Round & Round She Goes

Our night away on the Sunshine Coast was fabulous.

Even better than the seafood buffet, the breakfast buffet, the bar tab and the general atmosphere at Twin Waters, we managed to shop for two whole days. And I mean WHOLE days, from open to close. Bring on Christmas because we are ready.

Far better than even the glorious shopping was we only took Miss0 (who was a dream) and farmed the rest of our brood out to family.

My mum minded Miss9, Miss5 and Miss2 at our place, which meant we didn't even have to pack their bags.

"How were they?" we asked as we came in the door and were disappointed by lack of both dirty dishes and bickering.

"Perfect," said my mum. Worst thing about letting my mum look after the kids is she does such a fantastic job of it you feel inadequate.

When we arrived home on Sunday night not only was the kitchen spotless it was resplendent with flowers made of colourful tissue paper and pipe cleaners, which she'd crafted with the girls. When I saw them my heart simultaneously leapt and sunk. She's so good with housework and the kids you end up feeling grateful and mediocre all at once.

But then this morning, when I took my mum out for a thank you coffee, she admitted things hadn't gone as swimmingly as she'd hinted.

The best bit, if I can be so petty as to call it that, was when, having taken the girls to the shopping centre to pick up a few things, Grandma decided to treat them to a ride on a coin operated car. You know the ones which, for $2, will flash lights, play a song and rock about from side to side without actually doing anything. They're a little like a mechanical bull for kids.

Our kids love going on the rides at the shopping centre, although admittedly we've never actually inserted any money in them. Which might explain Miss2's reaction.

Sitting Miss2 between her older siblings, Grandma inserted the money, expecting a minute of entertainment for the girls which she could use to zone out and gather some energy.

"Gwaaaaaaannmaaaaah!" screamed Miss2 the moment the car started to move. Her arms were flapping about above her head as she insisted she be taken off the ride. By the time my seventy year old mother extracted her from the car the ride, and my mum's inner calmness, was all but spent.

"Never mind," my mum said to the two older girls, who were a little (and by little I mean a lot) disappointed their special treat was ruined by their anxious little sister. They'd spent the entire minute trying to help push Miss2 out of the ride without getting slapped about by Grandma's hands and Miss2's elbows. "You can have a go on the Merry-Go-Round." Which is another coin operated ride in the shopping centre.

So Grandma stood holding Miss2's hand while Miss9 and Miss5 inserted a coin and the ride started.

"I wanna go!" yelled Miss2 before the older girls had even done one rotation. She's going through that difficult stage. She'll grow out of it in another eighteen years or so.

"You can't, dear," said my mum. "It's already started."

"I wanna go! I wanna go! I wanna go!" began Miss2, pulling Grandma's hand and working up a good head of two year old steam - you know, the type what could drive locomotives, if only they could figure out a way to harness it.

"No," said my mum. This woman had raised my sister so she knows how to stand firm on a decision.

"YES!" bellowed Miss2. She's a lot like my sister and knows how to steamroll until she gets her own way. She yanked her hand out of my mum's, rushed forward and grabbed hold of the ride.

"It was hilarious," my mum admitted to me over coffee. "She wouldn't let go, so she was dragged all the way around before she was flung away, managing a little tumble before coming to a halt."

But of course Miss2's indignant rage didn't stop there and, when the ride was finished, Grandma lead the furious, raving, unharmed two year old, with the older two siblings in tow, past seemingly judgmental frowns, out of the centre to the car and home again.

Which I can't help but feel makes the weekend even more perfect. Thanks mum x

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How to build up a kid's immune system

Friday nights at the park are becoming a bit of a habit. Tonight it was to celebrate a little friend's sixth birthday.

"Here," Tracey said to me when I arrived straight from work. She planted a kiss on my lips and shoved Miss0 into my arms then tottled off with Miss2, who looked like she was about to fill her boots if someone didn't get her on a toilet seat very, very quickly.

