Being an adult is like looking both ways for cars...then getting hit by an aeroplane

After getting the itch to start blogging again late last year I intended to get this post up within a week or two, definitely before the end of January. Then January rolled in...& rolled out with February hot on it's tail. Each week I told myself I must to find the time to get re-acqainted back here. Then the days all blended into a blurry haze of summer heat, school holidays, back to school shopping & soaking up every drop of toilet training fails from Clay. 

In the end life just kept on spinning by while we kept up with each day - much like the last 18 months really.

Since that last post (was it really back in 2015!?!) There have been a few changes for us here at House of many Minions. 

- We bought our home. 

- Expanded our family by 4 furry feet. 

- Made plans for the future...then found out lucky number seven was on the way a little earlier than we planned.

- Started homeschooling Jack.

- Welcomed lucky number seven into our family. 

- Bought a camper trailer large enough to accomodate all nine of us (plus the two dogs) for many adventures & spontaneous weekends away.

- Seen Will off to his first year of school. 

- Realised life in the coming future with numerous teens & pre-teens is going to be much like raising over grown toddlers with a talent for food consumption of epic proportions.

It's a bit like when you catch up with a friend you haven't seen in ages & you're asked what has happened since we last caught up...everything & nothing. There's all these big life events thrown in with the spinning of day to day life. You quickly float over the mundane threads to try pick up the strands of glittery sparkle. 

The brightest sparkly thread that has woven into our lives is Kade, our seventh little minion.

After buying our first home 6 months earlier, Doug & I had this great big discussion on long term goals, achievements & where we wanted to be in the next three to four years time. This included having another baby, maybe late 2017 or during 2018...Seems this discussion was all the universe needed - just a few short weeks later two pretty pink lines threw all our well made plans into the air & changed our course to collect another passenger.

Thirty eight weeks & a car upgrade later, the newest member for the blue team declared his intention to join us earthside with a small pop of waters after dinner. Baby sitters were called, bags were thrown in the car, contractions were mild...until they weren't. My back felt like it was going to explode, my belly was having the mother of all period cramps, my mind was struggling to let go of inconveniencing all these people who had been called out of their homes so late in the evening. Then just after midnight our wriggly, cranky, serious faced boy arrived. 

Our little passenger is now fast approaching five months old & an absolute sleep depriving, time wasting, delight. He feeds like a sumo wrestler & can out-stare even the most seasoned pro in a staring competition. He thinks our bed is a hell of a lot better than his own & I'm too tired to disagree. Which means our nights consist of me creeping into bed a lot closer to midnight than conducive for optimal sleep, only to stumble out within the hour to collect Kade from his cradle (still in our room - these apron strings are a lot harder to sever this time round.) He'll latch on like starving man in front of an all you can eat buffet, before passing out in a warm, milky stupor minutes later. 

If I'm still semi conscious I'll put him back in his cradle...only to be summoned again within the hour. Rinse & repeat until the sun rises & the alarm declares the day must begin. The other alternative is to remain immobile all night long, as only a mother can, while the little bundle contentedly dozes the night through.

Right now I prefer some sleep over no sleep, so I'll continue to push Doug near out the bed while I play sleeping statues in the middle, with Kade taking prime position on my side of the bed.

We're surviving, I'm functioning - though that is up for debate some days, my coffee consumption is keeping the coffee bean business thriving & this too shall pass.

Things I Know - Fillings shoes & a link up party #TIK

Kids are weeds. 

Seriously.

They absorb everything around them.

They attempt to devour all & any food sources faster than others surrounding them.

They thrive with sunlight, fresh air & love a good play in water.

They grow faster during childhood than at any other stage of their lives.

Weeds. 

Kids.

Growing is their super power. Enough said.

It seems that no sooner do our minions fit into their clothes & shoes, they are growing out of them again. I am not opposed to handing down shoes between our boys. If there is any wear left in them, that is. Our boys play hard & ride harder. Of course brakes are on the wheels on the scooters & bikes that pave the way to our front door. Apparently, brakes can also be found on your shoes. 

We have so many pairs of shoes in our house I'm a little afraid to go around & count them all, to be honest. The boys have more shoes than I do & Rianan has three times as many as Doug. With the new soccer season starting, several growth spurts since the end of last season, we're about to add even more shoes to the footwear count. 

While we're on the topic of chuck taylors, for the next two weeks I'm stepping into some big boots to fill. Ann, from Help!! I'm Stuck!! has asked me to host her "Things I Know" link up party while she is away, kicking up her own feet on holiday. 

