Mr and Mrs

This latest collage is my attempt at a relaxed wedding portrait. The bear and his lady owl have returned home from their wedding to crack open a bottle of champers and toast their nuptials. I hope you like it, more collages to come... x

When Henry met Harry

Henry’s circle of friends is small but well-loved.  He shares his toys with them (sometimes), he shows them his dance moves, he lets them eat his abandoned floor food, and he’s generally pretty tolerant of the innocent violence and smothering affection which comes with toddler love.  But apart from those chums he sees regularly, Henry has always been a tad shy when it comes to meeting other kids so I was genuinely surprised when he developed his first playground bromance last week. 

I spotted Harry before Henry did; he looked about 4.5 years of age, small in stature but huge in presence. He was wearing a helmet with the word ‘Nutcase’ emblazoned ominously across the front, and whoever bought him that helmet wasn’t joking. Harry was like a mini Bear Grylls meets Evil Kneiveil. He ran up the slides, he knocked kids off the bridge; he ate bark, and frightened every parent standing within a 50-metre radius.

Harry soon turned his attention to Henry and introduced himself by pushing him on the swing with the force of a small pack of angry dogs.  From the swings ensued a vigorous game of chase in which Harry knocked Henry down accidentally-on-purpose a few times. Despite Harry’s somewhat aggressive approach, Henry seemed love-struck. Harry was hilarious, Harry was fun, Harry had his own scooter and helmet (to a toddler that’s like having a Hummer and your own back-up singers).

Eventually Harry headed home for dinner and Henry reluctantly parted ways with his new friend. As we were walking towards home with Henry looking mournful, we heard a small but booming voice shouting from way across the park,  "BYE HENRY!!”” After a few more waves and shouts goodbye, Harry had cemented himself in Henry’s heart. We haven’t seen Harry again, I think I’m relieved, but Henry still talks about him and relives their encounter, “Harry push swing, Harry chase, Harry say 'Goodbye Henry'". It’s pretty cute.

I realise one day I won’t be able to choose his friends. There'll be more Harrys in his future, and maybe in his teenage years they’ll be the ones that smoke and drive too fast. I can only hope he chooses his friendly wisely, but I also hope he’s a good friend and realises how much true friendship enriches your life. So, Harry, if you happen to be reading this one day, thanks for making my little boy feel like your best buddy for one afternoon. And to my own buddies, thanks for all you bring to my life, I love you xxx

Mel x

Code Brown

Last night I uttered the words every parent fears – CODE BROWN!! It was a relatively predictable bath time; Henry and I had just had a giggle at a couple of fart bubbles when I spotted a few strange brown particles appearing in the water. It took me a while to figure out what was going on – had an Anzac biscuit made its way into the bath? When a few definite logs appeared it dawned on me, we were in the middle of a situation.

Thankfully one of my dear friends was over for dinner and could provide emergency back-up while we tackled the crap. We whisked a rather shocked baby out of the poop and into a cuddle and towel while we cleaned the bath of the offending matter. A quick scrub of the bath, and a brief shower for Henry, and things were almost back to normal from our end. For poor Henry though, the trauma of being in a bath full of floaters lasted much longer – it took looking at 61 pages of cat photographs to bring him down off the ledge.

I did feel a world of empathy for his suffering.  I still remember how mortified I was when I crapped my pants at the age of four. My attempt to hide the incident and the predictable discovery of my chocolate secret only added to my embarrassment, and it could well be the cause of a subsequent life of poo shame. I’ve never been a confident pooer, staying at people’s houses where there’s no lock on the toilet door (a sliding door in a high-traffic area is my worst nightmare) will send me into a constipated panic. 

