Milkbaby and my heart fly

As he's longer a baby any more, I gleefully took advantage of Milkbaby turning five to book him on a flight to his grandparents' place as an unaccompanied minor.

Taking it all in his stride, he nonchalantly kissed me goodbye, and strode onto the plane with the tribe of ELEVEN other unaccompanied minors (it was school holidays).  I tried to play it cool.  The other parents seemed to be doing the same thing, over-cheerily waving goodbye and shouting last minute instructions to their small people as they handed over their boarding pass and stood in a group together.

Finally the gaggle of children formed a semblance of a line (as instructed by the steward!), and walked off down the gangway in a semi-orderly fashion.

The other parents seemed to wander aimlessly.  I stared at the plane, thinking it unlikely that he'd be looking back at the building, searching for me from his window seat.

Before turning to leave, I thought about that quote, the one bandied around about parenting, something about having your heart walk around outside your body.

- quote: Elizabeth Stone, photograph copyright
(It took me ALL DAY to find this photo, so appreciate the cute for a moment.)

Bet she never thought about flying.  I could get my head around my heart walking around outside my body, but getting on the equivalent of a large tin can and flying - in the sky - 1200kms away?  That is some next level shit.

On why I write

This is one of those blog-linkup things, wherein I've been nominated by another blogger (thank you Rachiebee) to write a blogpost about why I write.  And at the end I'll nominate two more bloggers to do the same.  If you follow the trail back you find some quite interesting blogs.  First in the virtual breadcrumb trail is Rachiebee - her blog really is true to its description of being a picnic of thoughts.  When I read Rachel's blog it's like she's right there in the room with me, as it's written exactly how she talks, which is to say in a bubbling stream of consciousness, full of delight and wonder at life.  I love listening to Rachel talk, mostly because I'm sort of quite introverted and don't do chatter, but I'm very happy to listen to someone who likes to give voice to all their thoughts.  And I could listen to Rachel all day.

Why do I write?

I write, I think mostly, to make sense of, and make fun of, my world.  At age thirty, I found myself in charge of a small human being, and very much not in charge of the thoughts and feelings that accompanied that new role.  My first blog posts were timid, a testing of the waters.  I kept my blog secret for quite a while, before sharing it with my mum.  Buoyed by her encouragement, I pressed on, finding a voice and style that suited me.  My blog posts often, but not always, use some combination of humour, some research, and some pithy reflection on the whole subject.  I like the discipline of a blog post, of having to get my ideas out there in 1000 words, to bring everything together in a neat, organised and thoughtful way, and having to find some pictures which neatly illustrate what I'm saying.  And secretly, I quite like watching my blog stats, and seeing how many people stumble on my blog every day.  It's not many, but hey, at least it's being read by someone.  And maybe, just maybe, my sons will one day read my blog and gain a new appreciation of the young woman who was their mother (and why she so frequently lost her shizz with them).

How does my writing differ from others in its genre?

My blog is most definitely a "mummy blog" (or a "mommy blog" if you're in North America), though there is a part of me that feels quite uncomfortable about that label.  There are many different types of mummy blogs.  I would say that one point of difference in mine is that I make a point, usually, of not blogging directly about my kids.  Usually I use something about their development or recent behaviour as a jumping off point for a post - but I try not to prattle on about the clever thing they did today.  Some stories are too good not to share, but for the most part I use them to mull over some aspect of the broader context or relevant research.

How does my writing process work?

It's pretty stop/start.  If I have an idea for a post, I try and get it down as soon as possible, with some notes on what I was thinking.  Then, when I have time to come back to it, I will write a bit more.  At any one time I have around 4-5 pieces I am actively working on, and I have another 30 or so draft posts in various states of completion, some of which will never see the light of day.  When one is getting near to completion, I'll often stay up late feverishly working on it, reading it, rereading it, adding photos, and checking it.  Even once a blog post is finished, I'll often leave it overnight before I post it, just to be sure I'm happy with it.  My time alone is minimal, so I write when, and where, I can.  Today I'm writing this post from the waiting room at the doctor's surgery, where I'm waiting to be seen for what I suspect is tonsillitis.  Writing is better than reading those germ-laden and outdated mags anyway, and it is a welcome distraction from people-watching.  The waiting room is crowded and there's a young woman across from me sobbing into her hands while her friend rubs her back.  I'm trying not to stare and hoping she gets seen by a doctor really soon, since we all know it's bad when you can't hold it together in front of 30 people in the waiting room. 

What am I working on?

Urgh, too much.  Lately I'm working on balancing motherhood with working, and trying not to lose my shit with my kids because of the sleep deprivation.  Did I mention that I'm really tired?  I'm working on getting more sleep.

