dazed and confused

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Of course, the special Sod's Law that governs parenting made sure that last night, when I was bubbling away in the sweaty depths of a particularly foul cold, was the night Maggie chose to break her weeklong run of sleeping through.

But what kind of perverse natural law is it that, when a place crops up for Maggie at her sister's crèche, her excellent, wonderful crèche whose teachers we dearly love and where Becca is so happy, on the same days that Becca attends, and in an ideal time frame – early next year, when Maggie's socialisation and educational needs are going to get more complex, and the point when I had originally envisaged getting back into some sort of work (and there is plenty on offer at the moment, as it happens) – decrees, nonetheless, that I am utterly, instinctually, viscerally unable to send her there?

(In any case, I'm sure there are plenty more creative ways with lentils I have yet to discover. And who needs regular dental care anyway? We are, after all, British.)

But my word, she's worth it.

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hear me roar

Monday, November 26, 2007

Becca, whose skin goes golden in summer, is intrigued by my freckles. Which, being a pale Northern European type, I have a lot of. The other week, after scrutinising one of my arms at length, she looked up and me and solemnly announced: 'Mummy, you are all covered in spots. You look like a leopard.'

Last night the Klezmer Rebs, for whom I've been doing the odd gig for the past year, invited me to become a permanent member of the band. Am very happy about this. Come and hear us play at E Tu! a Terrorism Suppression Act awareness-raising gig: Frank Kitts Park, this Saturday 1 December, midday–8.00 pm: we'll be on at about 5.00, on the Speakers Stage.

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surfeit of cute

Saturday, November 24, 2007

More Flickrpics!

Incidentally, does anyone else see the Upgrade your account to a paid one, you cheap bastard, before we start toasting all your cute kiddie pics, muaahahahaha message, or is that just for my benefit? In any case, I'm asking Santa to sort me out with a 'professional' account. 'Tis (almost) the season for emotional blackmail. (Watch this space.)

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magnetic

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Maggie is six months old today. And it occurs to me with the usual, heartbeat-like thud of maternal guilt, that I don't devote anything like as much blog to chronicling her development as I did, gurgle by gurgle, with her sister. Am not even going to attempt to account for this, either, but here to mark the occasion are six things about my little Maggie Moo:

• She is still very much a fan of the boobie. Although she gets a bottle of Evil Formula™ at night because otherwise she wakes several times for feeds and I can't be doing with that. She's a hungry wee thing: we started her on baby mush at four and a bit months and she soon had us trained to serve her three solid feeds a day. She eats pretty much anything you offer her, too, making little mu-mu-mu noises of appreciation as you shovel it into her mouth, and wailing indignantly if you show signs of slowing down or stopping.


• She has slept through for the past, ooh, four nights now. But I don't think it means much.


• The nearly black hair she was born with has been pushed out by a second growth of chestnut-brown stuff that looks quite red in the sunshine. Her eyes settled at around three months on a clear, bright blue that looks tinged with violet in some lights, turquoise in others.


• We finally agreed on a name for her mere days before she was born. Among others we considered were: Rowan (but we didn't want kids with identical initials, and wanted her to have the same middle name – Williams – as her sister and me); Niamh (gorgeous but she wouldn't have thanked us for having to spend her entire life correcting spelling and pronunciation); and Prudence (don't ask). Eventually I came up with Margaret because of its solemn loveliness and because it abbreviates wonderfully, leaving her with a choice of names for later life. And of course it's a family name: as soon as we announced it, we realised how many Margarets there were in all branches of the whanau, including a great grandmother and a great great aunt. And incidentally our midwife was Margaret.


• A happy little thing, she is somewhat more reserved and Mummy-centric than her extroverted older sister was, even at this age. When passersby stop to fuss and to try to coax a smile out of her, she makes them work for it, gazing at them appraisingly with huge, unblinking eyes


• She discovered her feet while we were in Auckland at the beginning of October, and is still utterly fascinated with them, swinging her legs up to stuff both feet in her mouth at once before grinning at you around a mouthful of toes.

Happy half-birthday, my wee Magnum Opus! And happy whole birthday, her first, to her wee friend Ada.

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how does your garden grow?

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Glorious great big high pressure bubbles have settled over the entire country bringing early summer weather that we are unfortunately unable to enjoy in the front garden due to yesterday's plumbing emergency, the squalid details of which I'll spare you, except to say that hmmm, I thought the herbs in that border were looking unusually vigorous lately. So instead we spent most of the afternoon on the car pad, trundling around on the Dora the Explorer scooter and playing Witchy-Poos (who have animals: parrots who bite you and black spiders who aren't very nice). And, having settled the plumber's bill that morning, planning Christmas Redux.

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la condition humaine

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

As I stumble out of the bedroom and into the teetering pile of household crap – toys, books, babygros, half-eaten bowls of cereal, small but pungent socks – that confronts me every morning, I wonder whether the myth of Sisyphus isn't just an illustration of some sort of metaphysical man flu. I mean, he only had to shift the one rock, right? And he probably didn't have anyone clinging to his leg and wailing while he was doing it, either.

