Jingle Bells

There are many variations on the traditional lyrics of the Christmas carol Jingle Bells.

In our house Venus sings:

Jingle bells, jingle bells

Jingle all the way

Oh what farm it is to ride

A one sore open play, hey!

And it makes me giggle every single time.

Pop quiz

If I were to ask you the name of the Queen of the Fairies in Disney's Tinkerbell movie, would you know what it was off the top of your head?

Mars found a picture of her and asked me what her name is. Then he remembered that it's Queen Clarion.

It's a good thing he remembered. The closest I could get was Queen Areola.

Jam drops

Venus and I just put some jam drop biscuits in the oven.

Venus and Mars both love to help when I bake. They will proudly tell you they can do sifting, weighing, measuring, tipping stuff into the bowl, cracking eggs, and they both display an exceptional talent for knocking stuff right off the bench onto the floor.

But what made me giggle today was when Venus, instead of asking if she could lick the beaters, asked me if she could lick the beavers.

And when the biscuits came out of the oven and had cooled a bit, I offered her one. Her reply?

"No Mummy, that's too jammy."

Maybe we'll have to go back to M&M cookies.

Letters

On a normal weekday I pick up Mars after school and then Venus, and then some time later we head for home. Some days the kids run for the front door, ring the bell and then hide from Supernerd, who comes outside to find them always hiding in the same place. He is always very surprised to find them there, and they think it's hilarious.

Other days we argue about who will be carrying Mars' school bag to the front door, or whether Venus is allowed to climb across the back seat to get out of the car on the other side.

But the best days are when we get home and Mars, who is always out first, checks the letterbox. If there are two letters he will give one to Venus to carry in. If there are three then I get one as well.

Yesterday there was just one, and I wondered whether we would have tears over who would be carrying this letter into the house. But Mars, to his credit, started groaning and complaining loudly about how dreadfully heavy this envelope was and about how he really needed Venus to help him carry it inside. So she took one side and he took the other and they happily carried it in together and put it on the table.

Sometimes he can be such a pain, and yet at other times he figures out exactly the right thing to do, and goes ahead and does it.

Little boys are just like that, I guess.

Christmas shopping

I like to try and get the Christmas shopping finished early, as the most convenient place from my house to get it done is a massive megaplex of shops, cinemas and food courts with thousands of parking spaces and millions of people.

In December it becomes far worse than usual. You have to struggle your way between and through shops and in the few days leading up to the 25th they stay open late into the evening and even all night from the 23rd to the 24th.

It is, on the whole, a revolting place with artificial lighting, no clocks, and if you stand still you can feel the whole massive building vibrating under your feet.

So I try to get the shopping finished early and so far this year I'm pretty happy with my progress. I've spent two mornings at the megaplex, last Friday and the Friday before that, and along with some online shopping with Oxfam to save a trip into the city, I'm almost done.

But there were some highlights of last week's shopping trip that cannot go undiscussed.

1. The naughtiest kid at the megaplex was trotting along behind his older brother and his younger brother, who was stuffed into a pram that he was doing his best to escape. This naughty boy had some kind of toy and appeared to be dropping it on purpose and stopping to pick it up once every three seconds or so. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, but his mother felt differently.

It's clear that someone in his family is a big LOTR fan, as it became apparent to everyone within earshot (and that's a lot of people) at the megaplex that this kid's name was Balin.

"Balin, put it in the pram. (pause) Balin, would you put that thing in the PRAM. (longer pause) BALIN, PUT THAT THING IN THE PRAM RIGHT NOW!"

That's why I don't take my children when I do the Christmas shopping. Unfortunately for Balin and his mother, not everyone has this option.

2. I was hunting for something in the megaplex's largest toy shop when there was a momentary pause in the hubbub of shoppers and crying babies and I realised my ears were being assaulted by Christmas carols played over the shop's sound system.

I was first treated to a country version of "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth", which entirely lacked all the wonderful charm of Danny Kaye's rendition. This was closely followed by a Christmas song that I didn't recognise at all, performed by Elmo and a well-intentioned children's choir. Now, please understand that I love Elmo, but I found that my shopping experience was really not enhanced by his performance.

