Another Sensory Play Fail

The Baby is bored. What to do? I know, let’s crack out the sensory, rainbow rice! The Baby stops crying and crawls over for a better look. He plunges his chunky fingers in and giggles, flapping his arms and chucking rice 2 meters in every direction. Then…

Mama: Ah ah, no no. That’s not for eating.

Play continues. The Baby dumps more on the floor. Throws more around, then…

Mama: Baby, no. Not for eating.

Mama: No no. Look at this! Can you dig with the spoon?

Mama: Baby, listen. What a nice noise! Drop it, don’t eat it.

Mama: Whatever, kid. Fill your boots. I guess you will poop rainbows after all.

Have you had any joy with sensory play?

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My Baby is a Criminal

Doesn’t look like the face of a criminal mastermind, does it? We too were fooled, for a time. Until I caught him in the act.

We had accidentally found ourselves slap, bang in the middle of forced joviality in the form of a Thai TV Network’s ‘Family Day’. We had listened to the same painfully annoying jingle on a loop for 20 minutes. We had taken the Baby into a play zone full of toys perfect for lodging in small children’s throats. We had protected the Baby’s right to play with a large stuffed gorilla from a somewhat bratty boisterous four year-old. I had tired of us being the main focus of a large TV camera, showcasing the token white person and her spawn.

As we were making a dash for the exit we became distracted by the appearance of a mascot whose suit was 50% head. We joined the crowd and I watched, trying not to be mean and hope the neon pink…cat? mouse? rabbit? Pokemon? tripped and landed on it’s over-sized face (it had not been a pleasant car journey in, my stress levels were pushed well into the red). When it became obvious the creature wasn’t going to topple I began taking bets on which of the small, terrified children being physically forced into photo ops would be the first to cry.

Meanwhile the crook, held by the Mama, was plotting his move. He waited until everyone was distracted by the scary pink thing then…

 

Unfortunately he has yet to perfect his craft and was caught, red handed, with his little paws rummaging around in someone else’s bag. The someone else did not look amused.

Move over, Dodger, we’ve got Fagin’s next disciple right here.

 

Have you any pint-sized hooligans in your midst?

 

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The Mummies’ Big Day Out.

A few weeks after the Baby was born we left him with his Grandma for a few hours and nipped into town. I’m pretty sure that was the last time we were without him for any period of time during the day. So when a very good friend of our asked to babysit during the day we jumped on it, before he could wise up and change his mind.

You could say our day was a little different without the Baby tagging along.

For example, with the baby I’m like this:

Weighed down with a million and one things which are all completely necessary for us to leave the house.

Without the Baby I was like this:

Absolutely nothing. Free as a bird. Not even a purse as the Mummy is in charge of money and all the maths related to it. Lovely.

Normally when we go somewhere our hands are busy. We’re stopping the Baby from stealing in stores, picking up things he’s thrown, trying to entertain him or lugging his entourage of stuff. Or sometimes it’s this, which is kind of cute :

Until he drags your fingers quickly into his mouth and has a big ol’ chomp on them.

But today we did something we haven’t done for a long time. Maybe since the Baby was born. We did this:

So nice! Well, until we went walking outside in the heat and the Mummy started to complain about my sweaty hand. Which, in all fairness, was becoming rather moist.

And take lunch. Normally we are searching for a restaurant which has a highchair and fellow diners who aren’t going to spend their meal glaring at our noisy baby who is throwing food around. We then have to risk heartburn inhaling our food at the speed of light in case the Baby decides he’s going to ‘hulk out’.

Not today, my friends. No, today we had starters and a main course in a venue more bar than restaurant whilst managing to down two margaritas each.

No one screamed. No one threw anything on the floor and then demanded it be picked up. No one forced me to share my food. An hour and a half of peaceful cocktail supping- heaven!

Our afternoons with the Baby are usually spend doing some variety of this:

For which the fun often wears off rather quickly. Today I got to sit in a dark room for two whole hours and no one expected me to talk to them or do anything. Ah-mazing.

