what happens when you let them choose their own clothes

the pants are from a dress and knicker set aunty louise and uncle alex bought
when she was a baby, sized for SIX MONTHS; the hat, EIGHT MONTHS.

eclectic tastes YeAh?

things that go bump in the night

a couple of nights ago, amelia had made her usual exodus into our bed, after sleepwalking into the corner of her room and scrabbling with both hands at the wall looking for her 'guddle guddle'. a chocolate fish to the first person who can tell us what a 'guddle guddle' is . . . we have no bloody idea ourselves, and were almost as distressed as she was that she could not find it in the plasterboard.

anyway, i digress.

she was in our bed, between us (we are going to buy an H shaped bed next time, so that andrew and i can sleep the right way around, and amelia can sleep across it with her feet on her dad and her head on me, revolving regularly 180 degrees during the night), lying with her knees bent up, one foot crossed over a knee, and had her hands in the 'i am on my computer position.' she said: 'mummy, what the yucky bees doing? (yucky bees are the not so nice insect characters in the movie 'a bug's life', the other characters are, logically, 'the NICE bees') as her fingers 'typed' on the keyboard. i (having learned with my usual speed that one Must Go Along With Child Fantasies) said: 'i don't know. what ARE they doing?' Amelia: 'they flying. with WINGS on.' . . . 'ooops. he fallen over.' Me: 'who fell?' Amelia: 'the nice bee'. Me: 'is he ok?' Amelia: 'mmm hmmm, he's ok.'

she continued with the voiceovers, and i drifted back to sleep as inconspicuously as possible (a technique also learned quickly - if she sees you going back to sleep, you are likely to have your chin grabbed and be shaken awake to 'see' the next thing on her horizon) . . . andrew, having managed to elude the interrogation thus far, then let out a teensy weensy snore, which put her on red alert. next thing, she was rolled over facing him, with her beaming face gleaming in the sliver of moonlight coming thru our blinds, nose only millimeters from his, and asking: 'what's YOUR name?' (as a side note, this is the latest game, and it consists of her asking one at least a million times in quick succession, 'what's your name?' - altho, i could be exaggerating, might only be half a million). he responded: 'i'll tell you in the morning' - and it was all on. i sent back to sleep giggling, listening to him desperately trying not to wake her up any further while not ignoring her entirely - a veritable tightrope for the unknowing parent.

he said the following day that he had woken a number of times after that to find amelia's face only millimeters from his, wearing a mad grin, obviously happy that he had opened his eyes at last. he found it a tad unnerving, as you can imagine!

daycare is the BOMB

seriously, we are not sure who is enjoying the return to daycare more - her down there or us up here. then there is the swimming with dadda (which consists mainly of him standing guard while she tries out impossible manoeuvres and stunts), walks to the puppy park every night with her katie, yukky bees (otherwise known as the movie 'a bug's life' - her latest obsession), reading by HERSELF after dad has finished reading her stories at night time, changing clothes and shoes a zillion times a day (saying, 'how 'bout DIS one, or DIS one? i wear DAT, ok?'), sitting on the floor with thomas asking him how his (missing) eye is, then assuring us that he will have two eyes again 'soon'.

home, for someone that short and routine-loving, is the place to be. and daycare, with 'my kids', and 'my canny (candice the carer)', and 'my stuff' is the icing on her cake.

we have gone all out to celebrate with her, getting to a movie or two a week, then picking her up straight away afterwards, then home for 'ning on the couch, ok?' while mummy watches the antiques road show with an earl grey tea in hand. bliss all round!

only seven months to go

the terrible twos have so far been a mythological beast for us. odd sightings of things that MIGHT be caused by that particular syndrome, but nothing really concrete.

until this morning.

it started at 1:30 am with a red-faced sweaty child calling for 'ning and ning' (because there are two?), ending up in our bed roaring because i said (as has been the case for a while), ning during the daytime but at night mum has to sleep. given a choice of continuing to roar and going back to her own bed, or staying with us and lying down and being quiet, she chose the latter - reluctantly, sleeping (if one can call it that) frenetically with legs and arms flailing at random intervals. at 6:30 when kt came upstairs to ready herself for work, amelia launched herself of the end of the bed in a huge leap, calling katie katie . . . and it was all on. a quick toilet stop, with her bellowing for her father because an attempt at using loo paper correctly had ended badly. a bath and large scrub down followed. shortly after that it was all about daddy feeding her porridge bowing (blowing) on it first, then on with the bike helmet and qantas backpack to the horse waiting outside (wooden, rocking) to go to work, blowing kisses as she rocked madly. in when it rained to draw and cut with the scissors. followed by a few chasing sessions where she bolted with the scissors and the 'only when you are sitting at the table' rule was re and reinforced. she successfully negotiated with me to be allowed to sit at the coffee table on her ikea stool, and as i turned my back to walk to the sink, i heard her say 'i just cut my hair, ok?' and turned to see little golden fibres drifting from the hand stretched up behind her back. cue salutory lesson for all concerned. back to 'only when you are at the kitchen table, sitting' with the addition of 'and at least one fully focused parent present and fully awake' and 'ONLY HAIRDRESSERS CUT YOUR HAIR, NOT YOU!!!!'.

not long after that we were at the table having morning tea and drawing, when i again turned my back (this time to pick up my cup of tea and bring it to the table once i had placed the milk in the cup), when i heard her say happily 'just like the man, just like the man'. i didn't respond so quickly this time, so put the milk away in the fridge before i investigated - finding her wrists and forearms covered in what i assume to be imitation tattoos, given the prevalence of these at the folk festival we just attended . . . lesson number TWO.

after some emptying out of the plastics cupboard and trying out of all the zips on the cooler bags held therein (in preparation for daycare tomorrow - WOOOOOT WOOOOT), she became grizzly, and asked to go to 'mummy's bed' - i agreed, and said i would be there for ning once i had finished the dishes. i checked her every minute or so, seeing her rolling around the bed tiredly, and thought she may fall asleep without me. last time i checked, she was sitting up in bed with a bright red mouth, gazing adoringly at herself in the mirror. apparently it was dad's lipstick, as she found it in a bag she assumed was his. she was wrong however. another trip to the bathroom and the 3rd lesson well under my belt.

the final scene was amelia lying on the bed in starfish postion, with her head in a small toybox that i had just emptied out, looking for all the world like someone out of one flew over the cuckoos nest. fortunately, bY 11am, she was asleep, so i could retire to the kitchen and have a lifesaving cup of tea . . . .

photos will follow, and a video if it is not too large for the blog to take.

folk festivals: show us your inner hippie!

after the princess face painting exercise (she asked for a princess look!)

she has a wee thing for 'tucking in' at present. all tops and tee's have to be 'tucked in', often to undies ('unnies' to amelia) - regardless of how they are MEANT to be worn . . . this is the site for the festival - katie and chelsea spent a week there, and amelia and i joined them for a couple of days. amelia (like her sisters) is a natural hippie, barefeet and mud and chai tents and morris dancers and wandering minstrels and kaftans and organic cotton clothing and circus acts and all day concerts and workshops and rows and rows and rows of tents and acres and acres and acres of chilled out people . . .