Thursday, April 28, 2011

Gonna Wash 'The Man' Right Outta My Hair

Anyone who has taken care of a child for, oh say.. 10 minutes, will be able to tell you that they just LOVE to put things in their mouths. Unfortunately - in this instance at least- babies' hand eye coordination develops far faster than their ability to discern what is, and isn't,  worthy of consumption. My son is a particularly avid chewer- as I mentioned before he keeps trying to eat his sister whenever she wanders too close- but as he isn't too mobile we do our best to keep him out of harms way. Iz on the other hand is mobile, and curious, and often unstoppable.

Like all conscientious parents we baby proofed our apartment. We put the medicines and cleaning products in the highest cupboards. We covered the plug sockets with those plastic contraptions that basically mean you can no longer use any electric appliances. We even bought those stick on cupboard locks to keep meddling fingers out of mischief. I thought I would be tricky and decided to mix things up and buy different types..... what I didn't take into account was the Izzy factor. In order to open one of the locks you must first master a pincer movement and be able to squeeze a plastic disc hard enough to remove it from the holder. Well that seems to be what the manufacturers had in mind. It took Iz about 30 seconds to figure out she could grab the plastic that joined the two discs with her chubby 9 month old fists, pull hard and explode the lock while we watched on flabbergasted. At least as a game it  kept her amused for almost a week. Cupboard lock mark 2 fared better.. I think it held out for about an hour of scrutiny before she cracked it. 
It was a similar story when we bought a nifty little sucker device to keep bowls attached to the table. No sooner had we sat down to eat than Iz had wiggled a little finger under the edge of the sticky plastic, breaking the seal and freeing the bowl. Convinced we were raising a potential safe cracker we gave it a second try and this time she decided that that wiggly finger stuff was too much trouble. She grabbed the bowl with two hands and ripped the sucker off the table...scattering breakfast cereal as far as the eye could see.  Once again brute strength won out. 

It seems she will go to any lengths to try and scare the life out of me. Last week her 'hair whitening' method of choice was drinking shampoo. Luckily it was the thrice rinsed empty bottle she dug out from the recycling bag but she somehow managed to eke a big enough frothy mouthful to make her retch. A quick call to the Korean version of poison control reassured us that she would be fine so long as she drank some water and ignored the bottle's instruction to rinse and repeat. She seems to have a gut of iron so she was no worse for the ordeal, however, it really got me thinking. I had recently watched the following clip..


As much as the woman in the clip bugged me with her repetitive hand gestures she raised some interesting points. I don't wear anywhere close to the number of products she mentions.. I generally wash my hair once a week and very rarely wear lotions or makeup (but that could all change once father time decides to start really having fun with me). Also I always try to be critical of the things I read or watch so understand that she has to make a living too, but if like me you have sat in the tub reading the back of your shampoo bottle you will know most of the ingredients have an incredible number of syllables... and if it is that difficult to name chances are it isn't natural. The more I thought about it the more I realized my home was just packed with mundane poisons... things I was so accustomed to that they seemed benign yet every one of them carried a warning to seek medical help if ingested... I envisioned MANY more calls to poison control as Izzy has mastered the art of 'getting something to stand on'. It is only a matter of time before she fashions suction shoes from the toilet plunger and walks her way up the walls, thus giving herself unchecked access to all things deadly. But shampoos and whatnot haven't been around forever so I decided to seek out alternatives that wouldn't leave my kids literally foaming at the mouth. Here are some of my findings... 

...instead of shampoo I can use baking soda massaged into the scalp and then rinsed with water.... sounds interesting, and  if my hair is dry I can use olive oil or eggs as natural alternatives to conditioner. As most girls know, sugar is a great exfoliant and if I want to freshen things up I can turn to lemon juice for a nice zesty boost. I can also use the baking soda to brush my teeth. 

 I have decided to give it a go... I figure the worst that happens is that I have to call the landlord and explain why there is a lemon meringue pie wedged in the bathroom plumbing, while looking somewhat bedraggled and greasy. I will be sure to let you know how my experiment turns out either way.





