Crazy Sh*t You Do When You're A Parent

My husband ate an apple the other day. Nothing strange about that. Except he ate it IN THE SHOWER. Now, I've never eaten anything in the shower. For one reason - the water. Shooting jets of water + food = one soggy mess. In my husband's defence - it was a first for him too. So what possessed him to take the plunge into shower eating? Simple. My daughter handed him the apple and there was nothing else he could do with it. As all parents know, once kids are in the picture, you may as well chop off the locks on your bathroom doors cause they won't be used for the next five years. Far from being places of privacy, bathrooms become places of performance where there's a near-constant audience - the kids. Anyway, my husband's showery food encounter got me to thinking - what other strange sh*t do you do when you're  parent. Here's my list. Some things I have actually done - some I haven't. I just knows who have...

The Crazy Sh*t List
1) Drive ten laps of the same oval to keep the baby asleep. You know how slow and boring it feels when you have to drive at 40km/hr in a school zone. Well try doing it for 40 minutes at 30km/hr. It's TORTURE. But so worth it if it keeps your baby asleep.
2) Crawl out of your baby's bedroom on all fours. I haven't done this myself but plenty have. The scene is this - you've spent 40 minutes settling your baby but every time you go to leave the baby works it out, wakes up and freaks out. The answer? Pull a little Houdini magic and just DISAPPEAR by getting down on the floor and crawling out of the room.
3) Pay $30 for a CD of nothing but static. Baby experts call it 'white noise' but basically, the radio has become such an antiquated concept that we now have to go and BUY THE SOUND OF STATIC! It helps put babies to sleep. Crazy or what?
4) Choreograph and perform something called the poo dance to be performed during toilet training when your kid produces the goods on the toot.
5) Spend the night before easter dusting baking flour all over your floors to make bunny footprints. You wonder why you're doing it - until your kid wakes up in the morning and goes MENTAL that the bunny has been, yet fails to ask why the bunny has such white, powdery footprints. (Answer: It's been partying too much in the eastern suburbs)
6) Tell the occasional OUTRIGHT LIE. Yes, lying is bad. Bad, bad, bad. Smack me for saying this but sometimes it's good, good, good. Like the other night. I baked a chicken thigh for my daughter in the oven. She asked if she was having roast chicken for dinner. I lied and said 'Yes. Whatever chicken you like the best is what you're having.' Yes - a lie. But worth it to make her eat? YES, YES, YES. So smack me.
7) Have serious internal thought about which TV show is best - 'Dora the Explorer' or 'Play School'? Answer - Play School - by a country mile. Dora can be an annoying little explorer.
8) Cry during a Hi-5 concert. OK - they're not The Beatles. But when you've watched the hundreds of hours of Hi-5 that I have, it can be a little exciting/emotional/overwhelming when you see them live. The atmosphere is crazy. Two thousand kids going BESERK. And parents like me, quietly reaching for the hankies. I defy anyone not to get a little affected.

The Minefield of Buying a New Car

Sadly we did not buy this Lamborgini

It's not every day you get to buy a car. Hell, it's not even every DECADE. In 18 years of driving, I haven't actually ever purchased a car. I seem to have just 'inherited' them. I learned to drive on my parents' 20 year old volvo stationwagon, which was like driving a German army tank, and came complete with abuse from other drivers on the road - 'Not another useless volvo driver' was my favourite. Then there was the poverty-pack Hyundai excel hatchback that my Dad bought for his three kids to share. It was so basic it didn't even have a side mirror on the passenger side. As for airconditioning, power-steering, central locking or even a clock - pfft - who needs such extravagances? That was the car I drove for the next 12 years. It was brilliantly reliable and gave me Sam Stosur arm muscles. Then I met my husband, and he came complete with a Holden Astra hatchback. What a dowry! It had power steering AND air-conditioning. Whoa. These 21st century mod-cons. Ah-mazing. And that's what I drive today - complete with two child seats (and children) in the back. Just one problem, the only way to accommodate a third child is by strapping him/her to the roof. So, we've recently been in the market for a new (read: slightly used) car. What a complete nightmare! The world of cars is a giant melting pot of confusion. We've spent hours trawling the net for vehicles that meet our four top priorities, which are...
1) the car must have room for three child seats
2) it must fall within our budget
3) it must be safe
4) it must not be a sedan - we're just not a sedan family