What things do you know this week? 

Link up below & check out some of our other bloggers this week too. Love what you read? Share it. 
Have something to say, then comment away. I love hearing from readers, I'm sure other bloggers feel the same too.

There are no hard & fast rules for #TIK link up, old post, new post, bring it on.

Happy linking!

An InLinkz Link-up

Making men to be proud of

Violence against women. It is not a new concept brought about with the advancement of technology or time. Through out the centuries it has been there. Hidden. Eyes averted. Not our business. Whispered through gossip circles. Advised to keep your nose out of it, if you know what's good for you.

I would have thought abuse against women would lessen as the younger generations grew into the men of today. That they knew better than to rape or sexually assault a woman - unknown to them or their own partner, a person they are meant to love & respect. That they knew better than to slam a woman against the wall. To bash her self esteem into shattered pieces with their caustic words & disgustful stares. I thought our generation of twenty first century men were better than this. 

So grossly disillusioned.

Headlines, recent & past, prove that too many men today still see nothing wrong with abuse towards women. Verbal, physical, psychological. The bruises are there. I imagine they never truly heal either.

I'm not painting all men with the same misogynistic brush. Many are gentlemen, fine men who would never hurt a woman & would stand to protect them in any situation. Fine men any Mum would be proud to know they helped raise, nurturing them from little boys, through the hormone driven teenage years, to see the young man emerge they are now.

But the men with hidden monsters. The ones who have less commonsense than our early homo-sapien ancestors, the men who see it as their right to treat women as less than any person deserves...What went wrong? Are their parents proud of these young men they helped shape into the perpetrators of today? Was there a turning point during their younger years that sparked the threads of aggression & dominance over females. Nature or nurture? 

What is equally scary as their potential to ruin lives, is that these men are completely normal in appearance. They have friends, they go to work at their every day jobs, they care for their parents & treat their pets as family members. They don't go around drooling & grunting, dragging their fists along the ground. They are educated men in today's world of privilege & freedom. Would it be easier, safer, if we could see the fault lines in their personality as easy as we can see the clothes they are wearing?

Raising our own five young boys, the future male generation to come, I constantly question if I'm doing it right. What are we doing to instill the right values, morals & respect towards all women with our boys. They love their sister & their Mum. They love their Grandma, Auntie & all other female family & friends of all ages. Not once have they shown persistent signs of aggression, disrespect or arrogance towards any female. Surely so far, so good, right? 

Our boys have some amazing male role models in their lives, starting first & foremost with their Dad, who is an absolute gentleman. He shows myself & Rianan absolute love & respect, never raising a hand or his voice. Words of aggression or disgust have never been spoken & directed at us. The same can be said for the Uncles, Grandad's & close male friends in our lives, I could not ask for better men for our boys to look up to & to imitate. 

What happens to make some men turn ugly?

Did Vincent Standford, the man accused for murdering Stephanie Scott have a loving childhood? 

What male role models did Oscar Pistorius have in his life as he grew into the man he became? 

What leads a man to the justification or to their perceived right to sexually assault a woman. To physically attack her or to take her life. How have they come to the conclusion that to speak words of disgrace, of ugliness & despise to their partner is okay?

I used to think as the generations moved forward, that acts of violence against women, racism, homophobia, bigotry was a dying concept. Instead, it seems that the only change is now we cover it more freely in the news, or openly carry on like ignorant idiots instead of waiting for the door to close to keep it in the privacy of your own home. It is still commonplace to witness hateful attacks on strangers for their life choices. Instead of stepping in & standing up for the victim, people are watching the attack through the screen on a mobile phone before uploading the recording to YouTube. 

I want to think Doug & I are doing enough, over & above, to make sure our boys will grow into men we will be proud of. Who would never abuse women, in any way or form. Or any person for their lifestyle choices, their appearance or for the way they were born. I look back at our parenting over the last ten years, & I look forward to how I anticipate we will continue to raise our minions, it seems that we are on the right track. Our boys are pretty damn great now, surely if we continue in the same flexible way our boys will turn into men who love their partners with gentle affection & not harsh words or vicious actions. 

What can the parents of today do, or not do, to help the future men & women of tomorrow? Is that even a question to pose? Because at the end of the day there is no reason, no excuse or past event big enough to justify or slightly condone this behaviour or attitude. Every person is responsible & accountable for their own actions. The one true freedom we have is to make our own choices & follow through with our own actions, accepting any consequences that may follow. 

