Lock Down

So it's been over a month since my last post. I guess that's the thing about writing about having a demanding toddler... there's not a lot of down time to write about it. Total first world problem. I'm sure the Ugandan mother who just schlepped two buckets of dirty water 20 kms to her starving children is really feeling for me...
ANYWAYS! The last week has been a teeny bit tedious due to the fact that Miss Frannie has had a "non specific virus" which pretty much only consists of a complete body rash. Other than that, she has been fine and running around like a crazy person, but understandably she is still deemed unfit for child care. 
So... she conveniently kicked this rash thing into high gear on Saturday because that was the day I was due to catch up with my dearest friend Annie... Yes, she is also an Annie and I will hereby refer to her as "Tough Annie", because when little Annie was born we decided that sounded better than "Big Annie", because that kind of sounds like a large female prison inmate. Anyways, obviously because Tough Annie was going to be in Adelaide for only a few days, Frannie, whether consciously or not, brought it upon herself to immediately halt my plans of being "a people" as the honest toddler would say, for a short time (ie.having pleasant adult social interaction). Meanwhile, just to rub salt into the wound, Sash, ie. dad, was in Melbourne seeing his favourite band in the world. So I only got to see my dear friend for a few hours on the Saturday, with kidlets accompanying, which of course results in a lot of half finished sentences and interrupted conversation interjected with "stop it please", "mummy's talking Annie" and "in a minute darling" and the feeling later that day that you kind of remember seeing your friend but you can't be completely sure.
We spent a good deal of time in the doctors surgery, which is always a mad cap adventure and always includes Annie lying on the stained carpet that god knows how many people have vomited/urinated/bled on. (P.S She did a wee on it on visit 1, requiring the poor, grossed out receptionist to cover it with "the trusty vomit/pee sand"). By the fourtieth "Annie, please get up, the carpet is yucky", you give up and concede that this festy little human is probably "building up her immunity" by rolling around on this germ laden floor. BTW future prospective parents, I don't know at what age you stop washing the dummy every time it falls or using a blanket to line the shopping trolley etc, but at some point all is forgiven with the phrase "building up their immunity". It's probably around the time they eat their first millipede, which for Annie was 12 months.
There were a number of toddler fueled incidences on days 2-5 including a stand up screaming bath, a run around the airport arrivals lounge wearing only a nappy (and covered head to toe in a rash-people in airports love that shit) whilst waiting for daddy to return home, improvisational texta drawing on floorboards and a sneaky Zinc Curash cream free for all which saw the kitchen thoroughly painted whist I was in the shower (how dare I bathe).
After 3 more visits to the doctor we finally got clearance to go back to child care today, which kind of feels like Christmas. I've only missed 3 days of work (for which I don't get paid, being a relief teacher) and 2 social outings with one of my closest friends in the world who I only see 3 or 4 times a year, but that's okay, I'm not bitter (eye twitch). No, to be honest I am probably more relieved that besides the rash, little Frannie wasn't actually ill with the virus. As any parent will tell you, there is nothing more awful than seeing your little people unwell. So I am grateful for that. Sure we had a few moments which had mummy tearfully reevaluating her life choices and daddy sitting outside, desperately inhaling his cigarette and starring into space with that "I wonder what would happen if I just got in my car and drove to Melbourne" look on his face, but we made it through 5 days of lock down and the little lady is free to go back and join the 15 other little maniacs she hangs out with 3 days a week.
Sigh. Peace.

Mid strip at the airport. Impromptu nap on a tutu.

Blotchy but cheery.

A real human girl?

 Strangely unsettling morning. Annie was pleasant. Sweet even. She has either come out the other side of some sort of demonic possession or she is trying to lull me into a false sense of security, at which point she will let rip with a Britney/Lilo-esque type melt down at the most opportune moment. There have still been moments where her pupils seemingly glow red and she gets that weird 'Children of the Corn' look on her face, but for the most part she almost seems like a real human girl. I must admit, a lot of this "normal" behaviour can be attributed to blatant bribary (If you put your shoes on you can have a milky way... If you stop screaming I won't leave you at the petrol station... obviously joking). Last night she ate one solitary piece of meat so as I would refill the gravy compartment on her plate. The girl is all about the gravy and the sauce! It didn't really work though, so for all means and purposes, you could safely say she had gravy for dinner last night. Mmm,Vitamin MSG.
ANY success to get her out the door in the morning is largely to the credit of her bestest friend Clara (or Cwawa as Annie pronounces it), who she runs to squealing, arms flailing, each day across the school yard. It's a scene I tells ya. The two of them then grab hands and do a spirited happy dance/jump up and down number before trotting off to get to work on very important toddler business. It always makes me laugh and also feel slightly disappointed that rarely in adulthood does this awesome display of  frenetic "Oh my frickin'god, I missed you, you're so awesome, I'm so excited" happen , especially after only 24 hours apart.
Their to do list includes; dropping stones into the storm water grates, collecting branches and other crud from the oval, stealing food from other peoples lunch boxes (well if ya leave it lying around??) and the ever popular stuffing around at the drink fountains (which are of questionable hygiene) inevitably leading to wet, dirty clothes... The aim of every toddler I assume? Get dressed, arrive, find water, get wet, sorted.
I have become especially watchful for the ice cream containers of dog water that are often lying about at parks etc because apparently this stuff is better than any of that bottled crap. If you are under 4 dog water is delicious and irresistible!

