The Pursuit of Nappy-ness

If you are anything like me, your head will be spinning at the thought of another year drawing to a close. I mean, aren’t we still just settling in to 2010? How on earth could it have happened that 2011 is lurking in the neighbourhood, like an uninvited houseguest?

It was the clever, creative folk at Nuffnang who brought this scary statistic to my otherwise distracted attention, when they asked their loyal community of bloggers to reflect on the year that was in cyber space real estate, and regale them with your pick of your posts for 2010. And should they deem mine supremely worthy, by default I become the lucky owner of an iPad (I’d properly prefer an iMaid but not sure they have come out on the market as yet…). Nonetheless, seeing as though there is no chance Santa will be slipping down our skinny chimney bearing such luxury fruits with my name attached to the gift tag, I thought I might as well throw my hat into the well-written ring for a chance to win.

The good news is that is has given me time to reflect on the NappyDaze year that we have enjoyed – in between changing copious nappies and the general roller coaster pursuits of everyday life! The bad news is it’s a little akin to asking a parent to chose a favourite child.

There is a piece of my heart lovingly sewn into the words of my every entry so the selection process was a little daunting. I felt I loved them all equally and was so proud to have even found the time (and inclination!) to put pen to paper (yes, that’s how I start each one, before transferring to the age of technology and my laptop). Should it be my Centenary celebrations blog, where I revelled in my success of managing to post 100 entries? Or my first “breakout” piece when I began to find my voice (and ergo, my opinion) to muse on other matters of motherhood that did not just revolve around my son? I can thank the gormless Gisele Bundchen for giving me the great irritating motivation to let my writers voice finally be freed from its shackles!

But upon true reflection I have decided the piece that has meant the most has got to be the pondering of the $64million dollar question of what is the best time to go forth and procreate after you have seen child number one safely into the world? Mind the Gap explores this phenomenon, and ultimately, discovers there is no magic timeframe trick to this quest. The feedback received was so heart-warming – seems many mothers would also like to unearth the holy grail of age gaps as well!

So then, a final plea to the kind hearted crew at Nuffnang – I’m aware I am up against stiff competition as there are some superbly brilliant bloggers in your vast online creative community. However, as someone who barely has the time to write, but feels so alive when she does, recognition to forge onwards and upwards with this blog would be but a tonic to an ailing soul.

And to my faithful followers, thank you for buying a ticket to ride on this eternal pursuit of "nappyness"!  Long may our journey (towards potty training, if nothing else) prosper! 

Two’s Company… Three’s a pain in the ass apparently!

It is a simple fact, known the world over: two’s company – a nice little even number cocoon of intimacy while three conjures up the image of the unflattering “gooseberry” or awkward “third wheel”. Yes indeed, three is a crowd. And in my world, that’s extra unnecessary wheel equals me.

I sometimes think the Husband and son have embarked on some sort of secret club from which I don’t know the quirky handshake, and therefore am not allowed in. Perhaps its just all part of the inglorious “terrible two’s” that we are enduring, but I am beginning to feel like I am an intruder in my own home.
No one likes to feel invisible I suppose, let alone like the token third party only invited along out of pity. And I do so love the fact my boys have such a sturdy, unshakeable bond – I just wish there was room for one more in this gang!

If its just Harrison and I at home, I am worthy to act as the sun, moon, stars and sky around which his world revolves. Yet the minute the Husband appears in our universe, I am cast aside like last season’s fashion, quicker than it takes for a supermodel to consume her (probably non-existent) lunch. If I’m not being told to “get off” the lounge they are sitting on, or to “go away Mummy” when its time for bed, I’m enduring the cold shoulder of contempt as my son glares at me and buries his head further in to the chest cavity of his father.

Being a sensitive soul, I’ll admit there are times when I am a little crushed by his behaviour. The Husband even winces in mutual pity at times, offering an almost embarrassed “ouch, that’s harsh” in sympathy. I comfort myself with the knowledge that I am sure these actions are being performed with no intentional malice towards me. Its just that I adore my son so much I wish I was the one being showered in such unconditional love as the Husband is rewarded with. Or is it just the lot of the Mummy to bear this burden, seeing as though we are the ones who offer up the majority of discipline and mundane day-to-day requests in their world? Not much excitement to be gleaned from this angle, is there?

