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.