We have moved

There I said it. It is done. Did the suspense kill you?

We have finally done it. We have spread our wings and flown the in-laws coop.

We are living it up at Phillips. Our own little semi-detached unit heaven.

It was all very exciting until we entered the front door, trailer load of "stuff" in tow and found the previous tenant hadn't cleaned. In fact I would hazard a guess the previous tenant hadn't cleaned anything in a good 6 months.

Not to worry. The last week (though quiet on the blog) has been filled with wall washing and oven scrubbing and tears over how much dirt and muck their is to clean. But joy and triumph and great accomplishment after each room is completed.

I am horribly high on cleaning products, but found that sugar water was clearly sent straight from Heaven when it comes to wall washing.

I shall be finished I suppose by tomorrow. Then life ( and the blog) will return to normal and I suppose I shall continue to story of like to love.

Just for you Collette. I know how you swoon over Kyle's gallantry ;)

X

Wangling Life Boy style.

I thought you should know.

Boy was doing some creating today. Some serious, scrunch up the paper and throw it over my shoulder if its not right creating.

After this picture was taken he stole a permanent pen I was using to label boxes with (oo there is a hint as to what the big news is right there...)

Anyway, he drew all up his arms with that permanent pen.

And  I laughed and laughed and didn't feel one ounce of guilt because I was busy and thats what happens sometimes.

Plus.... eventually... it will wear off.

As we get older.. together. I am realising more and more that sometimes I am a terribly neglectful Mumma. I feed him nuggets and chips two nights in a row because I am busy, I turn the T.V on and sit him down in front of it for half a day because I am busy.

But thats O.K. That's ok because I know, most of the time, I am not super super busy and most of the time I am playing and cooking healthy food and being the best Mumma I can be.

So its ok to have a little rest.

Because tomorrow, tomorrow it will ALL be worth it :)

Like a thief in the night

Something big is about to happen....

Im a big Boy now.

Since Boy is an almost big boy now this means he is almost big enough to start learning about keeping his body safe.

He has been noticing he is a boy and Mumma is a girl. Especially since he has started potty training.

This got me thinking.

We will soon be having a FHE lesson on how our body is a temple. But I wanted something more helpful to help open dialogue about our private parts.

I have known about this book for a while.

Today, it arrived in the mail.

Some of the statistics are pretty scary. We are trying to teach Boy to "Ask Mumma & Dadda" before he goes anywhere with anyone - where we might not be able to see him.

We are also implementing an "open doors" rule because we want him to be safe.

The good thing is that he will take in as much as he needs and understands when we have our FHE.

It is scary to think he is big enough to understand even a little of these things but good that we can teach him 

"from head to toes, I say what goes"

Update, update..update

An update from potty training central.

Day 3 is completed. Boy has taken one 30 min car trip with no troubles. He has wee'd in the potty 7 consecutive times in a row and even attempted a poop.

We trust him on the carpet and on the couch with undies on.

Only two accidents in three days and we are still excited about our sticker and chocolate every time we go potty.

We also have a potty dance. It involves a lot of gyrating and bum wiggling - it's cute when a 2 year old does it.

Tomorrow at church we are going with nappy pants just in case but hopefully we can have a dry day.

Then on Monday we will be going to day-care nappy free. Yippee.

From loke to love #2

O.K, so I have finally gotten around to doing the next part.

If you would like to read part one of from loke to love click here or to start from the very beginning click here.

n.b: This is great therapy. Try it some time.

The language of loke

from loke to love part two

I have had the worst day. Work has been tiresome. I hate being placed with clients bigger than myself. I love my job, but it does my back in pushing and coaxing children twice my size into eating and drinking and just generally doing everyday things that we all take for granted.

Seriously, they should take into consideration height and weight when putting you in charge of clients.

I am home. I have wandered aimlessly in through the interior door after parking in the garage.

I am ready for war.

Two days in a row I've asked Kyle (who has been bunking up the road in Oma and Opa's caravan - but eating and entertaining himself at my house) to clean up the kitchen.

He doesn't have three jobs and full time school.

