Sticks and stones

Somewhat ironically, Robert Benchley once said, ‘Drawing on my fine command of the English language, I said nothing.’ Invaluable advice that I am now trying hard to drill into my 4 year old.

Working with children allows you an up-close and personal look at how language is acquired. The English language, with its obscure Latin base, is often described as one of the hardest languages to learn. As such, it never fails to amaze me how children can apply the innumerable, irregular rules and still get their message across meaningfully.

But what also never fails to amaze me is how quickly they acquire words, all the while using them in the right context and with the right expression.

Having kids is like having a talking mirror wherever you go - something that I have never aspired to at the best of times. As if one of you is never enough, you have to be duplicated, in stereo. Always a sobering experience…

We mistakenly thought that we had kept our cursing mostly in check – but clearly not enough in check. You could have peeled me off the floor recently. While walking through David Jones, one of our ‘posher’ department stores, the Short One loudly declared to all the beautiful people in the cosmetic department, ‘Jeez, it’s f@#king hot in here!’

A not-quick-enough retreat ensued, resulting in one of the Short One’s arms being somewhat lengthier than the other.

This incident was followed up with of my famous ‘little chats’ – this time about appropriate ‘grown up’ words versus ‘little people’ words. Not only does one need to learn the idiosyncrasies of the English language – one also needs to know at which age certain words can enter one’s vocabulary.

What I didn’t factor in though, was the fact that youngsters are so very literal. I really needed to put a caveat on all grown up words, not just that one indiscretion, as big as it was… resulting, unfortunately, in another shopping expedition whereby I was wishing hard for an unexplained and immediate arrival of a ground chasm. 

There we were, roaming the aisles of our local grocery store, having a jovial moment together at dad’s expense, until the Short One, laughing away, exclaims… ‘Oh dad! He is such a d#@khead, isn’t he?’

Where does one go to from there (other than quickly out of the store)?

Time waits for no (wo)man

time |tʌɪm  

noun1 [ mass noun ]

the indefinite continued progress of existence and events in the past, present, and future regarded as a whole

If I knew what the above dictionary definition meant, I would stand a much better chance at creating more of the stuff, I think. 

But sadly…

Time…is that precious commodity that none of us have enough of

Time…is probably better understood by Stephen Hawking than most of us mere mortals

Time…has been immortalised by Cher forever, in her desire to turn it back, whilst astride a large cannon, wearing an oversized hair ribbon and fishnets that weren’t quite up to the job….

Regardless, I don’t have enough of it. Because of this I am convinced that there are days when I live in an altered reality. One that takes things that are meant to be enjoyed at a slower pace — and perversely accelerates them.

As soon as parenthood descended, I found simple things were just impossible. Simple things that required a portion of time longer than the average attention span of a gnat. Things like —

• sleeping
• slow cooking
• watching a non-animated movie
• enjoying a bath
• reading a book
• checking your email and, dare I say, replying to the odd one

Getting back to that over-achiever, Stephen Hawking…he once said that time travel used to be thought of as just science fiction, but Einstein's general theory of relativity allows for the possibility that we could warp space-time so much that you could go off in a rocket and return before you set out.

I want to warp space-time. I need to warp space-time.

And, when I find out what space-time is, I’ll get on to that rocket-manufacturing thing. I want to be able to enjoy a slow cooked beef burgundy while watching something that Margaret and David have spoken about this century, in a bubble bath, while checking my iPhone in my sleep, before lying down with a good crime novel. Not much to ask for, really.

OK — let’s face it. I am probably not much of a time-warp-space-travelling-thing authority. But I reckon the challenge is on. While Stephen Hawking once wrote a book titled A brief history of time, followed up with the contrarily titled A briefer history of time, I reckon I could write a shorter one…if only I could find a some spare time.

reaching for the stars

another day dawns on february three

my wee little baby, you’ll no longer be

growing up fast before our own eyes

if only time stood still, instead it flies

i remember your teeny fingers and toes

your dark, dark eyes and cute button nose

you would follow my voice around the room

knowing it so well from deep in the womb

with the blink of an eye, you have turned four

my wee little baby, you are no more

each and every day my love for you

abounds like your joy in all that you do

my dreams for you mirror your own

just as always, as you have grown

your love for life is an inspiration

no star is safe in that far constellation

Nigella, I am not!

