Little Aussie Poms

Beginning the final countdown

Today was not a day I'd been looking forward to.  It's been terribly sad, despite feeling incredibly loved, and also feels like the bubble of denial I've been living in has just popped.  School is over, and now we enter the final countdown.  All of a sudden it's getting very, very real.  

So, today was Alex's last day at Stondon Lower and Ollie's last day at Stondon Stompers.  I'm worried that if I don't get it down in writing now, in time it will get too fuzzy in my memory and despite the sadness, I do want to remember.  As is usual on a Friday, I went to the open assembly and luckily as Steve's still on jury duty he was able to come too.  It took me a while to realise that the photographs scrolling through on the screen at the front were all of Alex and his time at school (with the odd photo of Ollie thrown in for good measure from when he's attended Children's Centre events) and a few tears rolled down my cheeks.  When the entire school sang a song to Alex about saying goodbye to friends the floodgates were opened and when Alex's class all got up and read out something that they would remember about him .... well that just pretty much finished me off.  Not only did Alex's classmates all speak, his first teacher from Robins spoke.  She remembered a four year old Alex reeling off the entire train timetable between Hitchin and Kings Cross ... ah, yes, that's the Alex that adults know and love! 

Alex was given a card that each child in the school had contributed to.  Inside we now have self portaits of every single boy and girl to remember.   Alex's class have all written more comments and a couple of them pretty much broke my heart.  Olivia wrote that Alex is her best friend who's a boy.  High praise from Olivia.  I have hilarious memories from last week of Alex and Olivia elfing themselves on the laptop, if only I'd managed to get the camera out and didn't have to rely on my dodgy memory.  George wrote to Alex that he will love him to the sun and back.  What are these children trying to do to me?! 

That was the big ones.  The little ones ... I think it's even harder.  They have no idea how final this move is.  They talk about coming to play and having sleep-overs still ... you just need to get the big plane first.  Ollie knows he's going to a new preschool.  Just when I think he's got it, he starts talking about when he goes back to Stompers.  In one breath he talks about getting a new house, the next he wants to know when we're going to come back to this house.  I thought he understood today was his last day at preschool, but this evening he asked if tomorrow was a Stompers day. 

I knew this was going to be tough and deep down I'm still pretty sure we're doing the right thing.  I love Australia and I always wanted to bring the boys up there.  I just didn't really think through how very much part of this village we have become and how bloody hard it will be to leave behind the many people who have become part of our lives. 

Right now I feel like pressing myself up against the walls and willing time to stand still.  And it won't.

How we start our day...

This morning I got the boys ready for school, and gave Ollie his iron supplement (his ironing medicine according to Ollie) given to us free of charge by the lovely NHS after having blood tests (on the NHS) after our free NHS doctor realised Ollie was anaemic.  

We drove up through the village, parked in our usual spot and had a lovely walk through the park to school.  We walked through school, our lovely, familiar, safe, friendly little school and out into the playground, Ollie trilling, "good morning Mrs Davies" like the good pupil he is.  Oh, except Ollie hasn't started school there yet, he's just getting in early. Once we were in the playground, I chatted with a few mums while Alex found his friends.  

After dropping Alex at school we ambled next door to preschool, Ollie ran in with delight holding a friend's hand, and I chatted to a few more mums as I am in the process of helping organise the preschool summer party on Sunday and needed to thank everyone who's offered to help us.  

Then I doubled back to the school and sat down with yet more mum friends as it's Friday, and Friday morning is open assembly at school.  I watched with pride as Alex received two awards, one for numeracy and his first values award - for being an "always child".  Always happy, always eager to learn and always happy to help others.  I nearly burst with pride.  

After assembly, I nipped over to Shefford to pick up some bread from the supermarket and on the way waved to another local friend out for a run.  

The point of all this?  LOOK how settled we are.  I love this village.  I love Alex's school and I love Ollie's preschool.  I love that they are next door to each other.  I love that I belong here and know where I am and what I'm doing.  I love that I am on the preschool committee and that Steve is a governor at Alex's school.  I always pictured both boys going to the lower school and Alex beaming with pride the day Ollie starts, which isn't till next September. 

Why on earth would I want to go lose all this and start all over again in Australia?!  The tortured mind of the middle aged woman who's lost her way.  Some people are never happy.  