Perhaps Harrison is exploring that male phenomenon usually reserved for the dating scene: “treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen”. Because the further he pushes me away in tangible disdain, the more fervent my advances to try and re-ignite his affections towards me are.

The upshot is that I have learned to cherish every single infrequent cuddle when it comesmy way, and treasure every chance to be showered with his atypical attention. Like last Thursday night, when we came home after a long day out, and all he demanded, in a sad little boy lost voice was to “sit with my mummy”. It didn’t matter that I had two loads of washing to do, packing to be done, floors to be swept. I just sat on that lounge and silently revelled in the rare affection that was being suddenly lavishly bestowed upon me, his little body twisted in a comfortable ball in my lap. And when it came to bedtime, and his first choice was not home to tuck him in, he begged me to hold his hand and hug him til he fell asleep. Never in the two years and 3 months of his life has he asked me to do this! It was all I could do not to swoon like an over eager teen meeting her pop star idol for the first time!

I suppose there comes a time in every mother’s world when her son gravitates towards the males. I just never expected it quite so soon! Though I imagine my future daughter-in-law will at least be pleased with this way of the world as she certainly wont have a Mummy’s Boy on her hands – unless no one else is around to see it, that is! Maybe we do have our own secret society after all, and it’s a club solely built for two: me and you Harry, even if its when we have no one else but ourselves in our world xx

Food For Thought

Recently I attended a “fussy eaters” seminar to try and tackle the issues we face when it comes to my son’s penchant to loathe almost all things in vegetable form.

These are trying times, let me tell you. Not being a “MasterChef” (my skills lay in other areas, or at least that how I justify my far from fancy offerings), it is demoralising to have my lovingly, painstakingly prepared from scratch healthy meals pushed aside in disgust by my two year old son. It’s quite disheartening too, especially when you always feel robbed of time and end up cooking two dinners in one day – one for yourselves and a whole separate, bland one for the son. Oh how I long for the day when he eats what we are eating…

How do you convince (or coerce) a stubborn 26 month old, who knows his mind and can very easily communicate his likes and dislikes that broccoli is yummy - even though most of us will concur it is not, but he isn’t to know that! He flat out refuses to open his mouth to taste it, judging it solely on appearance. At times I’ll tempt him by telling him carrots are the food of choice of his beloved dinosaurs, but not even that garners any success. Everyone loves Sweet Potato, and while I concede he’ll give it a go if its mashed and mixed with potato, don’t dare offer it up in boiled or roasted form or he will screams in disgust that I could even consider plating up such uninspiring fare.

And you can forget the old faithful mantra that oft gets trotted out at troublesome dinnertimes - telling him by devouring his vegies it will make him grow up big and strong is of no use as he could care less about his future physique.

Yes, we have resorted to “hiding” vegetables in any which way we can, but surely that’s just a hindrance to a long term solution? But for how long do I have to waste perfectly good (and usually expensive) vegies that are inevitably going to end up in the bin, instead of his stomach?

If he was allowed to survive on a dinner of sausages and chicken nuggets he’d be in cuisine heaven. And while I acknowledge his other meals are not quite the battle or bland affair (though I’d love it if he’d consider a variant to vegemite sandwiches come lunch time), he really is resistant about trying anything new. Unless of course you offer him a doughnut for the first time – see how quickly the baby seal scoffs that down. Yet, try to give him a cut of celery and hummus dip and he’ll have dismissed it quicker the Sri Lankan Bowlers are ripping through our current Aussie Cricket team.

Of course there is also the famed $64million dollar question as to why he will eat anything offered to him at day-care, yet refuses to show me the same leniency at home. And its not like they are the ones preparing the meals – they are all being cooked by me! But try giving him one of the stir-fry’s on a non day-care day for lunch he’ll either spit it out or flat out demand a vegemite sandwich instead – and wage toddler warfare on me until he wins.