3. As I beat a hasty retreat from the toy shop I found myself in the Thomas the Tank Engine aisle, and was somewhat frightened to realise that as I hurried down it the toys were talking to me, triggered off by the proximity of a person. They only said a few words each, but because they only began when I walked past, the effect was like dominoes falling. I couldn't actually make out what the words were until I got to the end of the aisle and heard the last in line say "Hi, I'm Thomas". It was just a little bit freaky.

But the absolute highlight of my Christmas shopping experience so far is an anecdote from a lovely woman who works in one of my favourite clothes shops. She told me about all night trading last year and how at 3.30am she was serving a lady who was pushing a trolley full of shopping with a small child propped up in the seat. As the transaction took place the customer yawned and then, somewhat embarrassed, apologised for doing so.

The staff member told her "Don't be silly, it's half past three in the morning. Of course you're tired!" To which the woman replied "Oh my God, is it really? I thought it was only eleven thirty. I've got to get home!"

Mistaken identity

In my defence, my brother fits nicely into a type. He's taller than me, like most grown-ups are. He keeps his hair very very short. He wears black sunglasses, bright t-shirts (when he's not at work), and drives a small black car.

On Friday I was standing in the street with Supernerd and we were waiting to cross the road to get to the cafe for our morning coffee. Supernerd looks over to the traffic stopped at the lights and says to me "Isn't that your brother?" I look over and see him. Black car, bright green shirt, very short hair and sunglasses are all present and correct, so I wave. The guy ignores me.

So I tell myself that he just didn't see me there, and I wave again. I think Supernerd might have waved too, because the guy looked at us like we were from another planet.

Then we both stoop over a little to get a better look into this guy's car, as he's sitting on the side away from us, and we realise at the same moment that it's not actually my brother.

We straighten up, look away and giggle at how silly we are. Then the lights change and we head for the cafe.

Standing in the cafe waiting for our drinks we are talking about how my brother would never drive whatever brand that guy's car turned out to be, and lo and behold, the very same guy walks into the cafe and stands next to Supernerd. He's got the very short hair, the bright green shirt and the sunglasses.

We are both astonished at this turn of events. Supernerd turns to this guy and strikes up a conversation so that we can apologise for randomly waving to him. Turns out this guy drives a white car and has no idea what we are talking about.

I guess he wasn't the very same guy.

My Dad told me that when you're mistaking total strangers for someone else who only looks like your brother, that's when you know that you're really wrong.

Mum

I love my Mum. We get on really well, we like a lot of the same crafts so we appreciate one another's work, and we swim and shop together on Fridays.

But at the moment I am keenly aware of just how much I love her and rely on her, as we had a scary experience last week that resulted in my driving her to hospital because we weren't quite sure what was going on.

Now she's fine, and she's healthy and happy and pretty much back to normal, which is fantastic. But it's left me thinking about our relationship and all the things I need to learn from her.

I once gave her a card, for Mother's Day I think, and inside I wrote:

Dear Mum,

without you I'd be naked.

When we were kids Mum sewed most of our clothes. She has always been excellent at sewing and in those days it was much cheaper to make your own than to buy clothes, so she was being economical as well, which is typical of my Mum. She is one of the most practical people I know.

But I've since come to realise that if I didn't have my Mum around I'd be naked in a whole range of other ways as well. My Mum taught me how to be a Mum, really before I realised that I would need to know. I mean, I've known for a long time that I wanted children, but I didn't understand that my parents were teaching me how to be a parent, and that's really precious to me.

Not only that but I regularly rely on her advice on matters ranging from which dress I should choose for a wedding, to what this rash might be, to how to get Mars to stop wetting the bed - and can I just say her method for that worked flawlessly.

So she's not just my Mum, she's one of my closest friends.

I would be naked without her, and I am grateful for her.