A fun day was had by all.  I did spent an inordinate amount of time checking the phone and sending messages to make sure everything was OK. We were very happy to retrieve the Baby from a couple of somewhat exhausted looking, brilliant babysitters. My heart melted when he gave us an exited grin and arm-leg flail combination. I hid a giggle when that excitement translated into sinking his teeth into the Mummy’s shoulder. And best of all, I had the energy to entertain an overtired and overstimulated tot all the way home and help him avoid a meltdown, hitting the hay with nary a whimper.

Fantastic day- yay! Thanks to the wonderful Uncle B, without whom I’d probably be on here complaining about suffering through another day of baby Whinese.

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Bibs- the new, hip fashion accessory.

Two style posts in two days- lucky, you guys! I know you’re all chomping at the bib to get more fashion ideas from a purple t-shirt wearing cartoon (sorry, couldn’t help myself).

Today I watched the Baby eat, or rather I watched him laboriously pick up tiny pieces of food, bring them tantalizingly close to his mouth and then drop them on the floor…

After he had screamed suggested he might be finished I began the painful task of tidying up, pondering how he manages to evenly coat everything in a 2 meter radius while simultaneously smushing things into every nook and cranny in his high chair.

I turned to take him out of the chair when I noticed he was eating again. Huh? I watched him for another minute or two and realized he was reclaiming the food which had been captured by his bib pocket.

Then I had an epiphany. How many times as mums and dads are we wasting away for want of a snack? How often do we have to hide because we’re eating something we don’t want to can’t share with the little people in our house? Have you ever had to put your snack up high so the ankle biter can’t reach it and then forgotten about it? Sometimes your hands are so full you can’t even think about satisfying your need for a snack, right?

The answer has been right in front of us all along, parents! The pocket bib. Snacking on the go, and catching crumbs so nothing is wasted and less cleaning is needed. Imagine the popcorn eating potential. Win win win!

If you are a fashion giant and would like to stamp a huge logo on a bunch of adult-sized bibs with pockets so we can call them fashionable, let me know. I’ll totally write you a rave review, for free! Unless you are one of those D&G buttholes. You are NOT welcome. ‘Cos my bibs may be synthetic but my baby is not.

 

 

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The transformation from single hair to mummy hair.

A long, long time ago, in galaxy far,far away I was single. And my hair looked like this:

Every six to eight weeks I’d swan off to a very fancy hairdresser, fork out 70 GBP and hate every second of the three hours in took to wash, highlight, wash, cut, dry, cut and style (badly).

Then the fertility gods shone their light upon me and my uterus and I read that maybe hair dye is not great when you’re newly pregnant. Plus I was so nauseous that there was more than a chance I’d puke all down that little gown they make you wear. Plus I got tired of people calling me ‘mister’.

An epiphany! No more hours stuck in the chair and a slightly less empty bank account. I had seen the light and I wasn’t looking back.

My hair tricked me. It didn’t shed at all throughout my pregnancy and thus I convinced myself my always thin, lank, somewhat sad hair had magically morphed forever into a gorgeous, lustrous mane. Then I stopped expressing breast milk and it basically all fell out over night.

While sadly examining my thin mop one morning, I decided to whip out the old straighteners. I only ran them through the lower half and slowly executed a kick and flip. Ta-daaaaa, volume! Huzzah.

But that’s not the best part! Before I’d had to wash my sad, thin hair every day in an attempt to cheer it into becoming a little bouffant. I realized a little well placed shot of dry shampoo and 5 minutes maintenance with the straighteners and I was good to go. I’m saving myself a good 30 minutes every day, which every mummy knows is like gold dust.

Today ( the second…OK, third day since I washed my hair) the Mummy asked me what was in my hair. I went to have a look in the mirror.