Making heroes, not monsters. Nature? Nurture? None of the above?

Boys & their toys

Have boys, they said. 

It'll be fun, they said.

{ok, we didn't get a say in the whole boy:girl ratio, but work with me here}

Boys are awesome. Our boys are awesome. They are loud. They are hilarious. They are adventurous & cute as puppies when they are up to no good. You know that saying 'silence is golden'? Nuh-uh. If the house is quiet it's a telling sign they are up to no good...True. ALL true.

Another truth about boys - they make your toilet smell like an alley behind the local pub. No lie. 

We do toilet checks on the hour every hour - or after each pit stop, to comply with standard OH&S recommendations. A wet toilet floor is a slippery toilet floor, & no one wants to land in someone else's pee. Or even your own pee.

I was aware that the younger (& not so younger) male species may need reminding to refine their aim. I was prepared for drips on the toilet seat & few a strays on the floor. What I was not prepared for was the proverbial showers that would dry in yellow droplets all over the seat & lid. Neither was I expecting to regularly find Lake Bonney on our toilet floor. I kid you not. I had no idea that so much wee could come from such a small person in one trip.

With four boys taking regular jaunts to the lavatory, one of whom has a low capacity, hyperactive bladder meaning he is nearly always busting straight off the mark. Some days I clean the toilet floor more than I load the washing machine.

Over the last four months or so it seemed to exacerbate, likely due to the school holidays & with now four boys using the commode on a rotating door basis. Fed up with having to resort to a towel to clean up the initial mess, going through rolls of toilet paper & bottles of disinfectant on a weekly basis I called all the boys to a toilet door meeting. Mum was serious.

Rule #1
When you go to the toilet, hold your penis! 
Many times I had busted Jack just thrusting his hips forward & then refining his aim as he went. Which was never successful, & often by the time his aim was on target he'd run out steam, so to speak. By then it was too late.

Rule #2
Put the toilet seat UP!
You can't drip wee on the toilet seat if it isn't in your way. {I didn't bother asking them to put it back down once finished. I learnt long ago to pick my battles & right now putting the seat down is very low on the list of parenting warfare.}

Rule #3
Watch where you are weeing.
How do you know if you are meeting water with water when you are staring at the ceiling or looking over your shoulder? 
To reiterate - hold & watch, from beginning to end.

Rule #4
If you make a mess, clean it up. If you need help, ask.


We went back to basics, even though we had covered all of these back at the beginning when they first began running around in jocks. With these rules {verbally back in place} I was hopeful. 
Hopeful my days of soggy socks from stepping in some one's wee were over. Wiping seats, behind lids, walls & floors with disinfectant could be done less than five times a day. Minimum.
For a few days it helped. Lake Bonney never returned & but for a few splashes here & there, it seemed they were taking their responsibilities as boys seriously. Then every now & again I would find a puddle returned, or the beginnings of a yellow shower over a seat that hadn't been lifted. I was able to rule out Ben from the offending list. That still left Jack, Blake & Will. It appeared each of them were guilty, in random order, of breaking one {or all of} the toilet commandments.

Through constant reminding & follow up checks, we're slowly getting to a clean & visitor safe lavatory. Most of the time anyway. If they make a mess they do clean it up - to the best of their ability. The seat & lid now both stay down, so if they need to pee they lift both instead of aiming over the seat. Every boy is holding their hose & watching where they are aiming - a big win.

Seriously, I never imagined getting boys to use & leave the toilet in a clean state would be such an on going drama. We were not lazy with their toilet training or have low standards of personal care & hygiene. It just seems that they are too busy & find the need to vacate their bladder a time consuming interruption to their days. So it was done as quickly & as haphazardly as possible. After all there are soccer balls to kick, bikes to jump & scooters to ride. Who has time to go to the toilet anyways.

In a predominantly XY gene'd large family two toilets are not a luxury.

They are a necessity.

S.O.S - Send Out Search (party)

The boys rooms are a mess. 

M.E.S.S.

Despite sending the boys in their rooms for what is meant to be a ten minute quick tidy up - which won't bring miracles but will help their rooms look less like a toy catalog has vomited up everywhere. 

{Kaylee Clean Your Room by Diane McAffee}

Dress ups are on the floor, stripped off clothes hanging all over the dress up tub, puzzle pieces tipped out with the boards discarded randomly on every surface. Cars, trucks, diggers (front end loaders to be specific), Lego, super heroes & their web shooting accessories litter the floor just waiting for the next unobservant, tender footed casualty to walk in & fall victim to their small painful tactics.

