family life

While the oldest one’s away…

Angus has daycare on Fridays, and while I do miss him, I also cherish the time with just Pete and Jamie. It’s been so interesting watching Pete come into his own as an older brother. He runs into Jamie’s room to chat to him in his cot. He sits down next to Jamie in the living room to watch Play School with him. He brings Jamie toys. He doesn’t take Jamie’s toys away. And he picks up the food that Jamie drops from the high chair and hands it back to him. He is simply the sweetest.

Here’s us having lunch on a Friday. Yup, we’re a Vegemite family. Except for me. My theory is, if you’re not exposed to it by the time you’re six, it’s too late. But I’m glad the boys are Happy Little Vegemites as bright as bright can be. (Had to resist adding rosy cheeks to these photos.)

Happy Friday, everyone! May we all get some sleep…

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Corner

Now that we are drawing near to moving once more, I find myself attempting to savour all the nooks and crannies around the home which I have come to love. This particular corner with the yellow lamp is in the family play room, where I spend a lot of my time either watching the boys play with their blocks, cars and other toys or crashed out on the couch asleep. Once in a while, Rick and I might share a cup of tea or a mug of Milo here in the evenings while we snuggle up and chat about nothing and everything. This is also one of Rick’s favourite places to read during his down times.

Moving is always hard. This has been our fourth home since we got married seven years ago, and all four have been special for their own reasons. At Freeman Place, we set up our life together as husband and wife. At Brickfield Street, we got ready for Cameron’s arrival then grieved madly for him when he died. At Little Queen Street, we attempted to rebuild our lives and eventually brought Angus home with us after nine months of anxiety. And here at Morris Avenue, we welcomed Peter and James into our family, and for the first time, we had little boys running around – thus turning this into a true family home. One that I will surely miss and remember for many years to come.

Who knows what the next place will bring, but whatever happens, I’m confident we will turn it into our home just like we have done in the past – hopefully one where we will make new merriment and new memories as a family.

p.s. That is my ‘bits and pieces’ kitchen bench-top tray. Rick thinks it takes up too much unnecessary room but I love how it acts like a holding area for all the stuff that the boys and I use throughout the day. I can’t stand bowls and cups and bottles haphazardly left on the bench-top but if they’re all on the tray, it somehow feels neat and tidy thus allowing me to breathe easy amidst the chaos. (Weird, right?)

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To the beaches we go

I am in a dire conundrum. One half of my brain desperately wants to increase the size of photos on this blog by about 15%. The other half of my brain knows that this means all of my older posts will have images that do not fill the width of the entire column, and it cannot cope with this visual eyesore. So what do I do, my friends? Invest 20 hours of time (which I do not have) into increasing the size of all my prior images or just leave the size of the photos as they are? (Note there is no ‘middle ground’ option because, alas, I am not a ‘middle ground’ type of gal.)

Thanks to everyone for their lovely comments about Pete. He has fully recovered, and his skin now only bears some small scabs from the original mosquito bites which we suspect caused the allergic response. Poor little guy; at one stage, his left eye was so swollen that he couldn’t actually open it but he took it all in such good stride. He is seriously the most cheerful little boy. Nothing really seems to get him down except when daddy’s leaving for work or if he’s desperate for some milk, and I’m making him wait (gosh I sound cruel).

Last week was hot and humid, so we took the boys to our favourite beach at Balmoral. Pete loved the water. Angus was more hesitant. None of Pete’s clothes stayed dry. Angus didn’t want to get his pants wet. Pete struggled and screamed when Rick tried to extricate him from the water. Angus, having run back to shore, kept shouting out to Rick and Pete to “Come back! Come back!” Meanwhile, Jamie watched on and wished he was five months older so that he could hop out of his pram and walk around like his brothers.

It probably bodes well that the boys like the beach. Because that’s where we’re headed next year: the northern beaches. Yeeha!

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Before happy feet, there was raw egg

You know it cannot end well when your three year old wakes you up with the words, “There’s wet egg in our bedroom.”

Sure enough, upon arriving at the scene of the crime, Rick and I shockingly discovered that Angus had not only transported a carton of eggs from the kitchen but he’d also managed to crack every single one onto some sort of surface. There was egg on the carpet, on the skirting boards, on the wall, on Pete’s sheets, on Pete’s sleeping bag and… on Pete’s face.

I dare not even try to imagine what they were trying to do. (Who needs to eat a nice cooked meal for dinner when you can gorge yourself on raw egg in the morning?)

Start of the day? Not so good.

End of the day?

Sitting on the floor of our bedroom, admiring the bright red nail polish on my toes.

Life is indeed colourful – in every single way.

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Recharging

It was quiet in the house today for about two and a half hours while all three boys slept. Those are the hours in the day that allow me to recharge, regroup and refocus. As much as I love the boys, I also love the down times. Jamie, as usual, was the first one to stir. He didn’t want his milk. He didn’t want his rice cereal. So I gave him a water cracker.

That, he liked.

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Daddy, daddy, daddy!

It’s an hour after normal bedtime, and Rick is desperately trying to get through the bedtime routine with books, songs and prayers.

Angus, however, has other things on his mind:

“Daddy, daddy, daddy… You are wearing a black suit and a red flower. And mummy is wearing a white dress. And you are married. It was your wedding. And you are talking to someone. Pa and Nan took the picture off the coffee table and we looked at it. And then we put it back. And Ben (Rick’s best mate and best man) is behind you in the picture. And he has a black suit too, and a red flower too. Daddy, daddy, daddy… I’m really tired.”