He has only just moved.. but if you're "in between" careers thats fine. If you're sitting playing playstation all day and not lifting a finger. Thats not.

Since Dad died we have been a matriarchal family. Girls don't leave the seat up, they don't eat and leave food lying around for days and they definitely. Most definitely. Don't play playstation ALL day.

I am beginning to wonder if I will ever see the bottom of the kitchen sink again.

I note, the empty packet of chips left on the lounge room floor and make my way to the kitchen.

The sink is full. Not with clean dishes. Dirty ones. 

What has he done in the last 6 hours?

I am stalking around the house, waiting to pounce on him.

He isn't in the kitchen, the lounge. I check the bathroom..

He isn't there either. I shrug and go to check outside on the back deck. It's March 18th. There is no way he could be sun-baking. But he could be hiding. He should be. He is in trouble.

I slide open the laundry door to go out the back door and stuck to the glass of the back door (yes, that makes sense if you haven't been in our old house)is a note.

Jess,

If you love me for eternity, put on a nice dress and meet me at City Park. (p.s: I'm looking good)
                            Kyle (no middle name) Andrews

My heart starts pounding in my chest. I hate surprises. I thought he was putting it off. An engagement. The ring I had chosen.. It was big. It was expensive and rightly and deliberately so.

It would take every last cent he had to buy it for me. I knew that. But I picked it anyway. Because I wanted him to mean it. I needed to know that he was giving me everything and to Kyle. Money.. it was his deal breaker.

He had been living off his savings for the last month after he moved down while he figured out his next move. I knew that the last of it was important to him.

He wanted to be financially independent, set up.

I wanted him to have faith. Faith in me and Heavenly Fathers plan for him. A clean slate, a fresh start - a new home, hopefully soon a new job and (I hoped) a new wife.

The ring would be an unequivocal gesture of his love for me and it would be the shining, glistening example of it for the rest of the world to see.

Everyone would know I was his.

I want it to be HUGE, like his love for me and mine for him.

I want to look down at it and remember the love we have. 

I want it to be the symbol of our forever.

(yes, I still suffer from ring pride)

______________________________________________

It seems like forever, we have known each other for ever. But really its only been just over two months. 

I am waiting patiently. Praying. That he will say he loves me. I will not...cannot say it first.

We have talked about how he wants to move to be closer. How he wants to start a career after working aimlessly for a year after his mission.

He tells me he loves me. I hide a grin and add that I love him too. That I will support any decision he makes.

I talk about how it is important for him to do something he loves. He talks about how it is important to earn money. Lots of money.

Later, he talks about the future. Us.

I talk about how he needs a job that will surround him with good people who will uplift him and encourage him. He talks about how important it is to earn money. Lots of money.

Later, he talks about marriage. Us.

I talk about how he needs a job that will enable him to be home and fulfill any future callings. He talks about how important it is to earn money. Lots of money.

He moves down. He gets a job at the fish shop while he figures it out. I make him walk through the house on newspaper straight to the bathroom every time he comes over after work. I hate the smell of fish.

I tell him not to become a fish monger.

read part three here

Potty & Chocolate

The last few weeks Boy had lost the excitement for making it to the toilet ( with a potty attachment) We were having a lot of accidents... LOTS of accidents.

We saved on nappies but went through a whole bunch of paper towel.

So we went to the shop and he chose a potty ( the most expensive one mind you ) which worked for a while because he would just sit on it and watch the "b.t" (t.v) but that wasn't really training, more timing.. He sat on it so long he would just wee in it by chance.

Then he started refusing to sit on even the potty. I know he has bladder control because he doesn't wee for hours at a time but he was being stubborn, stubborn, stubborn!

I was doubting the decision to start and wondering if he was big enough to do it and decided to give it one last attempt.

So we went out yesterday afternoon and got some supplies. Made a chart, coloured it in and purchased some stickers ( and here's the clincher) a jar full of chocolate. Boy will do anything for chocolate. Even wee on the potty two times in a row! See there...last night he went before bed and today he went when he woke up this morning.