Nominations

I am struggling with this, first because I don't have many blogger friends, and second because I don't like to force this self-expose of bloggery on the ones I do know.  However, if you're looking for some interesting reads, I recommend Tui Mamaki's blog on her adventures in Bulgaria - her writing is lush, like her gorgeous singing, or this new blog by another mama - she has an original and irreverent approach to healthy food.  Blog on!

What we're reading: The Tiger Who Came to Tea (reimagined)

Have you ever been reading an old favourite to your kids and found yourself cringing at how it's dated, or wanting to talk some sense into the characters?  The Tiger Who Came to Tea is a classic, and a favourite in our house, but on the last read through I noticed it needed a bit of an update...

 Seriously, what self-respecting four-year-old drinks tea?

Notice how it's only men knocking on the door?  Only these days it's more likely to be a courier with something you've bought off Trademe, rather than the milkman or the grocer.

And then, without a thought for their own safety, or even checking to see who it is, they open the door!  Foolish mistake.

This tiger has no manners.

See what I mean?  No manners at all.  But look at Mummy and Sophie's perfect manners.

Mummy was floundering a bit here, and seeming a bit useless.  Sophie knows better than to tell her to buck her ideas up, but thought it would be helpful to point out that Daddy was a dab hand in the kitchen and could probably get his own dinner.

Mummy knew just what to do about the lack of water.

Doesn't this picture just shout "Honeys, I'm home!"?  This is one cool daddy-o.

A cool, beer-drinking, plaid-wearing dad.

Daddy's also very rational and sensible here.  First things first, sort out the tiger sighting, then we'll do fanciful things like go to a cafe to eat dinner.

Mummy hadn't had a great day, what with opening the door without checking who it was, letting in a tiger, letting the tiger eat ALL their food (AND drink Daddy's beer), and then floundering around seeming a bit silly once he'd left.

That's right, they'll certainly be more careful next time.  Or maybe they just like having tigers to visit?

What we're reading (and doing): Getting to Know You

In this digital age, when [almost] everything humanity knows can be found online, and reading is something you do on some handheld device, I sometimes wonder how kids of today (and the future) will fall in love with books, and by extension, reading.

That love affair must start as early as possible, with simple, easy to read board books.  Babies must learn the something special smell of a new book, the texture of its pages, and the thrill of discovering a story as the pages are turned.  It makes me sad to think there are children in New Zealand who will grow up without books in their house.

Lately, we've been reading Getting to Know You.  Published late last year by Niche Books, it's the perfect book to read to your new baby.  The book centres around the routines that characterise life with a newborn - and reminds us that these routines are not to be treated as tasks to be ticked off - they are opportunities to enjoy some space with your new one, inside that weird parenting bubble that envelopes a house for the months after a baby is born.

"change and chat while the world whirls..."

[translation: next time you're changing your infant and you're focusing on not getting shit everywhere, take a moment to take a breath - through your mouth mind - look up, make eye contact with that gorgeous baby and have a chat]

The text has a gentle cadence and rhythm, and is memorable enough for a toddler to learn so that they can "read" it to a younger sibling.  Milkbaby's favourite line - the one he always skips to - is:

"take my time / to breathe you in"  

As you can see, there is poetry here.  This is a board book with a story, albeit a simple one, and it beautifully and thankfully goes beyond those boring name-the-object books you see everywhere.  You can guarantee if a book is boring for you, it'll soon be very boring for your baby.

It's well known that babies are fond of looking at photos of other babies - and this little book will satisfy these cravings.

The Sailor, 10 weeks old, growing brain cells
and falling in love with books.

What's best about these photos is that they're photos of real people, and real babies, in their own environments.  I can say this because Milkbaby is one of those babies in the book, and he was definitely photographed amongst the mess of our own home.*  Heather has a way with babies, and an eye for capturing those moments of 'mutual gaze'.  You can almost see the baby brain cells multiplying.

If you want to know more about mutual gaze and getting to know your baby during those early baby days, watch this gorgeous video.



And if you want to get your hands on a copy of Getting to Know You (go on, you know you want to!),  ask for it at your local independent bookseller or order it here.



*Disclaimer: neither myself nor Milkbaby have any financial interest in the success or otherwise of this book - but it's been a hit in this house so we want to see it do well!

What we're reading: another vintage classic - Outside Over There

As a child, this book scared the bejesus out of me.  The kind of scary that makes you want to read it over and over again.  I suspect it's the same kind of scary that makes adults watch horror films, though I wouldn't know as I didn't progress beyond picture-books in the scary-stakes.