And to think we were once worried he would never speak.

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New couch, new lens, new beginnings…

Never in my past life did I think I would cry over spilt milk. But this evening, after a long day that had me almost screaming into a pillow, cry I did when I walked into the meals room and observed that Angus had spilt milk all over his high chair and the floor. And you know what – the cry was fantastic. It lifted my spirits even more than SYTYCD. So despite what Confucius may say, I highly recommend crying over spilt milk. (I’m Asian, so I’m going with Confucius.)

Anyway, a new couch arrived today. And as they say: a new couch means new beginnings. (That one’s from me, not Confucius.) Yes it’s true, we are moving. Again. Somewhere around the end of this year or the beginning of next. And while I’m aware that’s at least two months away, that does not stop me snapping up a good bargain on eBay when I see one. Even if it means giving up our corridor space and having to jump two feet to get into our bedroom. Rick actually likes the couch as much as I do (good taste, that man) and is trying hard to convince me that it should go in the living area rather than my studio. We’ll see, hubby, we’ll see.

If you’re an observant type of person, you may have noticed that the style of photography is changing on the blog. Yes, another new beginning. While I love my snapshot photography (and rest assured there shall still be the occasional snapshot post), I have to stop kidding myself: my iPhone 4 lens is so badly scratched that if it were a diamond, it would be laughed at by all the other diamonds (kind of like Rudolph). Plus, I actually have a new Canon lens that I love so why not put it to good use?

Here’s to exploring a new way of documenting life as it unfolds around me.

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Land Rover drivers anonymous

You know your spouse is obsessed with Land Rovers if:

  • He walks up to every Land Rover he sees on the street and gives it a good look-in.
  • He waves to other Land Rover drivers or gives them the thumbs up and then gets upset if they don’t reciprocate.
  • He chooses his parking spot based on its proximity to another Land Rover.
  • He posts angry comments on the Land Rover Facebook page about the proposed concepts for the new Defender. Repeatedly.

You know it’s serious when:

  • Your two year old can identify other Rovers on the road (“That’s a little bit like our car.”).
  • He also tells you that his “favourite toy is a Land Rover.”
  • You start waving at other Land Rover drivers too, without even knowing it. (If this has happened to you too, please contact me and tell me I’m not alone. I beg you.)

Despite my tendency to poke fun at my dear husband, I must confess that I’ve actually become quite fond of our Land Rover Discovery. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a pain and a half to get in and out of for a short Asian female like myself, but I genuinely enjoy driving it (though possibly not parking it) and we really do have a lot of fun in it.

Like when we drove to the middle of nowhere back in July, disembarked and spent our family time exploring a little known fire trail. It was completely spontaneous, unplanned and almost uneventful, but it was somehow just lots of fun. (Plus, the boot of our Discovery seriously does lend itself to being the best portable nappy changing table ever, which is handy when you have three kids in nappies.)

What car is your better half obsessed with?

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Monday is number one day…

…it’s the first day of the week!

Eer, what? Sorry, I’ve got The Wiggles in my head – or more specifically, the (dreaded) Wiggly Waffles on ABC (here’s hoping my fellow Australian mums know what I’m ranting about).

Apart from the fact that Monday is my day to fold the (ever mounting pile of) laundry, Monday is actually one of my favourite days of the week.

For one thing, the boys and I don’t have anything on on a Monday. Which means we don’t have to go out. Which means I don’t have to think about the two hats, six nappies, two bottles of formula, one bottle of milk, two bottles of water, two dummies, two dummy clips, one bib, two bananas, half a dozen Kruskits and a million sultanas that I normally have to contend with before we head out the door. (Did I say a million? I meant a billion.)

I also don’t have to get dressed. For a very, very long time. As long as possible in fact. What’s that, honey? People are coming over after dinner? Fine, I’ll brush my teeth and get out of my sweatpants. (Only kidding – we’re all about oral hygiene here at Casa Mason.)

But more importantly, Angus and I get some precious one-on-one time together while the two younger boys do their morning naps. Some days we read. Some days we watch Postman Pat together. Some days we build entire cities out of wooden blocks. Some days we play hide and seek in my wardrobe (that’s him hiding and me lying on the bed – not falling asleep of course). Some days he even helps me fold the laundry.

So in the spirit of this ‘number one’ day, let me ask you this: When do you fold your laundry?

(Or the question behind the question: How long between folding and putting away?)

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Deja vu

Last year when Pete was still a baby, Angus would hurry to the door of the nursery whenever he could hear Pete crying. Not even a year later, I now watch Pete rush to the very same door whenever Jamie’s crying can be heard (which is often).

Is that deja vu or what? But deja vu of the sweetest kind, for sure.

I do apologise for the long breaks between updates recently. My (very legitimate) excuse is that I’m in the final throes of clearing my bigger-than-everest backlog of scrapbooking and photobooking and I’m determined to wrap it up this week. Just two days ago, I cut up a thousand little photos and have finger blisters to show for it. Please insert that into your dictionary as the new definition of determination (or insanity).

Anyway, today is the Chinese mid-autumn festival and as a result, I am craving moon cake in a very bad way (lest you forget I am actually Chinese deep down inside). Are semi-diabetic people allowed to eat moon cake? I say yes. My husband and endocrinologist say no.

Insert frustrated face here: >_<

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