I thought you were a female!!

This post topic has been thrifted from the blog of Widge, because after reading what she had to say I started thinking about all the times the Teen has thrown out random movie quotes that fit so perfectly with the conversation at hand; thus making her sounds even more clever/witty than she already (thinks she) is.

I don't know how she does it. I struggle to remember the names of my family members half the time. And she can drop a quote from a movie she watched once in Year 7. Although in saying that, she cannot for the life of her remember a single thing her maths teacher has said. Ever.

So anyway... The Lily Bug has a certain movie phrase she uses all the time. Regardless of the situation or the topic at hand or who she's even talking to at the time, and despite the fact she actually has no idea what it means.

"I thought you were a female!"  She gasps between bubbling peals of laughter, every time she feels like telling a witty joke. She knows we'll laugh at her for saying it (though sometimes the laughter can be a little forced. The joke IS getting old...) and it's particularly funny to us all when she says this to her big sister's boyfriend, or to her granddad. Funny because they don't know the origin of the joke, and their expression twitches a little with stunned mortification.  What is that three year old implying? Do I look like a woman?

Not so funny when said to random strangers. Hmm.

It's from Ice Age 3. That quote. The scene where Sid tries to milk a male buffalo.  I have to explain this to people sometimes, least they get insulted.  But we didn't bother explaining it to the Teen's boyfriend. It's funnier for us that way. ;)

This photo has nothing to do with the subject at hand by the way. It's just the Lily Bug having a craaaaazy moment. Well, I guess it kinda fits.

Guy Smiley Does the Happy Poo Dance

My life as a Domestic Goddess... It goes a little something like this:

Thursday afternoon and I pause in the kitchen to breathe in the delicious aroma of yogurt banana cake baking in the oven. *nom nom nom*

Turn and trip over the clever arrangement of children's toys, scattered over the floor like a special mummy booby trap. Joy!

Quick check on pre-schooler in bathroom who has developed mystery fever and is having a cool bath. Child is busy using toothbrush to clean black mould from the bit of lino that has peeled up from edge of shower stall. Child seems well then.

Screams of "god no! Oh yuck, it's in his hair!" can be heard from the lounge. Screams are getting louder. Closer. Too close. Damn it.  Bathroom door opens, toddler is thrust into unwilling mummy arms.

Toddler is wearing a new hat. A hat made of poo.  Toddler also has new shoes to match. And gloves. And lipstick it seems.

Feverish child is elbowed out of bath, poopy kid dropped into it. Feverish child gags.  Smells bad mum! Poopy kid grabs mummy dearest with gammy hands. Wants to get out of bath. And then back in. And then out. It's the Happy Poo Dance.

A song comes to mind. Join in with me if you will.

You put your left foot in, you put your left foot out, you put your left foot in and you shake it all about, you do the poopy dookie and you turn around, that's what it's all about...

Mummy smiles through gritted teeth and reminds herself that somewhere in the world, there are other mothers enduring similar scenarios. At least that's what that article in Next magazine said.

The cleansing is complete. A new smell begins to take the place of eau de poo.

Burnt cake.

FML.

You're lucky there's no photo to accompany this post. Instead I have drawn a lil' picture, outlining the event. Just in case you can't be naffed reading through my long-winded drivel.

Another One Bites the Dust...

I have broken another camera.

I'm sure it's not my fault. Okay, wait. I'm sure it's not entirely my fault. In my often-nonsensical line of reasoning, I think the fact that I've broken two cameras in under a year (and four cameras in five years) goes to show the blame does not rest squarely on my shoulders. Callie-logic dictates that a manufacturing fault must be held partly accountable.  For the last two cameras, at least.

Though, if my tendency to stash cameras in my back pocket and then sit on them has anything to do with the problem, then the best solution is a bigger camera. A Canon 1000D would be a nice place to start...  

One day.

Fix Priced Offer?

The oil leak is a horrific disaster and I'm not in any way trying to poke fun at the expense of marine wildlife and the ecosystem and the planet but... This was a witty (albeit predictable) find on Trade Me:

Mud Pies and Party Frocks

Today I decided it's almost pointless to try and dress the Lily Bug in anything "girly". This isn't a new realisation. We gave up with pretty frocks last summer, as they hampered her ability to climb trees, and although we managed to get her to wear them every now and then for the sake of a photo, they soon returned to the wardrobe in favour of more practical shorts and leggings.

It's a given that if she steps outside, she's gonna get dirty. Today was no different, and after an afternoon of trying (without success) to dissuade the munchkins from playing in the muddy trench by the front gate, I threw my hands up in defeat and grabbed the camera. For posterity of course.

Cue the outfit change first. Those pink pants and white sleeves have been kept stain-free thus far, but I think we pushed our luck today.

When the kids finally tired of the mud and consented to a shower, I shrugged and accepted once and for all that my girl will never be a girly girl. No wistful sighing over frilly dresses and pretty hair clips and nail polish and Barbies and all that other girly stuff...

