Operation Wean 'em . . .

We decided before going to NZ (Andrew and I), that it was time to wean the midget. Mainly because she has got into some strange and not-particularly-socially-acceptable behaviours - like, fumbling her grubby little hands down my front in public and asking to feel/see/touch my nings . . . and giggling like a hyena as she does so. And then there were the hour long lolling sessions first thing in the morning, where we would stay in bed until she had had her fill . . . and the same at night time. Not to mention her predilection to assume the position (lying across my lap and looking hopefully at me with a beatific smile while her hands got busy freeing the milk suppliers) anytime we got into a cafe situation.

It was TIME.

We cooked up a scheme, not particularly bright, but the best we could do in the absence of anything better, and started telling her that 'when we came home to Australia (after our trip home to Enzed) she would be a BIG girl, and therefore no more ning . . .' We offered to buy her a 'special cup' to replace the ning - asked her what colour cup she wanted - her reply? 'ummmmm, a GWEY one' (we expected pink, or at least purple. grey? at her age?)

She seemed to love the idea, repeating it by rote to anyone who asked (we drilled her in it daily, sometimes four or five times a day), and kept looking for the gwey (then black, then bue, then WED) cup as we did so.

We travelled home today, and it was a ning fest on the plane, because ya di ya di yah dah, refer to the above was due to be implemented!

however, when we arrived home, ning was demanded, in the usual stentorian tones, and andrew manfully went in to bat, gently reminding amelia of the (admittedly and decidedly one sided) deal we had struck. she faced him down, hands on hips, and shouted 'i not a big girl, i a LITTLE girl' and followed up with some deep and meaningful spitting (you've seen it). she stalked outside to sit on her rocking horse, announcing to us both that 'i not TALKING now' (more spitting followed). more enraged and indignant shouting followed, mainly incoherent, as she gave us collectively the few remaining pieces of her tiny mind. she came inside to harass me a little more, and i remonstrated gently for quite a while, but to no avail. she was so adamant, standing shouting us both down, red-faced and frankly belligerent, that i lost it completely, and buried my face in my hands - crying with laughter, saying to andrew that: 'this is going to kill me.' amelia promptly turned to her father and announced, in a very calm voice, 'she's going to KILL me, she's going to kill me' (she knows what killing is, as she spent some very enjoyable moments killing flies and other winged things at granny's house yesterday, flourishing the blue fly swat most effectively). andrew, understandably, lost it in turn, suddenly completely unable to speak.

then (courtesy of grannIE) i had an epiphany, and told amelia that my nings were BROKEN, and that i needed to have some band aids put on them, and asked her if she would mind fetching me the bandaids.

WELL, that was a turnaround moment. she became very concerned, asked me if they were 'vewwy saw', and went and got two bandaids (elbowing andrew aside to do so), nad carefully placed them on the areas listed as 'bwoken'. she then announced that her nings were also broken, and that she likewise needed bandaids . . .

We then hopped into the parental bed, where she started to watch her favorite dvd on my laptop, before cuddling up to me, patting the sore bits very gingerly for a short while, and went promptly and deeply to sleep.

We are hoping that this strategy will work.

If not, I am following grannIE's advice to the letter, and will apply green food colouring to the territory in dispute, in an effort to convince amelia that they are REALLY broken. I am also laying in a stock of cabbage leaves (thanks aunty S) to help me on my way.

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!