We started getting seriously sucked in by the BIG FOUR WHEEL DRIVE that seems to have overtaken Sydney. Have we turned into a city of hard-core off-roaders? I don't think so. These cars are in pristine condition. The most treacherous conditions they've faced are the eastern distributor on a Friday afternoon. It's hell out there. No, it's something else. When you've got kids, the choices are 1) people mover 2) station wagon 3) Four Wheel drive/SUV. Only one of these presents a 'cool' option. No prizes for guessing which. We were inches away from joining the SUV club until my husband went to the car yard to try one out. First problem - my husband knew more about the car than the salesman. He'd been there a month and suggested they consult the internet to find out the differences between the top-line model and the standard. Mate - we could have done that at home. You're supposed to SELL IT TO US. C'mon do your job! Blow us away with your knowledge and friendliness and 'car salesmanship-ness'. You guys have a reputation - LIVE UP TO IT! Anyway, undeterred, my husband got in the car. 'I felt really small,' he told me later. Sadly, I had to break it to him 'Gorge - you're five foot seven. You ARE small.' 'But I felt REALLY small in that car,' he replied.

My husband felt too small in this

That was the deal breaker. You're supposed to feel big and impressive in one of those cars, not small and pathetic. We were back to square one - and started looking at family wagons. On a rainy and cold morning, we bundled up the two kids and headed off to the car shop. 'Who goes looking for a car on a day like today?' was how the salesman greeted us, zipping up his rain coat. His name was Martin and he was Scottish. He should have eaten this weather for breakfast. 'That would be us!' we replied. From there, we tramped around the damp car yard, carrying two kids and two umbrellas, with my 3 year old randomly shouting 'We're having another baby! We're having another baby,' followed by 'It's my Grandma's birthday', which it indeed was, but it wasn't critical information for Martin. He suggested there may be an appropriate car in another part of the yard, in a lovely grey colour. That sounded promising. We were getting excited. Until he drove it round.

It wasn't so much grey as kind of brown. 'Nice, isn't it?' said the salesman.  Ah, no, we thought but were too polite to say. Just because we were getting a daggy car, didn't mean we wanted a daggy colour. Still, I wanted to do the 'small-ness' test - to see how big (or small) I felt in it. 'Can we go for a test drive?' I asked. 'Sure, you got your license?' said the salesman, his friendliness increasing by the minute as he smelled desperate and naive purchasers in the air. 'Umm... no,' I said. Who goes car shopping without a license?? Fool, me. 'Maybe I could just drive it round the yard?' Not as stupid as it sounded because the yard was frickin' huge. 'Sure,' replied Martin. So I fanged around that yard at 20km/hr. Who would believe that at that speed, you could still nearly have an accident. Sure enough, I nearly did, while reversing out of the parking spot. 'Forgot that rear camera,' I muttered under my breath as Martin's knuckles went white. Anyway, the car was fine to drive. My husband also went for a joy-ride on an actual road. He liked it too. 'So, do you want to do a deal?' asked Martin when the driving was done. A deal? Us? If you think we're bad at driving, you should see us try to drive a hard bargain. Hopeless. We politely declined, requesting a day's 'thinking time'. Sure enough, two days later, Martin called my husband, who gently broke the news that we hated the colour. (Superficial? Us?) Martin was shocked. Do you know how my husband could tell? Martin said, 'I'm shocked'. It was a bit of a give away.

A few days later saw us front up to car yard number two, this time determined to 'do a deal'. Enter 'Frank' - a salesman who really knew his s**t. He was throwing numbers at us faster than I could compute - 'the 3 litre does 13 per 100, while the 3.6 does 17.' We nodded sagely, not understanding a word he said. However, he did seem to be pushing us in the direction of a particular model. After two minutes, we said 'We'll take it'. We hadn't even sat in it. Test drive? Why bother. To be fair on us, it was basically the same car I'd driven round the car park at Martin's dealership. My thinking is - driven one car, driven them all. Frank then passed us over to Jenny and Charlene to talk payment/insurance/our plans for the weekend. Frank had urgent business to attend to. He was handing over delivery of a new car to a lovely looking Vietnamese family. At one point, I overhead him telling them, 'Now when you get the customer satisfaction survey, you should fill in "very satisfied" for the questions about my performance.' He was serious!