As soon as I put him on he wee'd and then looked up at me and said "chocolate ...sticker?"

So now we know. He WAS just being stubborn.

Spring

"hoo hoo" he sings as he watches giggle and hoot at the end of the theme song, then my heart melts.

"sing, sing" he says as we "wooh wooh" on the train to Melbourne, then my heart melts too.

Things are slow. We are slowly getting better. Boy has a huge mosquito bite on his cheek. Easy scratching access and it bleeds and I scold and tell him not to scratch it. But "itchee Myma" .
He also has a cough still. A terrible chesty cough, but it doesn't bother him too much during the day. Just at night, so we've propped the end of his bed up and he is practically sleeping upright so he doesn't need to cough as much.

Spring is here. The weather is warmer and all ready I can feel my spirits lifting.

It is liberating without a phone. My social life is dead. Wanna hang out? You have to Facebook me a few days in advance so we can organise anything. But it's nice. It's nice to not stress "oh no! where is my phone, did I leave it at the counter " all the time. It's nice to go out and not have it buzzing Facebook notifications and SMS notifications tempting to tear me away from the now.

We play croquet on the back lawn with the set Gran and Auldyin bought last Christmas. We play "sanit" with the sandpit and drive around the deck like crazy on the bike.

It is spring. It is warm. It is love.

It's matching pajamas and thoughts of camping and roasting "mellows" on the fire.

Funny how being horribly sick with Gastro can help you appreciate the small things when you're well.

I'll leave you with last nights dinner.. YUM. Seriously, yum.

Sick sticks

It's 4 am, we have had the 24 hour bug hit at our place. I can tell you, it wasn't looking pretty. Of course. This time around I was hit the worst. Hunna got it for about 6 hours and Boy just seemed to have a little " I cough". The house is a sham, I can't sleep because I've slept away the last day and a half. But we all feel better and that's the main thing.

I can't look or think about food without feeling sick again, so instead I'm looking at happier times. Earlier this week..

This Boy makes me laugh. Even when we are all sick.

He came up to me, half way through yesterday. Gave me a blow kiss and a "hi" before taking a towel. For "Dadda" who was in the shower. It's nice to know, even if we are sick that he will still be there to hand us towels and rub us on the back and kiss us on the forehead.

Just like we do for him.

The small house project continued.

Here is another idea that has been developing over time.

I recently picked up a copy of TRUPPS WHOLEFOOD KITCHEN the book is written by Walter and Dorota Trupp. (chef and nutritionist)

To be honest with you a lot of the stuff in the book is a bit scary. Like a lot scary. Some of it you sorta know.. some of it you assumed. But when its written down in cold hard facts its a little harder to ignore.

For some time we have been dreaming of having our very own little vegetable patch. The patch is going to be a permanent fixture in our small house project... and a couple chooks to the side would be nice too.

See the philosophy is that we become an organic family, we grow and eat our own food. Therefore reducing our carbon foot print and boosting health because we know that the fruit and vegetables haven't had anything added to prolong their life or make them look shiny and new. (and saving money too!)

It also means we will eat more seasonally. Eating seasonally is one of my very most favourite things to do. (don't ask me why)

Reading the book confirmed my ideas on growing and eating our own produce.

But there was something I had never thought of. Something that struck me as something that I could do today.

It was the section on Plastics.

TO be specific - chemicals in plastics.

Now the book is definitely not a doomsday book filled with the horrors of slowly killing ourselves. But it does give some shocking facts on the food industry in Australia and the way things are labelled.

Here is an excerpt from the book (page 241)

"The mainstream food and beverage industries pump their drinks, condiments and other foodstuffs into plastic bottles/containers rather than glassware because plastic is lighter and cheaper to produce. While glass can be sterilised using hot water and steam, plastic cannot as high heat will destroy it. So plastic containers are sterilised using a toxic chemical called dimethyl dicarbonate (E242), which kills any bacteria before dissolving, leaving an empty container that is then filled with food and drink. Because this chemical has fulfilled its disinfection purpose before actual food/drink is introduced, food and beverage producers are not required to list it on ingredients labels."