Which part? The sweat from running across the room in an unsuccessful attempt to catch the Baby before he reached that glass of water? The vomit patch from when I was throwing the Baby up and down much too soon after the Mummy had fed him? The smushed up biscuit from where I’d been trying to placate a tired Baby who’d rather pull my hair? Or the spaghetti patch that he was flinging around a few days ago in my misguided foray further into Baby Led Weaning.

Still wondering if I really  have to wash it tomorrow.

The Other Residents of the Poop Rainbows Household.

If you’ve been with us for a while you’ll already be familiar with the larger residents of our house: myself (the Mama), the Mummy, the Baby and the Dog. But there are others. The worst kind of house guests, the uninvited kind. The type who arrive with no warning and no departure date. Lets introduce them one by one.

1. Jingjoks

Probably my favourite, and by that I mean the one I am terrified of/hate the least, is the jingjok. It’s a little lizard that sticks to walls and makes a very loud clicking noise.

Pros: They eat other uninvited guests. They’re kind of cute. They steer clear of me. You get funny stories about their ‘interactions’ with babies.

Cons: They poop all over the walls. They hide under things and then leap out at you when you least expect it, threatening you with a coronary. The Mummy hates them and so I am often tasked with the impossible job of relocating them. Their tails detach when threatened and wiggle independent of their bodies for a few minutes- very very creepy and tempting as a snack for the Dog and the Baby alike.

 

 

2. An ant….and his million closest relations.

Ugh. The bane of my existence. These little pests have been with us for almost a year now. We have tried a multitude of traps and cleaning methods to no avail.

Pros: Everyday I vent a little suppressed aggression by squishing them one by one. Like popping zits it has proven to be somewhat gross but therapeutic.

Cons: You could kill hundreds and they still keep coming (trust me). If you don’t clean up the deceased they become snacks for the survivors, further encouraging the infestation. If you have a grain of food anywhere they will come in force. Good job my house never has any food thrown around during meal times….wait…..

 

3. Mosquitoes.

Much hated the world over for their nasty, itchy, disease carrying ways. These little suckers fill me with a wild, hot rage like no other creature is possible.

Pros: The Mosquito Zapper.

Cons: Disease. They prevent me venturing outside during the only time of day you don’t feel like you are walking on the surface of the sun. They could be used to bring back velociraptors.

 

4. Cockroaches *shudder*

Bleugh. The worst of the worst. These inevitably only scuttle around when the Mummy is not here to help. They send me running to the nearest piece of furniture faster than the legs in Tom and Jerry. The others on this list I can deal with but these feeler-waving creeps have me threatening to move house and leave the country.

Pros: Nope.

Cons: EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM!

 

 

 

Do you have any uninvited house guests?

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To home-school or not to home-school…

A friend recently asked us if we were going to home-school. Without missing a beat, these were our responses.

So I guess that’s safely a ‘no’.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against home-schooling parents. In fact I hold them in the highest regards. It’s just that I know I’m not cut out for it.

Yes, I’m a teacher. Yes, I love kids. Yes, I even love my own kid. But the thought of having him at home all day every day makes me want to run screaming from the house, leaving a Mama-shaped, large and saggy breasted hole in every object I encounter during my flight.

This may or may not be influenced by our current participation in the week of ‘whining and crying for no apparent reason’. I also have no doubt that I will be sniffing back the tears when I go to drop off the little tyke for his first day of nursery. But I’m pretty sure the Mummy and I will be smiling when we clink our coffee mugs together that afternoon and put our feet up.

Are you going to home-school? Would you if you could? Why or why not?

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The Baby’s Inadvertent Warning Alarm

You know when you see parent with their kids on one of those backpack leashes? Or when you’re being driven mad by the kid in the airport running around in the squeaky shoes? Those clever parents have used those tools for a reason. To avoid their tots doing what kids do best: getting into trouble.

We’ve baby-proofed as best we can for the moment. Somethings, however cannot be removed or made completely baby-friendly. I am now regretting the floor lamps- for example. And the Dog, with her highly chewable feet and her licky ways.