Chickens and childhood

Three Mondays ago a small incubator arrived in Mars' classroom at school containing ten chicken eggs and a temperature gauge. The next morning the teachers were a little nervous because the temperature inside the incubator seemed a little low, as if there had been a power outage during the night. Later that same day the weather was hot and so too was the incubator. So on Wednesday morning when about half the eggs were showing cracks the sense of relief in the classroom was palpable.

On Thursday when the kids got to school there were six chickens hatched and four more made their big break later in the day, so by Friday the preps were ten for ten and everyone was happy.

The following week the chickens were allowed out each day to run around in a huge cardboard tray the size of a big fridge, and the children were allowed to pick them up and hold them. From what I understand the children and the chickens were very well behaved, for the most part.

Watching this whole experience brought back memories for me. My younger brother's class also hatched chickens while he was in primary school and when it was time for them to return to the farm or find a good home, he was able to bring one home to our house as our Grandparents actually kept chickens in their backyard and could easily accommodate one more.

The chicken came home and her name was Mikey. My brother wouldn't be persuaded that she was, in fact, a girl chicken, so we all called her Mikey and she didn't seem to mind.

I can't remember how long Mikey stayed at our house, but for a chicken she was quite tame. She would sit on my brother's shoulder and poo down his back.

When the time came for her to go and live with our Nana and Grandpa the wrench was not too great as they only lived a few streets away. Whenever we were there we would all trundle up to the back of the yard and wander around the chicken coop visiting Mikey and her friends.

You know, that chicken lived an extraordinarily long life. I'm sure we were visiting her for the next ten years, or so my Nana would have had us believe. Every time we would go over we would ask Nana which one was Mikey and she would point her out to us.

I suspect there might have been some trickery on her part, but if you met my Nana you would know that she is incapable of guile. So we will just have to content ourselves with the knowledge that Mikey lived a happy and very very long life.

The chickens from Mars' grade have gone to live on a farm now too, and while Mars is a little sad that they won't be around any more, at least he was spared the chicken poo down his back, and that sad kind of moment when you realise that an animal you love has most likely gone to God and that your kind family has been protecting you. I hope that moment won't come to Mars for a while yet.

New math

Mars is in to maths in a big way. He seems to have a natural flair for it, but it also helps that his parents are both good at maths and his Grandpa is a mathematician who has been tutoring him from an early age.

Lately his favourite trick is to wait until I'm really really tired and then ask me "what's a hundred times a hundred?" Without thinking I invariably answer "a thousand" and then he crows about how he managed to trick me.

Today on the way home from church I overheard this conversation.

"Venus, what's a hundred times a hundred?"

She replied "Two. What's plus equals?"

He thought for a moment and hesitantly offered "Three?"

She giggled and said "No, four!"

I guess Mars doesn't know everything, not yet.

Contending with Barbie

Mars is turning six in a couple of weeks, so the preparations have begun.

He decided he wanted to have a Space Party, so after he and Venus go to bed I trace and cut out cardboard stars and glue glitter on them. My plan is to hang them from the ceiling but we'll have to see how that works out.

So there's been a lot of talk around birthdays and parties and Venus, who just had a birthday party two months ago, has decided that now is the right time to start making a list of the things she'd like for her birthday. It doesn't seem to matter that she just had her birthday, she's making her list available to anyone who will listen.

So far it includes a Barbie scooter and a Barbie sunhat. And while I love Barbie as much as your average girl who grew up in the '80s, she has no idea who Barbie is or why she wants Barbie merchandise. She doesn't own any Barbie dolls yet so I was curious about the sudden fascination with the impossibly proportioned blonde.

"I understand that you want a scooter and a new sunhat, but why do they have to have Barbie on them?"

"Because I want a Barbie scooter and a Barbie sunhat."

"Okay. Venus, who is Barbie?"

"I don't know, but I want a Barbie scooter and a Barbie sunhat."

And that was all I could get out of her. I did try to explain that she just had her birthday, but maybe there could be a scooter around Christmas time.

And all she said was "A Barbie scooter?"

Anyone for cheese?

This is Venus.

