a conversation while driving

on the way home from dinner at a thai restaurant called, quaintly, 'thai wi rat' . . . this was the conversation between amelia and her dad.

she was patting thomas and mused out loud: "he is very fuffy (sic). . . i'm not very fuffy . . . i'm not a dog, cos i'm not fuffy!" Andrew: you're not a cat because . . .?" Amelia: "i'm not FUFFY' . . . . Me: you're not daddy cos . . . .?" Amelia: "i haven't got garses (glasses)" (we went thru the entire family - she wasn't any of us because we all of us have, apparently, GARSES."

we wandered upstairs, and readied her for bed - bath, fresh handtowel wrapped around her body like a miniature adult, then it was time to do her teeth. i asked - "who would you like to do your teeth tonight? mummy or daddy?" no response. i asked again, twice, sounding a little exasperated by the last time.

her response: "katie . . ."

hmph.
katie was OUT.
we mentioned this.

amelia's response was to say: "look, here is katie" and to bend over slightly, leering at an imaginary katie as she grasped her hand and led her to the bathroom, other hand keeping her tiny towel in a dignified position.

what is one to do????

up date

whew, the kid is developing so fast, we can hardly keep track of her funny little ways and sayings. chelsea is here for a week, so amelia has been trotting around - pretty much to heel (well, chelsea IS practically a vet, it figures), gazing adoringly at her and continually asking her - 'what are you wearing Chels?' she talks about her sisters ALL the time, relishing their names rolling off her tongue. yes yes yes, makes me tearful!

her mornings start like this: 4-5am ish, into our bed - if its dark, back to sleep after a wee chat . . . i.e. 'dadda, dad. 'melia's in YOUR bed. milk. i want milk. PWEESE. milk pweese. no stars dadda. just dark. hee hee hee, your beard tickles 'melia (as her feet caress his face with the gentleness of a rampaging alligator. i cuddle ewe mumma' (rolls vigorously over and grabs my face, planting baby kisses from one end of it to the other, then sinking her face into my pillow with a happy sigh, holding my neck with one hand either side.)

a short time later, its up for breakfast. thomas must be greeted. 'sweetheart, hows your day going? i have my medicine now? (multivit tablet with a koala stamped on the front.) that is consumed in a few seconds. 'i have another one my medicines?' andrew responds: 'how many are you allowed a day?' 'one.' "how many have you had?' 'one.' 'what happens if you have more than one?' ''melia goes BAH (spews)' (well, she doesn't - but that was the first thing andrew thought of as a reason why it was one only - and he is STICKING to it).

she calls us sweetheart a lot. very tenderly too. she tries to do most things on her own - toileting especially, unless andrew is around, and then he goes on to WIPER duty. she informs him he has to be 'vewwy vewwy gentle pweese' . . . if she is playing in her room, and we look in the door, she lifts a hand and motions us in, patting the floor saying: 'come in my room and play me - this is MY room.'

bandaids are a new discovery: 'my knee is vewwy vewwy sore. i want bannaid. i get one?' and off she goes into the bathroom to fetch one, and will apply it rather skilfully if she gets the chance.

she has her own new handwashing liquid - featuring a kangaroo on the front. the stuff foams beautifully, so it is a huge play time whenever hands get washed. we are currently trying to balance the need to wash hands often with our desire that she not wash a thousand times a day . . .

she is, as we have learned, a NICE BEE . . . not a yucky one (see A Bugs Life The Movie for reference) . . . and will tell us tenderly that we are also nice bees, or YUMMY bees. this has proved a rather useful tool in suppressing (hmmmm, emotional trauma in force!) any anti social tendencies (of which a number have manifested) . . . i.e. "Amelia, do nice bees or yucky bees push little kids?" . . . "yucky bees". "ok. are you a nice bee or a yucky bee?" a NICE bee" (this accompanied by a hurt and indignant look) "so, you are not going to push that little boy again are you?" "nooooooo. i a NICE bee." (usually an apology - a very sweet 'sowwy' and a huge hug ensues after this discussion - fortunately, very few and far between these days - the toddler years is on its way out!).

a recent visit to the Lone Pine koala sanctuary resulted in amelia ripping leaves off trees when we came home, and attempting to eat them. she was, you see, a KOALA like her 'Nala (koala toy) . . . we quickly mentioned the 'special leaves for koalas we keep in the fridge', and she and andrew then happily ate the said lettuce leaves in quiet contemplation. also, the veges on her dinner plate have been categorised as koala food (broccoli is 'trees for the uvver one Nalas', carrots are for the 'hopping kangaroos', potato is what the 'big lizards' eat, and peas are the favorite food of the Push turkey (or as it SHOULD be known, the BUSH turkey . . .) . . . and the correct noises and actions precede the eating of said vegetable delights. makes for an interesting dinnertime. still, she is eating the damn stuff - so we are happy . . .

when photos can't be posted

as previously mentioned, the kid is going through (well, has been since she started being able to dress herself) a stage of whipping her clothes off at the drop of a hat, and running around butt nekkid. a couple of times recently we have found ourselves convulsing on the floor while she does so. i can't, for obvious reasons, post photos of these two instances on the net, so will limit myself to a description!

yesterday morning, ms A was roaring her discontent at something or other, and was sent to her room to calm down (which usually happens after the door is shut, and once she has screamed at the top of her lungs in completely incoherent language exactly what she thinks of us), and came out, miraculously transformed in both appearance and demeanour, butt nekkid except for a pair of purple fairly wings strapped to her back, smiling beatifically (mercurial should be her middle name) running madly through the house, pausing every now and then to do a sort of ballet-like leap, yelling 'fie fie fie' (fly fly fly) . . . . she ran from one room to the other for what seemed to be an hour, while we wept at the kitchen table.

thomas, sensible dog, hid UNDER the table with his remaining eye hidden in his paws. that dog is a SURVIVOR.

after a day of swimming lessons and mad game-playing with her toys, she went to bed - roaring again (she had removed her pyjama pants, perched on the edge of the couch, announced that she was 'doing poo's' with all the appropriate noises - pretending, i hasten to add - and then donned a satin doll's pillowcase as her 'new pants', refusing to put her pyjama pants back on. i, evil slayer of all things imaginary, had made her put the pj pants back on, and she went and hopped into our bed loudly protesting) . . . a few minutes later (after going in once to rescue his wallet at she strewed its contents across our bed), andrew went to check on her, and came out - beside himself - waving katie and i in the door.

she was nowhere in sight, her pjs were perched neatly on my pillow, and a small wriggling amelia shaped lump was burrowing under the top sheet, with hands and feet making all sorts of experimental shapes as she did so.

we didn't disturb her, and a few minutes later she was lying sedately asleep and in all innocence on her father's pillow, hands crossed at her chest like a good girl, with the pj's still abandoned next to her.

i transferred her a few minutes later, first into her pjs and then her own bed, giving her her toy st bernard in its red cross rescue bag, which was grabbed and embraced fiercely even though she stayed asleep for the entire time.

she IS fun. MAD with it. but fun.

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.