I digress; I’m hoping Henry is young enough to forget all about his first (and hopefully last) code brown, I want him to breeze through life pooing hither and thither without a care in the world, it definitely makes daily life a lot easier. But enough talking shit for now, I’m sure there’ll be more next time, Mel x

Lions, and Tigers, and Bears

It was Henry’s first trip to Melbourne Zoo yesterday and I was anticipating some excitement overload when he witnessed some of the big animals in action. Surprisingly our little man was scared by pretty much every animal in the zoo except for the birds, and was more excited by puddles en route to the enclosures, the zoo’s flowers, and the horsey ride at the playground.  I think it’s good to be reminded every now and then that even though they're fearless at home, and seem much bigger than they are due to the giant presence they have our in lives, they are still just tiny little people who need our reassurance when they’re out in the world discovering new things.

My highlight of the zoo visit was spotting a cassowary peering out of the bushes in the bird avery. I couldn’t think who he reminded me of with his little hat, and then I realised it was Muammar Gaddafi.

This week we also had a great haul of records from the op shop, which has reinvigorated my faith that bargains are still out there! Some of the gems are Neil Young’s Tonight’s the Night, Led Zeppelin’s Houses of the Holy, and Bruce Springsteen’s first album Greetings from Asbury Park, N.J. There’s a couple of YouTube links below to some of my fave tracks off the albums if you feel like a listen. I’m going to try and figure out Spotify which I hear is good for just playing music on blogs – and for avoiding YouTube’s annoying ads and amateur vids. Hope you’re all surviving the last month of winter. x Mel x

Led Zeppelin D'yer Mak'er

Neil Young Alberquerque

Runnin' Down a Dream

I did it! I ran 10km today without needing to be transported out of the event in a rescue helicopter. Admittedly, I was overtaken by six-year olds and men old enough to be my great grandfather, but hey, I didn’t come last.

It was freezing cold and muddy, toilets were on limited supply (it meant an urgent pre-race wee in the surrounding bushlands), and the event wasn’t particularly well organised but it didn’t matter once it was underway. I got so in the spirit of things that at the 4km mark I tried to high five an old man who’d had to start walking - he didn't high five back. I finished the race in a more subdued bubble of determination, limiting my enthusiasm to an encouraging smile here and there which seemed to be better received.

Run, Wonder Woman!

One of the highlights of the race was grabbing one of those little plastic cups at the half-way mark, guzzling a bit and then tossing it to one side, 'cause goddamnit, I didn’t have time to stop! 10km seemed like a bloody long way, and despite needing to do a poo desperately for about the last 3km, I think I managed my run pretty well. Slow and steady may not win the race, but it got me across the line.

Tom Petty - Runnin' Down a Dream

Dirty Creatures

Children are grimy little things. This year I’ve been sicker than ever  - I’ve had chicken pox, three bouts of gastro, and three or four decent colds just to top things off. I blame toddlers primarily - Henry and his chums keep their grubby little hands busy rustling about in the dirt, slapping puddles, picking food of floors anywhere and everywhere… and let’s not forget those teeny snotty noses which produce endless torrents of bogey for weeks on end. I don’t know where it all comes from but I know where it goes, Henry’s fight not to have his nose wiped means he’s doing it himself across everyone’s clothes, cushions, couches, carpets, toys… you name it. I think I might have to gladwrap the house before the next plague strikes us.

Aside from ailments, it’s been a challenging couple of weeks.  Henry’s lucky he’s so cute and that I’m pretty much won over with a smile or a flutter of his long lashes. As well as generally doing the exact opposite of what I ask 99 per cent of the time, he’s  going through an extended biting phase which has been a bit of a blow to my parenting morale.  I know things like this happen when they’re teething or frustrated but there’s always a fear that biting is the beginning of something more sinister - we’ve seen Children of the Corn, we know what can happen.

My sister-in-law gave me some sage advice early on in parenthood -  that just when you think you can’t take something anymore, whether it’s biting, hitting, whining, poor sleeping, food refusal, the stage miraculously passes.  Something new usually lands in its place but you’re so damned relieved the difficult phase is over, that you have fresh energy to tackle the next challenge.

