Wednesday, July 6, 2011

RISE MY GLORIOUS CREATION & COME TO MAMA

Evie Knievel is on the loose.  Having commenced walking shortly before 9 months, she is now at the grand old age of 10 months in full flight.  We have tried to curb her need to spread her wings by placing her in above duck suit.  ( which pleased her no end.)
Evie waddled around in this for much of the day with a face that said "OH FOR PLUCK'S SAKE!".

"Come here Duckie!" made a nice change from the other terms of endearment Arch likes to throw out at his siblings.  And Duckie is so close in rhyme to one of his other favourite terms.  He has created over Evie's ten months of existence quite a few monikers.

The most recent being "ZOMBIE" due to Evie's tendenecy to stumble about as she finds her feet with arms raised and dazed expression.  Before that, Arch would only call Evie "PILLOW" which sent chills.  I liked to think it was in homage to my devotion of the King Michael Jackson and his offspring "BLANKET" and not as I feared Chief in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."

Arch was not so keen on having a baby sister.  He had made many, many threats both in utero and in early days of Evie's birth when she alas had been born minus ( Arch speak) "a doodle."

Archer pictured above in a foiled assassination attempt on baby sister Evie
Archer was desperate for a baby brother.  One that didn't sing or dance or flail about like his big brother Cale.  Arch wanted a brother that was prepared to wrestle rather than accessorise.  He would call him "Buzz" and they would have many adventures together, to infinity and beyond.

Imagine my surprise and my relief when Arch came to me the other day and said that he no longer wanted to marry me or if I was dead ( as I am so old) as a substitute, Daphne from Scooby Doo but his little sister Evie, the Zombie.  Sure, it's still a little dysfunctional but my little superhero has certainly found his sidekick.  


Wednesday, June 29, 2011

A DREAM IS A WISH YOUR HEART MAKES

I have always had an air of the esoteric about me.  Long before "The Secret" or "Tony Robbins" I was chomping at the bit to make my dreams materialise.  Birthday candles were more than flickering symbols of my age. At 3, I wished for a baby brother.  He never came in a flesh form so to speak but my mother presented me with a doll called Billy Boy who became my pride and joy.  He also sparked my interest in medical wonders as I would crusade for a treatment that would ensure that Billy grew like the other boys. Billy Boy and I would sit and watch "Pinocchio" and I would lament with Gepetto where was my real little boy.

At 11, those candles burnt fresh desires.  Desires that leapt from the screen and crooned.  Desires from the stable of dream maker Johnny Young and his Talent Team.  I would sway along with Johnny as he sang "All My Loving" and wish I was Natalie and that Bevan Addinsall was my betrothed.
It was in front of the tv in my childhood home that I believed I manifested the little soul who would later become my all dancing, all singing, crazy eyed son, Cale. 

"To become a real boy, you must prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish."
— Pinocchio
Cale is all of the above but so much more.  If Johnny Young was scounting for talent these days, Cale would be a shoe in.  He has kept me entertained for 6 years.  Cale started school this year and as  his audience grew so did his fan base.
 
Fridays have taken on a whole new meaning for Kindy students as they await Cale's "NEWS ITEM" of the week.  Students have sat spellbound as "Bring In Something You Find in the Back Yard" became a window into the Life & Adventure of Cale's Magic Peach, complete with a spirited rendition of Pilot's "OH OH OH It's Magic." He has baffled them with facts, embellished some family "truths" and serenaded them with song.  The latest task was one that truly sent Cale soaring and despite my Bevan yearnings almost sent me toppling well over the edge.  NURSERY RHYME.  ahhh, you say, an easy feat.  Jazz Hands rise in fright.  Not so.  Cale had a vision.  His inner Andrew Lloyd Webber was driving him to new heights of whizz bangery.  It would not be as easy as merely donning a costume and raising his voice in song.
 