Tuesday, April 19, 2011

The Princess and the Pee

I, unlike some parents, do not think the sun shines out of my kids behinds. I adore my children, I tell them everyday....but I come into close contact with what really lurks in those cute peachy tushies all to often to be anything but realistic about that. When you have 2 children running around in diapers then changing them starts to get old. I intended to try and potty train Iz before M got here but you know how it is, she was confused, it was summer, I was hugely pregnant, tired, it's me not you, the sun was in my eyes, my dog ate it etc etc. She is a little older now so we figured it was time to enter the scary realm of potty training.

I don't remembering being potty trained myself so my only real recollection of this process is my mum potty training my younger brother. I say my mum trained my brother but it was more of a case of crafty delegation. You see, my brother is almost 9 years younger than me. Such big age gaps naturally alter the sibling relationship... I saw myself in a more maternal role (or paternal... whichever one is more bossy) and my brother  saw me as .... GOD! I kid, but really he followed me everywhere he could. My mum would add his food to my plate as he refused to eat from his own. When he woke in the morning he would run from his bed to mine to sleep an extra 30 minutes with me. He copied me as much as he could. My mum, obviously fully aware of the situation. saw this as a great opportunity. 
My brother's potty training went something like this... 
Mom: Hey chickadee, show your brother how to pee in his potty.
Me: What?!
Mom: He copies you. I bet you only need to do it once or twice. 
Me: Really?? On that tiny little potty. 
Mom: Yeah, I bet it will work. 
Me: But..but .. but... I'm 11!! 
Mom: Be a good sister. 
Me: You be a good mom... you pee on the potty!
Mom: He doesn't copy me... look he's watching.. quick do it now. 
Me: But I don't need to go. 
Mom: You wont need to do much.... 

I am not sure how she convinced me... but I did it. My embarrassed 11 year old self peed on a tiny plastic potty in our bathroom. I don't remember how long it took after that for my brother to be fully trained, but it would seem my mum knew what she was talking about cos it wasn't long at all. If I could train my brother so easily then surely my daughter should be easy too right??

We thought we would start by getting her used to some vocabulary. She learned pee and poo and potty in no time. She also became acquainted with the concept of tooting (breaking wind). Now every time she toots, which it turns out is remarkably often,  she lights up with her sweetest smile and, just in case you missed it, announces her 'toot' to the room... although she still has 'd' and 't' a little muddled so it sounds more like 'dooooot.' Don't worry though, she is not only proud of her accomplishments. Should somebody else make a 'doot' of their own she will kindly point that out too.... sometimes literally pointing to the person, and often the source, of the noise. Future visitors you have been warned. 

So now she knew the words, she kind of knew what they meant so it was time for stage 2. We waited til the weather started to warm so that we wouldn't have frantically unravel pants and tights every time she needed to pee.  I did encounter one major downside of naked baby butt when playing with M- I was lying on my back, balancing him on my shins so that he could 'fly' so naturally Iz wanted to be part of the action. I would just like to note that my dear husband watched on in fits of laughter as my naked daughter came and sat her naked butt right on my forehead....not only did he laugh he also took his sweet time coming to collect the still 'flying' M so that I could extricate myself from the position! I will go as far as to say the incidence has been logged and will not go unpunished.

The hubby figured naked butt was better cos at least with no diaper she would become more aware of what was happening. His main reasons for potty training are his distaste for a) spending heaps of money on diapers and b) the huge amount of waste they create so even if she was peeing on the floor for the entire summer that is still a huge win in his book.  That being said another of our reasons for wanting to get this underway is that M has started to do pre-crawling push ups. Now that he can lift his whole body off the floor, granted he hasn't figured out what to do with those pesky legs yet, it is only a matter of time before thunderbirds are go.  The last thing we need is a mobile baby chasing around a diaper free peeing machine!

Iz has long been a fan of al fresco peeing so getting her to pee sans diaper is not a problem. My sister in Iaw learned this the hard way after letting her run around naked in her room after giving her a shower. My darling daughter was happily frolicking on her aunts very bouncy bed when she decided she needed to 'go'. She nestled herself snuggly between the big soft pillows first though - after all comfort is key! Anyway I figured it was just a matter of time before she figured out how this potty deal works.

