Not a funny bunny

Miss5 has been very concerned about our home being broken into for about a week now: ever since the well meaning ladies at her school filled her in on certain night time activities.

At night she won't walk past the window in the kitchen without someone with her. She won't go into the bathroom by herself. She won't go near the doors.

Unfortunately not all the stuff they come home with from school is gold.

"I'm scared of the Easter Bunny!" Miss5 announced after a day at prep.

"But he gives you chocolate," I said, thinking to myself how I'd just undone all that good work on the stranger danger warnings.

"He comes into my room when I'm sleeping," explained Miss5.

"To give you chocolate!" I said, again playing what I thought was my trump card.

I quickly realized the chocolate approach wasn't working when she burst into tears.

Have you ever notice how at school your kids really seem to listen in a way they don't ever at home? Years ago my oldest two were spending a week of their holidays in a ramshackle old farm house with my parents. While cooking dinner my mother discovered a fire alarm virtually above the stove when it suddenly started screaming it's 'Wake up! Get out!' message. Instantly my two apparently dropped to all fours and crawled outside. Why? Because their school had talked to them about 'get down low and go go go'.

They did it without prompting or instruction. Meanwhile I'd been trying to get the 'put your washing in the washbasket' message through their skulls for years without any success.

Maybe I needed to make it rhyme - get your washing off the tiles and put it in the pile!

This bears looking into. I think I might be onto something.

When you have a drink put the dirties in the sink. 
Don't get out of bed till the sun's above your head.
For Pete's sake flush the loo when you fill it with a poo.

If this works I might have my first book.

Meanwhile on Easter Eve we've agreed to contact the Easter Bunny and he'll be leaving his eggs outside for us to bring in for the kids.

Happy Birthday Miss5

Yay!! Miss4 turned 5 today so it's another year closer to her and her siblings moving out of home and letting me SLEEP!

Yesterday Grandma Judy took her to the shops to buy a present and it took hours because my little poppet was stopping any and everyone in their tracks to explain about how "DOMORROW IS MY BIRDDAY! DER WHOLE DAY! I'M GOING DO HAB CAKE ANNA PARDY AND NODS OF PESENDS." For the first three years of her life I had no idea what she was saying. For a while I toyed with the idea she was speaking in tongues or a foreign language she'd picked up watching Dora or SBS. 

I still can't understand about a third of what comes out her mouth, and when she gets excited and squeals her sentences I'm even more lost. But she's getting better. 

Or I am.

This morning, as Miss5 five pulled out clothes and dolls and all manner of presents from her birthday bag and tossed them delightedly on the floor, she was literally yelping with joy. 

It's my favourite part of the day. The culmination of all the expectation of wonderful things laid out for us all to see. But it's not only Tracey who gets excited - the kids do to!

From there she had a party in the park with lots of school friends. She wore one of her new dress ups and looked gorgeous. I know this because I managed to swap a lunch and race over in time for the cake cutting, which was special. Then McDonalds for dinner with our extended family.

A great day, and you could see she really felt special today (not an easy task when there's so many and so many of them are young and needy).

In bed tonight I asked her what her favourite thing about today was, expecting one of her presents, or the playing in the park, but she surprised the heck out of me with her response.

"You, Daddy!" she squealed and gave me a big hug. Although it is possible she might have been squealing 'You Tatty!' I think it's safe to assume not in this instance. 

I love being her dad. Happy birthday, you little Molster.

We've been egged!!

Is there anything more annoying than walking outside and finding your house has been egged!!

No wait: I wrote that wrong. Is there anything  more EXCITING than walking outside and finding your house has been egged!!

A note was left on our door saying we'd been egged and 14 eggs had been hidden around our yard. By torchlight our excited little munchkins hopped around the bushes and balcony furniture (which is waiting to be reinstated once the freshly oiled floor boards are sufficiently dried and ready) to find the treasures. Each one of the fourteen plastic eggs was filled with sweets.

It was a fantastic treat for the kids and one we now get to extend to another family after we re-fill the eggs. So not only have my kids enjoyed the thrill of the surprise and hunt (and eating the lollies), they now have the additional thrill of filling the eggs and then hiding them for some other kids.