Robe doors left open, shoes flung to the floor - not a matching pair in sight. Coat hangers dropped to the bottom of the robe, pillows shoved on the shelves from a previous two minute clean up during the ten minute room clean. At least something was done, other than sitting down playing in the scene of destruction. 

That right there is the source of my dilemma. Playing. 

Their bedrooms is the one place they can claim as their own. I try not to enforce too many restrictions - I don't expect them their bedrooms to be Pinterest worthy every minute, if rarely at all. But I think I do have the expectation that I should be able to walk in, without first needing to cautiously clear a path with my feet before proceeding any further.

It is the first area they can go to & let their imagination carry them away. Or anywhere in the house, because it's a pigs might fly kind of day when there isn't a primary colored something-or-other along with several super hero emblem toting figurines & a collection of anything transport based found in every room. Including our en suite. Not that I have a problem with this, I'm merely just stating a fact.

Often they are asked to clean up after themselves. Specifically, say, if they were playing with Lego, only to abandon it minutes after dumping the entire tub out {to find one wheel} then dashing off to play superheroes/shops/hide & seek...or party crash the kitchen for more food. But sometimes when they are all playing nicely or I can see they are in wrapped up in their play based world I leave them. Play is the most important aspect of childhood - who am I to interrupt.

But it's all gotten a little out of hand. What started out as a few bits n pieces left out has morphed into something bigger than any four or six year old could handle. Now when they are asked to tidy their rooms it's more of a 'damage control' scenario. We're working off a triage based system - just make it safe to enter.

So my spur of the moment decision to sign up to NaBloPoMo - National Blog Posting Month, & take on the challenge of blogging every day for the month of November with BlogHer is really ill timed on my part. With the clean washing piled up on the couch waiting to be folded, two bedrooms suffering in the aftermath of Hurricane Blake & Cyclone Will (plus a Jack induced toy Tsunami), toilet floors to be cleaned up & moped after every visit from Will, who believes he is now big enough now to bypass the potty & use the toilet. Even though his legs are still a little to short to enable him to reach the intended destination, requiring the utmost caution & vigilance when approaching the loo. We've also been organizing kindergarten fundraising events & birthday parties, plus plain ol' tiredness & can't be effed procrastination disease, which have also put me behind the eight ball. 

So I don't know, do I keep the responsibility to clean up their rooms on their shoulders, even though it has reached cataclysmic proportions. At least for the next month while the to-do list is longer than our grocery shopping list. Or do I make it a priority, spend a whole (school) day bringing everything back to Mother in Law visiting conditions, then put the onus back on the minions to not let their rooms reach devastation status again.

I guess if you don't hear from me for a period exceeding forty eight hours then you could hazard a guess that I ventured into the danger zone & a search party is required.

If I could go back I would put duct tape over the mouth of my twenty year old self

Ten years ago this {not so} little guy came along & transformed us from a twenty-something couple into a family of three. 

Before becoming responsible for my own offspring, I was full of ideals, opinions & thoughts on how I would raise our little angels. We hoped there would be more than one to call us Mum & Dad, of course it also went without saying they would be near perfect little angels.

We wouldn't be using a dummy, he would sleep anywhere, any time, with the ability to just nod off whenever the sleepy bug hit. He would eat all his vegetables & I would know how to deal with tantrums, toilet training & night terrors. 

From three months we would use cloth nappies when at home, to save money & make our contribution to saving the environment for the future of the baby {screaming} in my arms. When it came time for solids we would only be serving up home cooked lightly steamed vegetables & fruits. A new food would be introduced only after three days from the last, to ensure if there was any delayed reactions we would know the likely offender.

We would follow the {imagined} parenting handbook to the letter. In the event we couldn't find this handbook we would follow the advice of all those baby & parenting experts that are in every printed publication. At every health center. Stalking new mums in your local supermarket.

Then of course Ben came along & showed me that life wasn't meant to be like the movies or the glossy pages of a parenting magazine. He screamed. He ate baby food from a jar. By six weeks old he was sucking on that dummy harder than three year old with a lolly pop. My sanity depended on that sucker. I only ever used cloth nappies twice. In the same day, before declaring them too hard to deal with after Ben leaked poo all over myself & his legs for the second time in as many hours.  

By the time Rianan came along I had turned my jaded back on those experts & followed what I thought to be right for us. Plus Ben had well & truly broken us in, so while my ears weren't immune to newborn cries, they no longer drove me to a fetal position in the corner. Rianan also had a dummy & her bum never felt anything but disposable convenience.