She is gorgeous, bossy, hilarious and three years old. We were getting ready to go to bed tonight and I noticed she was eating something - something she'd obviously found for herself, as dinner time had come and gone.

I asked her "What are you eating?" adding as a joke "Did you find some cheese on the floor or something?"

And, with a big grin on her face because she felt so clever, she immediately replied "I found some cheese in my nose!"

Oh dear.

Trying on a hat

The kids have been doing a lot of car dancing lately. I showed them how to do the shopping trolley, which didn't take them long to master, and then they were asking what comes next. So I started making up silly names for different dance moves to teach them. Mars in particular doesn't seem content to do any one move for more than a few seconds, so we've developed quite a list.

Today we were coming home from the shops when I hear Mars say "Mum, what comes after the shopping trolley again?", so we went through 'raise the roof', 'push out the walls', 'dry the dishes', 'point to the bee', 'dig a hole' and we got to 'try on a hat'.

Venus was awfully quiet through this whole routine - she is normally joining in and telling Mars what to do next. So I glanced back over my shoulder to see her sitting with her arms folded and a grumpy expression on her face.

I said "You're not dancing?"

In a grumpy, almost dangerous tone she announced "I'm already wearing a hat".

Two streets later she was pushing the shopping trolley and smiling again.

Where there's smoke

I've been reading Enid Blyton books to Mars and Venus for some time now. We began with The Enchanted Wood, which Mars' teacher is also reading to the grade at school. Yesterday we read the last three chapters of The Magic Faraway Tree, and tonight before bed we read the first chapter of The Folk of the Faraway Tree.

While Supernerd was getting Venus ready for bed she was being a bit silly and making things difficult, so to get her to behave he reminded her that if she got ready quickly I would be reading her a chapter from The Enchanted Wood.

She immediately replied "No Daddy, it's The Smoke of the Faraway Tree."

Now that would have been a very different book, I suspect.

The astronomer

Mars is a naturally curious kid and, like his Dad, he's interested in astronomy and what goes on in the sky. We often find we are on the receiving end of some pretty complicated questions about the nature of the universe which can usually be divided into three categories.

I take the easy ones - things like why do we sometimes see the moon during the day, and why does it get bigger and smaller?

Supernerd takes the hard ones - how do the rockets get to the moon, why do they need so much fuel, why do people jump on the moon? (I could probably field some of these too, but Supernerd knows all about rockets and moon landings, so we have a kind of unspoken agreement that this is his area.)

But the really tricky ones go to Grandpa - things like when there is a rainbow how do the colours know where they should be? (I just couldn't face trying to explain refraction without a prism!)

But recently I found that Mars was the expert and I the curious student, as he described to me the way that the sun goes around to the other side of the earth, taking tomorrow with it, and when we see the sun again it brings us tomorrow.

Just amazing.

I Spy

We play our fair share of I Spy at home and in the car. One day I was in the kitchen and Mars was sitting at the table when he suggested a game of I Spy.

Mars went first.

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with g."

I said "Gorgeous Mummy!"

There was a long pause.

Mars said "Well, you are gorgeous Mummy, but that's not the right answer."

And when I told him that was the best thing he could possibly have said, he beamed. And so did I.

From prizewinner to Worst Mum Ever

Each year my Mother In Law enters a local country show, and because she's so clever and amazingly talented she usually wins. She's won prizes for lemon butter, flower arrangements and all kinds of crafts.

The last few years she has asked me if I wanted to enter something and I've always been too disorganised, but this year I thought things could be different. This year I had something gorgeous, something spectacular that I finished a couple of months back that would be perfect. My good friend got married and I made her wedding jewellery - a necklace and a pair of earrings.

It was also my plan to travel with my Mother In Law to the show on the day of the judging for some quality time together, but unfortunately the day turned out to be one of those days when you end up with (and this is no joke) five things on and no way to get to them all without a time machine. So a prior engagement meant that I couldn't be there in person, but I still managed to get the jewellery back from my friend and pass it on to my Mother In Law so she could put it in the show.