What an awesome idea!

We don't know who our anonymous stealth bunnies were, but we're very, very happy they hopped over to our place.

And now to plan our raid for tomorrow night!!

The note read:

Look at that! You've just been EGGed!

But do not be alarmed.

We came, we dropped, we ran away...

Your house, it was not harmed.

So what is this before you now?

Just an early Easter Surprise.

Be quick and look around your yard....

Fourteen EGGS lay in disguise.

A secret friend has just dropped by

To share some spring time cheer.

So now you're it! It's now your turn

To EGG a house that's near.

Select a friend, or two or three...

Gather some EGGs for each.

Be sly and hide them, knock and flee!

Leave this message at arm's reach.

Hang a poster at your door

And now you task's complete.

Day 'til Easter aren't much more....

Aren't surprises sweet!

Hammertime

My mate hard at work.
I'd say I was too but it's a little obvious what I'm doing at this point.

 I love my job.

I didn't realize how much I love my job until today. You know whose job I'd hate? Pretty much any tradie's.

Today I put in eleven hours on my balcony with a mate prepping it for re-staining tomorrow. Here are several ways in which prepping my balcony differs from my day job:

• I got straight out of bed when my mate showed up and got straight to work. I didn't shave or anything.  In fact it was 3pm before I realized I was still in my pj's.
• My mate showed up at 7am, so I started work nearly 2 hours early.
• There was no airconditioning, meaning the temperature varied from a comfortable 26 degrees. What sort of fresh anarchy is this? It was very off-putting and earthy. As a result I think I sweated.
• I hardly talked all day because there were no customers to banter with, and anyway the pressure cleaners were too loud to talk over.
• When my legs got tired I couldn't pull up a chair.
• I did the same monotonous thing over and over for hours on end, and when that ended I did some other monotonous thing over and over for hours on end.
• Instead of eating something and then reading a book for half an hour, at lunch we ate and then got straight back to work. I'm now a chapter behind. This bugged me all afternoon.
• After eight hours of work, I didn't stop, pack everything up and go home - I was home and kept working until the job was done.
• I got wet. I may chaf.  
• I didn't get paid (neither did my mate, so he probably has more to whinge about on this score)
• There was no telly in the foyer for me to watch.
• Coffee was almost entirely absent from my day, except for the two cups I had first thing this morning and the one my mum showed up with to spur me on. Almost a totally coffee free day!
• I wasn't working with women - I like working with women because they rarely discuss sport, which bores me to tears, and often discuss their sex lives, which I find far more interesting.
• Tracey let me play with my hammer.

As part of the preparation for tomorrow's fresh coats of stain, I re-nailed all the floorboards (by re-nailing I mean I hammered in any nails which were protruding, not removed existing nails and hammered in new ones - this might have been obvious to you, but I only speak banker so I'm unfamiliar with the correct tradie speak). This meant I needed my hammer, which Tracey has taken to hiding, along with my other tools, so I can't destroy our home.

Exhibit A. This is why I'm not allowed tools. Bottom hole is from when I incorrectly
measured (didn't measure) to hang a picture. Middle hole is second attempt. Top is final
attempt, which I got correct, and therefore has the screw triumphantly poking out.
 Incidently, the picture is hanging on the OTHER side of this wall.

"Tracey," I beamed at her as I entered the kitchen, "I need my hammer."

"Why?"

"I'm re-hammering the nails before we re-stain the boards."

"Do you have to?"

"I don't have to do any of this. I can sit on the lounge and watch Groundhog Day again if you like."

"Go outside and I'll get it. No peeking!"

The excitement of being reunited with my hammer quickly lost it's shininess when I started getting a blister - that's another thing I don't have to deal with as a banker (although I do endure the occasional paper cuts fyi they hurt).

At six tonight it was all done and ready. After a lovely Radox bath with my kindle I'm feeling relaxed and sore and dreading tomorrow. 

You women out there with tradie husbands - you aren't appreciative enough. Even if you think you are, you aren't. Their jobs suck. They deserve massages and beer and adoring looks. And Radox baths.