So, where did it all go wrong? According to a British Survey, if you don’t start serving up the same meal to your child that you are having, by the age of one, then you have a one in five chance of housing a fussy eater in your home. What, pray tell are those of us with babies whose teeth have not yet made a much anticipated appearance until after this time to do? Was I doomed from the outset because Mother Nature decided she’d only bless my son with his first fang at 11.5 months old? Not really able to munch on carrot and chops with that disadvantage, I assure you…

Everyone tells me it’s just a phase. And it was heartening at the seminar to learn I am far from alone in living these trying food famine times. But when you have been waging this war for so long, and seemingly failing to make any significant advances on the enemy lines, it begins to feel like a stalemate has evolved. Yes, I admit I am winning some battles but I guess only time will tell when (or if!) I win the war.

In Memory of a much loved friend...

“My Beautiful Shaggy (Adam)”

10.7.77 – 26.10.01

You were like the big brother I’d always wanted and I cherished you with all my heart. Our special friendship meant the world to me and my life will never be the same now you are gone.

My friend, I ache for just one more of your warm and comforting hugs.

Thank you for being simply the most beautiful person I knew.

I will miss you eternally…

9 years on from writing this tribute after losing a much loved friend and it still feels like yesterday that the world was robbed of such a beautiful soul. Yet, when you consider how long it been since we last saw that trademark mop of unruly hair and cheekiest of grins, it feels more like a lifetime since we last laid eyes on you.

I was no stranger to death; I endured the loss of much loved relatives when I was younger but nothing could have prepared me for this pain. From the other side of the world, enclosed in a landmark Red London Phone Booth my life transformed from that of a carefree, cash-strapped backpacker to a broken hearted girl far too far from home.

Literally every moment of that excruciating call is seared in my mind; how my knees buckled and gave way, leaving me slumped against the chilly glass of the booth, my mind screaming “no, no, no, NO – not Shaggy, anyone but him, he’s too precious, too loved, too ALIVE to be taken from us.” How I felt bereft of breath, a fireball feeling ripping through my chest, leaving my heart splintering into a million little shards. How the busy, bustling noisy chaos that is the City of London abruptly ceased, leaving my world suddenly dark, silent and scary.

Sorrow and shock had arrived in my world in one mighty swoop, leaving my thoughts like a wildly out of control runaway train, simultaneously denying and comprehending this horrific truth. Yet time still surges forward, even if the scars left behind in your heart are never quite properly embalmed, nine years on.

So Adam, if you somehow get to see these words, or hear my thoughts, please know this: my grief is a badge of how adored you were by me, and I shall always regret never having the chance to say a proper goodbye at your funeral (something I pray you forgive me for). Though I suppose I can seek comfort from the last memory I have of you, my 22nd birthday, a mere few days before I’d fly out to London, and commence my overseas adventure. I still carry in my heart the words you left me with, a lasting beautiful memory to cherish.

In the searing pain of losing you, through the ruins that became the aftermath of my grief, you steered me back to a better place and eventually bestowed upon me two of life’s greatest gifts: my husband and my son.

“A match made in heaven” has never rung more true than when you (and your friend fate) led me into the path of Anthony Webeck, and now, you have made the circle complete by blessing us with our son.

He not only bears your name, but, I am convinced, your spirit. His Godfather Matty, is sure he has come in to our lives as a sort of replacement to you.

What I have learned through this almost decade long ordeal is that when you lose someone you love, you gain a Guardian Angel. Adam “Shaggy” Neville, you are ours. The many signs, too spookily co-incidental to ignore, such as your song being the first one I head the day my husband was to propose to me, or the morning I had my pregnancy confirmed, validate the feeling that you are never too far from our lives. You may not be seen in a physical sense, but your presence is forever felt. And I’ve no doubt our Harrison Adam, and your new baby nephew Adam Jay, will see to it as well that your legacy will live on eternally.