Being ever so slightly homesick...

This evening Steve is off to Australia yet again for work reasons. He'll be gone a week and I am utterly broken hearted. I will miss his company badly, but if I'm honest, it's also the thought of looking after two energetic and slightly eccentric small boys on my own that fills me with a certain horror. Even now I should be bathing them but instead they are watching cartoons and I'm faffing on the computer in an attempt to avoid the inevitable. But it's not even so much the loss of my husband this week that I'm mourning. I'm thinking about Australia a LOT at the moment. Partly (mostly?) because of the carrot Steve's company dangled in front of us earlier in the year with the prospect of relocation, partly because it's been over a year since I inhaled the scent of gum trees and was able to look at a sky so intensly blue that it almost hypnotises you and partly because Steve will be meeting up and making contact with the people I love dearly and I can't be there to do it myself.

In a nutshell I'm wallowing in self pity at the moment, but it doesn't change the fact I am feeling hugely unsettled generally.  There are so many aspects of the UK that I love but Australia is calling loudly.  I want my children to really know their other grandparents so that they are more than just names who occasionally send gifts, or disconnected voices on a telephone.  I want the boys to be able to climb the trees at my Dad's place or search for lizards again at my Mum's.  I want them to sit up to breakfast with a huge bowl of Nutrigrain that we bought at the supermarket and not brought home in a suitcase.  I want summer to be summer and to be able to have a beach holiday that means you can actually sit on the beach in the sunshine, not cart along windbreakers and umbrellas just in case.  I want my kids to wear regulation sunhats at school and experience the joy of a swimming carnival in the summer term.  (Who am I kidding on that one?  I wasn't a fan of swimming carnivals as I wasn't a great swimmer, but a day spent at the pool cheering on your house couldn't be beaten.  And besides, Alex is a much better swimmer now than I was at his age.)  

But I digress.  I have an itch .... and right now I'm not too sure how to scratch it.  

Breakfast with Attitude

This is how we ate breakfast this morning.

I thought the attitude wasn't supposed to kick in until they are teenagers?!  

May the birthday mayhem begin

And so the madness that is Birthday March has commenced.  

This year it kicked off with Ollie's early birthday party at a local soft play place.  

 

That's my boy, still scaring unsuspecting strangers with his Sloth from the Goonies smile. Incidentally, the offending tooth is scheduled for removal.  Unfortunately in true NHS style, we had to wait almost three months for a five minute meeting with the consultant in which he looked in Oliver's mouth, agreed with Oliver's dentist that it is time for the tooth to come out, and then put us back on the waiting list for surgery.  I have to keep reminding myself that waiting half your lifetime for treatment is a small price to pay for free medical stuff.  

Anyway, his party was a bargain compared to a lot of local venues and quite frankly, I've lost the will to live when it comes to organising parties.  I fear my days of spending hours decorating the house with themed birthdays may be over and I have gone over to the dark side.  Alex is also having a birthday party well away from the house.  For him we've booked the local village hall with an entertainer we are throwing money at to ... well ... entertain.  

Actually I'm not being as frivolous as it sounds.  After Alex's superstar attitude at his last birthday when it was all looking quite bleak for us, we have spent the past year collecting our £2 coins in a little jar in the kitchen.  As silly as it sounds, it netted us enough to book the hall and pay for the entertainer.  All we've had to stump up for now is the food and party bags.  And I'm going a bit cheap on those....

Tomorrow, which Oliver keeps reminding us is his REAL birthday, we are getting up before the crack of dawn and heading to Dover.  To catch the ferry to France.  To go to EURODISNEY!!!!  Woo hoo!  I am more excited than the children.  Although that's probably because as at right now, the children have absolutely no idea where we are off too.  

Mwah ha ha ha ha. 

I can say with some degree of certainty that unlike last year, I will not be blogging tomorrow to mark Ollie's third birthday.  And I probably won't get around to it on Alex's birthday either going by my ever failing track record.

But my darling boys, it's a sign of how much we love you that we are prepared to get up before you do tomorrow morning in order to drive, ferry, and drive some more .... just to see the look on both your faces when you realise where you are.

He's special ....

... so special.

