Take Cover!! The Kids are Winning!!!!

Hello. Welcome to the end of the world. I mean, the end of February. Who knew the world would end on such a short month? Yes, the short are about to inherit the Earth. I am starting to suspect that in biblical times, "meek" actually meant "short in stature". And good luck to them, I say.

Princess and Little Man are currently ruling our house. Princess is the Queen of the Damned Day, and Little Man is the Prince of Darkness. It is possible that those monikers have already been taken but my precious little children have earned them. DW and I are but their humble slaves, me not so humble. People who come to visit are made to dance for their pleasure and sent away when they become boring.

In many ways, Princess is like an open book. One that is held open at the spine and shaken to make ALL the words come out together in a slightly meaningful jumble, but pretty hard to follow. Every sentence consists of her using every word she knows in an entirly new arrangement. She knows more words than a team of monkeys banging mindlessly away at keyboards trying to write a Shakespearean play. She also sounds like a team of monkeys banging mindlessly away at keyboards trying to write a Shakespearean play.

However, occassionally, she shows remarkable insight. We have now taught her the emergency phone number and she already knows our street address. We were cautious about this step in case we had the firebrigade show up to help her open a tub of yoghurt with those annoying tops that either tear when they shouldn't, or flick yoghurt onto your hand or glasses. She understands that the number must only be used in an emergency, and she was concerned as to what might be considered such. Without alarming her too much (perhaps I shouldn't have acted out possible scenarios - or used the tomato sauce) we explained that she should only call the number if DW or I are unable. So she asked how she would know if we were unable. This time we explained that if she asks us if she should ring the number, and we don't answer, then she should ring the number. Amazingly, she took it very seriously and can recite the procedure perfectly now. Still, I'm expecting to come home one night to a firetruck outside and several fireman sitting at my table eating yoghurt.

While I think of it, I should share another little Princess story. As can happen when things get tense at home, usually after weeks of Little Man not sleeping, DW was getting a little fed up with Princess asking for more food. She does this most of the time through the day. She doesn't eat much but likes as much variety as she can manage. Anyway, the other day, DW was getting a little hot under the collar with Princess and I. I, being the wiser of the two, recognized he powder keg when DW said, "Sometimes I'm treated like just a chef around here." As I turned to run, I heard Princess stand toe to tiny toe with DW and say, "You a chef? That's a good one, mum!" You may have heard the explosion. It was visible from space.

Little Man is making his own presence felt by becoming every bit as demanding as his big sister. Though he has only a few words, and some of them are not really words, no matter what DW says, he can usually get his point accross. "I want food." "I want water." "I want juice." "I want cheese." "Make me laugh." "Entertain me." "Pick me up." "Put me down." Pick me up." Put me down." "I want sultanas." "I want sausages." "I want whatever Princess is having." "No, I actually want you to take the thing out of her hands and give it to me." "Wipe my bottom." It doesn't end.

Little Man is no longer the settled little darling that he once was. He is a menace. When he is up, he is in to everything. He takes special note of the things we apparently care about and makes it his mission to destroy them. We have tried using reverse psychology, by pretending unusual attachment to lumps of rock and other indestructible items, while ignoring more valuabale items such as craft magazines and fabric and DW's most precious connection to the outside world, her laptop. But Little Man can smell fear. Oh, we can pretend we don't care, but he knows. He has his ways. He tests the water, he threatens things and watches to see how we react. If we start sweating, the game is up and he goes to town. I'm pretty good at the reverse psychology thing but DW only manages it convincingly when its my stuff in the firing line. In fact then, its amazing how well she can pretend not to give a crap.

So he spends much of the day strapped into his chair. That may sound like a punishment but is actually an Australian Standards Approved feeding chair so we choose to feed him a lot. Which is ok because its only good, healthy food and when he's not in the chair, he runs a lot, burning off energy and destroying things. Unfortunately he's now taken to seeing how far he can throw his food and utensils. He's got quite a good arm on him.

At night is when Little Man truly comes into his own. If you thought he was a menace during the day, then you were wrong. Well, actually, he is a menace during the day, so I guess you were right if that was what you were thinking. If you thought he wasn't a menace during the day, you would have been wrong, because he is. The point I am making is that he is worse at night.

Princess took a loooonnnnngggg time to get to sleep through the night. We had to control cry her most nights. Controlled Crying is frowned upon by some as being cruel to the child but I have spent a lot of time thinking about the balance between the child's wellbeing and the parents'. I have weighed up the consequences of not control crying and the flow on effect of the fatigued parents' ability to provide adequate care to the child in question and I have formed a carefully reasoned argument to the opponents of this method. However, these people are not usually smart enough to understand my brilliant argument so I just flick them on the forehead several times and say, "Control cry this!"

Little Man is diabolical. He doesn't cry, he laughs. It sounds like laughing in the middle of the night should be better than crying because at least the little angel is happy, right? WRONG! When you have been up four three hours and can see the alarm clock getting closer and closer to your wake-up time, it does NOT help to think, "Well, at least he's having fun." It does NOT help to know that me searching for his dummy on my hands and knees amuses him. And it does NOT help to think, "Well, as long as he's having fun, he's bound to stop soon." No, when they are crying, you know they will wear themselves out and eventually go to sleep. When they are crying, they are not mocking you and trying to make you perform tricks like find the dummy. When they are crying, they are unhappy and at least then you know you are up to console them, to comfort them. When they are laughing, you serve no purpose beyond your entertainment value.

It would be nice and simple if we could just ignore the laughing. But Little Man does not like to be ignored. He knows that if he keeps at it, he will eventually wake up Princess and she likes nothing better than a midnight game that can be easily blamed on someone else. So we have to try to keep Little Man from waking her. If DW wakes up, she takes a long time to go back to sleep whereas I sleep lightly but can fall asleep quickly, which apparently makes me ideally suited to looking after Little Man during the night. If only Controlled Laughing worked. Still, as I pace for an hour or more each night, I console myself with the thought that eventually he will grow out of this and become a teenager, whom I will be struggling to wake up. Only eleven and a half years to go.

Ciao!

Thought for the Day: Today is a beautiful day - too good to be working. Judging by my KPIs, so was last year.