Daylight savings (is my nemesis)

I’ve been really tired recently.  Partly because of the intensive three day chemistry workshop I had to go to since I take introductory chemistry externally.  We external students still have to do lab work, so the best way for us to do so is to cram all 6 labs that the internal students take over an entire semester into just 3 days over the mid semester break.

Each morning, was spent getting myself and the kids ready, eating breakfast, and then making lunches.  I dropped them off at a friend’s house for the day and then I was at uni all day.  When I got home, I made a quick dinner, washed the dishes, and then spent the rest of the evening preparing my lab book for the next days experiments before going to bed.  Preparing the lab book was really time consuming since we needed to make all sorts of tables with rulers, write experiment aims, etc.

The main reason for the tiredness though, is daylight savings time.  Whomever thought it was a good idea to turn the clocks back in autumn clearly didn’t have small children.  According to Wikipedia, one of the original purposes of daylight savings time was to reduce the use of incandescent lighting. The U.S. has only had daylight savings time since the 1970s due to the energy crisis.  In Australia, only New South Wales, the ACT, Victoria, and Tasmania use daylight savings time.  The other states do not.

The first day of daylight savings was rather unfortunate.  Both kids had been sick, one with croup, the other with bronchitis.  Despite going to bed late, one of them woke up coughing at 4am, which of course woke the other one, followed by Aaron and me.  The second day was pretty much the same.

The next couple of days they slept until 6 (their usual wake up time), probably because they were so tired from all their 4am starts.  I was so excited at the prospect of them sleeping until 6am again, adjusting to daylight savings time.

Except they didn’t.  It’s been what, 2 weeks now since daylight savings started?  Something like that.  Every morning they wake up at 5.  FIVE a.m.  Their body clocks are so tuned to what used to be 6am that no matter what time they go to bed, that is when they wake up.  Except that now 6am is 5am.

“Mommy, I want my light on.” I heard Daniel yell this morning at 5.

I ignored him.  He’s been yelling different things at 5 for about a week.  One morning he wanted a bandaid on his foot.  Another he wanted to go sit on Grandma’s bed (Grandma’s bed isn’t even in this house).  Sometimes he wants to get out of his room.  It’s always something though.

He kept yelling “Mommy, I want my light on!”

We kept ignoring it, hoping he’d give up and lay back down and go to sleep.  Plus we didn’t want to give in to demands from a 2 year old at 5am every morning. You know what happens, you give in once and then it becomes the new normal.

The cheeky 5am waker (he gets contact dermatitis from slobber and food, which is why he has a rash around his mouth)

A couple minutes later, all was quiet.  I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

Click.  We heard the distinct noise of a light being switched on and saw a faint glow of yellow through our open bedroom door.

Little footsteps came closer and closer to our room then suddenly stopped.

Click.  Daniel giggled after he turned our light on and then climbed into our bed, clearly very proud of himself, and jumped on Aaron as soon as he got up.

Daylight savings – I hate you.  Actually it was the end of daylight savings time, but whatever, it still sucks.

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Copyright 2014 Sheri Thomson

Wipe

“Mommy, ______!” I heard Daniel calling from his bedroom during nap time.  I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but from the tone, I thought it might actually warrant checking on him.  He’d been in there for an hour, but judging from all the chatter, laughing, and toys banging, hadn’t slept a wink.

I paused the science-y youtube video I was watching whilst doing the dishes (because if you’re going to do the dishes, you might as well watch something on the ipad at the same time so it’s not so mindless and boring) and put my ear to his door.

“MOMMY I NEED A WIPE!!!!!!!!”  He yelled.

I couldn’t think of a single situation in which needing a wipe during nap time could possibly be a good thing.

As I opened the door, he held his hands out over the cot rail to show me, and then told me that he wasn’t wearing any pants.  Indeed, he wasn’t.  He was wearing a nappy though. At least that’s something, especially considering the smell that assaulted my nose as soon as I stepped into his room.

Here we go again.  This time, I immediately knew why he wanted a wipe.  I had no grand illusions about him getting into chocolate or Vegemite.  I knew those outstretched arms and parted fingers were indeed covered in poop.  Not from a leaky nappy, or a number three, but from my silly little boy shoving his hands down his nappy after doing a poop.  You’d think he would have learned his lesson last time, but no….