Naturally accidents happen. She has gotten pretty good at telling me what she has done after the fact. I was told that girls are easier to train as they are more independent and often feel more uncomfortable when wet... not my girl...she loves it. She seems to think peeing on the floor is like a magic trick... why have boring old floor when you can create your very own warm paddling pool to stomp and splash in. You can even embrace your creative streak and decorate the entire floor with wet footprints...ooh look a flower! She has even started asking for more water to drink these days... I can only assume that she is feeling sassy and has decided it is time she learns to swim! Our one solitary success came when she agreed to sit on the potty and watch an episode of the Super Readers. Of course we went wild with praise but couldnt be sure how much time passed between her doing the deed and our emphatic show of pride. Knowing my luck my daughter will be convinced the best way to make mum happy is to watch TV. I could just force her to sit there all day but after a while her little legs go red from the potty and I would hate to have to explain to her that she was permanently scarred cos mummy was worried she would need to invest in a dingy to make it round the apartment. Part of the problem is that she has no real 'tells'. I know lots of kids like to hide somewhere, or adopt a certain stance, so that parents, if observant, can quickly haul their little one to an appropriate peeing spot. Iz is so hard to read she actually peed ON ME! She was sitting behind me playing with my hair when I felt a warm wet sensation spreading in the area of my lower back. I can only assume she didnt think much of my choice of attire for the day, or had somehow sensed that I was sick of mopping the floor so thought she would help me out. Now as a mum I am no stranger to getting messy, Iz, during an ill timed game of 'hold you up above my head and make funny faces', actually managed to vomit in my mouth and both eyes once... but it doesn't mean I have to like it. Funnily enough M has yet to pee on me despite that being something very common to mums of baby boys.   

I am sure it is only a matter of time before she works things out... she is a smart girl after all...and just think if we get this sorted, in a year or two I can force her to teach her brother!! 

Monday, April 18, 2011

To Sleep Perchance To.. Sleep

My babies aren't sleepy.... well not the 12 hours a night from birth sleepy that I am pretty sure I ordered anyway. Iz didnt sleep through the night til she was 9 months. M seems to be intending to match or even outdo her. I am not going to use this time to complain though.. if that's what you're into just go in search of any woman (or man) that appears to have been bedazzled with vomit, smells a tad sour, and has hair a la kurt cobain... it is likely they are a new parent and will have no end of woes for your eager ears. What I do want to share is some funnier moments instead.

guess someone needed a nap!


Mason doesn't hate going to bed so much. He is usually quite good at nodding off without major incident. It is the night when he truly shines. These days he likes to roll on to his tummy. He can roll back but chooses not to. Instead he raises his whole body so that his little head peers over the crib like some oversized less furry meerkat  and shouts for help. This often leads to a longer crying session because naturally he is tired and should be asleep rather than performing animal impressions and gymnastic routines throughout the night. I don't agree with letting babies cry on their own, but at the same time I want him to figure things out for himself so have taken to offering verbal encouragement and reassurance from my bed next to his. After a while I often resort to singing...music, so I hear, calms the savage beast so surely it should work on a disgruntled baby. The other day it struck me though... what must be going through his little head when I burst into song?.... 'thank goodness for that mom - I thought you were never going to figure it out- of course I woke up at 3 am for  your unenthusiastically mumbled rendition of 'hush little baby'- you must be psychic- glad you worked it out- i'll jut nod off now. Imagine as an adult if you repeatedly beg your friend or loved one for a glass of water to soothe your dry throat only for them to break out in a rendition of 'hit me baby one more time' again and again instead. Occasionally it seems to do the trick though, which I guess means either a) he has realized the futility of his endeavor b) I am just that good at singing or c) my version of hush little baby which includes a tommy gun scares him into submission. Whatever it may be I think singing will have to be kept as a last resort from now on. 