Anyway, half an hour later, we handed over the cheque and walked out of that yard. 'So, what did we just buy?' my husband asked nervously as we walked out of the yard. 'We bought that model, but bigger' I replied pointing to a silver sedan (we're getting a black station wagon - they're nothing alike).
'Does it have leather interiors?' he ventured.
'Umm... I think so.'
'GPS?'
'Not sure.'
'CD player?'
'No idea.'

We're due to pick up the car in two weeks. It will be great, I think. And surprising, too. Because, really, we're not sure exactly what we've bought. But it has four wheels and can fit three car seats. I know that. And that's all I care about.

This is what we've ended up with. I think.

10 Reasons to love "The Voice"

There's a very squishy bandwagon forming behind the TV show 'The Voice'. At last count, at least a couple of million Aussies are on board. And I'm one of them. Here's why...

1) Keith Urban. The guys seems to know every word to every song and everyone who's ever sung it. IE he knows his stuff. And the way he says 'What's your name baby?' in that Aussie/Nashville croony voice of his. Ah. Kills me. Wish he would ask me what MY name was. I now get why Nicole married him. He's a sensitive soul wrapped in a very cute body topped with very nicely straightened hair. I'd have him - drug addiction and hair straightener and all. During one of the early shows, a contestant sang 'Evie' and Keith revealed that was his nickname for Nicole in their early dating days. No wonder she couldn't resist.
2) Joel (or is it Benji? Who cares!) Madden. Never liked his music but love his puppy dog personality.
3) Delta. Just to look at. She's so pretty. But she's a bit out of her league on this one. Every other judge has had international hits. Except Delta. And she's the youngest. Doesn't help.
4) Seal's dancing. He sure knows how to get his groove on. A little bit like a drunk uncle at a wedding. But a little bit cool too. Only down side - he can seem a little smug.
5) The positivity - no one gets ridiculed, put down or slammed for clothing choices. Even the contestants that don't get chosen can still sell their songs on i-Tunes.
6) The diversity. Great to see singers of all ages, genders and body types singing a range of songs, not just pop fluff.
7) The talent. Everyone can sing. It's a given. It's just a question of how well, not how badly.
8) It's on three nights a week. That's three nights where we don't have to scroll through a hundred channels looking for something to watch.
9) The music. Awesome to hear new arrangements of old songs (like 'You're the one that I want', re-done as a Ryan Adams-esque broody love song) alongside faithful renditions of old hits (Mahalia Barnes shredded 'Proud Mary') and some songs I've never heard before (like Keith Urban's own 'Memories of Us' which I think he wrote for Nic. Sigh)
10) The fact that the 'stars' are reduced to competing for the amateur's vote. It's brilliant, turning the tables like that and giving the 'unknowns' a bit of the power back.

When group gifts go bad

Yesterday, I got a note from my daughter's kindy. It was from another mum (who I don't know) asking all the parents to make a contribution to a group gift voucher for the director of the kindy, who is soon going on maternity leave. We are to put the money in an envelope with our names on it, secretly hand it to one of the other teachers, and then secretly sign a card. Reasonable? Yes. Ideal? My feelings are mixed. I had already planned to give this teacher a gift voucher. Privately. Without fanfare. And without any secret envelopes changing hands. Now, I can't. I have to contribute to the group gift or risk being (self) labelled mean spirited. And here's my other beef. I like to give presents. I really like it. But I don't like being asked to give them, especially by someone I don't know. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because of the saying - 'it's the thought that counts'. When another person asks you to contribute to a gift, well it's kind of depriving you of the 'thinking', isn't it?

What's the point of pre-school?

I must admit to having fairly low of expectations of pre-school for my 3 year old. I don't expect her to be able to read and write by the end of it. Not at all. I consider it more about social development. If, at the end of these two years she is able to open her lunchbox, follow teacher directions, toilet herself and play nice, I'll be happy. I'll consider the pre-school to have done its job ie to get her ready for school. At least, that's what I thought, up until about 9am yesterday morning. That's when I heard a fascinating discussion on ABC radio about the latest neuroscience regarding early brain development.