After disinfecting him, I went back to the scene of the crime to assess the damage.  There on the bed, sat his socks, covered in poop.  How exactly do socks bear the brunt of a poop incident?  The cot itself had a little bit of poop on the bars, clearly from him holding on as he called out to me.  The sheets had the tiniest bit of poop.  But the socks?  Covered in it.

I can only deduce that he thought socks bore a mighty resemblance to towels and used them in to clean his hands.  They would have already been off of his feet, he takes them off every singe nap time. Judging by the amount of poop on the socks, he did a pretty good job, but in the wiping process, smeared the little bit that remained on his hands all over them.

Seriously Daniel, please stop putting your hands down your pants!

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Big mess

“Choo-choo!” I looked over at Daniel.  He was laying on his side playing with his wooden train set.  He seems to think playing trains is best when laying on his side.  It’s his go to train playing position.  I smiled to myself at his cuteness and went back to washing the dishes.

“Big mess,” I heard him say a few minutes later.  As I turned around, he wiped his hands on the carpet and then stood back up, arms outstretched in front of him, staring at his hands.

What has he gotten into? I thought to myself. I didn’t leave any of Hannah’s paints or pens out.  Did he find some chocolate? Oh goodness.  No, please, not that.

But it was.

“DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I yelled to Daniel as I practically flew around the kitchen counter to where he stood, staring at his poopy hands.

“AARON, I NEED HELP!” I couldn’t help but yell, this was a dire situation.

His fingers were saturated in poop. The carpet bore streaks of poop where Daniel had wiped his hands, and somehow, there was a little mound of poop on a train track, with some scattered fragments  on another piece of track. Thank goodness we have a bathtub. And disinfectant.

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The boy at McDonalds

“Be good, and don’t eat anyone’s food.”  I overheard a mother tell her son, who looked about 10, as she opened the door to the play area at McDonalds.

That’s an odd thing to say, I thought to myself. He played for a while and then came up to our table, asking us random questions whilst leaning over the table and not so conspicuously reaching into our bright red chips box, taking a fistful of hot salty chips and shoving them in his mouth.

Aaron and I turned to each other with a “WTHeck do we do?!?!?!” look of desperation acrossboth of our faces.

Do we say something? Hide the food? Put it somewhere out of reach? Tell his mum?

Nope.  We went with completely ignore it and pretend that there wasn’t a random boy standing there reaching into our bags of food.

He played for a little while again before coming back to forage for chips once more (and by chips, I mean fries.  These Aussies have corrupted me).

The kids responded to random foraging boy by wiggling in their chairs, anxious to play.  I lifted Daniel out of the high chair and let him run around while Aaron threw away all of the remaining food, just in case our visitor came back.

I sat on the big soft-fall mushroom in the middle of the play area, watching Daniel and making sure he didn’t climb up the slide and get barrelled over by bigger kids, something he seemed to desperately want to try at least once.

“Do you like 80s music?” Random forager asked as he walked up to me, stopping too close for my comfort.

“Some.” I told him, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to get into a conversation either.

“I really like 80s music,” he told me eloquently as he came even closer, walking right up to me and putting one leg on each side of my knee, hands on my shoulders, practically straddling me.

Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe this particular moment.  This was not just your average 10 year old either.  This kids was bigger than me.  The play area at McDonalds is surrounded by glass on two sides and everyone in the restaurant can see the play area if they happen to be looking in that direction.  And if they did happen to be looking in that direction, they would probably think I somehow enticed an innocent child into my lap.

I wanted random forager off of me and out of my personal space as fast as humanly possible, but at the same time, I didn’t want to just push him with all of my might (mite?) and make him think he was some sort of a freak, scarring him for life.

I casually attempted to free myself from his grasp, at which point he decided it would be better to just sit in my lap, still going on and on about 80s music.  Somehow, I managed to inch my way towards freedom, a process that took about 30 seconds and ended with me sitting next to him on the mushroom.  I promptly stood up, avoiding any more awkward personal space incidents.

And where was his mum the entire time? Inside, reading a paper.  Oblivious to all of the food stealing and inappropriate invasions of personal space. Sigh.

*FYI, we don’t go to McDonalds often, but they have a great playground, and the kids love nuggets and chips, so sometimes, it’s a good treat.