Like I mentioned Iz wasn't the biggest fan of bedtime. She has since matured and , I hope, through my hours of patience and caring reassurance (otherwise known as saying shhhh sleepy time' a million times while sitting in the dark) she now is much better. Thankfully she seems to have given up on sleepwalking into her curtains and standing crying while we fumble in the dark trying to find her. These days she will often go off to bed quite merrily, blowing kisses, waving goodnight, saying bye bye. It really is quite sweet. Every so often though she likes to mix things up. Our usual routine is to say goodnight to daddy, head into her room, switch off the lights, put on her sleeping bag and cuddle for a minute or 2 to relax before bed. This ordinarily goes of without a hitch, but recently she has decided to add a little fun to the proceedings. For instance last week we had reached he cuddling stage, calmly listening to the crashing waves from the noise machine, warm and cozy, the only movement the rising and falling of our rib cages... when all of a sudden Iz turns and in a volume usually reserved for ring announcers and town criers, yells 'kablaghlala' right at my face before instantly resuming her previous position and nodding off to sleep! Half scared witless, half needing to laugh out loud I gently placed my little lunatic in bed and left somewhat bemused. I wrote it off as a one off. Maybe a consequence of an eventful evening, but then a few nights later we made it as far as the lights off stage when in the darkness I feel something wet and icky on my cheek...then my forehead ... then my nose, in quick succession. It took me a couple of seconds to realize I was being licked! As before it was over in a flash and off Iz went to bed merry as can be leaving me once again confused ... and this time ... sticky.
Needless to say when bedtime comes I have decided to expect the unexpected... I just hope she hasn't stashed a custard pie or two in there while I wasn't looking!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Rubbed the Wrong Way

Today my husband asked for a massage. Don't worry this is not going to be one of 'those' stories... I am married after all!! Okay so, he is a pretty big guy, manipulating muscles and whatnot is actually pretty tiring. I start off doing a pretty good imitation of a bona fide masseuse... but after a couple of minutes I get tired and resort to a kind of unenthusiastic prodding patting combination, you know those big pats you usually reserve for particularly large hounds, or horses. The Cambodian masseuse we hired on the beach dealt with this problem by administering a full hours massage using nothing but her bony elbows, determination and a patented wiggly circular motion... unfortunately for him this service did not include oil of any kind nor advice on how to undo dreadlocks from body hair.

I can probably trace my love affair with massages to when I was a little girl. My grandpa would tickle my face with a rolled up crisp packet to help send me off to sleep. Following that my grandma decided to take a course in reflexology. I would kindly help her out by acting as a 'client'. This meant I would lie on her sofa after being fed a huge Sunday lunch and have her massage my feet until, inevetably, I fell asleep. I am not sure if she knew what she was doing but the first 5 minutes were great!

Now if you like massages then SE Asia  is the place to be. Spend some time there and you quickly become a massage junkie. A particular spot in Laos offered to wash, scrub, massage, mentholate and warm your feet while you sat in a comfy chair, in full air conditioning, sipping grean tea for 1 whole hour all for the princely sum of $3. The staff quickly became very accustomed to the phrase 'one more time' during our stay in Luang Prabang.

By the time we hit Thailand we had a serious habit- almost everyday we headed off in search of our fix but unlike your average junkie we looked great..we were relaxed, our muscles were loose, our feet were soft, our skin was supple, our noses were mentholly clear. We were well and truly spoiled.

Sadly, not all massages are created equal. Our search to relive the glorious Thailand experience has met with some disappointments.

Korea, although part of Asia, does not offer the same delights. You can go to a weight loss clinic and be 'massaged' by suction cups that leave whopping great bruises on your back. You can head to the local bath house and have the top layer or your skin buffed off, or if you are male you can head to the massage parlour and pay a considerable fee for a massage with extras (the fee really depends on if a) your wife finds out b) if she cares and c) if she has proof). We overhead a gentleman in the police station who we can only assume could tick yes to all of the above. Luckily for him, given that in Korea adultery is still a criminal offence, he didn't have sex with the pretty lady- he told the policeman he was just 'naked with her' so that's okay.
 When in Seoul we even decided to splurge on an expensive massage, only to be zipped into silver plastic jumpsuits and have the majority of the massage administered by a set of cleverly timed air pumps which inflated the jump suit in a rhythmic fashion. I am not saying it didnt feel nice but I was quite bizarre and difficult to relax while being squeezed and smooshed and  looking like an obese spaceman. It was like wearing water wings that your dad has inflated too much, and although you can actually swim, you need them to stop you from drowning when you lose all feeling in your arms. The cheapest option was to head to the supermarket and take advantage of the demonstration massage chairs. Once you get over the special 'prod you in the bum hole' function it wasn't a bad way to spend 20 minutes. The downside is that anyone can use these chairs and unfortunately after seeing the old korean lady with the weeping sores all over her bare arms nestle down for a good dose of colon prodding I had to call it a day. Korea had tried but sadly, and grossly, failed.

