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.”
“Cool.”

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.

The Pumpkin and the Boy

Let me tell you a tale…

Boy was at the shops with his mummy when it happened. Mummy picked up a pumpkin. Boy asked to hold it. Mummy warned him it might be heavy, but Boy was not dissuaded.

Their connection was deep and instantaneous. Boy bravely carried his new friend the whole way around the shops. He made sure he reminded Mummy every now and then how heavy his new friend was, but refused to be separated.

There were nearly tears when Mummy told him they had to give it to the lady so they could buy it. Boy surrendered his friend only after repeated assurances they would be reunited immediately. Sure enough, they were – and all was right with the world in that instant.

Boy was honoured to carry his boon companion home, and gently lugged carried it up to the third floor. There he welcomed his friend into his home – and Mummy began to have an inkling of how special this pumpkin really was.

Boy and his pumpkin were inseparable for the rest of the afternoon. They were spotted snuggling on the couch when Boy was weary. They sat at the table together when Boy needed to eat. They watch quality children’s TV shows together.

Mummy realised she needed to find a home for the pumpkin overnight so that there were no tears at bedtime. She asked Boy where he thought the pumpkin should sleep. To her great surprise and relief, he announced pumpkin should sleep in the oven. So into the cold oven the pumpkin went. While there was a plea for the pumpkin to usurp the spot of Boy’s teddy, there were no major squash dramas. Mummy hope that would be the end of it and that no mention of the his vegetable partner would be made in the morning.

Clearly Mummy was delusional.

As soon as Boy was out of bed, he politely inquired as to the whereabouts of his friend. Sensing she would be fighting a losing battle, Mummy retrieved the pumpkin from his nightly dwellings and handed it to her son.

Boy was dismayed at the cold reception his friend gave him after a night on the element. He quickly realised he would need to work harder to help his friend feel at home. He offered his friend his favourite blanket for warmth and they sat together for some time in the early hours of the morning while Mummy wondered how much coffee she’d need to get through the day.

The next day began with Boy sobbing for his pumpkin before the sun was up. The pumpkin emerged from where Mummy had craftily hid it (the fridge) to once again be swaddled and snuggled.

Later that day, Boy took the momentous step of inscribing his tribal markings on the pumpkin, introducing his friend t his grandparents the tribal elders, and bestowing a name upon it – Punkien.

Mummy began to wonder how this could possibly end well.

But there was hope for Mummy yet. She caught Boy – not once, but at least twice – muttering to himself about pumpkin soup being yummy in his tummy.

Three Songs

I’ve taken up another blogging course through The Daily Post called Writing 101. The aim is to get yourself writing (if not necessarily posting) everyday. Today is day three. My task today is to write about the three most important songs in my life.

This is hard. If you know me in person, you know I’m from an incredibly musical family. Like my-dad-just-made-his-own-acoustic-guitar-in-Italy musical. To choose three songs and decide they are the most important is like choosing the three best coffees I’ve ever had.

See? Impossible.

To narrow things down a little, I’m going to choose the three most important songs to me as a parent. This also helps me to keep with the theme of the blog. I hear each of these songs at least once a day.

The Owl and the Pussycat

I memorised this song when Alpha was little and would sing it to him as a lullaby every night. And every morning. And probably twice in the afternoon. It’s quite versatile – you can slow it right down to allow for a soothing sleepifying effect, or you can speed it up and add a bit of a bounce to it to try and entertain a screaming, teething monster baby.

He loved it. I loved it. We still sing it. I’m loving it even more now that he’s learning the words. So far, he’s mastered

“…so they took it away and were married next day by the turkey who lives on a hill.”

I think that’s the takeaway lesson from the song, don’t you?

Not sure how I’ll go once he asks me to start explaining the lyrics. Bong trees and runcible spoons and interspecies weddings – what could possibly go wrong?

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

This is important to me for two reasons.
1. It’s the first song I remember Alpha singing himself.
2. Sung ad nauseum, it will calm my cranky, tired Zulu.

It also makes me laugh right now when I sing it after hearing Alpha sing a new version:

“Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Up above the world so high
Like some garlic in the sky
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are.”

He’s obviously worked out how I cook.

Recently he decided to put on a concert for me. He grabbed his toy piano (‘pinano’ for those playing at home) and put his sunglasses on upside down. He performed with such great gusto that he actually it virtually demanded audience participation (I was Chief Diamond Maker). I have been told stories of the concerts my sister and I used to subject our relatives to – clearly it’s genetic.

My final song choice was clear from the moment I started writing this post.

Peppa Pig Theme Song

Sure, it’s not the most complicated song. It has two words that are repeated three times and an introductory free-stylin’ monologue.

But I can tell you now without a shadow of doubt, this is the most important song to me as a parent.

Why?

It heralds the start of a magical five minute window of mesmerisation. Alpha will sit (or stand) transfixed by The Pig until the end of the credits. I have five minutes to do whatever I need/can.

It turns out you can get a lot done in five minutes.

I can boil the kettle, fill and start the washing machine and then make myself a cup of tea. I never get to drink it, but that’s beside the point.

I can chop an onion, two carrots, and some celery for dinner. If I didn’t want my fingers to remain intact I could probably do more.

I can vacuum the living room (around the kids) without Alpha stealing the vacuum from me.

I can shower and dress myself.

I can go to the bathroom without supervision.

Yup. It’s sad, but this is one of the most important pieces of music ever written for me as a parent.

What are the favourites in your house?