This term Alex's school have opened up their Friday assemblies to parents to come and join.  Friday assemblies are usually special as representatives from each class get up to explain what they have been learning that week, and various awards are given out.  

I have purposely now changed Ollie's preschool days from Thursdays to Fridays so he no longer has to attend assembly with me.  When I took him to the first open assembly, he sat beautifully until the children came in.  Then he wanted to sit with Alex.  I told him he wasn't allowed to sit with Alex and he disagreed with me rather loudly.  Loudly enough for all the little heads in the hall to swivel round to see where the disturbance was coming from.  He then stripped off down to his nappy and insisted on sitting in the front row by himself.  

Now I do not take Ollie, so I can focus instead on the glowing academic achievements of my eldest son.  On Wednesday Alex's class went on a field trip to a local museum.  Alex has been less than forthcoming about what he did while on this trip, other than he got to go on a coach, sat with Thomas on the way there, and then with India on the way back.  So when I saw Alex was one of the children chosen to get up and tell us all what they'd been doing, I was quite glad I'd finally get an insight. Alex stood up brandishing a piece of paper covered in writing and shook it out importantly.  But as his little voice didn't carry far enough for anyone to hear, the teacher leading the assembly took the paper from him and first expressed her delight at his beautiful handwriting.  She then started to read it out loud. 

This isn't a direct quote as I don't have the all important piece of paper, but it went something along the lines of this:

"On Wednesday we went to the museum.  We looked at poo and I learned that some animal poo has bones in it."  

Yup, he's special all right.

Snow games ... and potty games

Snow doesn't happen a lot over here.  It happens before Christmas even less.  So we were completely unprepared back in December when we woke up to a winter wonderland on our doorstep.  

Unfortunately the initial reaction from the boys was one of total despair.  As the first day the snow dumped down was officially the last day of term before the holidays, they'd had a day of parties to look forward to and were less than impressed to find out school and preschool had been closed for the day.  Steve and I just felt a little cheated that we weren't getting the chance to wander into town to do terribly grown up stuff like .... going for coffee.  Lucky for us all the prospect of a morning at the rec with their friends was enough to lift spirits.  

 

Ollie found his friends.

And then found someone else's sledge and refused to relinquish it.  Not that he wanted to ride on it, just that he liked pushing it down the hill, running after it, then dragging it back up.  As you do.

  

Alex found a friend who was happy to share a sledge.  Kind of.  Five year old boys are mental.

 

So that was the snow.  Then it went away.  Then a few weeks later we had more.  More!  By this point the novelty had worn off, for me anyway.

Here we are again, posing in the snow, yada yada yada.  Look happy boys!  

So I thought I should make good use of the whole being housebound thing, and really there was no point putting it off any longer.  It was time to Potty Train.  

Theoretically that should be a whole new story, but there's not a lot to tell.  Unlike Alex with the plying of drinks and praising with chocolate buttons, Ollie found the potty, Ollie used the potty.  By himself.  I'd like to claim it was my awesome parenting, but the boy pretty much trained himself and has already decided the toilet is better than the potty.

In true Ollie style....

Apologies for the wee stains on the lid by the way.  What I can say?  I have small boys. 

Santa gets it wrong

A couple of weeks ago we went to the Christmas fair at Alex's school.  Santa was there in his little mini grotto and Alex and Ollie were both excited about going in to meet him.

Ollie has VERY definite ideas about what Santa will be bringing this year.  Ask him what he wants and his answer is always the same, "cars and a lorry and a garage".  

So he duly went in to meet Father Christmas and solemnly told him what he wanted.  

"I want cars and a lorry and a garage."

Father Christmas nodded wisely and gave him the present that his elf had handed him.  As I'd spent rather a lot of time in the weeks leading up to the fair wrapping up the presents for Father Christmas I knew they contained rather lovely books.  Unfortunately common sense didn't kick in until it was a little too late and Oliver was already ripping in to his present with delight.  

The delight quickly turned to disgust and he threw his half unwrapped book to the floor.

He looked at Santa's elf as if she was a halfwit and with as much scorn as he could muster informed her, "no ... I NOT want this.  I not want a book.  I want cars and a lorry and a garage!"

Honestly ... you just can't get a decent elf these days.

YEAH, Tomorrow's Christmas...