Why it's OK for 36 year olds to like One Direction

'I think I like One Direction*,' I told my husband the other day. 'That's creepy,' he replied, giving me the kind of look that one reserves for pitiful cougars. 'Not like that,' I replied. 'It's not like I want to date them.' That's 100% true. I don't want to date them. I'm not sure it would even be legal. Besides, what would we talk about - hair products? I'm not even going to buy their records. I think the fact I use the word 'record' probably indicates why. But if their song comes on the radio, then sure, I'll pump it up and belt it out like nobody's business.

Knocked up and Knocked About - Trying to beat morning sickness

Wanna know why I've been MIA from this blog for a while? Here it is. I'm pregnant. 13 weeks. I'm thrilled but I'm queasy. It's been like a three month hangover, without having a single alcoholic drink - all of the sickness and none of the fun. I know I shouldn't complain about being pregnant - and I don't think I am. I would rather be pregnant and nauseous, than not pregnant and brimming with energy. I know the sick feeling is a sign of hormones doing what they have to do to keep the little bean growing. And - I know it will end - at some point - hopefully before nine months. But here's the fact - the first three months have been no walk in the park.

Guest post by my husband: 10 most pointless bumper stickers

If you live in Sydney, and drive a car, you get plenty of opportunities to read bumper stickers because the traffic is - let's face it - bumper to bumper. All the time! So, I have had a good think about it and come up with my list of top ten most pointless bumper stickers.

Number 10

"DOMN8TOR"
OK - it's not actually a bumper sticker but it was near a bumper– it is a licence plate that was parked outside my work today. Please…what are you dominating? Bad spelling? If you are going to personalise your plates at least go with something more accurate like “masterb8er” or “id1ot”

Twenty Two Hours Without the Kids

I wish this was us. It's not. We're not that good looking.

I love being a Mum but geez it can be a grind. Kids are constant. There's no 'off' switch. I know. I've tried to find one. So, the occasional night away from them, I find, is essential to one's mental health. Last weekend, my husband and I took such a 'mental health break', spending a Saturday night away from the kids in a Sydney hotel. Our two girls were having their own mini holiday at 'Resort Grandparent', complete with a pool and two old people ready for a round of all-day games of dress-ups and beach visits. We started getting ready to leave at 7am on Saturday morning. If I didn't need a holiday at that point, then the next three hours would bring me to breaking point. Packing for kids is a mental and physical challenge. I have a standard 'going away list' which includes about 50 items.

The etiquette of visiting new-borns in hospital

I love visiting friends in hospital who have just had a baby. L-O-V-E it! There's something wondrous about seeing a little being who just a few hours ago, was a large bump in their mother's tummy. I love seeing them all snugged up like little gumnuts in those pastel striped blankets they only have in maternity wards. I love the post-birth-high that the Mums experience, where all they want to talk about is their birth story. Love that. Everyone's story is different, and engrossing. To me. But I know that not everyone is fan of the hospital visit. While it's a terribly exciting time, it can also be a fraught time for a new mother, who can barely go to the toilet, let alone sit and make small talk with visitors. I've seen it from both sides - both as the new mum receiving visitors, the one doing the visiting. And I've learned a few things about how to make it a positive experience for all concerned. Here are my tips

Tips for Visiting a Friend in Hospital Who's Just Had a Baby
1) Text/email or call first to make sure it's OK. At some point in the first few days after birth, many women get 'the blues'. Some like to deal with on their own, others may like the company of others to get them through.
2) Don't stay longer than 20 - 30 minutes
3) When the mother says 'It's time for a feed', that's code for - 'You need to leave, now!' Feeding a newborn is not a crowd sport.
4) Make sure you bring something. Yes, you're just there to see the baby but once you get in the room and see all the flowers and presents lying around you will feel like a complete toad for coming empty handed. It doesn't necessarily have to be for the baby either. Never does a woman deserve a present more than after she's had a baby. For Mums it can be as simple as a take away coffee, some food that was on the 'banned' list in pregnancy (like blue cheese or sushi), a magazine or flowers. For hints on the best gifts for baby, click here.
5) If you bring flowers, then make sure you find a vase. Hospitals never have enough. And it shouldn't be up to the Mum to go hunting for them. Nurses can usually help.
6) No more than 4 visitors at once. If others arrive, it's time to leave
7) Do not remark on the cone-shape of the baby's head, or the forceps marks on the ears, or the pus in the eye or the squishiness of the nose. The mother will have spent hours studying this creature that's been in her tummy for nine months. She will have seen it all. There's nothing to be gained by pointing out the obvious. There's everything to be gained by raving about how gorgeous the baby is.
8) Try to avoid bringing your own children
9) Only visit during visiting hours - check them before you go, either by checking the hospitals website or by calling them
10) You need to have a certain level of closeness with a friend in order to do the hospital visit. You're going to be seeing the Mum in her PJs. How would you feel if she saw you in yours? If it would be weird - don't go. My sister got visited by a colleague from her husband's work. It was weird.