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Copyright 2013 Sheri Thomson

Never before

Daniel is such a messy eater.  I guess it’s not actually the eating part that’s messy, but more the playing part.  Daniel finds it quite fun to wear his porridge bowl as a hat when he finishes most of his porridge.  After eating an entire meal with his hands, Daniel’s preferred method of cleaning them off is wiping them in his hair.  He also enjoys playing peek-a-boo by holding food on his eyes and then moving it down and shouting “Boo!”

Needless to say, he often needs a bath after breakfast. And then sometimes after lunch. And dinner too. Depending on what he ate, of course.

Yesterday morning was no different. With hair full of porridge bits, he definitely needed a wash. It’s so hot here at the moment, so after his bath, I let him run off out of the bathroom completely starkers and giggling.

“Is someone doing toots?” I heard Aaron ask the kids in the living room. “Someone is a bit…ooooooohhh no,” he said, exasperated.

“Boo! Boo Boo!” Aaron called to me in the bathroom.  I didn’t need him to tell me what was going on. Common sense told me exactly what to expect.

I didn’t, however, expect Aaron to come in the bathroom, wooden toy train track in hand, smelly poop log precariously perched on top.

“At least he got it all on the track.” Aaron told me “There’s none on the carpet.”

“I don’t care, I’m scrubbing that carpet anyway. After I disinfect the train tracks.”

“I’ve never seen Daniel poop on a train track before!” Hannah giggled.

Note to self: Don’t let Daniel have nappy off time if he hasn’t yet done his morning poop. Sigh.

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Failed sleep in

I stood next to the bedroom door, my ear pressed right up against it. I could hear Aaron and Hannah making breakfast in the kitchen. I couldn’t hear Daniel, which meant he was either getting into mischief, or playing quietly. I slowly turned the door handle, which makes loud noises no matter what you do, and peeked my head past the doorway.

Daniel was sitting in the living room, his back towards me, reading a book. Or maybe playing with a train or something. I couldn’t really tell, since his back was to me. He didn’t seem to notice the noise the door handle made, and continued playing without even a small glance over his shoulder.

I decided to go for it, tip-toeing my way to the bathroom and opening the door as quietly as I could.

It was my sleep in day. And by sleep in, I mean laying in bed reading on my Kindle until 7:30am. Aaron gets to sleep in on Saturdays, I get to sleep in on Sundays. The kids don’t know that we aren’t actually asleep during our sleep ins, otherwise they would stand and the door banging, wanting whomever is having the sleep in to come out and play. For some reason, they don’t bother us if they think we’re actually asleep. It’s a great system.

Except that I always have to poop about 5 minutes after I wake up in the morning. I held it as long as I could this morning, but then I needed to go. I had to take a gamble and try to get to the bathroom without being spotted.

My efforts were paying off. I didn’t hear any cries of “MOMMY!!” I didn’t hear any little feet bounding down the hallway, nor did I hear any tell-tale banging on the bathroom door. I was home free. I’d managed to get there and do my business completely unnoticed.

I stood inside the bathroom, ear to the door, listening for signs of anyone in the vicinity who might hear or see me upon my exit.

I could still hear Hannah and Aaron making breakfast gleefully in the kitchen. I still couldn’t hear any noise from Daniel. He will sit and read books for ages.

Slowly, I turned the door knob and opened the door, quiet as a mouse, chuffed with my efforts.

And then, I saw him. There he was, standing right next to Aaron’s and my bed, his chubby little fingers playing with the iPad.

He turned around, a cheeky smile on his face, and saw me standing there like a stunned mullet in the hallway, my eyes wide as saucers. How did I not hear him going in there?

“Mommy!”

Busted.

“You should have shut the bedroom door.” Aaron told me.

Needless to say, I didn’t get to sleep in this morning. Sigh.

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

Maybe I’m crazy

I’m excited and terrified all at the same time.

The kids and I are going to visit The Jess. You may remember The Jess is my sister in law, who also happens to be my best friend (besides my cousin Jennifer, but I haven’t seen her in 4 years). I used to see The Jess at least once per week. Her husband thinks we’re co-dependant. At least he did. Before they moved to Adelaide. Sigh. I miss The Jess.

It’s been a couple of months since she moved. I haven’t seen her since. At least I’ve been busying myself with going to the gym and bible study, and junior jivers (a playgroup), and kindy gym.

The Jess’ birthday is in November, so it’s the perfect time to visit. She lives across the street from the beach by the way.

I’m terrified of the plane ride. Ugh. Visions of flying with Hannah by myself to the U.S. are filling my head. I had nicely repressed those memories for the last year.