'If it ain't broke don't fix it' became my motto. So we followed the same footsteps when Jack arrived. He too had a silicone sucker from the ages of ten months to sixteen months, because he wouldn't give up the milk bar. I hoped by introducing a dummy he would realize that the fake nipple I was shoving in his gob every feed time was full of warm milky goodness too.

For every opinion I professed, when my hips were still pre-baby width & I had no clue what I was spouting off, each & every one has been thrown back in my face courtesy of our minions. I am no stranger to humble parenting pie. 

I have done the exact opposite of everything I said before I knew better. Letting them finger paint yogurt on the windows then lick it off, watching the same movie again that has just finished because it stops a tantrum in it tracks, keeping them in night nappies for longer  because I can't be bothered to deal with wet sheets every night & every morning. Using food as a bribe, empty threats to discourage bad behaviour, ten warnings when I said three warnings & you're in time out. Hiding in the bathroom to eat chocolate in peace, because I don't want to share or deal with the tears that will follow when they realize the chocolate has been devoured by the Mum who doesn't share her treats.

To the kicker I have finally given in too...

As a Mama to four toilet occupying boys, I have given up the war of pee on the floor. I accept it is a daily unavoidable occurrence that comes with the male species. As inevitable as not saying no after one row of chocolate. 

I used to say my toilet would always be free of left over drips (& puddles) - both the seat & the floor. I'm not sure if it's because we have four stand-to-pee people (not including Doug, because he can aim just fine) but I have lost count of the number of times I have gone to the second {kids} toilet only to have my sock soaked in urine. Or even worse, get a wet bum.

 G.R.O.S.S.

At least most mornings, before anyone comes over, I remember to do the compulsory commode cleanliness check. In the event I haven't done the required checks & clean ups, I quickly race past, knocking our guest into the walls as I charge past them down the hallway.  

Because it's one thing for my socks to get wet, but something else entirely for someone else's.

If the last ten years I have taught me anything, it's to never presume you know what you're talking about. Especially on anything to do with birth, babies, kids & parenting.

Happy tenth birthday Bendjabum.

The silent treatment

When your three year old is quiet for longer than ten seconds, never presume they are still reading books in their brother's bedroom, where you last saw them only a few minutes before.

{Will's handy work #763}

I should know better than that by now. 

Curious minds

"Hello emergency services, what do you require, Police, Fire or Ambulance?"

We all know the saying "Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back." Ben is now also familiar with this adage. He also recently discovered what happens when you dial 000. 

For no other reason than childhood inquisitiveness. 

I'm glad he knows the number, I think I'm glad he has now done a one time only 'trial run'. What I do wish is if he had timed his call a little better, maybe during an hour of day when it wasn't bedlam & didn't sound like there were dying chimpanzee's in the house. 

It was nearly 5pm, time to cook dinner, organize baths & showers, tidy up from the afternoons events & invite chaos to reign supreme. On this day it was also the time motivation hit to vacuum the floors quickly. 

The concept of vacuuming quickly in our house is like mixing oil with water. It just doesn't happen. 

So, it was pretty close to pandemonium here. I was vacuuming, Rianan was either in her room tidying or playing with some friends down the road (I honestly cannot remember if she was here or not at a time that I'm certain will be seared into Ben's memory for life.) Will was watching 'Wreck it Ralph' {again} with the volume turned right up to 90, ten percent below full roar. Jack & Blake were in their bedroom under the instruction to put away the toys. In reality they were wrestling each other in a game that was yet to turn violent.

I'm over half way through my ridiculous idea to vacuum during crazy hour when the phone rings. Knowing Doug has recently finished work I presume it is him calling & let Ben answer the phone. All good, it was Doug who had a quick chat with Ben, who then relayed the conversation back to me after hanging up.

Our little bubble of disorder continues on. I look up to see Ben gazing intently at the phone that is still in his hands. I think little of it beyond he is investigating & familiarizing himself with the handset. Turns out I was somewhat correct in this assumption.

Two or three minutes pass since Doug's call when the phone rings again. I let Ben answer the phone again predicting it is Doug calling back, having forgotten something from the earlier call & continue on with the vacuuming while Jack & Blake are still shrieking in the background & the television is blaring.

Ben comes up eyes all wide, handing me the phone & says "It is the police."

"The police?" I question, thinking he is tricking me, or perhaps it is one of my Brother in law's who is a police officer. Why would the police be calling us?