Madonna - trail blazer or try hard?

I don’t know what to make of Madonna. I really don’t. Did you see her half-time performance at the Super Bowl? If you didn’t check it out here. A lot of people raved, calling her ‘ah-mazing’ for a 53 year old mother of three. Me? I’m not so sure. There’s definitely an argument to say that she’s smashing the stereotype of how a mum of her age should be. At 53, many women are in the grip of the hot flushes. But Madonna? I doubt anything or anyone could make her flush or blush. She seems completely in control. Or is she?

At times during the Super Bowl, I thought she looked a little silly, a bit like my Mum, trying to impersonate a young person’s dancing – like she was trying to prove something. There’s no doubt, the woman did prove that she has very powerful thighs. She did, oh, about 30 million squats in that ten minute performance. Just like crotch grabbing was Michael Jackson’s fave dance move, Madge’s is the squat. And one other thing’s for sure, Madonna’s new music isn’t a patch on the old stuff. More than 20 years on, ‘Like a Prayer’ and 'Vogue' still hold up, ‘Give me all your luvin’ (the new song) will be forgotten in five minutes.

$40 Coles/Myer Gift Voucher Up For Grabs - Enter Now!

It's February, which means my birthday is just around the corner. But this year, I want one of my blog followers to get a gift. So - I'm putting a $40 Coles/Myer gift voucher up for grabs

To enter
1) Go to the Mum Plus More facebook page and become a fan by adding it to your 'Likes'
2) Make an interesting comment, through facebook, on any of the Mum Plus More posts.
The best comment wins the prize. The comp is open to existing facebook fans of Mum Plus More.
Open to Australian entrants only. Entries close on my birthday, Feb 20, 2012 at 12:00am.
Cheers,
Cassie

Dealing with OPK (other people's kids)

I still remember quite clearly the first I learned that what was OK behaviour in my household was not OK in other households. It happened when I was 10 years old. I was having dinner at a little buddy's house with her mum and sisters. I was in full flight, regaling them with some fascinating tale (not exactly sure what - it was 25 years ago!) when I described someone as a 'smart arse'. My friend's mother said 'A what?' And I happily repeated the word 'smart arse'. At which point my friend and her sisters began to laugh. It was only then I realised. I'd sworn. Not once. But twice. Flagrantly. Happily. Blissfully unaware that in their household 'smartarse' was a swear word.

Pre-school Part II - the first day verdict

Many things were learned on our daughter's first day of pre-school. And most of them by me. All in all it went well. There were no tears, either by me or my girl. But here are some of the things I have figured out.

Lesson 1 - My daughter's backpack is way too big for her - it reaches her knees. And yet it must be oversized to fit all the damn stuff in there - sheets, sheet bag, change of clothes, water bottle, hat, lunchbox. She's out of the house for 7 hours, in a centre two streets from us, but we pack like she's going on an expedition to Siberia.

Lesson 2 - Everything - and I mean everything - requires a label.
From water bottles, to sheets, to hat, shoes. Pretty much every article, including food, must have a name. How else can they identify my daughter's Dora yoghurt from the 10 other Dora yoghurts in the fridge. What i haven't quite worked out - how to label a bread roll. Is it possible to write on glad wrap with a permanent marker? I must try..

Starting pre-school - and learning to let go

The countdown is underway! In about 10 days, my daughter will start pre-school. It will be the first time in her three year life that she has spent a day in the care of a non-family member. She's madly excited. Me? I have such a mix of emotions about it all that I'm not 100% sure how I feel. I feel relieved and excited but also a little anxious and just a bit generally sad.  

My girl is more than ready for pre-school. She needs more than I can offer her. She needs more stimulation, to learn things that I don't know how to teach. Yes, Mum is a great playmate but for some strange reason, she finds humans her own size a little more fun. I don't get it.

Parenting babies - is there one 'right' way to do it?