These reflections on the human condition remind me of Becca's reaction upon first seeing Ice Age, when she was two. The film opens, you may remember, with a protracted sequence in which the very Sisyphean rat-squirrel goes to elaborate and physically improbable lengths to safeguard his nut; finally just when he manages to hold onto the thing he is suddenly stepped on by a migrating mammoth. On this occasion, however, as the unfortunate creature was borne away squealing on the underside of the mammoth's foot, frantic, heartbroken sobbing erupted from the direction of the sofa: OH NOOO! HE NEEDS A CUDDLE FROM HIS MUM!

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burning violin

Monday, November 19, 2007

Cringing lefty that I am, I try to avoid references to 'political correctness gone mad.' But how else to describe the use this morning, and with trademark National Radio earnestness, of the phrase boy racer community?

Spent all of yesterday playing klezmer at a Bar Mitzvah in Nelson (my first whole day away from Maggie, who wasn't the least bit bothered by my disappearance apparently.) Perfect weather for flying over the Marlborough sounds, and setting for the festivities ludicrously scenic: we played on a deck overlooking Tasman Bay and the snow-capped mountains beyond while suntanned children plopped in and out of the pool at our feet and their elder siblings lounged on cushions at the poolside smoking hookah pipes. After a while the breeze stopped tossing our music around, which was helpful, but then the heat really began to pummel down and I began to edge closer to the pool to catch the splashes, until I remembered that I was playing Dave's violin and was therefore wired for sound, and edged away again hastily. Meanwhile, Rebecca spent the day streaking around her grandmother's place stark naked save for the liberal application of factor 400 sunscreen, while her dad bailed out and then washed down the fishpond before playing Hunt the Fishy in the adjoining herbacious border. In spite of which he claims that it was the best day ever. Except for Lucky the goldfish (as he has now been christened). But then he probably won't remember it anyway.

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mo better blues

Friday, November 16, 2007

À propos of yesterday's mo appeal, I have to post one of my favourite poems, a haiku composed in bygone days by a certain beardy philosophy grad:

The philosopher
Keenly grows his facial hair
A dog is hungry.

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mo bros

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Here at the halfway point in Movember, we see a recurrence of that yearly phenomenon: the Phantom Moustache. Proudly sported by guys who have been assiduously cultivating their facial hair for the past fortnight, it is nevertheless invisible to all, except under bright lights and with the aid of a strong magnifying glass. I think it's the male equivalent of those women who are about ten minutes pregnant but clamber into maternity gear convinced that everyone can see (and is STARING AT, what's more) their non-existent bump.

All in a good cause though: sponsor a Mo Bro today!

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life's little victories*

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

• On a long, sheeting-rain-and-northerly-galed-in day at home with both kids, you put the pair of them down for a nap at 2.00 pm. Including the three-year-old, who doesn't have a midday nap anymore, but you really need a break and will try anything. And guess what: they both sleep until after 4.00 and you spend the time sitting on the sofa reading (Sharon Olds' The Father, if anyone's remotely interested).


• By the time your husband arrives home, the storm's blown away and sudden afternoon sun is sucking up the puddles and you're able to hand over the kids and go out for a much-needed walk.


• OK, so after her unaccustomed nap the three-year-old parties until after 9. But then they both sleep through the night (JOY!)


• and the one who ought to finally, finally wakes up dry (JOY!!).

*with apologies to Keith Knight.

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further great moments in parenting

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

– Becca, what's your blanket doing in your dress-ups box?

– Becca, why's your blanket wet?

– Becca?

– Becca.

– What?

– Why's your blanket ... why's your dress-ups box got water in it?

– Becca?

– Becca.

– Don't know.

– Becca, why's the inside of your dress-ups box wet?

– Because I weed in it.

– You did WHAT? WHEN?

– Last night.

Sigh. At least she took all the dress-ups out first, I suppose. Another great moment: Naomi and Marv have just had a little girl, Jessica Rose. Well done, the Trickeys, and welcome wee Jessica!

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mashed banana, mashed banana...

Monday, November 12, 2007

I've just uploaded more photos from our Auckland trip to our flickr page so now we are only about a month behind. OK, a month and a half. Sigh. Milestones these depict are Maggie's first encounter with the whanau on the distaff side, and with solid food, marking her entrance into what parents recognise as the Orange Eyebrows Period. (All baby mush, whatever its constituents is, for some reason, orange. And no amount of post-prandial scrubbing of tender skin will dislodge it from eyebrows, or worse, eyelashes.)

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things there is no answer to

Friday, November 09, 2007

– Becca, why did you paint your feet?
– Because I wanted them to be purple.

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all manner of thing shall be well

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

For the fulltime mum on the go, the perfect resistance training tool: fill a three-wheeler pram to the gunwales with seven kilos of baby + double helping of kiddie paraphernalia. Loop a webbing strap around the handle for the three-year-old to hang onto. While three-year-old plays waterskiing (head back, arms out straight, heels dug into pavement, entire body at 45 degree angle to ground, towards which entire weight also directed) attempt to push entire apparatus uphill to Mainly Music. Repeat weekly until forearms and eyeballs bulge.

To those whose emails I've been neglecting for weeks now, apologies. Especially to those who are about to have babies (we salute you!) Have had rather a lot on. Including, this week, marking exams. And practising for a Bar Mitzvah next weekend. In Nelson, of all places. So in lieu of Maggie updates, which are coming, I promise, I leave you with some interesting reflections on the politics and practicality of breastfeeding. Yeah. Wot she said.

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