Despite all his struggles and frustrations, Henry is also in a really lovely stage. I guess that’s toddlers for you; they are adorable and hilarious when they’re not being nightmarish and hideous. He says lots of words, he’s making friends (that he likes to kiss goodbye – cute), and he’s observing all the goings on in the world with an unending enthusiasm.  I showed him some hot air balloons in the sky one day, only to endure a half -hour meltdown when the “boons” sailed out of sight. He still whimpers a plaintive “boon” every now and then and points to the sky, so no doubt he’s going to be pretty excited and then pretty upset when we see them go past the next time.

My only other news is that I’m running a 10km race tomorrow, which will be the most athletic thing I've ever done in my life (my running prior to about 3 months ago was limited to bolting across the road to avoid getting hit by a car).  I'm not planning on partaking in the actually ‘race’ aspect tomorrow, I’ll be happy just to heave myself over the finish line.  I’ve also got a cold, which will be a good excuse if I need to get airlifted straight out of there and home to the couch. I definitely think motherhood has given me the motivation to do something like this, I’m more inspired now to set goals for myself and I know there’s no point procrastinating and putting things off because time is precious. Seize the Day, and all that stuff.


Who knows where to from here, I might attempt a half marathon next year and maybe by then Henry will be old enough to come and cheer me on. And in other good news - Winter’s nearly over people. Hooray! xxx

Marry me, Elaine

Rest assured you weary-hearted people out there, romance is still alive. While Henry and I were taking a stroll this morning and enjoying the first sunny day we’ve had in a week, I spotted some skywriting that was bound to make a few Melbourne men anxious. It took a while, but eventually ‘Marry me, Elaine, I ♥ u’ was written across the blue - I sure hope Elaine didn’t miss it. I bet there are some chaps out there who want to shoot the mystery man for such a grand gesture, as every romantic lass yearns for their own Romeo to dish out a showstopper like that. Guys should realise one skywriting proposal would get a lifetime's worth of romance out of the way in one hit, you could never be made to feel guilty again for forgetting Valentine's Day.  Just out of interest I investigated what it costs to get your proposal lifted up there where love belongs, and it will set you back about $4500… It’s pretty steep, but I reckon you’d guarantee yourself a ‘Yes’ with that level of effort. Who knows, maybe Elaine will respond via the sky as well: ‘Sorry John, I’ve met someone else…’

Caramel apple self-saucing pud

I found this recipe in a mag and tried it out last night – it was super easy and delicious, which suited me as I’ve never cooked a pudding before. It looks freaky when it goes in (like a dish full of sloppy water) but trust the recipe and go forth to create your pudding delight.

This yummy little number was the perfect way to celebrate the end of a ‘crappy’ week in which Henry and I both came down with a bad case of gastro. When your house befalls a dreaded plague you're reminded there's no such thing as a sick day when you’re a parent, but also how unimportant everything else is compared to whether your little person is happy and healthy.  Thank goodness Henry is eating like a sizeable horse again and life can get back to some sort of normality. I hope you’re all surviving winter - eat lots of pudding, it’s medicinal!

Caramel apple self-saucing pudding

Self-raising flour 1¼ cups

Brown sugar ¼ cup, plus ½ cup extra

Butter 100g melted

Egg 1, lightly beaten

Milk ½ cup

Golden syrup ½ cup

Pie apple chopped ½ cup (I used a can of apples)

Boiling water 2 cups

Vanilla ice cream to serve

1. Preheat oven to moderate, 180°C. Lightly grease 6-cup ovenproof dish.
2. In a large bowl, combine flour and sugar. Add combined butter, egg, milk, half golden syrup and apple, stirring well. Spoon into dish.
3. Sprinkle extra sugar over pudding. In a jug, combine boiling water with remaining golden syrup.  Pour over the top of the pudding mixture.
4. Bake 40 – 45 minutes, until a skewer inserted into the centre comes out clean. Serve with big dollops of vanilla ice cream.

