January 2009 Archives

Wee ping pong ball needed

Dear Finn

I'd just like to say I'm sick of wee. Specifically, wee that for some unknown reason seems to dribble down the side of the toilet bowl and puddle on the floor. The wee that seems to form droplets in the weirdest of places. The wee that I can't even blame your Dad for. YOUR wee.

You're pretty good at taking yourself off to go wees. You have your toddler step. You manage to hold off your weeing until all clothing is out of the way. You know how to shake at the end. Having mastered all this, your focus of concentration is now on anything but weeing. The gaze is unsteady, the verbal commentary is random, the hands are not on the job...the wee is going everywhere.

Your Dad, upon his bowed head being ranted on about this unsatisfactory turn of events, said maybe it was time for the ping pong ball. I don't know how he manages it every time. Makes me stop in mid rant with a few choice words. I'm all like whhaaat??? He's like, you know the ping pong ball, give him something to aim at, weeing on ping pong balls is fun. HE and his brothers apparently had a ping pong ball for years. And I'm still a bit whhaaat?

Your Dad explains to me that boys sometimes get bored. And I wonder how they can possibly get bored with something that takes 20 seconds. What's to get bored with? Obviously not having the required appendage means that I'm missing the crucial neurons for the proper understanding of its precise functioning when it comes to mundane tasks.

Your Dad explained to me that in Amsterdam they have a fly etched on the back of the urinals to give men something to aim at. Apparently reduced spillage enormously. Just when you think you know how simple men are...

So perhaps the introduction of a ping pong ball will make my life slightly easier. My immediate question was doesn't the ping pong ball get um....soiled? He was like nah, doesn't seem to. Like he would know. Given that his mother is a very dirt-aware person, and he seems somewhat cleaning phobic himself...well when it comes to toilets anyway, I really don't want to think about the answer.

One ping pong ball.
One pair industrial thickness rubber gloves.
Many many replacement ping pong balls.

love Mum.

Look at me, I can fly swim

Dear Finn

It has been an interesting Christmas and New Year. Fairly quiet really. We have all been a bit ill. Some sort of nasty virus which starts off with hot and cold running snot, followed by a mouthful of ulcers and conjunctivitis. A wonderful start to 2009. You yourself have fallen under a small bout of tonsillitis...and Holly well she just gets more Holler. I'm assuming the constant coughing up of green slime is the cause of her recently less than sunny temperament.

The start to 2009 has been much better in other ways. The RED RACE CAR was all you ever wanted and more, and on the 4th January is still operational and in one piece despite numerous high speed crashes and other quite unexpected magical tricks that only you knew Lightning McQueen could perform.

As well as the RRC you received a couple of flotation arm bands to help with your swimming confidence. This has been a bit of a bugbear of mine, as I look around at kids your own age and younger and see how confident they are in the water and how much you seemed to have regressed since we stopped taking you to swimming lessons when Holly was born. We never really got ourselves organised enough to work out how to both entertain Holly and accompany you into the pool and it has been to your detriment I think. You love the water, but constantly show great fear with being anywhere even remotely out of your depth. On the plus side it's probably great for that whole prevention of drowning thing, but for a kid in Aussie it's a huge necessity to know how to swim and to be safe and confident in the water.

Hence the floaty arms. First you refused to put them on. Then you put them on and refused to move from the swimming pool steps. You managed to somehow make yourself not touch the bottom in about two inches of water and shouted out that "Hey, I'm floating!" You had a huge panic attack if I let go of you with one hand, while still holding you with the other. It was all rather frustrating.

But your New Year's Resolution was obviously set. From the 31st December 2008 when you refused to countenance any suggestion of floating in water that you couldn't just stand up in ankle deep, to January 1st 2009 when you struck out across the pool by yourself following your Dad and refusing any help...If I hadn't seen it happen I really wouldn't have believed it was true. The turn around was so back-flip, so 180, it might as well been some mini politician I was marvelling at rather than you.

But you were so proud of yourself.
Your smile was as bright as the sun and as wide as your mother.

We are so proud of you too.
You can do it.

Mum and Dad