Anyway, wish me luck because I am spending the entire weekend alone at my mum's house with the small ones and things could go very very wrong. I will be requiring alcohol on both nights and seeing as how I am going to be sharing a bed with Samuel, the side sleeper, who loves nothing better that to kick me in the small of the back all night. I might throw in a sleeping pill, a face mask and spongey ear plugs for good measure. Yes, I will be emulating Judy Garland during her demise... Might have to find a flowy nighty for maximum effect.

Annie and her co-conspirator in mess making, the adorable Clara.

Cactus Hour

I've decided that cactus hour is a bit like having Motley Crew (in the 80's) in your lounge room.
Basically there's a fair amount of screaming, public urination, outrageous demands and nudity.

After getting up at the crack of sparrows today, herding the littlens to OSH and Child Care, teaching year 2's for a full day and finally herding everyone and their 14 pieces of hand luggage back through the front door alive (hooray for me), we then have the privilege of being a part of the 4:30 cactus hour... which goes on until well after 7.

4:30pm: Take off nappy. Get on and off toilet 35 times.
4:35pm: Go and wee on a Medicare cheque.
4:40pm: Wee on floor boards twice more ensuring wee gets in between boards.
4:45pm: Eat instant coffee directly from the jar. Freak the fuck out.
4:50pm: Demand a lot of plastic straws. No, not that one. Tantrum.
4:55pm: Get foot stuck in toy (valid cry). Didn't kiss foot right amount of times. Tantrum.
5pm: Watch Mr Maker... get craft ideas in head.
5:05pm: Not allowed to go outside to paint. Major tantrum.
5:10pm: Demand Milky Way, Chips, Tiny Teddies... Denied. Tantrum.
5:15pm Demand macaroni and cheese.
5:30pm: Be deeply offended by said macaroni and cheese offering. Demand sauce for dinner.

There is no way to end this post. I'm so tired. Good night.

Masking tape will stick to a rabbit

Annie is sick. I'm not having fun. In desperate attempts to appease the little chicklet I allowed her to play with a roll of masking tape which she decided to decorate the rabbit with. It wasn't a lot of masking tape. I'm sorry Fluffy but you're gonna have to take one for the team. My feeling is, if the rabbit is stupid enough to sit still more than a few seconds in the presence of a 2 year old then he has it coming. Mabel the highly strung cat knows the drill and has her escape routine carefully planned, whereupon sighting Annie, will go into a semi crouch position, tail still (you don't want to draw attention to that shit) establishing the quickest route away from the chubby handed one. Unfortunately Fluffy isn't the brightest crayon in the box. He repeatedly tries to have sex with the peg basket and eat his own poo. Yes, they do that apparently. So you see, the masking tape thing was probably a pleasant escape from the regular mundane rabbit business for the little guy.

'Masking Tape Head' by Annie

Before you call Familes SA...

Before I begin this blog in which I will inevitably paint myself as some sort of hard-hearted psychopath who doesn't deserve the love of her little cherubs, I will get the disclaimers out of the way.
1. I love my daughter. As in, "I adore, would throw myself under a bus to save her life, am often found staring in absolute awe of her perfection" love her.
2. I do have another child, who is not ignored. He is a quiet, self conscious, introspective little man who I also adore. 
3. I do not love one child more than the other. Although I do like Sam a lot more at the this point in their lives. Mainly because he doesn't make me consider drinking during the day quite as often as Annie does, and rarely throws apples at my head because they are the wrong colour.
4. This blog is in no way intended to give advice or instruction on the raising of a toddler... because I have no idea. The fact that she is my second child makes this a little sad because my first child was seemingly a freak of nature and NEVER had a tantrum... ever. I know.
5. I am bound to make grammatical errors. The commas won't always be in the right place. I know this makes some people very cross. I am sorry.
6. I swear quite a bit. I really enjoy it. Again, sorry.
7. I love my daughter. Despite the spectacularly unreasonable, unpredictable, bad tempered, kicking, screaming, frothing at the mouth unpleasantness that is her toddlerness (yep, made that word up), she is my darling girl.

P.S. Here is a bruise on my knee that I acquired yesterday when I fell through the baby gate and face planted the kitchen floor. I was attempting to storm in as she had squeezed an entire tube of paw paw ointment onto the couch. Instead she burst into tears at the sight of me on the floor clutching my knee and so we ended up cuddling on the paw paw couch as I comforted her. Annie:1, Tanya: 0.