We have a superb park in G-town, with loads of swings and activities and, best of all, a couple of flying foxes. I love it because the kids love it. All around our kids were running and playing and having an awesome time.

I sat on the grass with Miss0, absently letting her crawl around and stick the odd leaf in her mouth. I felt a kind of peace.

It lasted all of five minutes, roughly until Tracey arrived back from the loos. Sitting on the grass with a 10 month old is boring when there's a flying fox not twenty feet away. I wanted to have an awesome time as well.

"Tracey!" I called out, noticing for the first time Miss0 tearing some grass up by the roots and giving it the ol' taste test. "Tracey! The baby is putting all sorts of stuff in her mouth. You know you shouldn't trust me with this sort of thing. It's very irresponsible of you!"

Tracey hates it when the kids put unsanctioned things in their mouths. I could hear her thinking, 'People walk on that grass!' at me as she came and relieved me of my fatherly duties.

But then it turns out putting-yucky-things-into-mouths was kind of playing on her mind.

"Soapy (Miss2) dropped her lolly in the bathroom," Tracey told me. "In front of a loo! Then she bent down and picked it up to put back in her mouth." To make it worse (as if this story needs it) they're unisex loos here in the G-town park.

I gagged a little. A blade of grass is one thing, but a piss-coated jube!?! Yuck!

Fortunately, Tracey managed to dive across the room, Lara Croft style, and snatch the lolly out of Miss2's hand just before she started sucking on it again.

"You should have let her eat it," one of the other parents told us.

"Sorry? What?" I said, sure I'd misheard.

"We used to worry about that sort of thing but our daughter cured us."

It seems their daughter doesn't get sick. In fact, when they gave her the four year immunization shots her arm became so red and swollen they raced her back to the doctor only to be told it was her body fighting the immunizations themselves.

"It's fantastic!" the doctor told them.

And while I'm sure they were joking about us letting our daughter eat the lolly, I must say I was impressed with their story. How did their daughter get this fantastic immune system?

"Licking hand rails," this parent told us.

"Sorry? What?"

"We tried to stop her," the parent insisted, I'm guessing because Tracey's face, and mine, demanded some sort of explanation. "But we got sick of saying, 'don't lick the railing!' so we just gave up. I mean, it didn't seem to hurt her."

Unfortunately for me and my hopes of going on the flying fox, if there's one thing Tracey hates more than the idea of horrid things in her kids mouths, it's sick kids.

"Here," Tracey said to me, handing back Miss0. "Go sit on the ground and feed your daughter some grass."

I don't think we're in any danger of my wife encouraging her children to suck on urinal candy yet, but I'm guessing, because of the unique skill set I bring to the childminding table, I'm about to become more hands on with my kids at functions.

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We help a man in Kosovo start a stable

Well it's that time again - my monthy KIVA plug.

If you're one of the 126 people who have joined us through BIG FAMILY little income in helping people help themselves through this fantastic program, shoot over to KIVA because the monthly repayments from your previous loans will be trickling back into your account now we've reached the 15th and you can lend it out again!

This month Tracey and the kids have decided to help Idriz from Kosovo. This is our first loan in Kosovo, which is a land locked European country near Macedonia, Serbia, Albania, Montenegro and Bolgaria. KIVA makes loans in 66 countries and over the last couple of years we've loaned people money in 44 of these.

Once we saw Idriz's application we knew immediately we would be helping him reach his dream of starting a farm and buying his first cow. The guy is a Hugh Laurie doppelganger, isn't he?

Kiva works with microfinance institutions on five continents to provide loans to people without access to traditional banking systems. One hundred percent of your loan is sent to these microfinance institutions, which we call Field Partners, who administer the loans in the field.

100% of every dollar you lend on Kiva goes directly towards funding loans; Kiva does not take a cut. Furthermore, Kiva does not charge interest to our Field Partners, who administer the loans.