Next stop England. Could the homeland do better? Fellow traveller Grish was coming to see us so what better time to indulge ourselves in some reminiscent TLC. We booked to get massages at a local college- trainee staff but also trainee prices. Apparently things here were not as simple. In England you must first pass the question round... I sadly failed. I got to the part about being pregnant- I was, so answered accordingly. The trainee looked concerned and dashed off to get the manager, an older lady, who informed me of the bad news.  I was not yet 3 months pregnant and therefore could not get a massage for fear it would 'move my blood around'. I pointed out that my heart was doing exactly that and that most people tend to see that as a good thing... but as usual health and safety won out and I was sent off to the cafeteria to drink water and let my blood stay exactly where it was. Grish and the hubby passed their question rounds and headed on to stage 2. This was where dear hubby faced his challenge. Heading into the room the masseuse instructed him to strip down to his underwear. At this point he owned 1 pair- and they were safely tucked away in our suitcase for emergencies. He informed the skittish girl that that was going to be a problem - her poor faced dropped and off she dashed to get the manager (clearly problem solving and communication is not part of the syllabus for a masseuse). The manager appeared and agreed that yes normally massages did not necessitate pants but as some of the students were quite young, and anxious, they preferred not to have naked clients. He was then instructed that all would be well if he just fashioned himself a sumo diaper of sorts out of a couple of hand towels. He passed stage 2 but it was a close call. Grish, however,  was flying through the challenges by this point, she cleverly wasn't pregnant AND had underwear so had actually made it onto the table. Despite having different students the story from the hubby and G are much the same- they both enjoyed 1 hour of slightly strange, barely tangible stroking and the occasional gentle application of massage oil despite many reassurances that the pressure was not too hard, and yes they would like a firm massage. The hubby even urged the student to "giv 'er" but alas for both he and G the chance to lie down for an hour and the hilarity of it all was the only consolation. Sadly in the massage stakes my homeland too came up short.

For now the hubby and I can only reminisce about $3 massages while staying grateful for each other... at least until we get these kids trained up of course.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

First Things First

When it comes to counting firsts in our house we are quite strict. For instance we didn't say that Iz could walk until she had mastered 5 unaided steps in a row. To some people that may sound tough, but I think it is good to keep the bar high from the start. The same goes for first words. I know many people who chose first sounds as their babies first words however, it is no coincidence that the words for mother in numerous languages contain the 'ma' sound. I can understand why people would do this. They want to check boxes that mean their child is developing, that their kid is smart, that, as parents they are doing a good job. I am not knocking any of those reasons...I want to check those boxes too, but if we were to follow the same rules then Iz's first word was 'lanolin'. She, amazingly, mastered this word when she was 6 weeks old. She decided to dazzle us with it while we were eating breakfast one morning. Clearly she was pleased enough with her own skills as she never said it again...either that or she had put all her efforts into an intriguing choice only to find she had very little day to day application for it.
We were such cruel taskmasters when it came to first words we even made rules. Mama, dada and baba were out of the race, even if she said them first they wouldn't count. Furthermore, we wanted her to actually be able to identify what she was talking about. This may seem a little tough, considering she was still under 1 year old, but we had our reasons. If we chose mama as her first word then she would share that with millions of other kids. Furthermore actually identifying something is a huge step, but if we gave away the first word rosette to a babbled sound months earlier, then we would have no way to celebrate it. What would we call it .. her first identification? Doesn't exactly have a nice ring to it. In the end she chose 'book' and in my opinion that is a very good first word.

She has since added about 60 or so words to her repertoire along with a little American Sign Language. She can currently sign gorilla, cat, water, apple, train and a few more. I feel we have fulfilled our obligations as a parents knowing that should our little one encounter a deaf gorilla on an train in need of water for his pet cat she can easily orchestrate a trade for a fresh apple. She can even be polite as she knows how to sign 'please'. 'Please' is by far the best word she has learned. As a word it is unparalleled in its usefulness I think. To sign 'please' you make circles with your open palm in the area of your chest. She picked this up very quickly and before long was pleasing all over the place. Sadly if you don't know the word for what you want this can make things more difficult. Iz would often nod and rub harder and harder at her chest, becoming increasingly frantic and desperate, pleading with us in the most determined show of good manners, while we helplessly tried to guess what it was she wanted.  It was a cute, but often pitiable sight.