He needed "special effects" and if at all possible back up dancers.  As I had already lampooned his space ship idea ( something about invisible wires and pyrotechnics, I don't know, I was already a cask in, it was "eisteddfod" season after all) he then came to me with the notion that his performance would need me to secure some talent from my dance school and have them jig and cavort about as he belted out "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."
 
As a glass and a half kind of gal, I was by this stage, quite mellowed enough to entertain his pitch.  I sat back, smiling and nodding as I am prone to do and vainly searching for the mute button that must surely exist somewhere on my menagerie of children.  "So Cale," I ventured, "What would you have these back up dancers do?"
He looked at me like I was a crazy person.  ( I am)
"Twinkle!" he shouted and then did even crazier eyes of exasperation.
"Twinkle?" I questioned.
The crazy eyes fixed on me.  He lowered his gaze.  His tiny hips started gyrating and swirling.  His little jazz hands rose above his head and twinkled for all their might.  His crazy gaze never leaving my own.  I was both hypnotised and horrified.  The "twinkling" would best be described as "writhing."
 
Needless to say, I did not recruit any of my dance students for his Robert Palmer inspired staging of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."
 
He didn't need any back up dancers.  The stage was his.  We watched our little astronaut climb the stairs and stand before the microphone.  My Little Star was Born. 
 
 
 
 


Tuesday, June 28, 2011

TYRANNORSAURUS RIKKI

Tootie opened her eyes this morning to the loving gaze of the Archful Dodger.  Much to his father's disdain, he makes his perilous journey across a sea of toys, comatose siblings and last night's dishes, to our bed most nights. I squeezed him tight, too tight and breathed in his early morning bottom salute.
Still, despite the stench he omitted, he lay there like a little Botticelli angel and studied me carefully in awe and wonder.
"Mummy," he said, caressing my cheek with his little hand.
"Yes, my little man,"  I said.
"You have pretty skin," replied Arch.
I rolled to look at the ceiling and bask in my new found perfection.  Children are so perceptive, I thought.  So honest.  They speaketh the truth.  I inwardly marvelled at my ability to emerge from the blanket of sleep deprivation, age and a few third degree sun burns and be still so "pretty skinned."
Arch continued.  "You have very pretty skin...................like a lizard's."



SIGH! Fraxel that.

Anyway, I can hear him in the other room talking to himself so he is clearly insane.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Toddlers & Tiaras- Can Meds Guarantee a Win?


If you see me staking out pharmacies in the lead up to Group Weekend you will know why?

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Feeling a little Mackenzie Today.


I have fractured further. Channelling some Mackenzie today. I want my Ni- ni too. A PinotNoir flavoured Ni-Ni to suck on and self soothe.

Toddlers & Tiaras - Time to get ready

Toddlers & Tiaras - and the name is..


Ever been confronted by an Oprah AHA moment?
Well this is mine. All 3rd person referring, this is my fractured world, glory be to the United States of Me? Oh Tootie, where were you all my identity searching life? This is my alter ego. She pops out regularly but reigns in Eisteddfod season. Here are my Tootie-isms.
I have always got laundry to do. Tootie never has laundry to do. Someone does it for her. She just points to the rotting pile in the corner, gives a surreptitious sniff and it is washed, folded and spirited away.
I scrape my wet hair into a ponytail. Tootie's team descends. She is coiffed into magnificent Bold & the Beautiful type waves with a little landing strip reserved for the jewelled tiara that will surely reside there later in the day.
I wear head to toe Sue Sylvester spawned tracksuits. Tootie shimmers. Tootie shines. Her clothes are laid out on her bed. She chooses the most sparkly. People sigh as she passes.
I madly gesticulate. At all things. Husband. Kids. Plants. Tootie, royal waves ( if you're worthy.)Though if she is feeling all perky, she breaks out into highly animated and intricately choreographed jazz routines.
I swear. Tootie cusses.( but only when she is feeling a little sassy.) I am 24/7 sassy.
Many more Tootie-isms to come.