own

Head looking directly at the TV, while hand pokes a hole in the glad wrap and creeps closer to the chocolate cake! So engaged is she in her covert role, that she doesn't notice me taking a photo. She probably (definitely?) got this from me too.

Delusion

I was looking through the Manu FB page and she sat down as well and had a look. This photo came up and I asked her "Do you know who this is?" She nodded. "Yes, it's Daddy!" I could not stop laughing. Now that was definitely NOT from me. No sirree. I hope she doesn't need glasses.


On a side note, anonymous blogging has been enabled. I didn't even realise it was a setting until a superstar wanted to comment as Anon to keep under the radar from the paparazzi.

Two much talk

The two-year-old toddler (or tiger-monkey-queen, as she calls herself) is at that stage where she is constantly learning new words and phrases. How do I know? Because she can't/won't stop talking. When I listen closely, what sound like a streams of gibberish to most (well, to all but me) are actually full sentences with meaning.

Example: On the drive home from work/daycare today, she said, "Mummy, Hengy adasad da donkey donkey I say Hengy a no reezana sked my Daddy say". I replied with, "That's a very good girl". Huh? Well, what she was saying was that Henry [her bestie at daycare] was scared of a DVD they watched called Donkey Donkey, so she told him "There's no reason to be scared" because that's what her Daddy tells her when she's scared.

On one hand, it's great being able to understand pretty much everything she says. As a Samoan raising a child outside Samoa, I'm a bit paranoid about the external influences on her upbringing. In Samoa, parenting is a more of a community activity. There is a more common sense of morals and beliefs, and people are not afraid to (or more like they just can't help but) scold or even physically discipline you even if you are not their child. At the very least, they will no doubt rat on you to your parents if they see you doing something they perceive to be wrong (and all the guilty-as-teens nod). Over here, parenting is a more of individual or couple's task. Sure, there are plenty of courses, books, blogs etc with information galore on the how-to's of parenting, but the actually "doing" comes down to you, the parent.

So getting back on track...I'm trying to encourage my daughter to talk to me, and at this early stage of her life, she does. Oh yea, she doesn't stop. Hopefully the communication channel remains open (and civil...lol) going into her early adolescent years. Especially since smacking has been outlawed in the land of the long white cloud.

But there are times, and there are actually quite a lot of these, when I want her to just stop talking. Like after work, cooking dinner and cleaning up after, I just want to be left alone with my laptop to spend a couple of mind-numbing hours playing Bejeweled. But no, she plops down next to me with one of her books, and says, "Mummy, you broke my book?". There was a little tear in the book cover. In my head I scream "Pleeeaaase, leave me alone!!!" I play my last (pre-smack) card. "Lyla, you tore your book, not I. You need to take responsibility for your actions and not lay the blame on others. That's not right, you must accept your mistakes, and make amends."

The tiger-monkey-queen looked at me. I could see her mind struggling to attach some meaning to the jumble that just came out of my mouth. It takes two seconds for her to accept defeat, clamber down from the couch and say "I go to my room". In my head - "Yaaaaaay!! Woohooo!". I shrug and say "Ok".