Here's what Hugh's, sorry Idriz's, loan request has to say about him:

"Idriz, thirty-nine years old, is married and has three children between the ages of one and five years old. He works on a farm, earning a very low salary, and his wife is a housewife who stays at home to care for the home and the children. 

Idriz has always wanted to have his own small farm, but he could not. Now he is requesting a loan in order to start a small stable and buy a cow. This loan will help him to cut family expenses, such as those for milk and other dairy products. In the future, he hopes to expand his farm. 

His goal is to give his children a better education. Idriz wants to thank all Kiva lenders for their support!"

Kiva gives you the chance to make small loans to borrowers working to start businesses and improve their lives. Loans are made up of $25 contributions and when the repayments come back into your KIVA account you get to lend the money out again or take it back. We're already lending on Kiva and thought you'd like to join us!

Here's a link if you'd like to have a look. KIVA

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Out with the old. In with the shoes.

Miss2 was hell today, very whingy and demanding, and Tracey thinks this was somehow my fault.

It all started because a school shoe of Miss9's blew out yesterday, leaving her with one sole flapping about like a fish on land. Meanwhile I was home sick today, nursing myself back to good health curled up on the lounge watching Toy Story 2.

Now you might see these two things as unrelated, but you would be wronger than a man in a marriage.

Because of the shoe blow out, this morning Tracey made a mad dash to the shopping centre to buy new ones.

Because there was a 'buy one pair, second pair half price' deal Tracey saw an opportunity to save money.

Not.

Tracey saw an opportunity to buy more shoes.

Gleefully checking her purse to see how many credit cards she had on her, she gave the girls their sizes and instructions and sent them hurtling through the shop looking for something suitable.

Within a minute, Miss5 was back with her new shoes on her feet. They were pink with two inch heals and her little feet barely made it out of the toe box.

"Um, I don't think-"

"But they're my size!!" screamed Miss5, teetering precariously.

And they kind of were - they were a size 9 in adults, and not childrens.

Not that Miss5 left disappointed. Tracey came home with 5 pairs of new shoes. My lack of high fives and exclamations of 'Oh wow! Shoes! Yes!!' didn't go unnoticed.

"You don't think I did well?"

"Why five?" I asked, as Tracey deposited box after shoe-box onto the table. How do you discover you need  more shoes at the shops? It didn't make absolute sense to me. "I thought we needed to replace one pair?"

I don't know why I wasted my breath. I'll give Tracey this, she was able to explain the logic behind each and every purchase. Or I assume so. I drifted off to my happy place fairly early in the conversation. Although this lack of gushing and, let's face it, genuine interest might possibly be attributable to the fact I'm not well.

Tracey, on the other hand, was suddenly full of energy. Shopping can do that.

"You watch the kids. I'm cleaning out their rooms," she announced, bounding off to the bedrooms.

Now this bit does make sense - because Tracey had all these new shoes to somehow fit into their cupboards she needed to make space.

So I put on a movie and Miss2 and I lay on the lounge together, with only occasional interruptions as Mum as she walked past the telly with armfuls of toys she expected to be able to throw out.

A little pointer for all you Mums and Dads out there - the Toy Story stories probably aren't the right movies to put on the telly when you're in the middle of throwing out old and unused toys.

Well I know that now.

And fortunately it's a lesson I won't quickly forget because Tracey bought herself a new pair of shoes this morning with which she intends kicking me up the bum :)

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The Big Event

We get to look at this! How exciting!

There's a real buzz in the Devereaux household: we are at four sleeps and counting to The Big Event. 

In anticipation of this weekend, there's been smirking, gleeful giggles and even skipping all through the house. The kids, of course, are completely in the dark - mainly because The Big Event has bugger all to do with them. It's me and Tracey who are acting like school girls with a secret crush.

This weekend Tracey and I are going away with my colleagues for our staff Xmas party for a WHOLE NIGHT.