Mum vs Toddler

Since parenthood I’ve picked up the annoying habit of speaking about myself in the third person: “Mummy would like you to stop biting her… Mummy would like to do poos on her own please… Mummy’s had a very long day and needs a big bottle of wine…” I am comforted by referring to myself as Mummy; perhaps it gives my desperate pleas some extra weight. “Please don’t kick Mummy in the face” does sound more authoritative then simply begging “Don’t hurt meeeeeee”.

It’s true that when you have a toddler you get beaten up. I don’t know if it’s the same for boys and girls, but little boys are bundles of wild, thrashing strength.  I fight back with love and patience when I can, but much like anyone who’s travelled the road of passive resistance before me; it takes a bloody long time to get anywhere. I am just waiting for the gleaming ‘pre-school’ age I’ve been reading about, apparently it’s when toddlers finally mature and love nothing more than to smother you with kisses, and to behave sweetly and compliantly in their desperation for your approval.

Another toddler battle we’re facing at the moment is whinging; I swear it could be used at Guantanamo as an effective form of torture. Those prisoners would confess to anything if they had to endure small children half crying for extended periods across a 12 hour day. Today’s strategy is to ignore the whine, apparently he will give it up when he realises it will get him nowhere. If it doesn’t work, I might opt to have my eardrums removed.

I’m also aware my toddler tyrant might be in need of some more freedom. I know he wants out of pram prison so we are starting short walks without it and so far it’s going pretty good. There’s been no high speed escapes onto the road yet, and even if he does try to go into every single gate that’s open,  it is pretty cute seeing how much he enjoys giving me a tour of the neighbourhood.  

This week it came to me that if Henry becomes a rapper; his name could be Biggie Poos. In the documentary mapping his meteoric rise to fame, we can talk about how he earned his name back in the toddler years when his bedraggled mother might have to tackle 4 – 5 chocolate explosions a day. A legend they’ll say, thank god for Mothers.

I’ve had a bit of a creative outburst recently, and have finished the first collage I’ve put together in a while. I hope you like it. Stay warm.

Mel

Happy Mothers' Day!

If I were boss of the world there’d be a parade on every street, in every town in every country today, honouring the wonder that is Mothers. It’s a job that has no lunch breaks, no knock-off time and no annual leave. It’s hard and it’s wonderful, and it pushes me each day to be the best me that I can be – the most patient, the most loving, the most organised, and the most fun.

The rewards are always there, even on the crappy days. There are cuddles and laughs, and moments when you realise how much your baby loves you and trusts you above all others.  Knowing how much my own baby needed me used to terrify me, but now I realise that love enables you to rise to any parenting challenge, and that just as he’s growing up and changing, so am I.  So this is my shout-out to all you Mammas, you rule, we rule, we’re all completely awesome.

On another note, am I the last one in the Internet world to discover the FFFFound website?http://ffffound.com/

A friend told me about it last night and I think it’s a really great image-sharing site, good for a quick browse if you’re looking for some inspiration or something nice for your eyes to look at. Since leaving Facebook (I’ve been clean about 5 weeks now), I’m definitely more aware of the things I like about the Internet and the things I don’t. I think it’s fantastic for sharing art and information, and this site has reaffirmed my belief in what great stuff clever humans can do with the net.

Here’s a cool image I found on it yesterday.

And check out this one. How handsome are Johnny and Kate?

Check out FFFFound if you were like me and a little late in picking it up. Sweet Dreams to all, and to my own Mamma, I love you, thank you for everything you have done and continue to do for me.