Or as one expert puts it: "From the very earliest age, when adults play the game of 'Boo!' with infants, the young learn the surprising fact that scariness can be discomforting fun." (Jerry Griswold, Feeling Like a Kid: Childhood and Children's Literature).

I'm now subjecting Milkbaby to the same thrills and intrigue that had me hooked.   Now, as an adult, it still holds the same intrigue, not least because I now know its chilling backstory.  We'll come to that.

Let's start with the story.  Ida, whose papa is away at sea, is playing her wonder-horn to rock the baby still.  But she's not watching, preferring instead to look out the window.  

First crucial mistake.  The goblins come and steal her baby sister away - "to be a nasty goblin's bride" - leaving an ice-baby in her place.  So Ida, making her second crucial mistake, climbs backwards out her window into Outside Over There.  Finally, on her father's advice, she tumbles right side round and finds herself "smack in the middle of a wedding".  Luckily, she's brought her goblin-taming horn with her.  Long story short, she manages to use the horn to sort the goblins from the baby, and retrieve her sister from the hubbub.  Phew.  You can see why the story had an addictive appeal to a dark-haired little girl with a younger sister.

Wikipedia suggests that Ida is jealous and resentful of the baby, for whom she is largely responsible while their father is away.  I didn't take this from the story, though Mama in the arbor does seem strangely unperturbed by the goings on in the back garden.

Now to the illustrations.  Quite simply, they are captivating, magical, and every time I read the book I see something new or decide I should try and locate a print of this or that picture for my wall.

And finally, the intrigue.  Sendak says this story was inspired by his fascination with the Lindbergh baby kidnapping case, and in his recent biopic, suggested that at least one illustration of the baby in the book was based on Charles Lindbergh Jr.

 Frankly, to me, all babies look very similar, but the suggestion of a link to a real case is enough to send shivers up my spine.  And there's no denying the clear similarities between these two button noses and rosebud lips.

Or these two innocent expressions:

What we're reading: An Introduction to the Criminal Law

There are some books that, despite being remembered with fond glow of childhood, don't quite retain that same magic upon rereading as an adult - even when reread with an enthusiastic two-year-old.

Perhaps it's the politically correct mother in me, but when the Avocado Baby came straight home from the hospital and started eating solids, I was all "hey! what about the milk?" I'm sure Milkbaby was thinking the same.

Lately I had a similar experience after coming across The Elephant and The Bad Baby at the library.  It's about a baby who doesn't say please.  Picking up this book was strangely well-timed, as we also have someone in our household who can say any other word he cares to repeat, but he will not say please.  Even if his life depended on it, I am sure he'd just stubbornly hold his mouth shut, smiling innocently and waiting to be given whatever he's requested.

Back to my critique of The Elephant and the Bad Baby.  For a start, babies aren't bad. Just lacking in knowledge of the rules and a few social graces. And in this case, mislead by a large elephant.  And I couldn't help noticing that not only is this baby labelled "bad" from the outset, he's a flaming ginger - the only one in the book.

Quick summary - *spoiler warning* - An elephant meets a baby.  The elephant asks baby if he'd like a ride.  Baby says yes.  Elephant asks baby if he'd like an ice-cream.  Baby says yes.  Angry shopkeeper chases.  Elephant asks baby if he'd like a biscuit.  Baby says yes.  Angry shopkeeper chases.  And so it goes.  Until the elephant comes to the realisation that that baby has NEVER ONCE said please.  But in the end it doesn't really matter because the baby's mummy cooks pancakes for everyone.

After a few reads (ie, at least fifty repeats), I realised it was basically an introduction to the principles of the criminal law, though thankfully (largely due to the baby's mummy's mad cooking skills) law enforcement officers do not have to get involved.

Theft, simpliciter - As you should have gathered from the short description above, this book is a rollicking tale of shoplifting, the elephant leading the bad baby astray and stealing ice-creams, pies, biscuits and all manner of tasty treats, supposedly on the baby's behalf.

Yoink.

The getaway - "and the elephant and the bad baby went rumpeta, rumpeta, rumpeta, all down the road, with the ice cream man and the pork butcher and the baker all running after".  Need I say more?

Defences to crimes - Is it entrapment? - What say the elephant is an undercover cop?  In criminal law, entrapment is conduct by a law enforcement agent inducing a person to commit an offence that the person would otherwise have been unlikely to commit.  However, there is no entrapment where a person is ready and willing to break the law and the government agents merely provide what appears to be a favourable opportunity for the person to commit the crime.  So, if the elephant is an undercover cop, did he induce the baby to commit a crime he wouldn't have ordinarily committed, or just provide an opportunity to commit the crime?  It's a fine line.  We know this baby's already bad, so perhaps the elephant was just the vehicle for the crime spree the baby had been planning for months.