So if I don't eat Tim Tams because they use palm oil which destroys the natural habitat of Orangutans and if I don't use Estée Lauder because they test on animals why am I purchasing things in plastic containers that could potentially be harmful to myself?

So I have made a change. Just a simple change to the way I shop. Instead of buying my olive oil in a plastic container I choose the ones in glass. I pick things up that are in foil or paper over plastic containers. But not only that.. I have started stocking up on large glass containers to store my food in..

(Jars purchased from here)

It will take time but I haven't found it too difficult at all. Of course I will probably never be able to remove plastic from my life completely but I am more aware of what I am putting in my body and how it will affect me, so I can make better choices.

(more small house project to come.)

The gig

Its a tough gig being a Dad.

Here's my Dad and my older sister on her Baptismal day.

I never really knew how tough it was for Dads until I had Boy. Until now.

My Dad. He was my main care giver as a young child. Although, I know Mum would've loved to play that role. Financially, it was better for her to maintain full time work. This meant, I spent some days at his feet while he worked at Small Engine Services and some days at Nan's house (fascinated by the silver dial that would turn her T.V on with a pop) 

Later, I would spend my days going from school to school as he sold books. Playing in the playground while students studied.

Even later, I would spend my days going from house to house, chatting to the little old ladies he mowed lawns for and drinking lemonade in the shade while I watched him work.

No matter where he was, no matter what he was doing. I loved to spend time with my Dad.

He would call me rabbit and tell me I had a mind like a steel trap. 

He would smell like grass and grease and sweat and work.

He was kind and gentle and had the best belly laugh I had ever heard (until I heard Boy belly laugh I thought I would never hear something which gave me so much joy again.)

I thought this, because when I was 13- A few weeks before my grade 8 year of high school was to start- I woke up one morning to a terrible commotion.

Mum. She had that tone in her voice. The one that tells me something is wrong. I lay there. Still as a stone in my bed. While I listened as she made phone calls and then the ambulance people arrived.

It seemed like forever before she came in. And I knew, I knew he had gone from the way she looked at me. Before she even spoke.

At 13 I buried my father. It is a terrible tragedy no matter what your age when you loose a parent. But at such a tender age I had to experience those feelings of grief and disillusionment.

I had relied so heavily on the infectious happiness and energy that Dad had and now I was on a journey to find that happiness on my own. He had made it look so easy.

Slowly overtime I forgot what the prickles on his face felt like or the sound of his lips smacking together puckering up for a wet kiss.

I forgot about the times he forgot to pick me up from school, or the times he was grumpy. Because generally, consistently - he was a kind, caring, involved father.

But what I don't have trouble remembering. Is the way he made me feel. How he made me feel like I was a princess. Like I was important and loved. How he believed in me.

Being a Dad is a tough gig.

You have to provide and work for the family. Long, hard hours to keep us going. Then come home and try to have enough left in the tank to provide love, and caring. Understanding when we are under the weather.

You have to balance being a PEERant and being a parent. Knowing when to have fun and when to be serious. When to guide and when to listen.

You beat yourself up about stuff because you are genuinely trying.

When you slip up you're devastated.

So here is what I want to say to you Hunna. Don't beat yourself up because you were short tempered that time or accidentally rough that other time.

Boy will remember the things you do consistently. He will remember the way you make him feel.

He will remember that his father was a good and honest man who raised him to be a good man too.

He will remember the times you opened the door for his mother and tapped her on the bottom as she passed.

He will remember the love that exudes from you when you play silly with him.

How you always give him the last tidbit of whatever you're eating.

How you ran into the waves to catch him when he was in the wrong place and was surprised and scared from getting wet on a cold winters afternoon. Getting sea water all up your trousers and laughing with Mum who is safely dry and ran in the other direction as the wave came into shore.

How he was sad and you embraced him and stroked his back to make him feel better.

How you laughed with him and then at him because his laugh is funnier than any joke.

These are the things he will remember. These are why you are the best Husband and Father for us.

This is why we love you.

Happy Fathers Day Hunna.

Sweet is our forever.