I found out today that I actually landed second prize, and I was pretty pleased with that. But sadly the good feeling was soon gone. Mars and I drove each other crazy most of the afternoon and into the evening. We both shouted and were both miserable and we both feel like I'm the Worst Mum Ever.

I guess it's true. Some days you're the Bantha, and some days you're the Bantha fodder. Feels like today I've been both.

Ain't no sunshine

There ain't no sunshine when she's gone

It's not warm when she's away

There ain't no sunshine when she's gone

And she's always gone too long, anytime she goes away

My sister, six years my junior, lives in the same country as me, but a long way away. At certain times I feel the distance more than others, and right now I feel every inch of it.

She came home recently to go to one wedding and stayed three weeks to be a bridesmaid in another wedding before flying home, and I'd just got used to the idea of her being around again when she left.

I love spending time with her because she makes me laugh and we have a lot in common. I guess you could say we are both the same kind of crazy.

But it's worse than that, because she's having a baby before Christmas and I feel the guilt of not being able to be there for her just in case she needs me.

Now, our parents will be there shortly after the due date, and her parents in law are also travelling north around that time. And she has a devoted and supportive husband whom I know will take good care of her, so she will by no means be alone or without help.

And yet I feel... I know a lot of words, but I don't know the word for this.

So the trip is planned but not yet booked to travel north after Christmas, and I am looking forward more than I can say to meeting the Tum Tum Monster.

Who bit me?

We were driving home from church and I heard this conversation from the back seat:

Venus: "Mars, I've got two bites on my leg."

Mars: "Really?"

Venus: "Yes. It must have been a dinosaur with sharp teeth."

Mars: "No, Venus. It couldn't have been a dinosaur. Dinosaurs are extinct. That means there aren't any alive any more."

Venus: "Oh. Then it must have been a alien."

A pizza revelation

Venus can be a fussy eater at times. She's not as difficult to please as some children I know of, but lately when we've had pizza she has flatly refused to eat anything. She used to eat pizza that only featured tomato and cheese. Then one day she decided that the tomato was just too much to bear so she stopped eating pizza altogether.

Lately we've been experimenting at home with making our own. I found a great recipe for quick pizza dough which requires no sitting around time for the dough to rise, and I'm sure the eight minutes of kneading is good for my arms. I'd like to think so, anyway.

But the best thing about making our own pizza is that we can put anything we like on it. Last time I made a half/half with leftover chicken curry on one side and chorizo, corn and fetta on the other side. Actually the chicken curry pizza wasn't too bad.

So yesterday when I said that we were having pizza for tea Venus did what she always does. She proclaimed "I don't like pizza!" in her best wail and started to cry.

Not to be deterred, I asked her if she would eat pizza if it only had cheese on it, and she said yes. As I was kneading the dough she informed me that actually what she really wanted on her pizza was vegemite and cheese - her favourite sandwhich filling. Considering that she'd agreed to eat pizza for the first time in ages I decided not to argue. Then as I was sprinkling chicken over the other pizza she asked for chicken as well.

A while later we all sat down with our pizza. Tuna, spring onion and red capsicum for me, chicken and barbecue sauce for Mars and Supernerd, and chicken, vegemite and cheese for Venus. And she ate a whole slice.

Well, almost a whole slice.

Blue wren

This is the blue wren who comes to visit at our kitchen window, although visit may be the wrong word. The window has a reflective coating on it so that our neighbours can't see in, but when he looks at the window he sees another blue wren. A blue wren that is trespassing on his territory, so he tries to fight it off. He flaps his wings and beats at the window. He scratches with his tiny feet to fight away his rival, and hurls his body against the glass. But all his energies are wasted because he is only fighting with his reflection.

Recently I had a problem with a friend. I mentioned it to Supernerd and his fix-it gland started working overtime. With the very best of intentions, and without asking me first, he tried to help by speaking to the person concerned, and made the whole issue much much worse. Everyone involved became very upset and, while I've spoken to the person directly since then and sorted things out, I was reminded of the blue wren.