Mel x

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. - Tenneva Jordan

Little Bit of Rain

I think rain might be the mortal enemy of stay-at-home Mums and toddlers. Last week we had days and days (and days) of rain, and by the end of it I was beginning to think Henry was doing some method acting for a role in The Exorcist remake, and that perhaps I was giving Joan Crawford a run for her money in the crap Mummy stakes. Henry was a bored, frustrated, whingey cranky-pants and I was ticking all the ‘Bad Mummy’ boxes: Easily losing patience, Yes. Saying No all day long, Yes. Too busy doing housework to spend quality time with the baby (which might be what’s making him grumpy), Yes. 

What is it about housework? I feel compelled to do more the worse I feel, and then I feel worse because I’m doing too much housework… If I win lotto, I will get a cleaner and pay him well. I’ll also buy a ride-on vacuum cleaner and have a really big house.

Thankfully the sun came out this week and our little world changed. Suddenly the housework seems less important, and Henry and I are having fun getting out and about and seeing the world together again. The forecast is for rain next week so I think it’s time to get inventive, and not let the rainy days get us down or keep us inside. 

I’ve also been battling a bit of the no-social life blues lately. I know I’m not alone - I’m just one of a trillion billion parents whose Friday nights consist of a couple of beers, crap TV and maybe take-aways if you’re feeling in a real party mood. Sometimes I love that, I love waking up on a Saturday morning feeling chipper, not clutching my head with the devil’s hangover - rueing to never ever drink again. Other weekends I wish I had half, or a quarter of my old social life back. Just more spontaneity I guess – maybe that’s what parenthood doesn’t have, spontaneity. Recently I sat down to eat dinner only to look at the clock and realise it was 6.01pm, how the hell did I get so domesticated? And why was dinner 1 minute late?

There’s definitely a transition from your old life to your new life as a Parent - and some friends meet you on the other side in Parenthood and I guess some don’t. There’s nothing sinister in it, I think it’s a case of different lifestyles and schedules mostly, and a big part of it has got to be that parents are pretty damned baby-centred in the first few years. The friends that stick it out with you are ones that have to end up loving your offspring nearly as much as you do. 

We’re going to a wedding next weekend, I’m excited and a little nervous. We get to dress up and pretend like we’re free and spontaneous for the night (while trying not to worry too much about Henry and the babysitter). Will we party like it’s 1999? Will I check my phone 1000 times for messages from the babysitter? Stay tuned, loyal readers, for a post-wedding blog entry…

Yours truly, Mel xxx

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auiJPav_aPo&feature=related

Let's Get Physical

I’ve got a mummy tummy. I swear some days I look like I’m still six months pregnant. 

There’s something about this flabby, cottage-cheese cumberbund which makes me feel like I’ve unwittingly boarded an express train to middle-aged land – my mummy lump and me like to enjoy  the finer things in life, a good pillow, a decent TV movie, wine that costs over $10 a bottle… 

Maybe I’m also feeling more senior these days because my desire to complain about things is at an all-time high.  Before I was a parent, I would have been concerned by a rise in alcohol prices – now my blood simmers at the state of local parks, littering, pushy people, noisy neighbours, loud teenagers… I wrote my first Letter to the Editor yesterday complaining about Melbourne’s public transport ticketing system, is this the beginning of middle-aged derangement, or is this simply parenthood?

It's rough when you feel like your body has changed forever.  I’ve started back at the gym in the hope of stopping my mummy tummy from expanding into a granny fanny, I have to draw the line somewhere. Let's face it, it’s hard to feel like an attractive member of society when you have yoghurt smeared down your top, your track pants are slipping down to reveal your bum crack, and your hair is greasy and pulled back into a ponytail because you haven’t been able to squeeze in a shower in three days.  

I’ve decided there is only one thing left to do - I am going to become the Forrest Gump of mothers (Forrest Mum? Mummy Gump?). I am going to run. Not very far, and not enough to really hurt, but enough to keep the middle-aged wolves from nipping at my 30-something heels.  I also have a wedding to go to in one month’s time -  mummy tummy be gone, Forrest wants to go to the wedding. I will keep you posted…

A New Day

Forgive me readers for I have sinned, it has been an entire year since my last Love Machine confession. I could give you a list of excuses (it would include about 700 loads of washing and 2000 nappy changes) but I think it’s best to get straight back into things by making a promise to post more regularly.

