Papa brought home a box of apples from the markets the other day. I've been nagging incessantly for a couple of weeks now, trying to convince him I'll use the whole lot. Anything but Pink Ladies. When PB asked the seller what his best eating apples were he replied Pink Ladies. Ah, But Me Mrs Don't Like 'Em!
Red Fuji. In bircher for breakfast, whole for a snack and crumble for dessert. BB loves them too. But not in baby slices. She will only accept a whole apple, just like the grown ups.
in a column that I'm sure polarises opinions – "If the worst thing in your life is that your parents posted some photos of you dressed up as a frog or breastfeeding …. I mean, first world problems." True.
The piece then went on to quote the most successful Mummy Blogger in the world – whatever that may mean – as she explains her take on privacy whilst blogging about children, "The experiences of babies and little kids belong to their parents because they’re pretty universal. All babies eat, sleep, cry, poo etc. All toddlers say cute things and put stupid things in their mouths and by sharing these stories online, new parents are simply replacing the village we’ve lost …. That’s why I feel like it’s okay to write so much about Marlo, because it’s the same story of a million other babies hopefully told in a way that we can all laugh about it enough to want to wake up tomorrow morning.”
Interesting. And again, true.
Lately I've not been sharing too much here. I've been in a down-right bad mood which I've only just lifted. So words written would have been negative and slightly depressing. But for the sake of our online village, let me tell you my recent insight on parenting, as I was recently discussing with my fellow grubby matriarch.
It comes to my attention that as my mothering skill increases, my personal hygiene goes down. More patience equals less showering. An increase in tolerance for mess is a decrease in time for brushing and flossing. The last time I shaved my legs I was politely asked to do so, by my husband, who is quite liberal when it comes to hair. Speaking of which last night as an attempt to save time (and shampoo) I washed mine with soap. Fancy olive oil baby soap, but still.... soap.
I've never been a well groomed and manicured person, but reasonably neat and tidy. These days by mid morning I look like I've had my arse kicked by a vegemite snot sandwich. My hair is clean on the day I wash it (once a week) and whilst I don't get around in sweat pants I often wear things with dinner remnants on them. (Thanks Freya – the Pho was delicious!)
These are standards I've now come to accept and embrace. As Lexi mentioned, we're not here for Mummy Olympics. Having things a Bit Shit is better for the soul. It adds character. Imperfection is disarming, and more often than not just a little bit funny.
Staring at her toes is a decoy while plotting her next move on how to successfully dodge around me into the water.
If there is a beach in the vicinity it's always the same. Wet baby, no spare clothes. She departed cosy and satisfied in my cardigan and PB's socks while we shivered back to the car.
BB got new wheels. Mama's aesthetic values out the window, to save any further playground debacles today I bought probably the first thing she's ever really wanted. Little sweetie jumped up and down in the toy shop while the lady unwrapped what I thought to be the least-ugly and (luckily) cheapest one of these bad-boys.* I nodded very responsibly when told They Are Really For Three And Up and I Need To Be Careful. Then PB came along and encouraged her to climb aboard for a spin. Until the wheels buckled and I reprimanded them both. Bad mama always kills all the fun.
Speaking of wheels and mama's and fun please go and vote for my mate Lexi, of Potty Mouth Mama fame. She's one of the Top 50 Bloggers but let's make her number 1. Because god damn she needs that car.
* My dear friend warned me that this apparatus would result in tears and tantrums and perhaps even some bath-time fun. So far we've kept it dry but a challenging time for poor BB when they were separated for the car drive home.
(Apologies for the crappy iPhone self-portrait – but check out that little tongue. It went through some bottom teeth yesterday and has been chilled out like this ever since).