All that anxiety and energy wasted on a stupid misunderstanding. At least we've learned from the experience.

The blue wren still comes to the window.

The magical power of Michael Jackson

Today is Tuesday. I know it's Tuesday because I had to get up a little earlier to drive Venus to my Mother In Law's house before taking Mars to school. We do it every Tuesday, and it's a system that works.

I remembered it was Tuesday before I was even fully awake. I remembered it was Tuesday when we were packing Mars' school bag because he needs to take his music books on Tuesdays.

When we got in the car I completely forgot that it was Tuesday and drove in exactly the wrong direction.

I was almost to school when I realised my mistake. My next mistake was saying out loud "Oh, I've gone the wrong way!", because that's when Mars began to laugh. I got all shouty and told him that it wasn't funny. Then Venus chimed in with "Yes Mars, it's not funny. Stop laughing!"

Anyway we had Michael Jackson on in the car this whole time and I hadn't really been listening. I'd been talking to the kids, distracting myself, driving the wrong way, realising my mistake and feeling angry. But once I glanced at the clock I realised we still had plenty of time to go the long way back and still get to school on time.

So I calmed down, smiling to myself at Venus who is well into the "parrot" phase of childhood, and started listening to Michael being "bad", and boy, did that cheer me up. Pretty soon I was car dancing and by the time we were driving the length of the court where my Mother In Law lives I was swinging the steering wheel just a little in time to the music. Not enough to be dangerous, but just enough so the kids could feel it in the back.

Then a little voice from the back seat says "Mum, what's wrong with the car?" and I just smiled.

Father's Day

Supernerd, I think it is fair to say, had a pretty good Father's Day this year. He got to sleep in, which can be a rare thing on a Sunday. When he stepped out of the shower there was a hot breakfast in bed waiting for him, and his presents were, for the most part, practical and useful, just like him.

He was also the recipient of many Jimi Hendrix CDs, which will be on high rotation for some time to come.

When Supernerd first got a mobile phone which was capable of using music files as ringtones he chose the beginning of Purple Haze as his ringtone. The children quickly became used to this loud and abrupt electric guitar introduction signalling an impending call.

There were times when Supernerd would be out with Mars in a noisy public place when his phone would ring in his pocket, and because Mars' head was right at pocket height he would be able to hear the ringtone, pull on Supernerd's hand and let him know he had a call.

This was some time ago, two phones distant and the ringtone has changed more than once since then. But still, every time Purple Haze comes on in the background at home or in the car, a small voice calls out "Daddy, your phone is ringing".

Cow is not a verb

I am often puzzled by the strange and sometimes wonderful turns taken by the English language, but there are some things that really get up my nose.

People who don't know how to use apostrophes should be banned from writing anything down. Ever. Even their own grocery lists, lest they buy pea's or mushroom's or ice cream's.

And surely natural law would dictate that the person responsible for this sign (in the window of a local cafe) would immediately be sacked. Or sued. I'm not sure what's best.

And cow. Cow is not a verb - although to be cowed is to be intimidated. So when Supernerd was playing MarioKart with the children and after colliding with a cow shouted "I've been cowed!", did I calmly explain that he was only correct if he found the cow particularly intimidating, or did I just shout back "Cow is not a verb!"?

I went for the shouty option.

And he told me to stick it in my blog.

Other duties as required

The phrase "other duties as required" has been included in the position description of every job I have ever held. Sometimes it has meant that I would be called on to throw a party with catering and decorations and fun things. At other times it has meant holding the hand of a patient while she had stitches removed from her other hand.

While sometimes closely related to the job and at other times wildly different from expectations, in my experience it is these things that have made my life more interesting.

The biggest job of my life, motherhood, provides daily opportunities for expanding my duties to include all kinds of unexpected things. The latest of these is this:

Mars (not his real name) went to school dressed as the Saucepan Man from The Magic Faraway Tree for Book Week, so naturally he needed a saucepan to wear on his head. I couldn't see how using a real one was going to work, so I knitted one.

Never thought I'd be knitting a saucepan!