Good riddance to that nonsense, I say. *rolls eyes*

And then I went and changed out of my mud-splashed jeans and into a skirt. A skirt, for the first time in a long time. The Lily Bug's eyes widened in amazement and she exclaimed "oh wow mum! That's so pretty!" and then she pointed to the black ruffles, "what are those?" While part of me was surprised to realise I have a near-four year old daughter who doesn't know what a ruffle is, I was even more surprised when she kinda sighed and added "I wish I could wear a pretty dress"

"But you have some!" I cried. "In the wardrobe!" And off I trotted to retrieve them.

"Fairy dress? Or party frock?" And I dropped the armload onto the floor. "Here, wear them all!"

And she did. First she held up the grey tutu Granny Greener sent up at Christmas. The one she had consistently removed last summer, as it hampered her tree climbing style. "Oh wow, pretty!" And she wriggled into it. Then she spotted the yellow and black striped costume dress with bumble bee wings. "Pretty!" And she put that on too. Over top. Then proceeded to twirl and dance around the room.

Guy Smiley wasn't to be left out. Much as he may have wished he could've been... Silly mum slipped a fairy dress over his head too (lad was too busy watching kids afternoon tv programs to notice - bahahaha!). Though, as soon as he looked down and realised he had a frock on, he began clutching and pulling at it, desperate to get the thing off him.

He may be super cuddly, gentle with furry animals and prone to carrying around a dolly from time to time, but he aint no fairy! He likes to be able to sit like a man!

Half a dozen outfit changes later, and the Lily Bug's eyes lit when she came across the yellow and white polka number. Yellow is her most favourite colour in the whole wide world, and she managed to keep this dress on for a good half hour before it got in the way of her jumping game and off it was flung.

No doubt about it, the Lily Bug's a bit of a tom boy who loves stomping through mud, climbing (everything) & playing with dump trucks. But it turns out that, from time to time, she also likes fairy costumes and pretty dresses. And, despite myself, I can't help but kinda smile a little at that.

(Linking up with Communal Global for this week's Tuesday's Around the World.)

Just Sayin'

Nothing says 'Have a good day' quite like Pastry Poos, Cheesy Dookies and Jam Slappers.

On another note: It's difficult to type when that inadequately cleaned up half-cup of cofffffffffee spilt the previous day has caused your favourite keys to stick. Time to pop them all off and clean 'em out properly... Then put them back in the wrong places and see if the rest of the family are as clever at touch-typing as me. *insert evil laughter*

Running the Gauntlet

Well, we survived the Parent & Child Show yesterday, I think. And I say 'I think' because I'm not entirely sure - I'm still waiting to get the feeling back in my right arm after lugging around Guy Smiley all afternoon. 12kg of toddler quickly felt like 20kg worth when it became a wriggling over-excited toddler who wanted to go in the opposite direction at all times.

As the Lily Bug waited with her dad for the Wot Wots to come on stage and hopped about in politely-contained excitement, I ran the Gauntlet of seemingly endless stalls catering for everything a parent and child could ever (and sometimes never) need, in chase of the wayward son who had turned into a whirling dervish. Eye contact with demonstrators was avoided least they try to engage me into feigning interest over their products - I couldn't afford to shift an eyeball from the little boy who was mimicking the crazy flight-path of an inflated untied balloon. Maybe it was bright lights and the bustling throng of people that had him all revved up and in search of adventure. Or maybe it was the "I Love Punk" tee he wore, making him yearn for chaos and anarchy.

Outside for some fresh air, my stress levels were kept in check by the realisation that I wasn't the only one with a cannonball child. Frazzled woman put themselves in time out while their children burnt off some excess energy on inflatable castles. Children squirmed and kicked as their parents tried to gently manhandle them to the parking lot. The surrounding sounds were not so much the laughter of children but rather the bargaining of mothers, keen to get their children home. "Come on Sally, I think there's some ice cream at home. You can have it if you'd just stop being a little..." "yes Josh you can have a doughnut, but only if we leave the bouncy castle now..." "right pick yourself up! I'm not carrying you!  Stop that crying everyone's staring, we have to go!

 Ah, the joys.



End note: I have realised I'm not a fan of mobile farms. The wee calf, goat and lambs gathered together in an anxious huddle as over-excited toddlers and preschoolers squeezed and prodded them, made me feel sad. It just seemed wrong for these wee creatures to be carted into a truck and driven to shows, galas and birthday parties for the entertainment (aka a farm-like experience) of city kids.

In saying that, I allowed the Lily Bug to gently pat the baby goat and snapped a photo of her doing so. I'm propagating the exploitation, which makes me a hypocrite... *sigh*

End note 2: J realised it's not always a good idea to attend a tightly packed event while wearing a Warriors jersey. Every three meters, someone wanted to stop and talk about the team. Endearing the first half a dozen times, but after that...