We're booked into Twin Waters Resort on the Sunshine Coast, and the package includes dinner and breakfast and even a bottle of sparkling and some choccies. I can't wait. Apparently the resort is right next to the beach but if I can't see waves from the seafood buffet I don't think I'll bother with it.

We have our baby sitters organised (we're farming them out - we can't really expect one person to look after all of our kids because that would be especially cruel). The only bone of contention has been what to do with Miss0. A number of options have been 'discussed' including my mum, Tracey's mum, Tracey's sister and even a friend of Tracey's who has volunteered to ohh and ahh at our Miss0 for a night.

"I don't mind who we leave her with," I told Tracey honestly when the topic was originally broached. So naturally we're taking Miss0 with us.

I don't know how this came about either.

Tracey assures me I was there for this decision but maybe the telly was on because I know I was surprised as hell when this arrangement was tossed into a conversation earlier in the week.

Naturally, I've used all the usual arguments against this.

"Don't you-"

"She's coming with us."

"What about-"

"It's decided."

"But if-"

"That's the end of the discussion."

Ah well, I tried.

Still, like a good husband, I've decided not to argue this point any further, although mainly because it would get me nowhere.

Besides, I've worked out the only thing taking Miss0 with stop me doing is going out after the dinner to dance, and no-one in their right mind wants to see me dance. I have all the eighties moves but none of the rhythm which makes them look good.

Even better than a night away without most of our kids is on either side of the WHOLE NIGHT are two perfectly good shopping days.

I know I'm going against type by admitting I like shopping, but I'm looking at the bigger picture here. I see these two shopping days as my ticket to a very merry Christmas.

If everything goes to plan we will have our Christmas shopping in the bag by Sunday night, and that means we are done for the year with the whispered arguing in the bedroom (sorry 'discussions') about what to buy each kid. With the Christmas shopping finished we can revert to using the bedroom for what it's intended to be used for - hiding piles of laundry from visitors.

Then, for the next five weeks, while everyone else in G-town is battling the crowds at the shopping centres, we'll be sitting at home drinking beer. Well, at least one of us will be.

Oh, yes, after The Big Event I'm foreseeing a very merry lead up to Christmas. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to skip into the bedroom and dig through the washing pile so I can pack my travel bag.

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New Australian Payment for Dads

Looks like there's good news for expectant parents in the new year.

One of the most frustrating things for us about popping a baby out every couple of years has been working out the holidays, especially because it's generally a fantastic, if a little 'ohmygodwhathavewedoneagain', surprise. You wouldn't think, by the seventh, it would still be a shock. You would be wrong.

Usually, it's a nightmare trying to plan out the details. 'Where the hell are we going to fit in another kid?' is always a fiercely debated topic, hot on the heals of 'How the hell did this happen?'

We've also usually either just gone on hols or we've booked something, so working out how much help Tracey's going to have with the school run and general around the house stuff is also hotly debated. Suddenly I'm shaving a day here and there off booked holidays to make up as much time as I can for when Tracey heads for the delivery ward.

I recently received some information from the government about a new entitlement for Dads -  two weeks of Government funded leave to ensure us fathers can be home to instill a little common sense and order into the proceedings.

I took over lots of Tracey's duties when we brought Miss0 home from the hospital in January, things like napping and snacking, so Tracey could focus on breast-feeding and the housework.

I think this is a fantastic new entitlement, giving dads a chance to participate and contribute in settling in their adorable little poo-factories. And two weeks seems about perfect. Two weeks of my 'help' and Tracey was begging me to go back to work.

Best of all, this new payment seems to be keeping up with the sensible, new standards of our changing world - as in it isn't just for dads (it's partners, including same sex partners) and it includes adoptions.

Spread the word, people! It's a great initiative. I'd use it myself but sadly (and by sadly I mean YAY!!!) we've reached our bag limit and won't be having any more munchkins. Of course, that's the fourth or fifth time I've said this so I also won't be deleting this link anytime soon.