No. There is no one 'right' way to be a parent a baby. I used to think there was. And that it involved pretty strict routines. But, as with everything I thought about parenting (before actually having a child) I now know that this is wrong. There are in fact a million, cajillion, zillion ways of doing it well - each method different, but no less valid than the other. Not that the self-help industry would agree. Teaching parents how to parent is big business. You need only walk into a bookshop and peruse the number of parenting books to know that. There are now more 'baby whisperers' than horse whisperers. It's as if babies have become a problem that need to be dealt with; that parenting is a test which you can either pass, if you follow a particular technique, or fail, if you don't.

Resolving to Make a Resolution

This is not what I'm going to be doing. But it's related.

I can't remember the last time I made a New Years Resolution. It must be many, many years ago. I think I gave up making them because of the inevitable failure to follow through. But I've come to realise my logic is flawed. I want to be a better person, so why aren't I making a resolution to suit?

It's kind of like saying - 'I really want to win the lottery, but I'm not going to buy a ticket because there's a chance I will lose'. Well, yes. There is a huge chance you will lose. But there's also that delicious time, after you've bought the ticket, where you think to yourself - 'I'm in with a chance here. A small chance, yes. But I'm in there.' That's a great feeling - the feeling that it really is possible. That's what a resolution is like. It's giving yourself a goal, a ticket to be that person you want to be. So, this year I've made a resolution.

The books you don't want this Christmas

So, while Gerry Harvey and other mega-rich retailers are yet again crying poor this Christmas, book sellers say they're doing well. Great! Awesome! A book is a great gift - or is it? I've checked out some of what's on offer this festive season and come up with the top four books you don't want under your tree this year.
1) Life, Love and Cooking by Adam and Jade Brand. A country singer releasing a cook book is weird. A country singer and his 19 year old wife doing it together is even weirder. And now, the inevitable has happened - after 18 months of marriage, they've split, just as 'the happy couple's favourite recipes' hit the book shops. Oh dear. The poor publishers. Separation Soup accompanied by Divorce Dip just won't be a big hit, methinks.

The Revenge of the Poo

**this is a post about kids' poo. If you have delicate sensibilities, don't read it!**

Yesterday my daughters dropped five logs in the space of half an hour. FIVE! It deserved a Facebook update. I wrote 'My girls have set a new record.. for pooing. I wish they weren't such overachievers'. Here's how it went down (or out!). Baby does poo in nappy. She is 11 months old and going through that really annoying phase of refusing to lie down to have her bottom changed. It's a nightmare. She wriggles onto her tummy and then tries to stand up on the change table. And she's so strong. Admittedly, she's got the thighs of a weight-lifter, but it seems she has the upper body strength to match. It's basically a two person job. She's also got into the habit of reaching her hands down to her private bits as soon as the nappy comes off. Sometimes, there's poo there. And then, it's everywhere.

Censoring kids books - why Little Miss Trouble is on the black list

'Little Miss Trouble' is skating on thin ice in our household. In fact, she's about to consigned to the recycling bin. Why? Well, in a word, censorship. Pure and simple.

It goes without saying, there are many things that parents have to censor their kids from - violence, swearing, sex, and anything sung by Justin Beiber. But one thing I didn't count on was having to censor my three year old from some of her own books. My husband and I have come to realise that our 3 year old now understands in some depth the stories we read to her. And some stories simply do not send the right message, like 'Little Miss Trouble'. I'll give you the summary. Little Miss Trouble calls people names, like 'fatty' and 'Big nose'. Poor Mr Small gets punched. Twice.

Now, I could probably handle all of that if it were accompanied by some kind of messaging about the cruelty of name calling. And of punching. But no. How does the Little Miss get taught a lesson? Well, she gets tickled and bumped for 10 minutes, leaving her feeling very sorry for herself. I'm not sure what Roger Hargreaves was smoking when he wrote this one but it's just not right for little kids.

Mind you, Roger's not the only children's author who seems to be writing on a different planet. We have been given quite a few religious books, kids bibles kind of stories. One of them is called 'The Old Testament'. Interestingly, the three year old loves it. She might be the only child in the world who has ever said the words 'can you please read me The Old Testament?' But, I hate to say, it's just not appropriate. It's supposedly written for children but in the first few pages, there's death, destruction and wickedness. I don't think three year olds really need to know that kind of stuff. It's a hard sell, trying to make The Old Testament child friendly. But I don't think the authors have really tried that hard. Here's how 'Noah's Ark' begins.'In the Years after Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden, God saw that men and women had grown increasingly wicked.. so God decided to send a great flood and destroy all living things on the Earth.' Nice. Not.