So, a brief recap – I survived my first year of parenthood.  Those first six months after having Henry are now a blur of constant breastfeeding, sleepless nights, baby anxiety (I googled far too many of Henry’s ‘symptoms’), and endless emails and phone calls with other Mums. Oh, thank god for other Mums. I think they are the only ones who want to listen to your endless ramblings about routines, naps, settling, expressing, teething, and the wide (and strangely fascinating) variety of baby poo you can come across on any given day. Other Mothers understand the extent of your suffering when you relay battles stories of sleepless nights up with a baby; they will sound horrified and sympathetic when you speak of hourly breastfeeds during teething weeks. Mothers are incredible. 

Looking back, I think that as much as Henry was born last year, I was reborn. Reborn into my new Mother shoes.  Adjusting to the new world was challenging, and overwhelming, and amazing, but I know I wouldn’t change a thing.

One of my biggest hurdles last year was Post-Natal Depression – it’s ok, I’m ok, I’m glad it’s happened. Everything finally caught up with me once I  started getting a good night’s sleep when Henry was around seven months old (desperation forced us to sleep train and I have never regretted it!). Once I was clocking some serious zzz’s, I realised the way I’d been feeling (teary, angry, heavy- hearted, resentful, anxious, full of self-doubt…), was not just exhaustion. Eventually I had to accept that I couldn’t lift myself out of how I was feeling on my own. It was hard to admit. I think at the time, admitting depression felt like saying I wasn’t joyful about my beautiful little boy. I loved him to bits, but it’s strange when you can see all the elements there that should be making you happy, but for some reason you just feel like you’re going through the motions each day.

I’ve thought a lot about what contributed to my PND and I think it was a culmination of things. I am genuinely surprised more Mums and Dads don’t fall prey to some kind of depression after having a baby. Anyway, Number One on my list is Exhaustion. Exhaustion from daily sleep deprivation and never getting the chance early on to rest and recover from the physical trauma of birth (which is absolutely HUGE by the way).  Number Two - Identity Crisis.  For me, work and my social life were what I had built myself around and being a stay-at-home Mum meant questioning who I was without all that. Number Three – HOUSEWORK. Seriously, how boring is housework? When you’re on your fourth load of dishes for the day and third load of washing, it’s mighty hard to not feel a little beaten down by the insurmountable, never-ending stream of housework that seems part of your daily life.

Other stuff on my list would be loss of income, loss of adult company, lack of physical freedom from breastfeeding, lack of free time, lack of alone time, lack of time with your partner… I can’t believe I used to be able to lie on the couch all day hung-over watching DVDs. ALL DAY. 

I think that’s enough of the bum-out side of being a new parent. Things feel WAY easier now. So much easier. I know I’m a good parent. I don’t feel plagued with self-doubt. Henry is hilarious, he’s great company, I love him and adore him absolutely, and I would never want to live in this world without him in my life. On Henry’s 1^st Birthday I felt so proud. Proud of us as parents for loving this little boy into the funny, determined, clever little creature that he now is.

Now I can see that I will look back on this time staying at home with him and treasure every minute of it, because he is growing up too fast. Way too fast, things seem to be moving in fast forward. He says words. He runs. He knows how to win me over, and how to tick me off.

These days, I’m grappling with things like going back to work, the looming fear of Child Care (and the good mother/bad mother guilt that goes with it), and now I feel my own dreams returning, I want to travel, I want to see friends, I want to write this blog, I want Henry to be proud of me when he grows up. Ok, I’m likely to start blubbing. If you’re a new Mum out there, hang in there, it WILL get easier. And stay tuned for more posts. 

xxxx