Weekends like this really make me appreciate my bank work. Time for a beer I think. If only I could walk to the fridge.

This is one side of our balcony. It's 100 sqm and nearly as big as
the house. And it's not the old big deck, small dick. Okay?!

Mother's little helper

An actual re-enactment of the event

Miss2 has been really enjoying having a little sister to annoy her mother with.

Whenever anything resembling the slight cry or grunt issues from Miss0's mouth, Miss2 will run up to Tracey yelling "BABY!" and demand Tracey accompanies her back to the cot to deal with the noise. Then she'll leave Tracey and Miss0 alone to work things out and she'll race off to another room to pull everything out of the wardrobes and draws.

As with her older siblings at this age, we bought Miss0 a baby doll so she could imitate Tracey when she feeds and looks after Miss0. Things like when Tracey changes a nappy, Miss2 cleans her dolls bum with the nappy wipes.

Miss2 sleeps with her baby doll and has baths with her baby doll. She loves it. She even attempts to breast feed her baby doll.

But sometimes she forgets which is her toy and which is her Mum's.

At home with our two youngest today, Tracey had Miss0 resting in the bouncinette in the lounge room while she worked her magic in the kitchen.

She hadn't been out of the room five minutes when she heard Miss2 walk up behind her saying, "Mum. Mum. Mum! Mummy! Mum!! MUM!" with increasing distress.

Turning around she found baffled looking Miss0 trussed roughly in Miss2's arms. Miss2's face bore a look of, 'well I've brought her this far, now what the hell do I do with her.'

Tracey quickly bent down and saved Miss0 from being strangled and, her work done, Miss2 ran off to empty some draws.

Happy Birthday Master7

Holy flapping duckwings, Batman, we were woken up early this morning. The birthday boy and Miss8 came screaming into our bedroom this morning at something like 5am (it may have been 6am, but it FELT like 5am).

I asked if Miss4 was awake yet.

"Not yet!" said Master7.

I rolled over. "Well jump back into bed until she's awake."

They left and I snuggled into my pillow and began willing myself back to sleep.

"She's awake!" Master7 yelled into my ear two minutes later. He'd also dragged Miss2 in with him for good measure. "Time to sing at me and then give me presents! Come on! I'll help you. 'Happy Birthday to MEEEE.....'"

Giving in to the inevitable, we pulled out his bag of presents and watched as he squealed his way to the bottom of the bag.

"Awesome!!" he screamed when he pulled out the Skylander stuff.

 "Yeeeeahhhh!" he yelled when the Pokemon stuff emerged.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, pulling out a couple of books.

"That's nice," he said when he got to a pair of jeans.

"Alright!!" he yelled, his enthusiasm back to fever pitch when he saw there was a Spiro shirt to go with the jeans.

He took a couple of dozen cupcakes to school today to share with his class and tonight we ate a bucket of The Colonel's finest (which came in a box! When did that change?) and then played a couple of hours of Skylander battles on the Wii before collapsing into bed. It was as good a midweek birthday could be.

I think the Skylanders game is going to be a hit for a long time here in Devereauxville. For a start, I'm hopeless at it, and anything Master7 can thrash dad in is a hit. As Master7's words of encouragement to me as I tucked him into bed show:

"You really suck at it, Dad!" he grinned.

Happy birthday, my little man. X x x. You are a shite !!

We have a p.r.o.b.l.e.m.

We're in trouble. Master6's reading and spelling skills are costing us money.

His reading earned me a scowl from his mother tonight.

Master6 was looking over my shoulder tonight reading my blog. Which would be fine, except he started reading the one on Skylanders (Thank you! It's just what my father wanted!), which has a little bit in it (all of it) about his birthday present tomorrow. Fortunately for us (me) he didn't get far before we realized.

The giveaway was when he said with a cheeky grin, "Hey, why is mum worried about Skylanders?"

Another couple of paragraphs and Tracey probably would have throttled me.

His spelling has been a problem for much longer.

Since time immeasurable (8 years ago) we've been spelling things over the kids' heads. But that's all changed now.