These days her vocabulary seems to increase by the hour and she has recently learned her little brother's name. She pronounces it Maisin... it sounds very similar to raisin so on occasion she mixes up the two.  Recently she has begun pointing at the cupboard above the fridge where we keep the snacks and asking for Mason- of course while also frantically rubbing at her tummy to say please and wearing a concerned pleading expression. I mention this mostly so that should you see this first hand you do not misread the situation. As of yet we have not taken to keeping our son in a cupboard above the refrigerator - nor do we let Iz gnaw on him whenever she feels a tad peckish.

So just in case you were wondering, first bike rides must be without stabilizers, perhaps downhill and there may be fire involved, first swims will be conducted in the ocean, preferably with decent waves/ sharks and first boyfriends... well she will be at least 25 so she can probably make that choice for herself.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Adventures of Almost Irish Twins

I guess we should have seen it coming. My babies are almost irish twins. True Irish twins are born within a year of each other, mine are 1 year and 3 weeks so it is pretty close. Prior to the birth of my son I was concerned about how the big sister to be would take it. Would she feel left out and jealous? Would she be enraged and violent towards him (she had recently become fascinated with eye poking)? Would I have to supervise him at all times or have him fitted with baby swim goggles? Would she transform in to a shy and nervous creature once she was no longer the only mess maker in town? Luckily she did none of the above. Their first meeting- in the room I shared with another new mom before heading to my private room - was anti climactic to say the least. She gave the part baby part blanket noisy thing a cursory glance and then sped off to investigate a cell phone belonging to the mom of my roomie. It had music, it had lights, it had everything!

Coming home was a different story. Little M was recently vaccinated, had had his first brush with the outside world, motorized vehicles and his new home and was hungry, Naturally he did the only rational thing to be done in such a situation. He cried, screamed, wailed as much as his little lungs could handle. Iz, now seeing that the part baby part blanket noisy thing was planning to muscle in on her turf did the only rational thing to be done in such a situation. She cried, screamed, wailed as much as her slightly larger lungs could handle. A friend of mine had been taking care of Iz while K (the hubby) came to collect me from the hospital. I turned to her and gave her a look that I assume could only be read as ....'HELP this is my life - everyday will be like this! Should I just end it all now? Please let me leave with you'
Luckily the crying did subside and over the course of weeks and months we settled into a routine of sorts.

After coming to terms with both the invasion and the noise Iz returned to her initial stance on sibling relationships.. she pretty much ignored that he was even there. He was pretty quiet at first so it wasn't hard to do. However, once he had come to grips with moving his head, and making expressions it became clear that he felt differently. His eyes would follow her everywhere. And so it went until M learned to roll over. At this point Iz seemed to  realise that maybe there was more to this blob and she first thought. That being said the kid clearly didn't know his arse from his elbow so he needed her help. Luckily she had recently mastered speech and could help him out... she would be his guru. So she lay on the floor in front of him and slowly and carefully pointed to his nose and said 'nose', his eyes and said 'eyes' and well ... you get the picture. She was the god of all wisdom and he was her minion.

Then M learned to sit up... like a 'real' person. He started to make noises.  Iz decided a new plan of action was required. This upstart needed to know his place. He, however, still thought she was the most amazing thing ever and would smile and coo at her accordingly. Anytime she made eye contact with him he would make a really high pitched 'eeeeeee' sound while sporting a huge grin, often throwing in some arm flapping for added emphasis. This show of total awe was nothing to Iz though- she was set on her goal. She would talk to him in her most authoritative voice and with her most serious face so he would know who was boss around here. Their interactions these days go something like this...
Iz (using her best 'you've been naughty and must be told voice' : blah blah... blah blah blah... blah blah blah blah blah
M: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE flap flap flap grin
Iz: (a little louder) blah blah... blah blah blah... blah blah blah blah blah!!!!
M: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE giggle giggle lunge in general direction of sissy with mouth wide open
until Iz eventually gives up and heads off to deal with more important business like finding a snack or emptying mommy's cupboards.


I have my hopes pinned on loving siblings who play together all day- but for now I will settle for one sided adoration and some intact corneas!

What's in a name?