The bad news is the Baby is still at the soldier-crawl stage and not yet ready for the aforementioned trouble prevention tools. The good news is the Baby has come with his own, inbuilt trouble alert-er.

When the Baby spots something he shouldn’t have or decides to do something he shouldn’t do he gets excited and emits a little giggle as he races towards said forbidden object. This giggle is particular to this activity. It is heard and responded to by the mummies from up to 500 yards away, through nursery rhymes and thunder. It.is.amazing. I’m pretty sure it has prevented some trips to Accident and Emergency.

Please don’t get better at being naughty, Baby. The mummies need their early warning system!

Does your kid have an accidental way of letting you know they’re up to something?

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Reasons the Baby is Crying

It’s been one of those teething/wonder weeks/I feel like being an absolute butt-hole days for the Baby.

Here’s a rundown of why he was so upset today.

1. The Mummies took too long to get him out of bed this morning. Five whole minutes is completely unacceptable, even if it is 5.25am and he usually gets up at 6.30.

2.  He did not want to drink milk first thing. He wanted it 7 minutes after it was first offered. The stupid Mama couldn’t figure that out.

3. He didn’t want to sit in the highchair and eat mango. He hates mango. Actually, no, he loves mango. Why isn’t there more mango?!

4. He doesn’t want to play in his walker.

5. He doesn’t want to get out of his walker.

6. He hasn’t figured out how to pass through inanimate objects on his walker.

7. He doesn’t want to bite any of the 12 toys being offered to him, even the four that are designed for teething.

8. The Mama wont let him bite her.

9. The Mama wont let him bite her.

10. The Mama wont let him bite her.

11. The Mummy is cooking lunch.

12. He doesn’t want to eat fish. He wants to feed the Dog.

13. The Mama wont let him feed the dog.

14. The Mama put him down to go and clean up his crying induced vomit pile.

15. The Mummy wont let him suck on the Dog’s feet.

16. He wants to poop but cant.

17. He pooped but he doesn’t want to be changed.

18. The Mama wont let him bite her.

19. The Mama wont read him ‘The Very Effing Hungry Caterpillar’ for the 6th time in 20 minutes.

20. It’s nap time but he doesn’t want to sleep.

What crappy reasons does your kid have for crying today?

 

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Make my day/week/year and help me get nominated for a Brilliance in Blogging Award, please!

Simply click on this link:

Click on the nominate button and choose either the ‘Fresh Voice‘ or ‘Family’ (or both) heading.

Here’s the info you need:

Blog Name: My Kid Doesn’t Poop Rainbows- and other parenting realizations.

Blog URL: http://pooprainbows.com

Twitter ID: PoopRainbowMama

Email: mykiddoesntpooprainbows@yahoo.com

and a favourite post url (the long thing that appears after the http:// when you’re reading your favourite post of mine).

Thank you!!!!

 

 

Parenting: The struggle is real.

Sometimes when I try to help I actually mess things up, which you can read about here. So when the Mummy came into the bathroom while I was bathing the Baby I was a little nervous.

Yup. Sometimes when you’re parenting an arms reach is just too far away. I get it, Mummy.

*****************Come be my friend!******************

Help me get over my high school unpopularity issues. 

Subscribe or be my friend on twitter or facebook 🙂

Make my day/week/year and help me get nominated for a Brilliance in Blogging Award, please!

Simply click on this link:

Click on the nominate button and choose either the ‘Fresh Voice‘ or ‘Family’ (or both) heading.

Here’s the info you need:

Blog Name: My Kid Doesn’t Poop Rainbows- and other parenting realizations.

Blog URL: http://pooprainbows.com

Twitter ID: PoopRainbowMama

Email: mykiddoesntpooprainbows@yahoo.com

and a favourite post url (the long thing that appears after the http:// when you’re reading your favourite post of mine).

Thank you!!!!