Ok, technically not tomorrow.  But soon, very, VERY soon.  And if you're wondering about the title there, it's actually part of Alex's song from his school play.  He sings it a LOT and now that phrase is constantly reverberating around my head.  Even when he's not singing it. 

I've been trying to remember how to upload videos on here so it can reverberate around your head too, but have now lost the will to live so you'll have to make do with having a look on Facebook instead.

Christmas started early this year.  Steve and I went away last weekend (to New York - WOO HOO!) so I wanted to get the tree up for the boys before the trip.  

 The boys decorated the tree pretty much single handedly.  It looks it.  As a result, we have a lot of .... clumpage.

 

Mostly the clumpage is located on the left hand side of the tree closest to the sofa.  

Best not to sit too close in case they've purposely rigged it to suddenly topple over and knock out unsuspecting guests.  

In which Ollie loses a dearly beloved tooth

If you are remotely squeamish, this is your opportunity to flick over and read something else.  Don't say I didn't warn you.

Last Thursday Alex and Oliver were sat up to the table eating their respective breakfasts like the good boys they are.   Alex finished his breakfast and got down.  Ollie had not finished his breakfast but decided that as anything Alex can do, he can do too, he would get down as well.  Not waiting for my approval, he scrabbled down, lost his footing and fell off his rather slippery high chair.   I picked up my wailing baby and saw to my horror that his mouth was full of blood, which is when I realised he'd clipped the corner of the chair next to him on his way down.  Then I saw that one front tooth was missing and my blood ran cold.  I've always liked that expression.  Now I know how it actually feels and it's not so pleasant. 

Apparently I'm not great in a crisis.  I rang Steve who was on his way to work, yelling at him to come home immediately and I rang my friend Emily and left a garbled message that Ollie looked like a pirate.  Then I crawled around the floor looking for the missing tooth and stripped Ollie down to shake his clothes out, but the tooth did not turn up.  I was reluctant to give him anything to drink in case it washed the tooth down his throat, but the sheer volume of blood pouring out meant I didn't really have a choice.

Four hours in children's A&E  and several x-rays later we found the missing tooth.  Not in his tummy as first thought, but rather jammed back up into his gum.  When the maxillofacial specialist pulled Ollie's top lip up and showed me where the tooth was sitting, it was as much as I could do not to throw up.  Even now, just thinking about how hard he must have hit the corner of that chair to send the tooth back up into his gum with such force, makes me feel sick.  I have to keep reminding myself that it could have been worse, it could have been an eye.

But while I was going weak at the knees with the horror of what had happened, and beating myself up with guilt, Ollie was a superstar.  Each department in the hospital we visited (and we visited many, sometimes more than once) was simply an opportunity to play with a new toy box and meet new people.  People who, to their credit, did not recoil in horror when the boy who looked like a curly haired angel smiled at them and turned into Sloth from the Goonies. 

A few days later we went back to the hospital for a follow up visit at the maxillofacial unit.  The good news is that so far there's no infection.  Now we've been discharged into the care of the dentist and we play a waiting game.  First we wait to see if the tooth performs its milk tooth magic and re-emerges by itself, which apparently is common.  If the tooth hasn't come back down within three months, well, it has to be surgically removed.  If the tooth comes back down and it's a different colour ... it has to be surgically removed.  If it comes back down in a different position and affects his bite ... it has to be surgically removed.  Then we wait some more to see if the trauma has damaged his permanent tooth bud, something we won't know until the permanent tooth makes an appearance in five years or so. 

I'm resigning myself to the fact that we probably won't see that tooth again, which is something that fills me with immense sadness, despite the fact that I know it's only a tooth and a milk tooth at that.  But we all want our children to be perfect and our smile is so very much a part of who we are and how other people percieve us to be.  I know it doesn't change who Ollie is, but it's going to take me a while to get used to it and to shed the feelings of guilt that I could have done something to prevent it. 

So here he is, home from the hospital and slightly battered and swollen - but still smiling.

Happy Anniversary

Just over a month ago (which is how long this post has been sitting in my draft box) Steve and I celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary.  I use the term "celebrated" loosely, I hasten to add.  We did not spend the entire day rejoicing in our love for each other.  Steve took the boys to Tesco and I got a bit of ironing done.  We're real romantic like that like. 