She hardly slept the whole flight, we spent half of it walking the aisle, and she wouldn’t eat anything. On the way back, she vomited all over me during turbulence, and everyone spent the rest of the flight smelling it and wondering loudly where the smell was coming from. As if I was going to tell anyone it was me. How did I not write a blog post about that?

Anyway, that was hard enough with 1, but now I’ve got two. Daniel doesn’t like to stay put for 2 seconds and I can’t exactly walk the aisles on a domestic flight. People don’t really do that.  Even if I could, what would I do with Hannah? Leave her by herself at her seat watching cartoons? Make her follow me up and down the aisles? What if Hannah has to pee? We’ll somehow all have to fit in the tiny bathroom as I try to make sure Hannah doesn’t fall in the toilet at the same time dissuade Daniel from shoving his hands in the bin, unrolling the toilet paper, banging on the door, and causing all sorts of mischief I haven’t even thought of.

What if he won’t hold still and spends the whole flight screaming and writhing around in my lap, kicking and pushing on my hands that are trying to keep him from getting off of my lap? What if they both decide to be cranky and scream the whole time?

I guess then I’d be that mom. That person that everyone looks at with disgusted looks on their faces, wondering why, OH WHY did she bring 2 little kids on their flight?

I think Hannah will be easy. Just give her the iPad and let her watch Mickey Mouse. She’d love that.

But if Daniel sees Hannah with the iPad, he’ll want the iPad. Because, you know, computers, iPads, and phones are like the best thing ever when you’re 1. He will whinge and point and throw himself towards that seemingly magical iPad that he so badly wants to poke. When he isn’t allowed to have it, he will throw himself backwards, bashing his head against my face, whilst screaming. Seriously, that is what he does.

So yeah, I’m sure we’ll have a great time in Adelaide, but getting there (and home again)…. Sigh. Maybe I’m crazy to even try.

How do you fly by yourself with 2 little kids? What is your secret?

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson

When rules go too far

Hannah and I made some delicious healthy chocolate muffins as a snack for her to bring to preschool.  Nuts aren’t allowed at preschool (due to allergies suffered by some kids), so I left out the pecans and put in some raspberries instead. Did I mention that they are super healthy? Yogurt, banana, oats, chia seeds, stevia, cocoa powder. Nothing bad. Not full of sugar.

When I picked Hannah up from preschool, I got her clear lunch box out of the fridge and noticed something, besides the vegetables that she didn’t eat, inside. When I opened the lid, I found her mini chocolate muffin in a little brown bag that said “I’m no longer pre-school food.”

ECOlunchbox Three-in-One

Um…what?

I held up the bag, found the nearest employee and said “this is a healthy muffin. There isn’t any sugar in it, and it’s full of healthy ingredients. I made them.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Do they have chocolate in them?”

“They have cocoa powder in them. Cocoa isn’t bad for you.” True story. Cocoa is really healthy, it’s the fats and sugars they put with the cocoa in chocolate bars that makes it not so good.

“Well, anything with chocolate in it is not allowed.”

So I could put a sugary, unhealthy vanilla cupcake in Hannah’s lunch, but she’s not allowed to have a healthy chocolate muffin. Because it has cocoa in it. No exceptions, no negotiations. I don’t think they know much about nutrition, so it’s blanket rules for everyone.

Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad, but that was right after I was told they didn’t give Hannah her milk today.

Hannah has a rash on her bottom that resembles big angry pimples. The doctor said it’s a bacterial infection and gave her some antibiotics. She isn’t exactly jumping with glee at medicine time though, so I hide it in her drinks. I put the antibiotics in her milk and then disguised the taste with sustagen (a chocolate powder with vitamins, minerals, and protein. Used in hospitals for patients who aren’t getting enough nutrients).

Ensure Bottles, Chocolate, 8-Ounces, 16 Count Bottles

Yeah, chocolate. 

“We don’t allow flavoured milk.” I was told when I dropped her off. And fair enough, I get that. Not that Sustagen is the same as just chocolate flavoured milk, but I see the point. Too many kids are drinking unhealthy sugary drinks instead of good old milk.

I told them why the milk had sustagen in it only to be told that usually I would need to bring in the antibiotics bottle so they could see Hannah’s name on it and the dosage needed. And then if I wanted it in Hannah’s milk, they’d have to watch me do it, or do it themselves. In addition to signing a form stating what she is taking, how much, at what time, etc.