I remember the good days when we could communicate by spelling out loud the names of the things we were considering: well, things of three and four letters anyway. I've always struggled with longer words - mainly cause I lose interest and disappear back into my own thoughts. Tracey will be like, "We should take the kids to M. C. D. O....."

And in my head I'll be, "M. C. That's Mc. Mc-something is where we're going here. D. O. Do. What was the first letter? Bugger I've lost it. I always do this. We should bring a pencil and paper. I haven't read the paper today."

Meanwhile, Tracey will be still be, "N.A.L.....you're not listening to me!"

And suddenly I'm caught in the headlights of her wrath and it doesn't look like she's going to even try to swerve to avoid hitting me. Then, from the back seat, my little saviour will step in.

"Mum thinks we should go to McDonald's, Dad." Master6 will explain helpfully.

"McDonalds!! Yay!!!" the girls will scream. 

And so we'd go to McDonalds, cause once that cat's out of the bag there's no getting it back in. And all because I can't spell but my youngest son can.

We all know Uno

A family night tonight - we pulled out the Uno cards and sat around the coffee table. It was a heap of fun, but unfortunately Miss4 wasn't quite up to speed with the whole concept.

Or maybe she was. She went from five cards in her hand to two by the time the first turn came around to her go.

"Where are your other cards?" I asked her.

Eventually we found them under her bum. After fruitless attempts to get them back into her hand we gave up. Life's too short and bedtime was one win away.

Miss4 placed her second last card on the pile, a Wild card, giving her the chance to change the colour.

"Yellow," she said. It's her favourite colour in all the world.

Looking over her shoulder, Tracey said, "You don't have any yellow cards, sweetie. You only have a red card. You need to choose red."

"I want yellow."

"But you have red."

"Yellow!"

"But you don't have yellow, sweetie."

"I WANT YELLOW!!" she screamed. So we played on with yellow.

Needless to say, she didn't win.

Miss8 did. After they'd gone to bed we found two of her cards under the coffee table. I think we need go over the rules again.

Thank you! It's just what my father wanted!

Tracey is definitely worried.

If there's one thing my wife doesn't want it's me getting as excited about a new fad as one of the kids.

Master6 is about to grow into Master7 and he is mega excited and telling everyone he's going to be given the Skylanders game.

"How do you know you're going to get Skylanders? You might not," Tracey admonished him. She likes there to be a surprise on their birthdays. In the past I've suggested we give them the 'that's not what I wanted' kind of surprise, but she won't have a bar of it. Like giving Miss4 a Skylander figurine for her birthday next Tuesday instead of Strawberry Shortcake - that would be a surprise.

Master6's Skylander-for-birthday campaign has been well run. The polls are in and he knows he's got it won.

"Yes I will," he told her. "Cause I really want it and you always get me what I want." He's all over it. Of course, he's in for a rude shock if he ever develops a penchant for motor bikes or pet rodents.

"All he's been talking about is Skylanders!" I complained to Tracey yesterday.

"He's no worse than you," my wife told me.

She's right, of course. I am totally hooked on those little Skylander models. I don't even want to play the game, I just want to collect the figurines so Master6 can have lots of different characters. You know, if I had to pay money for new characters in the game I wouldn't do it, but because I get a little toy I am suddenly all for it. They are a marketing stroke of genius.

This isn't good. At $15 a pop we're staring down the barrel of baked bean dinners and instant coffee unless I can beat this.

Meanwhile I've contacted all the grandparents and subtly suggested a different Skylander's figurine to each.

Only three days until I see how well I've done. I mean how well Master6 has done.

Maybe Tracey's right to be worried.

The importance of background checks

Tracey took advantage of a rare glimpse of sunlight to take photos of a couple of the kids.

"Can you come out and spot for me?" she asked me.

"Not right now, Tracey. You do realize I was sleeping?" I mentioned. "You'll be right. It's only our kids and they know what they're doing." What could possibly go wrong?

Later that night when Tracey began going through the photos we found out. Funny as it is, I don't think I'll be allowed to roll over and go back to my nap next time.