I am Mrs Doyle. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of devouring an episode of the highly amusing show Father Ted this will likely mean very little. Furthermore,  those of you not brought up in my little part of England will not know the special significance of such a name. Allow me to rectify this now.

Father Ted is a hilarious show. If you haven't seen it you truly should. It blessed us with many interesting characters.... and even more enduring catchphrases. One such character is the parish housekeeper, Mrs. Doyle. Here is the gorgeous lady herself ..

I first realised that sharing a name with Craggy Island's most devoted advocate of tea was not going to go unnoticed when I changed my profile name on facebook. Amidst congratulatory posts and well wishes were requests for cups of tea galore. I laughed along, after all I had used the exact catchphrases myself for many years before being wed. Naturally the joke wore off quickly and painlessly- my friends had had their fun and all was well with the world. 
About 6  months later, during a trip to the homeland, I decided I should change the name on my personal accounts and what not. Off I went, marriage certificate in hand, to the bank. I gave my old details to the friendly banker who quickly located my account. 'and what is your new name?' she asked expectantly. 'Doyle' I replied. She started to type... then stopped.. her banker brain processing the information for a second or two before turning to me to confirm...'so Mrs. Doyle' . I nodded. 'You're Mrs.Doyle?' Slower more emphasized nodding in case she missed that last one due to my lightning speed, or was actually retarded.  Then she started to giggle... and then it came 'Will you be wanting a cup of tea then?' in full mock Irish tones. I smiled knowingly and of course thanked her and declined...but she wasn't finished with me yet. 'Gawan' she chortled....'Gawan gawan gawan gawan gawan gawan gawan gawan'...clearly she was a huge fan..'Gawan gawan gawan gawan gawan gawan gawan gawan' I wasn't sure she was planning to stop. I almost felt the need to run and get her a cup of tea to calm herself! Luckily she did stop, and my name was changed but it was clear, Mrs Doyle could one day become my nemesis.

Like I said Doyle also has special connotations in my home town. No doubt from some longstanding racism linked to migrant miners and the like, the name Doyle is synonymous with 'idiot'. To illustrate, someone who has said/ done something stupid or thoughtless can be called 'a doyle'...often with the inclusion of some expletives just to add colour of course. So therefore having the surname Doyle often bring with it some jibes and jokes. I have been brought up with them, they are seared into my perspective of the world. Now my first initial is 'A'... yup.. not only am I a 'doyle... I am 'A Doyle'. When I write my name now I find myself fighting the urge to make jokes in my head, at my own expense. I blame my northern British upbringing... no self assured American would allow such intra cranial mockery. 

All jokes aside though, I am A Doyle, my children are Doyles and I married a Doyle.... so naturally that only leaves one thing to say... 

Will you be wanting a cup of tea now?? ..... oh go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on, go on  

This is my first time... please be gentle

Last week after sharing an amusing story with a friend of mine she asked if I was keeping a journal of the funny things my kids did. I wasnt, but it got me thinking. Who doesnt love to hear about the scampish tales they got up to before they could be held truly accountable? I liked the idea of being able to recount the stories of my children's childhood long after my poor sleep deprived brain has decided those messy filing cabinets of memories are just far too troublesome to bother with. Now I love real letters- I love sending actual mail and finding things in my post box (which I often do thanks to my wonderful gran) but I dont enjoy the writing part. It starts off neat, legible, in capitals, reasonably straight and before you know it my paper is almost upside down and I am scribbling diagonally. I didnt want my kids thinking I was taught to write by bungee jumping spiders so I decided to type instead. Then I thought maybe I should share the fun with you, dear reader (or gran) so here goes.

Currently I am the mom to 2 wonderful, smart, cute, sweet children.... WHO ARE TRYING TO KILL ME!! Okay that is perhaps a tad dramatic... It's not that bad...they are just trying to kill me (aren't things so much more relaxed without capitals!) But seriously my mission is to share not only the wonderful heart warming moments of motherhood... but also the infuriating, alopecia inducing moments of sheer arghhhh too. Hence the title of this blog. I don't mean to be crass but I have a feeling that, like a camping holiday where everyone catches flu and the tent floods, it will be the crazy, naughty moments that bring about the most laughs down the line. Now as I am starting this almost 2 years into my daughters life I may have to do some back tracking, and I can't promise endless hilarity but I will try my best.