Mit of a bix up

The Boy (22 months): Mumma? Cop porn.

Me: I'm sorry what?

The Boy: Me cop porn.

Me: Please don't say that in front of the neighbours.

The Boy: Cop porn?

Me: Yes, don't say that.

The Boy: Me cop porn? Me cop porn! Cop porn! COP PORN!

Me: Shush!

The Girl: Mum, he wants popcorn.

Me: Oh. Thank god.

Sappy hunday.

Short Play

Scene: Dreamworld theme park, the Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia. It's a scorcher (ok it's only 27 degrees but it's a scorcher if you're blonde and prone to freckles...even if the blonde is largely bottled these days *heavy sigh*). 

Act 1

The Teenager: You have to come on this amazing ride I've just been on. Come on come on, you have to, you'll love it.

Me: No-no-no-no-no, I don't do rollercoasters. We've discussed this. I just felt sick on that kids' swing ride.

The Teenager: But this is amaaaaaaaazing. You have to! Please please please please please you have to!

Me: Um. No.

The Teenager: But I don't want to go on my own! Pleeeeeeease, I really really want you to come. You have to!!

Me: But...

The Teenager: YOU HAVE TO!

Me: [follows Teenager to ... THE TOWER OF DOOM]

Act 2

Me: How could you let me go on that? How? You knew what it was like. You know how I feel about going fast: I scream at you if you go over 30 in the car! Why why why did you let me do that?

The Australian: [sniggers, while taking photos of my hair in disarray and my eyes wild with panic]

Me: You're a sadist! A sicko! I had to keep my eyes shut the whole time to stop my eyeballs from falling out! And it's like I'm still moving - I feel giddy, I feel awful - what if I always feel like this and it's your fault for not stopping me?

The Australian: But you agreed to go.

Me: You know I can't say no to teenagers! You know I'm only 15 inside! It was peer pressure.

The Australian: [shrugs]

Me: Look, thanks to you I just went 160kpm in 7 seconds, AND up 38 storeys, AND back again. 160! 7 seconds!! So as punishment you're going to have to do something that you don't want to do...I've got it: when we get back to Melbourne you're coming to the theatre with me. AND NO EXCUSES.

The Australian: Sure, I'll see a play with you. As long as it only lasts 7 seconds.

A Head For Heights

When they're not growling at each other because one wants to build a tower and the other wants to knock it down, The Girl (4) and The Boy (21 months) are heartbreakingly nice to each other. She often calls him simply "Brother" and seeks him out for comfort if I've told her off; she tries to heave him off the ground in order to show how strong she is (she manages half an inch, him being only 2kg lighter that her). Last thing at night they do a duet of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. She takes the main part, and he interjects at HOW (I wonder what you) ARE, UP A (bove the world so) HIGH, etc... He listens patiently to her various renditions of Advance Australia Fair, and gives her a clap.

I've noticed recently how The Girl imitates my nauseatingly enthusiastic way of encouraging my children - Wow this and Cor that and general You are amazing's... She applauded The Boy's first steps months ago, and laughs and woo-hoo's along with me at every new word or cute new facial expression. But this evening she took enthusiasm and confidence building to a new and hilarious level as only a child could. We were examining his teeth (he was very slow to get any so it's still a bit of a novelty) and we had an all-round hi-5 for his having 10 pearly-whites. Then she started spouting excitedly about what a big boy he was getting, how very grown-up he was, with her eyes ever wider and her voice beautifully dramatic:

"You're nearly as tall as me!" she exclaimed, using her hand to measure a line from the top of his head to just below her chin. "Wow, Brother!" she said, "If I didn't have a head, we'd be the same height!!"

Do-It-Meself

It came to my notice recently what a consistent approach I have to all creative projects - consistently mad, bad and stressful, with incredible highs and lows and a basic fingers-in-my-ears Lalalalala attitude to anyone daft enough to offer guidance along the way.

The thought struck me as I wrestled (almost literally) with a chest of drawers I'd picked up cheap on ebay for the children's bedroom (their clothes having been stored in those enormous blue IKEA bags ever since we emigrated). My intention was to pay next to nothing for them and, somehow - despite a glaring lack of D.I.Y skills - turn them into a work of art. I had a vision: I would transform them into, not just an ordinary chest of drawers, but OUTER SPACE. Outer Space with clothes inside - the picture in my head swayed between foggy and slippery but I believed in it.

As I conveyed my vision to The Australian, the look on his face told me that he was a non-believer and I determined to block him out completely - he just wanted to spoil my fun with his 'you're going to have to strip it first' mentality. As I toiled away in the garden, with the drawers placed on an old sheet, my sleeves rolled up and my energy for the project so high there was a slight buzzing noise in my ears, The Australian observed from behind the safety glass / French windows, screwing up his face as I grappled with spray-paint, mini-rollers and masking tape. I could tell what he was thinking: 'You haven't thought this through'. Lalalalala!

Three weeks later, the damn drawers were still on the damn sheet in the damn garden. Owing to a small oversight - which could also be seen as incredible attention to detail *ahem* - the drawers would no longer slide into the chest and the whole thing had to be re-done. I was horrified. Zapped of all enthusiasm. My vision was slipping away - the joy of chasing it was nearly gone. There was paint everywhere, and did it look like Outer Space? Not even if I squinted.

So I kicked it a bit, swore at it a lot, and decided to leave it there until it magically fixed all its own problems.

A further fortnight later I caved and went to The Australian with despair in my eyes and some sob-story about how I had only wanted to make something nice for the children and how it was so unfair that no one had told me that painting the sides of each drawer (so they'd look nice when you pulled them out...) with three coats was a really, really bad idea. The drawers were now covered in garden debris; I'd used so much paint that my ebay bargain was turning into a costly nightmare. So I finally took my fingers out of my ears and took his advice, mumbling 'yeah yeah, whatever' to his charitable 'well done' when the drawers were finished and carried to the bedroom. 

The scary part of this is that I still don't think I'd do it any other way, even with hindsight. That initial rush, that joy, the chasing of that slippery but irresistible vision, makes up for the wrestling and the hard toil that inevitably follows if you are allergic to planning. Chests of drawers, novels, umm, life in general - I guess I'm a buy-now-pay-later kind of woman.