Last day at childcare

The short one, unbelievably, starts pre-prep next week. The year before she launches herself into 13 years of formal school education. Unashamedly, the last two years of childcare have successfully lulled me into a false sense of 'all-over-it-ness!' Daycare provided an onsite cook, laundry, nappy service and 12 hour day flexibility. Mind you, we also paid through the nose for the privilege.


Now, we are facing strict 8.45am to 2.45pm days, 5 days a fortnight. Such convenience for working parents! But that's OK, we have been compensated by the fact that we now not only have to provide the child, but one complete with a day's worth of grazing. For the short one, that mostly equates to her body weight.

Why is it that the mere thought of lunch boxes strikes absolute fear into the most capable of mothers? I thought I was missing something there at one stage. There seems to be a whole industry spawned from the fear of the lunchbox. Websites, books, fact sheets, whole government departments have been generated to deal with lunchbox anxiety.

Is it because as soon as your child enters the formal education realm you are immediately struck down with lunch amnesia? Surely, if your child is heading off to school, one can safely assume you have been successful in 4-5 years of lunch preparation prior to this.

Or is it because the pressure of providing a five star, nutritionally balanced, beautifully plated, nude lunch is just too much for all those non-Nigellas amongst us. No doubt there is something in the 'not-wanting-to-be-known-as-the-mother-of-the-poor-child-who-has-stale-vegemite-sandwiches-each-day'.

Perhaps then we could take a leaf out of Nigella's book...just start eating in the closet late at night...

The top five and one on turning five and forty

You would think after spending some years in the 'forty-decade' that I would be all over it by now. Even my beloved husband kindly reminds me at regular intervals that the half-decade is fast approaching. But the fact of the matter is, I am a big girl now. I can count, thank you. I am painfully aware of my birthdate and am able to add-on up to the current year in order to calculate my age. Despite my short-comings in mathematical skills. I don’t need reminding, like some slow-on-the-uptake student.

But what becomes all the more painfully obvious is the overall features on offer upon entering the fifth decade.

Here are my top 6...

1. General tolerance levels immediately deplete, not unlike hormone levels. In fact, perhaps they are incongruously aligned with each other. One’s tolerance levels of small children, ignorant people, stupidity and males in general (particularly allegedly sick ones) instantly decline upon turning 40.   Similarly, oestrogen. 
2. The ability to consider others, particularly on the roads whilst driving, is inversely proportionate to those of the younger generation's ability to think. Yes, doing a u-turn at an intersection (unless otherwise signed) is illegal. Clearly this rule has been wiped from the driving school curriculum.
3. It is harder to get up off the floor, there is no beating around the bush on this one.
4. Good food and good wine take on a whole new meaning. Fasta Pasta, Passion Pop, Great Western Spumante and cleanskin goon just no longer cut it.
5. You discover a whole other section to your local pharmacy – the one that deals with podiatry and digestive issues…though not necessarily incongruously aligned this time   …and probably the most difficult one to take...
6. You are no longer asked for photo ID at your local, instead you are ‘respectfully’ referred to as ma’am. 

I have long lived by the mantra – ‘what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger’ (not sure why) – so bring on ‘five and forty’!

And layd him on the green…

American writer, Sylvia Wright, coined the phrase ‘mondegreen’ in an article written for Harper’s Magazine in 1954. As a child, her recollection of the Scottish ballad, Earl O’Moray, was that the Earl met a sticky end alongside his beloved, Lady Mondegreen. Whilst the Lady was fortunate enough to enjoy a resurrection, no such luck was to be had by the Earl.

Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,

Oh, where hae ye been?

They hae slain the Earl O' Moray,

And Lady Mondegreen.

In actual fact, the Lady was a mere figment of Wright’s poor hearing…it was all the Earl’s demise that featured in the actual stanza.

Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,

Oh, where hae ye been?

They hae slain the Earl O' Moray,

And layd him on the green.

Forever more, a ‘mondegreen’ is the term used to refer to a misheard lyric or line.

Which brings me to the end of my etymology lesson and into today…

The short one announced to me today that they had been learning Christmas carols at kindy. With that, she launched into a rousing rendition of ‘We wish you a merry Christmas’.

Humming along, I was suitably impressed with her remembering the lines. Granted they’re not that difficult…that was until we hit the ‘Good dinings we bring to you and your king.’

Dinings?

It appears that here… her version deviates somewhat from the conventional historical version…

One can only assume that the Three Wise men have ditched their gold, frankincense and myrrh and gone with the little known KFC Family bucket, Thai takeaway and Dial-a-pizza delivery.

As any new mother knows…gifts of prepared meals are always a God-send in those early days of parenthood!