For loads more information head over to this webiste - Australian Government, Department of Human Services.

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Snakes & Feathers

A family member has taken their little family away for two days well deserved R & R so we're babysitting their talking bird.

I mean it's not much of a conversationalist, their little feathered friend, and its entire arsenal of witty banter consists of a  "Hey, sexy!' and a wolf whistle.

The only talking bird I have time for.

I've never had a talking bird before, and I must say, I will be glad when they come home and take it back. It never shuts up!

Worse thing about having their feathered squawker here isn't the constant noise, but the destruction of my good standing in the community. I fear I might gain something of a reputation because the skinny chicken is constantly wolf whistling so passing women, who can't see that it's only a bird, will think someone here is a bit of a perve. And as I'm the only male in the house over 7 I have no doubt who the fingers will be pointed at.

Not that these family members don't deserve a break. They've been working flat stick on renovations and landscaping lately and need some time away from 'to do' lists and snakes.

The mention of snakes isn't random.

They've been having all sorts of slithery visitors at their place up on the hill. A few weeks back they jumped up into the roof cavity to sort out the noise keeping their kids awake and discovered eight green snakes. More disturbing were a couple of red belly blacks outside their back doors not long after.

One snake even put a dint in their car! Although the details are a little sketchy, it seems the snake jumped out in front of their car and, in their hurry to get away, they backed into a ditch.

So, to summarize  it's like being at the reptile enclosure at Australia Zoo at their place, and all this legless (but not in a good way) and  fork-tongued activity has resulted in some extensive tree lobbing and bobcating all around their house, which has resulted in their need to get away for a break.

"I'd want to get away for longer than two days," Tracey told me. She doesn't like snakes. Personally I'm reserving judgement - I've never tried one. Probably tastes like chicken.

Anyway, because we're the sort of family members who aren't afraid to dive in and get our fingers dirty, we're doing our bit too, not just looking after this silly talking bird but trying to teach it something useful.

That's right, the entire Devereaux household is pulling together, taking it in turns standing in front of the cage saying things like 'Did you hear something?' and 'SNAKE!' We figure it can act as a sort of early warning system.

Or just freak them out.

It's our little way of saying. 'thank you'.

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Got a family member you'd like to annoy in a similar fashion? Here's a link :)
HOW TO TRAIN A PARROT TO TALK

Good morning....for me anyway

Because she can't quite get her tongue around Emily, Miss2 has taken to calling Miss0 the Enemy. It's cute and, I guess, if you were superseded as the youngest and elevated to middle child, borderline appropriate.

This morning I was woken up before 6am by squawking from the cot. With Christmas fast approaching I decided to improve my chances of receiving a gift from Santa and snuck Miss0 out of the bedroom and into the lounge. I say 'snuck' but I mustn't be as quiet as I think because within fifteen minutes all the other kids in the house had joined me.

"What's for breakfast?" Master7 asked me.

"Nothing yet," I whispered.

"But I can smell it," he said.

"That's not breakfast," I explained to him. "Although it does contain last night's dinner." I put on a movie and started changing dirty nappies.

Another five minutes, while I was finishing changing Miss0, I noticed Tracey was also awake. She was sitting behind me on the couch, looking miserable.

"What happened?" I asked her. "I was letting you sleep in." I was a little miffed. If Tracey didn't want to sleep in I would loved to have traded places with her.

'You misplaced one," Tracey told me, pointing at Miss2.

"Really? She was helping me with the baby wipes."

And not just the wipes, it seems.

"I need wash my hans!" she'd marched in and announced to Tracey without me realizing.

"Wh-wha?" Tracey had muttered.

Miss2 then stuck her hands into Tracey's sleep-addled face. "I need wash my hans!"

"Why? Whasson 'em?" asked my lovely wife, brushing Miss2's fingers off her chins and lips and steadfastly refusing to open her eyes.