There's no doubt, times have changed (specially since the bible was written) in relation to kids story telling. And they've changed pretty quickly. Even Beatrix Potter doesn't quite fit with modern sensibilites. There's a charming little incident in Peter Rabbit where Benjamin Bunny (Snr) kicks a cat, scratches off its fur, then takes out his son Benjamin and whips him with a stick. Oh dear. It's not exactly a sleepy bedtime story.

Maybe I'm a little too sensitive. Maybe all we need to do is explain that what happens in books is not what happens in realy life. The problem is this. At the moment, the biggest influences on my daughter's life are my husband and I. She listens like a hawk to what we say. And when we're saying words and reading stories that don't quite fit our values, I think it's a little confusing. So, it's goodbye to 'Little Miss Trouble' but 'Little Miss Fun', you can stay. We like you.

The Best Christmas Presents EVER!

Christmas gift giving in my family is a fairly standard affair - toys, clothes, books, CDs, gift vouchers - that kind of stuff. Now, there's nothing wrong with these gifts. Not at all. We are lucky to be able to give each other anything. BUT. What if we could give (and get) the gifts of our dreams - the gifts that money can't buy and Santa can't make. So, I've drawn up a fantasy gift list of what would make the best presents EVER. Santa - are you listening?

The 11 month old would love a ream of edible wrapping paper. She loves eating the stuff at present and gets outrageously upset if I fish it out of her mouth. Why not make her happy and just give her paper that she can eat? After all, wrapping really is the best part of the gift when you're not quite one. Oh, and Santa, could you also give her the ability to crawl down a stair. She's nailed the step up between our kitchen and lounge room, just needs help on the 'down'. It would save us all a lot of frustration.

I think our 3 year old would like a full length mirror that travels with her wherever she goes. That way, she can admire her own reflection all day long, which she loves to do, and always has someone to play with and boss around. Not sure how her reflection will cope, but that's her/its problem.

My husband would like a week of uninterrupted sleep. And a runner in the Melbourne Cup. It doesn't have to be a winner - just one of his horses, lining up at the gates on that first Tuesday in November. Oh, and he also wants night vision goggles (psst Santa - don't worry about that last one, I've actually got them for him!)

As for me, I'm really pretty happy with my lot at the moment. However, if you really pressed me, I would love to go on an overseas holiday. Maybe a week in New York? I can only afford a week, as that's the longest I can leave my bubbas. But, here's the catch, I don't want to fly there, or sail. I just want to magically be teleported there, and back. Two reasons. 1) 2 x 16 hour flights means only 5 days of actual holiday 2) I've become a nervous flyer, dammit. I used to love it. Now, I just imagine the plane going down in flames. Not good.

Now Santa, we've all been very well behaved this year, aside from the threenager's nose picking and tendancy to do poos on our lawn, so can you please, please start knocking this stuff together in your workshop? You've got two weeks to get it happening!