Then I decided a bit of wallowing and reminscing should be done.  I also thought it might be quite nice to post a wedding photo on Facebook, seeing as seven years ago I looked like this:

And this:

I'm not sure why I was scowling by the way, but I don't have many wedding photos on disc and this is the best I can do. 

Look at that, not a bat wing in sight.  And check out those itty bitty collar bones standing out in all their glory.  I was a bit on the skinny side. 

Damn.  I really was a bit on the skinny side.  Now I am not.  Now I look like this:

I'm the fat mum at the back pushing the cute boy on the swing.

For a minute there I felt a bit jealous about the skinny girl in the wedding dress with the collar bones.  Then Steve and I went out for dinner.  We did not go to a fancy restaurant and spend crazy money that we don't have on exquisite food - we went to this place. 

Next to us were a young and rather lovely couple clearly on a date.   We were at an all-you-can-stuff-down chinese buffet and the girl next to us pushed around a few cucumber slices from the crispy duck section and batted her eyelids coyly at the boy opposite. 

And that, my friends, is what it means to be married for seven years. 

Steve and I talked and laughed all evening -  mostly about our children, but that was ok, because they're ours so we weren't boring anyone else.  We unashamedly overate and on the way home I had to undo the top button of my jeans before I could breathe again. 

We've weathered the worst, Steve and I.  And if we're at this place now where we are content and comfortable with who we are, and still have a laugh, well, that's good enough for me. 

Toothless Wonder

Good grief.  Well that didn't take long. 

Tourettes Child

Alex loves Ollie.  He loves Ollie so much that he's cheerfully teaching him all he knows.  Especially all those rude words he thinks are so controversial at the moment.

The result of this loving teaching is a two year old who thinks its hysterical to shout these words at the top of his voice at the most inopportune moments. 

Yesterday in the supermarket we passed a rather large gentleman with a bushy beard and a noticably unwashed odour.  Oliver checked him up and down and his initial question was, "What DAT Mummy?!"

Me (whispering):  That's a man, sweetie.

Oliver:  No Mummy!  Ho ho HO!

Me:  No Ollie, not Santa, just a man.

We passed the man/Santa.  He didn't smell too fresh.

Ollie:  POO Mummy!  Yuck yuck POO!

Mortified, I scuttled away.  Unfortunately the man/Santa was perusing the same aisles we were.  We saw him again.

Ollie:  POO Mummy!  POO!  YUCK!  URGH!!

We scuttled in the other direction but by this time Oliver was on a roll and getting carried away.

Ollie:  POO!  POO!

People looked.  One lady smiled indulgently, feeding his enthusiasm.

Ollie:  POO Mummy!  POO!  POO!  BUM!!  BUM BUM BUM!!!

As Ollie's shouts echoed through the aisles of Sainsbury's we made a hasty exit.  I'm surprised we weren't escorted by the security guard for unruly behaviour. 

I'm trying to teach Ollie nice words to yell, like "chocolate" and "pinot grigio" but so far without success.  I think "poo" and "bum" are here to stay, at least for the immediate future.

Bugger.

Wibble Wobble

This afternoon, after getting tea for the boys ready, I wandered out into the garden to find Alex studying his reflection intently in the glass table top.

"Something's wrong with my teeth Mummy," he said.  "They're not in a line."

Not unduly concerned, I explained to him that no-one's teeth are completely straight and it's nothing to worry about. 

"But it's not right Mummy, look."

I looked, just to humour him and then realised something wasn't quite right.  One little tooth looked ... wrong.  Like it wasn't quite fitting properly.

I touched it.  It moved ever so slightly under my finger. 

Urgh!

I tried very hard not to leap back in disgust whilst trying not to heave. 

"Well, well," I said to Alex.  "Looks like you have a wobbly tooth."

I'm not sure how long these things take but I'm reliably informed it could be up to two weeks.  Two weeks!  We're only on day one and watching him wiggle it around in his mouth is already turning my stomach. 

So look your last on the cheesy camera smile.  It's about to get worse.

 

Tooth Watch here we come.

Beware the wrath of an angry mother

I don't really do public displays of anger.  Actually I don't really do public displays of anything, I'm your original wallflower, fading into the background with practised ease. 