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is the police, do you require emergency assistance?"

"No. No we don't. I'm sorry, I think my ten year old son may have called you & hung up", I reply apologetically, while looking at Ben standing in front of me.

"Are you certain?" The stern voice asks me. "Who is screaming in the background?" she firmly questions.

Oh God. I'm embarrassed, rueful & slightly amused at the predictament all at once. Mostly embarrassed, & if I'm honest, feeling like a crappy mum. I should be cooking dinner, kids all settled quietly, as the older three taking their turns to have a shower. Instead I have let the minions mostly roam free within our four walls, loud as they want because they can't hear me telling them to quieten down over the deafening racket that results from the tv, the vacuum & their own shrieks. 

"That is my seven year old Son & four year old Son, playing in their room. Which they are meant to be cleaning." I confess while walking to Blake & Jack's room, as if being in their presence would allow the operator on the other end of the line to see for herself no one is being hacked to death. Which probably didn't allay her concerns any because they were still rolling around on the floor shrieking & screaming. 

I know, I know, Jack isn't seven years old yet he is still six for another two or so months. Neither has Ben had his double digit birthday, though we are in the countdown. Turns out that under pressure & interrogation I can't remember how old our minions are. All I can manage to drum up is their nearest birthday age. Another black strike. Especially when Jack pipes up loud enough for all to hear "I'm not seven, I'm six." Great, now she has caught out a lie, an inadvertent one, but a lie none the less in what is to her a serious situation. Thanks Jack for your helpful information there.

Still on the phone to the emergency services operator, standing in the middle boys' bedroom doorway & glaring at them, mimicking to be quiet, she still questions "So there is no emergency? You do not require police assistance?"

"No." I confirm, walking back into the kitchen where Ben is hovering. "We do not require police assistance. There is no emergency." Stating this clearly & firmly in case they need it distinctly stated for their records.

Obviously she is not yet convinced that all is indeed legit, because she questions what is going on again. "There is a lot of noise there, what is going on?" (or something to that effect.)

"I'm in the middle of vacuuming, our three year old son is watching a movie so the tv is turned up extremely loud. The other boys were in their bedroom which they were meant to be cleaning but were playing instead." I admit, trying to explain why an ordinary evening here is so loud it has the emergency services questioning the authenticity of my explanations. I also don't admit that Clay is asleep in our room. I figure it is useless information at this stage. 

"How many children do you have there?" she inquires. Well there goes that idea.

"We have six children."

Yep. This was a bit of a 'large family defining moment' for me. Perhaps I should not have been vacuuming at a time when I would normally be cooking dinner. But to be honest, it is not uncommon for the rest of the house to be that loud while the vacuum is going regardless the time of day.

"Would you like to talk to the ten year old who called you?" I ask her, thinking that by now she realizes it was a prank call, not an emergency after all & that she would like to have a quick firm word with Ben about the seriousness of calling triple zero when there is no cause or concern.

"Yes please."

I pass the phone over to Ben, who looks hesitantly between me & the phone. 

"Hello?" He says into the phone. A few seconds pass, "No." Then he passes the phone back to me. 

I later realize, that perhaps she didn't want to reprimand him at all, but wanted further assurances that neither himself or the other kids were in any danger or feeling scared for any reason. 

With the phone back in my possession, the operator & I round the call up with me stating I would be talking to Ben about this call & the seriousness of what he has done. Hanging up, I look at Ben & quietly tell him to go wait in his room, I will talk to him about this later.

Doug gets home shortly after our eventful conversation & I inform him of what has just happened. I'm fairly adamant that Ben will be grounded for life. No sleep overs, no electronics, no special privileges, no going to friends houses or birthday parties. A little over dramatic perhaps, luckily Doug took front point from here. 

Ben's curiosity has been sated & now understands while we are glad he knows how to call for help, it needs to be for a genuine reason next time. He is not grounded for life. But he did have to do three big jobs around the house & also has to do Rianan's daily chores for the next two weeks.

As for the rest of the evening, I spent it waiting for a police patrol to knock on our front door. Even now nearly a week on I still don't know whether to laugh or cry about the whole debacle. 

Oh & Clay slept through the entire house crashing noise. 

Six sanity sapping suckers

I am certain we had a real life alien experience last night. I'm expecting another visit tonight too. When our own minions are returned to us & then to collect these hair pulling imposters that were left in their place. 

Unfortunately I don't believe in UFO's & the like. In consideration a conclusion has been drawn. I must be bat shit crazy to have convinced Doug to breed six of the little life draining, sanity sapping, energy sucking creatures.

