Grrrr....

I am a laptop down. It seems to have curled up its pixilated toes on me and I have been told by the store where it is still under warranty that it might take up to 4 weeks to repair. gusty sigh... So I guess things will be quiet for a while, perhaps not a bad thing as there is much to be done around me that my laptop would call me away from.

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First things


You are 9 months old. You have been out in the world for just as long as you were in my tummy.
And it is a month of firsts.
You are saying your first word this week - tttty (kitty) and everytime one of the cats walks past, or you see one on a chair, you flap and squeal and lunge toward them.
Your first tooth cut last week - bottom left.
You are not crawling but are beginning to move on your bottom.
You are still not interested in solid food (unless its in the cat bowl) but enjoyed your first yoghurt.
You can pick up little peas but prefer to chase them around your highchair tray before pushing all onto the floor, at which time you hang over the edge gazing down at them.
You are wearing size 2 clothes now.
You have chicken pox and you are covered in spots my speckled egg, covered. You are sad and want to feed and be held all around the clock. Sleep is not rated highly in your world.
You hold out your arms to be lifted, and when Daddy walks in you grin and reach out for him.
You have started being shy with strangers, burying your head coyly in my shoulder.
You have outgrown your rear-facing carseat and are now facing forwards like a big girl.
You still love the bath but got a little scared of the bubbly pinetarsal water tonight.
You think Kenzie and Maddy are your personal entertainers and laugh hysterically when they jump or sing or even just say a cheery hello to you.

I had a doll that I won in a colouring in competition when I was 6 years old that looks like you. I used to tell everyone that she was nine months old because I had overheard that was the best baby age. It is. So far it is. But every age with every one of my babies has been the best. It is one of the miracles of motherhood - it keeps being fresh and when you miss their tiny newborn days, you are busy loving their chubby, learning days and it eases the sadness you feel and makes you smile.

Because you have a dotty, sore face I am loading a picture of you taken last week. You are a sweet, happy, pretty girl who lights up our family, we love you Mishie-girl.

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Hands like the wind


The wind is having a tantrum outside; howling, spitting and shoving with hundreds of invisible hands. The misty rain is crazy confetti in the sunlight. The house-painters are trying to grapple with wobbly ladders while the wind shrieks about them like a naughty child, tossing leaves and tiny twigs onto the wet paint.

My baby has chicken pox and is sad-sad-sad. She reaches for me and clenches and unclenches her hands while bobbing up and down. She has said a big no to anything on a spoon (story of my life...) and has become very interested in trying to undo the buttons on my top.

And I have burned my finger while taking muffins out of the oven using a wadded up tea towel instead of an oven mitt. It is at that searing, zinging stage where you wonder if the muffins are going to be worth the pain, especially as they were left in the oven long enough to turn an unfetching shade of toasted brown.

And there are laundry baskets piled atop of laundry baskets of clothes that have been weeded out of the girl's wardrobe ready to be cartoned up to keep for the future or to give away. Only, there seems to be a clean box shortage...

And I have three unfinished art canvases looking at me but my inspiration went for a long walk and I am still waiting for her to return and tell me how to finish them.

And I need to vacuum. And re-vacuum the car as it is for sale and four pairs of muddy sneakers traipsed in and out of it when I took some kids from Kenzie's class to gymnastics yesterday.

And there is Janola bathroom spray squirted on the window edges of the bathroom that is waiting for me to come back and attack the grime with a toothbrush.

And there is a batch of soup cooked and waiting to be blended.

And there is wet washing waiting to be loaded into the dryer. And dry washing waiting to be unloaded from the dryer, only there now seems to be a laundry basket shortage...

And and and...and today I am wondering why God made women with only two hands. Oh to be the wind.

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Chicken Pops


Poor baby. She has it bad - life is a blur of feeding her and trying to get her comfortable enough to sleep, which she does fitfully. May it be over soon...

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Celebrating books

In honour of the school's recognition of literacy week, we got very serious about investigating what lurks between the pages, starting from the youngest up. She has discovered the joy of turning each page and we are love-love-loving Where is the Green Sheep?

The Maddy-girl went as one of the 10 Dancing Princesses, the one called Kate (?) she told me. It was so cute, she had her ballet shoes on, wedged into thick hot pink gumboots because of the puddles. The dress is one of Kenzie's that Mads has been longing to wear for years and although a few sizes too big, she beamed enough to make me realise that it didn't matter. She felt princessey and that's really what its about.

Spy detective was the name of the game with the big girl. Alas no penny loafers Nancy Drew style, but plenty of attitude and she went off grinning and fortunately not feeling like an idiot, like some of her contemporaries who seemed to be cringing in shame in their impressive disguises.


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