The law of parties - It's more likely that these two are in cahootz.  The law says that if you aid, abet, incite, counsel, procure or somehow otherwise convince an elephant to go on a stealing spree (even if you do little more than ride on his back and eat the treats), you're in the gun for just as much time as the elephant.


Matters of justification or excuse - No person shall be convicted of an offence by reason of any act done or omitted by him when under the age of 10 years.  Explains why this story is delightfully consequence free: the Crimes Act doesn't apply to animals, nor to children under 10.  Even bad ones.


Alternative dispute resolution - If all else fails, invite everyone home for cups of tea and pancakes. The baby's mummy will cook.

A Tale of Two Poops

For the last few months, we've been casually getting Milkbaby acquainted with the potty. It wasn't a conscious decision to start "potty training", if that's even what we're doing, more that Milkbaby has shown some consciousness of his bodily functions and an inclination to give it a go. We've had a few laugh-out-loud-amazing *waving arms in the air in delight* moments, and a few oh-my-god-there-appears-to-be-shit-everywhere total parenting fails.

Tune out now if you don't want to hear my Tale of Two Poops.

Poop number 1

I left Milkbaby, who had successfully done a small poop in the potty already, to go pants free for an hour or so, while I was cooking dinner. "Pah!", you're thinking, "there's her first mistake...what an amateur!". Twenty minutes into dinner prep, Milkbaby comes into the kitchen and announces triumphantly: "big poo!"

"Really?!" I exclaim with enthusiasm, all the while thinking don't panic, it's probably a false alarm.

"Where? Show me."

He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom.

"Here it is!" he yells, pointing excitedly at the potty, which, to my great relief, contains a small poop.

"Yay! There it is!" I yell, genuinely excited and somewhat relieved. He'd gone into the bathroom, pulled out the potty from its storage place under the bathroom sink, and sat down and done his business. Awesome. This. Development. Is. Awesome.

Poop number two

A few days later, the same scenario. I let him go pants free while I'm making dinner. After a little while, he comes to me and says, proudly, "big poo!". I follow him, this time, gulp, into the hall, where he points to a small, and thankfully solid, poop on the carpet in the middle of the entranceway.

"Oh! It's not in your toilet!" I congratulate him on doing a poo and thank him for showing me where it was, and then suggest that maybe next time he could do one in his potty, which I point out.

I leave him pants off, thinking that he's probably done with ablutions for the evening. This is the point at which the more experienced among you will be yelling "NO!"

A few more minutes pass. Milkbaby comes back to me, again announcing "big poo!"

I follow him, this time into the lounge, a rising sense of dread. There, smack in the middle of the couch is a very big poo. And in the middle of the floor, another poo. And down the back of his legs, more poo. And as he runs giddily out of the lounge, more poo falls on the floor.

I won't bore you with the aftermath.

But that, my dears, brings us to the close of The Tale of Two Poops. One which went so right, and one which went so so wrong.

And the moral of the story? I'm open to suggestions on that one.

Would You Rather...

Would You Rather...  was one of my favourite books as a child.  It involved all sorts of awful options.  Like, would you rather... stay in a haunted house?  or run through a field of stinging nettles?  Ummm...  Of course I was that annoying kid who was always trying to negotiate: "well as long as it was only one night in the haunted house" or "that depends on how big the field of stinging nettles was".  Seems I was destined to be a lawyer.

Lately I've been comparing horrible adult tasks to giving birth.  My darling sister sent me a coupon deal for a Brazilian bikini wax, suggesting thoughtfully that I might like to surprise the DH.  She obviously didn't give much thought to what a bald, post-partum vagina looks like.  It would be a surprise alright.  Perhaps just not a pleasant one.  But I digress.  I emailed her back: "I'd rather give birth than get a Brazilian."

And then I was at the dentist this morning, lying there, jaw and lips stretched out of all proportion, having my teeth cleaned and polished, the little grinder making that awful fingernails-down-blackboard noise thinking "I think I'd rather give birth than go through this again."  And I wasn't even getting a filling!  Or, heaven forbid, a root canal.

And I'm still traumatised by having seven-week-old Milkbaby immunised.  I think I'd rather give birth than do that again.  Or run through a field of stinging nettles.  Or even stay in a haunted house.  But those options weren't available, so he's fully vaccinated (See?  Sensible, old, wise Mama).

According to Wikipedia, Would You Rather is a party game.  I might try it at the next party I go to.  That'll be like, never.  So consider this a blog party.

What would you rather?