“But we’ll let her have it this time.” They told me. Because I’m new and I didn’t know. No worries. There are some dodgies out there who get medicine for one kid and then give half of it to another. Fair enough. I know they are just looking out for the kids.

When I picked her up though, I was told she wasn’t allowed her milk because it had antibiotics in it and they hadn’t seen the bottle. “Yeah, I was told this morning that she could have it this time, but next time I’d need to bring the bottle.”

“Oh, sorry about that. She was pretty upset that she couldn’t have her milk”

I was pretty cranky. “Of course she was, she always has milk before quiet time, and she knew I packed milk for her.”  She looked at me all surprised. “I should have been told. I live just down the road, I would have come back with the bottle.”

Seriously, who are they to decide that my child needs to miss a dose of antibiotics without informing me? Are they trying to create superbugs?

Hannah’s preschool is good. She loves it. She is happy. She has a great time. But ugh, the ridiculous rules. Sigh. I’m still annoyed about the muffins. We made them especially to bring there! AND THEY ARE HEALTHY!!!!

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That’s not water

I keep the bathroom door shut. Mostly at all times. Hannah is big enough to open and shut the door as she needs. The exception of course, is when I’m putting water in the bathtub and getting the kids ready for their evening bath.

Usually Daniel is content  ridiculously happy to stand at the side of the bath and eagerly watch the water  level rise as he flaps and squeals in delight like he’s trying to flag down a passing toy boat.

Not the other day. Hannah was half stuck in her shirt, one arm in, one out, the head hole half up her nose, as she tried to remove 2 shirts over her big head at the same time.

“Mommy, can you help me?” She asked

“Of course sweetie.” Giggling “Are you stuck????!!!!”

Meanwhile, Danny, mischievous as he is, took the mom-is-busy-with-Hannah opportunity to get to Hannah’s potty as fast and stealthily as he possibly could. No worries, it was house cleaning day, and I had scrubbed that potty just a couple of hours before. But I still don’t let him play with it. I don’t want him to think it’s ok. Yuck.

“Daniel, no, we don’t play with the potty!” I said in vain as he lifted the lid and shoved his chubby almost-1-year-old hand inside.

And then I saw it.

But it was too late.

As I rushed over, he turned his head, looking at me with that gleeful I’m-so-proud-of-myself smile that is so big, he has to squint his eyes to make room for his cheeks. He made a joyous noise and splashed his hand  in the pee some more.

All in the space of a couple seconds.

Thank goodness it was bath time. And thank God it wasn’t poop.

Ick.

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Daniel turns one

When Hannah turned one, Aaron and I went to Toys ‘r Us and spent way too much money on big fancy presents. When the first child has the first birthday, it’s a big thing. For us and her.

She wasn’t really fussed on opening the presents, and then she didn’t really like them. She never played with them and we ended up giving them to charity.

We weren’t so silly this time. For Daniel’s birthday, we bought a second hand Little People car ramp from a friend at church. Daniel loves cars, to the point where he pushes around any object he can find like it’s a car whilst making brrmmm brrrmmm car noises. Needless to say, we knew he’d like the car ramp. And that was all we bought him. No, I lie, we also bought him a helmet so he can go for bike rides with me on the WeeRide.

Playing with the car ramp right after opening it (still in their sleepy suits)

Grandma, on the other hand, got him approximately 1,000 presents. I may be exaggerating. Whatever. We went over to Grandma and YaYa’s house for Daniel’s family birthday party yesterday and Hannah ended up opening all of Daniel’s presents. He had no interest in ripping wrapping paper whatsoever. But he did like all the cars Hannah found inside them.

Hannah opening Daniel’s present

The Jess usually helps me decorate cakes (and by helps me, I mean, she does it), but she moved to Adelaide (sad face), so I had to do it all by myself. I was going to make a car or a train, since Daniel likes them so much, but I thought I’d go the safer route and make a Daniel cake instead.

I seem to be much better at making a cartoon Daniel on the computer than I do on a cake….

So it wasn’t the best looking cake in the world, but apart from stealing cake bowls out of the trash and licking them on Hannah’s birthday, he hasn’t actually eaten cake before, so I’m sure he didn’t really mind.

Mmmm…cake

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Copyright 2012 Sheri Thomson