Well, two of them at least, maybe three.

By the end of today I couldn't even get their names straight. Not that it really mattered. Jack, Blake & Ben were all behaving like a pack of wild orangutan's so names were irrelevant really. Lucky they weren't listening to hear me call them the wrong name. Every time.

The thought of plucking out my winter long leg hairs one by one was quickly becoming more & more appealing the longer the afternoon wore on. If someone had said that for a miracle to occur & our three boys to stop arguing with each other, all I had to do was pull out each toe nail...Pass me the pliers already. After all toe nails grow back over time. However, frown line wrinkles are permanent. Botox not withstanding. 

Today I am completely over hearing my own voice, over their shrieks, the words 'time out' & 'grounded' have lost all concept & meaning. Grounded, grounded, grounded, grounded, grounded, grounded...Semantic satiation in action. The sound of a dentist drill grinding against my teeth is more appealing to my ears at this moment.

In the aftermath of an attitude stand off between Ben & Jack I devoured an entire twelve pack of fun size mars bars. Three minutes flat the bag was empty & my food remorse was high. I needed the sugar high more than they did.

In light of the fact listing children to the highest bidder on Ebay is both frowned upon & illegal, my next best course of action was putting the main offenders to bed ninety minutes early. Not that this bolstered any parenting strong hold. 

The little turds are still awake. 

Two hours later. 

I'm sure I'll love them again tomorrow. In the mean time I'm off to have a bath. These legs are in need of some serious attention with summer pending & I need some intense relaxation. A hot bath with a good book I can lose myself in is just what the quack ordered.  

Monsters

I have monsters in my house. In the form of two little boys, specifically Blake & Will.

I have no idea what happened last night, for once I was actually asleep for most of it, what I do know is that the four year old & three year old who went to bed last night are not the same two that have woken up this morning. One minute they are thick as thieves together, then literally the next minute their alliance has turned & it's a no holds barred contest to see who can annoy the other the most. Then when they aren't terrorizing each other, they are terrorizing me.

Getting ready this morning & they became two little tornadoes. Just remembering now makes me want to pull my hair out all over again. It all started innocently enough chasing each other around the large dining area with their blankets, seeing who can step on the others blanket while keeping their own safe from the fast feet of each other. Next thing Will bursts into tears, screams out a blood curdling war cry & tries to snatch up all of Blake's blanket in his pudgy little arms & run off with it. Of course he forgot to hold on to his own blanket during all this, unintentionally leaving it abandoned on the floor as he took his ill thought out revenge. Blake seeing his own blanket high tailing it down the hall way, scoops up Will's & proceeds to tease Will even further by flapping around all two meters of fleecy warmth as best as his skinny arms can. Similar to a matador taunting a bull with a red flag. Torn between wanting to deposit Blake's blanket somewhere obscure at the other end of the house, likely behind the door of Clay's unoccupied bedroom where everything gets hidden by Will, & wanting to rescue his own blankie sent Will into a fast declining tail spin. Seeing Blake with his still banana-fied hands all over Will's blanket was just too much for his newly graduated three year old self.  At this point I had to abandon the sandwich making & recess packing I was in the middle of to intervene before minion war five thousand & nine broke out.

A temporary truce was called, blankets were restored to their rightful owner & attentions were thoroughly absorbed in a perfectly timed episode of Peppa Pig. For all of five minutes. I heard the closing tunes of the sanity saving cartoon & prayed that they had calmed down enough to remain absorbed in whatever was coming up next on ABC Kids so I could finish getting the older three organised for school & Clay changed out of his Bonds body suit & soggy nappy. No dice. Within ten seconds of Peppa Pig disappearing from our TV screen the monsters were at it again, this time as a team. Their target: Clay's overflowing wooden basket of toys. The aim: to stimulate an environment akin to a hail storm of squeaky, chiming, rattling, crinkly infant toys. Status: mission accomplished. Though I did have my own success in ensuring that they tidied up their mess, if with my ever present supervision. (I know from many previous events that the moment I was to turn my back was the moment they would turn their actions from putting toys back into the basket to throwing them at each other.) At least this time the house was filled with giggles instead of cries.

We got through the rest of the morning with more hi-jinks on a lower scale. I knew then it is going to be one of those days. One where I go from one room to the other trying to keep on top of their interpretation of fun, or trying to keep them from each other. These days don't happen all the time, but they do happen. At least now I've experienced enough of these days & now know not to swim against the tide, rather freestyle along side it as best I can until the rip has passed & I can get us all back to shore & into bed.