Six Tips for surviving a pre-schooler's birthday party

Phew - thank god that's over for - like - another 2 years. I'm talking about my daughter's 3rd birthday party. It was a biggie - the first year where she really 'got' the whole party/birthday/cake. She got it too well, in fact. We spent more time planning her party than I spent planning my own wedding. The discussions began in November - that is - November LAST YEAR. Yep, we workshopped it for 12 months. Well, mainly the cake. See, I'd made the wise (mistaken?) decision of investing in the Women's Weekly Birthday Cake book. The classic one that my mum had. It used to be my favourite book. Now, it's my daughters. She poured over it for months, deciding which cake to have. She settled on the rather bizarre choice of an 'artist's palette cake'. It was odd, for sure. Many at the party couldn't work out what it was. And that was just the adults. The kids didn't care. It was chocolate. You don't ask questions when it's chocolate, and you're 3. Ultimately, the party was a hoot. The day after it, my daughter said 'Mummy, when I turn 4, can I have nanny to my birthday party?' Planning for next year's has already begun. Little does my daughter know that her next 'big' party will be when she's 21. We might have recovered by then. I kid. We'll do it all again when she's 5 and the memory of the stress has faded. Anyway, here's what I learned out of the experience.
1) Don't invite too many guests. I read somewhere that kids should have one guest for every year of their life. So, one guest when they're turning 1, two for two etc. My daughter had 20 little friends, who came with 20 large adults. That's probably too many. But three is a bit small. I'm sure there's a happy medium somewhere. My new rule of thumb is this - only have as many guests as can fit comfortably inside your house. For the few days leading up to the bash, I was freaking out about wet weather. Could we fit 40 people inside our house? Luckily, it was fine. But I won't be taking the chance again.
2) Be clear with your child about your cake making skills. That is, if you're planning to make a cake. There are lots of kids cake books around. Some of them have extremely complicated creations which are beyond most people's cake making skills. So, before showing your child the book, consider gluing together the pages containing particularly complicated recipes. Or, explain to them that you are not Adriano Zumbo and cannot be expected to reproduce that train cake, complete with 7 carriages.
3) Don't buy into the 'every child's a winner' philosophy. At one stage, I think I was single handedly supporting the Chinese economy in plastic crap. I bought way too much 'tat', thinking that every child needed to go home with a couple of 'prizes'. I now think it's a mistake. A couple of lollies and maybe one plastic item is more than enough.
4) Keep the entertainment R-E-A-L-L-Y S-I-M-P-L-E. For some 3 year olds, pass the parcel is about as straightforward as trigonometry. If you're going to do games, go for ones like musical statues - physical and straightforward. Thing is, some entertainment is required, otherwise the kids will make their own, like seeing who can throw themselves off a very high wall onto the concrete below. Fun!
5) Don't bother with separate food for adults. Party pies, sausage rolls and twisties taste just as good when you're 35 as they do when you're 3. Don't worry about adult food - the oldies love an excuse to eat childhood favourites.
6) Consider locking certain rooms in your house. Kids have a nose for sniffing out (and trashing) bedrooms during parties. Best to keep them out in the open and confine the trashing to areas that you don't mind being trashed.

Dear Fashion Gods

Dear fashion gods,
I would like some new clothes. Here are my criteria. I would like something that..
- is resistant to puke, drool, vomit, poo and the bolognaise sneeze (ie when your baby sneezes with a mouthful of bolognaise)
- does not require ironing
- does not require drycleaning
- rarely requires washing
- copes well with the occasional sponge clean
- takes 5 minutes to put on
- does not need to be tried on
- can be bought online and posted to my home. I don't want one of those annoying little Australia Post cards telling me to come and pick it up
- looks cool and chic but is still comfortable
- is suitable for wearing to a playground, a 2 year old's dance class and all of the other places mums go to but could also be suitable for that movie night I dream of with my husband
- does not require the purchase of new shoes and/or underwear
- costs less than $100
- is a complete outfit. I do not have time to 'shop my wardrobe'.
- has reinforced knees for comfort while crawling round on the floor
- has pockets big enough to hold used tissues, a matchbox car and a crayon
- is not too trendy but then again, not 'out'
- is not jeans or a t-shirt. I already have many of these.
I don't think I'm asking for too much.
As ever, your hopeful slave,
Me

The Toy Cull That Had to Happen

You know how I realised that it was time for a toy cull? I wore holes in my jeans where the knees are. That's right. My favourite pair of jeans had to go because I was getting unwelcome airconditioning round my patellas. So what have the holes got to do with the toys? Well, everything. The reason my jeans suffered so badly is that I've been spending half my day crawling round the floor picking up cars, cards, fairy wings, rattles, barbies and endless numbers of 'little people'. The toys were doing my head in. The kids weren't actually playing with them. No.

Our Near-death tractor ride... And other fun tales from our farm stay

When is a holiday not a holiday?  When it is a FARMSTAY. Those farmers have got us snookered haven’t they? There aren’t many jobs where people will pay to come and help you. But that’s exactly what the farm stay is – well-heeled city folk paying for the privilege of helping a farmer with jobs around the farm. I should know, as our family experienced such a (working) holiday last weekend.

Every year, we enjoy a weekend away for the ‘immediate’ but ever extending family. Basically it is 8 adults and 8 kids, all under the age of 7. It’s not designed for relaxation, it’s a recipe for 48 hours of mayhem. And, as it turns out, work.