The Lady of Snotland

It’s turning into One Of Those Days.

We had plans. Plans to Leave The House. We were even going to meet up with real people and play.

Instead, we’ve made a return to Snotland.

On top of that, I found Alpha in Zulu’s cot 45 minutes after I put Zulu down for a nap. Nap over, baby not rested. Mummy not impressed.

Then Alpha showed me how much I need to lift my game in the child proofing department by handing me a spanner and a mini flamethrowercandle lighter. After I padlocked the toolbox, he promptly jammed his fingers underneath.

So we’re off to a brilliant start, really. The dust has settled a bit, so I thought I’d share some more observations on having sick kids (because it’s more productive than pulling my hair out one strand at a time).

– don’t make plans to leave the house when your kids are sick. You know you’ll just have to cancel them, so why bother? Stay home in your pjs.

– don’t attempt to introduce weetbix to a sick, snotty baby. Just don’t.

– if you ignore my sage advice above, remember that weetbix is an appropriate substitute for concrete and must be rinsed of all surfaces immediately.

– ‘all surfaces’ includes the baby’s face.

– if you decide halfway through to switch to pouch food (because you think you have a chance of it being eaten), don’t select one with blueberry in it – unless you want to see just how far the droplets of your child’s snot goes when they sneeze.

– bibs are useless when your child is sick. Just stick it all in napisan and be done with it.

– some days there just isn’t enough coffee.

– frozen milk in your coffee an affogato doesn’t make.

– my new best friend Frida is nowhere near as gross as you’d think.

– Glen20. Hand sanitiser. Tissues. You can never have enough.

– actually, don’t even bother with the tissues – your baby will only consider your sleeve as an appropriate receptacle for his beloved snot snakes. Your face is also acceptable.

– if you run out of ideas for new games/tolerance for ABC2, there are hundreds of blogs with ideas for games. One of my favourites is Toddler Approved. I found the inspiration for these soft drink bottle skittles there and they’ve been a real hit today. 20140626-152721-55641385.jpg
That’s it for now…anyway, I’m trying my best to remember that every cloud has a silver lining.

It’s just that today that lining is snot.

Grimy Glasses

I’ll be the first to admit I became a parent with a number of expectations – farewelling my precious sleep-ins and tripling my time in the laundry were things I knew were a given. Some things surprised me though. I was surprised to discover that this hardened nocturne can actually do early mornings every day. I was also amazed by how wide a blast range an occupied high chair has.

But the thing that surprised me the most was how incredibly dirty my glasses now get.

I’ve worn glasses since I was 7. I managed to get through primary and high school without them getting too dirty. I survive working in air conditioning without too much grime gunking up my specs. Nothing prepared me for the filthy film I clean off my glasses every couple of hours now I’m a parent.

Why? Sure, kids are fascinated by glasses – mine are no different. Alpha is mostly out of that phase, but Zulu is firmly in it. I’m blinded by the sudden (and yet totally predictable) theft of my glasses at least once a day. His chubby little fingers find their way to my lenses almost every time I hold him. There they pat, stroke, point and grab.

But even that doesn’t account for the layer of sheer scum that builds up so quickly – they’re often dirty at the end of one of Zulu’s naps, so that rules him out as sole culprit. I clean my glasses with a proper lens cloth and spray at least three times a day. I wipe them clean with whatever semi clean item of clothing I’m wearing at least half a dozen times more.

I have no idea how I can account for how dirty they get.

Okay, that’s not 100% true. I have one theory.

I think the saying about boys is true – they really are noise with dirt on it. Perhaps when they’re really noisy they dislodge dirt and send it flying out across the room, just looking for something clean to land on.

My boys are always noisy. Thus, my glasses are always dirty.

Nailed it.

No Smurfs Allowed

I was shocked the other day to discover a toy store selling a play mat that advertised itself as being ‘anti-smurf’.

It disappointed me.

I have no idea what they have against smurfs. I get that they were kinda odd, but quite frankly this sort of behaviour struck me as incredibly blue-ist.

I was on the verge of marching up to the counter and demanding an explanation from the scared-looking teenage boy when I took a second look at the cover.

Smudge. Anti-smudge play mat.

So you can all feel free to invite the local smurfs around to play.

Just don’t invite any smudges.

The Final Rinse: An Encore

So Glooking Mass Lama is having weather problems again.

Now that she’s returned to her unit-dwelling life and the glory days of the Hills Hoist are over, she’s back to hanging her washing out on the balcony (shh, don’t tell the strata!).

Today she was trying to get the kids out of the house to an appointment when her oldest emptied a water bottle over the couch. After responding with a hissy fit and sulking calm words and rationality, she tossed the affected cushions onto the balcony to dry, carefully arranging them to ensure they would remove maximum sun (certainly not in short supply at that point).

She had the following conversation with herself as she did:
“It’s not going to rain, is it?”
“Nope. Not a chance. No clouds anywhere. Besides, you checked the radar earlier and it was clear.”

Then she left the house (simple, really).

She thought no more of it until she emerged from the Fruit Store (where she’d decided to hold onto her tablet rather than pay nearly $300 for a replacement, even though it looks more like a banana than an apple now but is still fully functional) and spotted a fellow shopper carrying a dripping umbrella.

She tells me things got a little blurry at that point. All she knows is that she managed to get herself, the double pram with the uncooperative toddler and the sleeping baby in the ergo through the shops, across the road and up the stairs home in record time (which probably means close to 45 minutes).

Bursting through her door and onto the balcony, Glooking Mass Lama was confronted with an even worse sight – it wasn’t just her couch cushions drenched. The washing she’d hung on the line was receiving the Final Rinse.

As was the dry washing that she’d taken off the line that morning and left in the basket next to the airer.

Of course, to add insult to damp clothing, this happened the very moment she finished arranging soggy cushions in the kitchen:
Well played, God. Well played.