"Enemy's poo!"

After which Tracey found the need for sleep was shoved aside in favour of the need to spit and scrub her face.

You know what? I'm glad I got up to the kids this morning and let Tracey stay in bed. After all, she deserves it ;)

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Note to self

This morning, because I'm hilarious, I placed a nappy under Tracey's pillow for her to find tonight. I figured we'd have a giggle.

Turns out I was wrong on a number of fronts.

Firstly, Tracey says she found the nappy virtually as I was walking out the door to work.

"I can smell," she explained to me. "It was either a nappy or something dead."

Secondly, she isn't laughing.

However, she is smiling. Unfortunately these nasty little smiles don't reach all the way to her eyes and tend to come as she's giving me things. Like dinner.

"Here you go," she said to me tonight as she handed me my bowl of Stroganoff. Then she stood smiling down on me, watching my spoon as I brought it to my lips.

My hand froze a couple of inches from my mouth. I looked closely at my spoonful of food.

"What have you done to it?" I asked her. I felt a bit like filling a little nappy of my own.

"Nothing," she said airily, the thin smile still in place. I brought the spoon another half inch closer to my mouth. "Probably nothing."

My wife could write a text book on psychological warfare. My book, on the other hand, will be a first hand account of Stockholm Syndrome and how a prisoner fell in love with his captor. Assuming I live long enough to write it.

"You try yours first," I suggested.

"Okay," she said, and took a mouthful from her bowl. "Now you. Try it. Go on. Tell me what you think. It's a new recipe."

I looked at my bowl of food. It seemed to be the same as hers but mine definitely had a sinister air about it.

"You try mine," I suggested, offering her my spoon.

"Okay," said Tracey. She did.

"Now, it's your turn," she said, handing me back my spoon and continuing to stand looking over my shoulder, moving away only to bring me a cup from the kitchen. "I made you a cup of tea too," she said, placing it in front of me. "Take a sip. Go on. Try it."

And she was still smiling.

"I love when we play these little games," I told her as she offered me dessert. "But we're even now, right?"

"I'll be sure and tell you when," she answered sweetly, and then asked if I wanted her to pour me a beer.

"I don't think I'll drink tonight."

Drink. Relax. Sleep.

"You're enjoying this," I accused her.

"Not yet," she grinned. "But give it time."

She'll probably do nothing. But then she might strike just when I think it's all over.

Note to self: no more hiding nappies under Tracey's pillow.

I just hope I'm still here in the morning to get the memo.

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Don't tell Tracey - it's a surprise

Don't you love it when the kids make you something?

Arriving from the direction of the lounge room, Miss2 walked up to me in the kitchen with a clean nappy and a pack of baby wipes. She didn't say anything but the smell which walked in with her was like being slapped in the face with a turd. Clearly, she'd not made it to the toilet to do her 'snake' (her term, not ours).

I took the nappy and wipes off her and took her hand.

"You know I know you sent her in with these, right?" I called out to Tracey, walking Miss2 into our bedroom. "Just for that, I'm using your side of the bed."

Tracey couldn't have appeared quicker if I'd announced a red spot special on boxes of Ferrero Rocher Raffaello. Suddenly, making our bed was her priority. 

"Just use the floor," Tracey told me.

I was still gagging and wiping after Tracey had left the room. Miss2 was grinning at my facial expressions and handing me wipes. Obviously the smell wasn't bothering her at all - it seems even at a very young age we rather fancy the smells our own body makes.

Once I had her cleaned and changed I wrapped the offending nappy into a neat parcel, reusing the sticky tags to keep it all together and stop the soft chewy center from leaking out.

Which is a good thing, because otherwise we'd have to change the sheets later tonight when we go to bed and Tracey finds the whole stinky mess under her pillow.

Miss2 worked pretty hard on this one. Hope Tracey remembers to say 'thank you'.

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