Wakey Waaaay-key!

The “I’m up so where is my milk/breakfast?” situation.

Why do they think that shouting at your eye will do it? Then you have exactly 20.3 milliseconds to hope your nervous and muscular systems have come to enough to deflect the chubby finger headed towards your cornea.

Effective, undoubtedly, uses far fewer batteries than an alarm clock or phone alarm and is pretty much bang-on time EVEN ON WEEKENDS until BST and GMT start playing their games but really? Is this some kind of technique they learn in nursery?

British Summer Time

I don’t know the person who sets British Summer Time.

What I do know is that they don’t like their mum.

0605hrs is when this happened this morning.

Thoughtful? Yes. Punctual? Yes. Achieved maximum impact? Yes…but not in the way idealised by Clinton Cards. I don’t object to Mothering Sunday. In fact, seeing Rowdy & The Bobcat’s excited little faces (in extreme and unnecessary close-up) in presenting their school and preschool gifts respectively actually lends weight to the argument for keeping it. (Rowdy, in particular has come on leaps and bounds since arriving home with a brown paper bag containing a cereal bar with the sellotaped label ‘Breakfast in Bed’. Before sitting down and scoffing it right in front of me.) 

The one day where media (in general) supports mums nationwide in having vast amounts of chocolate just because AND an extra bit of kip and BST scuppers it good and proper.

Add to this that I was then barricaded from the kitchen while their creativity was spontaneously retriggered into more gift preparation (what mum does not favour a glue&feather parrot mask? TWO parrot masks? Bring it on). 

THREE HOURS they were in there. Their dad tried to lob tea and biscuits in my general direction to placate the beast (the PMT, carb-deficient, early-roused beast) but to no avail. The cry of “Just 5 more minutes, Mummy!” didn’t offer any consolation either as their grasp of the concept of time runs roughly parallel with their grasp of the concept of where cows magically turn into beef burgers.

Bedtime should be oddles of fun.

Naivety nativity.

Christmas means a lot of things to a lot of people. All at the same time for Rowdy and The Bobcat and probably many other under 10s. Really, there’s a proper amount of information to take in, isn’t there? Advent calendars; Christmas cards; carols; tombola; everything gets very shiny and sparkly; guy with beard and sock fetish careering through the night with magical flying wildlife.

The nativity (do they rehearse this from September?) is another seasonal adventure. Costumes; lights; action! Especially if your progeny has a speaking part. Or a shouting the songs part. Or a picking their nose centre-stage part. And then start a straw fight, steal a sheep and start a pop-up enterprise vending angel dust out of the manger. Primary teachers must live off Rennies by November 3rd.

Joyfully, at home Rowdy feels she can juggle both front and backstage roles. She is a born assistant stage manager. And, to be fair, as AmDram newbies we do need a lot of guidance particularly when the script is a moveable feast incorporating many varied sources and influences and the scriptwriter (also Rowdy), set designer (Rowdy) and Wardrobe (Rowdy) is on set. 

We’re fast learning that this is becoming an annual family tradition.

Rowdy: “Daddy is a king, The Bobcat is Captain Hook, Mummy is The Beanstalk, Stan is The Baby Lowgeez* and I’m Elsa. We’re all having a lovely picnic. GO!”

The Bobcat: “Excuse me.”

Rowdy [festive rolling of eyes]: “Whaaaaat?”

The Bobcat: “I no have a hook.”

[Rowdy glares at him momentarily before rummaging in the ‘Kitchen and Dented Softplay Balls’ section of the room and thrusting a miniature spatula at him.]
*It took us two weeks to work out that The Baby Lowgeez was The Baby Lord Jesus.

Green magic.

Pinterest tells me that the festival of orange, green and purple is near. (It also suggests I might like to look at pies and David Tennant. Which is crazy. I’ve seen about two David Tennant shows.)

If you’re a wizard at crafts then presumably this is CrazyFunTime for you. If you’re a wizard at crafts (and, specifically, crafts relating to the age of your kids) then you must also be coolest parent/guardian ever.

The USA know how to do Hallowe’en. they go all out on apple-bobbing, trick-or-treating, elaborate costumes, pumpkin pie, ghost trains, haunted houses, headless horsemen*, scary stories, scary dares and Hershey’s and dentists nationwide rub their hands with glee.

(*Incidentally these guys must’ve been over the moon with the advent of satnav.)

This is the UK equivalent.

This is the homemade UK equivalent.

Pydah season.

Tis the season of….house-spiders. At least in the UK. In Australia I’m led to believe that their house-spiders are essentially bears with eight legs and fangs. Which is why all Australians carry flamethrowers to bed with them. (Disclaimer: may not be entirely accurate.)

They move so fast. That’s the unnerving bloody thing. That thing in ‘Alien’? (Er…the alien?) Yes, that. Basically a spider. A very large spider with extra scary bits attempting to kiss your face at speed. A mutant Ozzy spider.

How much do I dislike them? It is a challenge to swat them given the aforementioned legs lending to the aforementioned speed, not to mention ziggery-zaggery vector changes. However, this challenge was accepted when one fell on my face in the middle of the night in the dark leading to a frenetic chase involving the closest thing to hand. The odds were generally in the house-spider’s favour anyway but add myopic and the fact that the nearest the closest thing to hand had been a junior level pool cue the likelihood of making contact was severely lessened. The outcome (squished spider) was the result of incandescent and misplaced rage.

But in this house…all spiders are welcome. We are friends of Nature. Spiders are (apparently) some kind of affiliate member of Nature and therefore in our pro-Nature campaign Mummy has to be A Brave Parent without actually letting on it’s an act.

For Rowdy, spider-hunting has developed into some kind of passion (yay). They are a thing of wonder and have been since she first saw one. Live encounters (ironically) usually do not have a pro-pydah conclusion.