But not when someone I'm paying  (in the words of their mission statement) to "help children build confidence" reduces my five year old son to a distraught weeping heap on the floor.  Ho no.  Then the red mist turns up and I become Embarrassingly Angry Mum.   The one you like to watch out of the corner of your eye whilst pretending to have no interest at all and being secretly relieved that it's her and not you.

For the last few months Alex has been attending a class loosely based on the principles of karate.   I love the ideals behind the classes and I think with the right teacher, it could have been great.  Unfortunately from the very beginning I've less than impressed with his teacher - let's call her Susan*.    Still, as Alex has embraced it with typical Alex enthusiasm we rolled with it and dutifully turned up each week.   In hindsight, it's a big ask of a 5 year old to attend a 45 minute class after a full day of school and expect him to concentrate all the way through.  But let me just say here that whilst the attention of the other boys his age wavers from the start, Alex begins by giving it his all.  It's usually only as the lesson progresses that he loses interest and finds it difficult to concentrate.   Up until recently there have also been older boys in the class who find it much easier to grasp what is required and have the requisite attention span, which unfortunately only highlights the apparent failings of the younger boys. 

Each week, the "best" boy in the class is given the dubious honour of Pixie* of the Week.  Needless to say, Alex hasn't often received this award, something he shrugs off with a vow to try harder next week.

Last week's session began as they always do.  Alex threw himself into it until he got too hot and tired to continue.  At this point, he explained to Susan that he was tired and he was hot and he was sweaty.  Did she offer any useful solution, like taking a breather or having a drink from his water bottle?  Did she heck.  She ignored him as she usually does when presented with a situation that comes right out of the Too Hard basket.  Naturally at this point Alex lost the will to live and did not take part and did not have fun and retreated into Alex World.   And in Alex's defence, he's only five years old, had just done a full day at school on a hot summer's day and he tried to explain to her how he was feeling before his behaviour deteriorated. 

So far situation normal.  But at presentation time, in front of all the parents, it all went hideously wrong.  Susan began by saying she was going to do something slightly different this week.  "This week", said Susan, "I'm going to begin by telling you who's NOT getting the Pixie Cup."  

We waited ... and the boys fidgeted.

 Alex!" said Susan.  "You did really well at the beginning..."

Alex misheard.  He thought he WAS getting the Pixie Cup and excitedly got up to collect it at which point my heart sank. 

 "Oh no Alex!"  said Susan.  "You're not getting it - you lost it.   You didn't pay attention, you didn't do as you were told and you're not going to get it now after all.  I'm going to give it to Bob* instead." 

Alex understandably burst into tears but instead of quitting while she was ahead Susan then bumbled on a bit longer trying to get Alex to understand exactly where he'd gone wrong and lost the bloody cup. 

At this point Alex broke down completely in a weeping heap of hot, sweaty, exhausted and embarrassed five year old boy.   

What in the name of all that's good and holy was she trying to achieve by this?!  If she expected Alex to nod in agreement and promise to do his best next week, she will have been sorely disappointed.  As much as I don't do public displays of very much, nor does my son.  A public dressing down in front of his peers and their parents, addressed to him alone, was pretty much Alex's worst nightmare.

That's when the red mist turned up.  I swept my weeping son into my arms, fixed my glare on Susan and I'm pretty sure I said something about her completely humiliating him in front of everyone but I can't be sure.  It's a bit of a blur now. 

I wonder if I might have overreacted slightly but looking back, I actually don't think I did.  The mission statement of the club includes building children's confidence and I fail to see how picking solely on Alex to highlight supposed bad behaviour is supposed to build his confidence in any way, shape or form.  I've written a bit of a snotty email to that effect and we'll see what happens. 

It's an unfortunate situation to find ourselves in because Alex has always been very enthusiastic about Pixies*, and ironically we originally enrolled him because we thought the disciple of karate would do him good.  But watching Alex singled out in front of his peers for public humiliation is not the kind of discipline I signed up for.   As his mum, I'm well aware of his personality and his failure to concentrate for the full 45 minutes of the class and yes, he hard life lessons to learn.  But he can learn them with the positive support of his family, his friends and his school teachers.  

As far as Alex is concerned, Pixies* has simply finished for the summer and I will quietly fester on his behalf.

* names changed to avoid any nasty recriminations.