All was well until the drive home from a morning visit to a McDonald's playground, which was a success - they got to run, Clay got to watch their antics & I gratefully had my caffeine hot & in peace. Again it never lasts long on days like this, in fact it lasted until the drive home. Blake & Will sit next to each other in the third row in the car, just to help set the mental image. Cue torment. Will kept looking at Blake. Yep, this was enough to turn Blake into a devastated bucket of salty tears. Blake retaliated with his own form of torment by informing Will that they would not be watching 'Wreck it Ralph' (the current movie on continuous loop) once we got home. The world was ending as Will knew it. At this point I informed the both of them that there would be no movies or TV when we got home, instead they could ride their bikes outside while I organize their lunch. The result was double devastation, entirely expected. Like I mentioned above, nothing ever lasts long on a topsy-turvy day & their dual devastation was no exception. Tears were forgotten the moment 'the buggie song' as Blake calls it, or officially known as 'Blackout' (by some female singer) came on the radio. Thank god for small & often easily distracted attention spans.

We arrived home with no further outbursts or brotherly torment. I'll take that as another win for the day. It's all about the small mercies.

Lunch has been eaten, with many giggles & supervision, milk has been drunk & two little bodies have been tucked into bed for a nap.

I have low expectations for the remaining daylight hours. My to do list has been drastically edited. No longer will I be washing windows, sweeping outside & folding washing (I am both over joyed & distressed over this, because I know the folding pile isn't going any where but up). Instead my tasks for the day include this blog, my lunch, then hopefully an hour of reading before Will comes back from the land of nod (I had typed 'comes back to consciousness' there, but it sounded bad, really bad. Like he had been put intentionally into a state of unconsciousness, which I assure you was not the case. Hence the edit) Then all that will remain of my desired achievements to announce today a success is to collect the three older minions from school, keep everyone alive & safe from Blake & Will, cook dinner, organize baths & showers, then bedtimes.

I can do this.

Everything, nothing & a birthday

I've been struggling to write this week. Two posts were started, kinda got halfway, then shoved back to the drafts folder. Just not flowin'.

I was rambling on about food, I'm not going to go into details because it may re-appear one day. So it remains relegated to the background, it seems I'm always waffling (ha, see what I did there? Boom tish.) on about food here. I figure you're all probably thinking "Yeah, we get it already." 

Then there was some thoughts about body image, largely because there is so much of it on the net at the moment, particularly around the comments from one stupid arsed male. Doubt his personal training business is going to take off any time soon. Everyone else already has it covered, so much better than I ever could articulate via keyboard. Plus I'm not a mainstream popular blogger, so it felt as if I was just echoing their sentiments. We'll just leave it as he is a douche & all mother's are beautiful exactly as they are, five minutes after giving birth or five years. Rounding up on a quote from Milena Katz "It would be better to concentrate on self worth. What you are like as a mother is more important than how you look in a size 10 top." 

Inspiration crept up when I was thinking back & comparing how I felt being a first time mum (like a fish out of water) to this time round being a sixth time mum. How I took on the words & advice of 'experts' from parenting magazines (& supermarket aisles, baby books & child & youth health nurses at the local community center) as Gospel & near drove myself cuckoo. But I wasn't entirely sure what point I was trying to make, or if I was just letting my own past insecurities out of the closet. For now that closet door can stay shut on that post.

So that was my week of introspection that ran around in what head space was available & not absorbed with other generic minion raising thoughts. Beyond that our life has been normal - full of food, noise, social lives & washing.

In exciting news, Will turned three. 

This happy, vivacious, adorable, cheeky, milo-moustached minion has graduated from the terrible two's & is now stretching his wings in the terrifying three's. Or terrific three's, depending on his erratic three year old moods & whether he's allowed another bowl of yogurt or not.

This little guy is so happy he walks around with a grin on his face 98% of the time. He makes my teeth hurt with his sweetness & my heart burst with love, wonder & pride. We created this awesome little guy, helped him grow from a squishy faced little newborn to a trike riding, slippery dipping, running, jumping, climbing, car br'mming little boy. No longer a baby, now a fully fledged little boy.

Where did the time go. 

Sob.






** Yes, there is only two candles on Will's third birthday cake. No excuse other than not only do we get confused with their names, but also the candles required on their cakes. Another perk of being in a large family - the parents don't even know how to count candles let alone kids.