Thursday, November 29, 2007

The Naked Chefs


Yummy, yummy, yummy I got love in my tummy.
Man, I make cute babies.
I should breed for a living!

Only 3 More Sleeps

Monkey Senior is 4 on Tuesday or, in an engineered, it's your birthday today because it's easier on me and it falls on the weekend and your daddy's home and you're only 3 so I can tell you it's your birthday because you can't read a calendar kind of way, it's her birthday on Sunday.

3 More Sleeps.
Now, I know it's genetic (I started planning my parties about 364 days in advance) and I also know that I feed the psychosis with my 'it's nearly your birthday', 'wanna see what's in the goodie bags?', 'are you excited? I'm excited', 'who are you gonna invite to your party', only 10 more, 9 more, 8 more sleeps...' etc. etc. etc. But her excitement has reached epic proportions.

She talks about her birthday, quite literally, in her sleep - I went in to tuck her back in around 10pm last night, she smiled, rolled over and said:
"it's very nearly my special birthday. How exciting" without waking up!!!

Anyway, this is not helping my party planning compulsion and I am feeling overwhelmed by the need to meet her expectations for the best party ever. Hard enough living up to my own exacting standards without the added pressure of letting down my monkey princess.

Next year, I'm gonna seriously consider 'junglerama' or 'lollypops' (for about 10 seconds until I discount them out of hand for their poor white trash mystique and repuls-o-ramic clientèle and disgusting greasy food)and then I'm gonna do it all over again.

What am I gonna be like at her wedding???

Monday, November 12, 2007

Animal Cruelty?


And she wonders why he bites her!

Bert, the cat who was sold to us as the worlds 'most passive and loving breed of cat' (note to the uninitiated - don't believe everything you read on line) has mutilated every part of my baby's body.

The problem is... there is not a man or woman alive who would blame him.

Monkey Senior is drawn to drama. She loves the excitement of the wind up. Reminiscent of my sister and I with our father, who would goad him mercilessly until he lost his temper and then run and hide; Anna seems to be exhilarated by the few moments leading up to the attack.

In fairness to her, Bert is boring 99% of the time. He eats, he sleeps and he meows at the door. None of these things are fun for a three year old. It's just that I am worried that she will be taken off us by some well meaning social worker who thinks she is full of whatever that German word is that means world sadness and is self harming.

She told my mother the other day that all her 'skin used to look like this' - here she pointed to a small area of unmarked flesh on her belly - 'until Bert came along and now it looks like this' - here she points to the huge scratches that run over the rest of her tiny frame.

She acts out the same kind of scenario with her cousin. He plays on his own or watches the telly. Very independent wee man. She desperate for him to notice her irritates the living crap out of him until he smacks three shades of shit out of her. The fun? the moments just before his fist connects with her head, when he is paying her attention.

What vital parenting skill are we lacking? What have we failed to instill?

I am fretting that she will grow up to be one of those women who chooses abusive boyfriends because the making up is so great.

Maybe we should have bought her a fish!




Thursday, November 1, 2007

knackered


So tired! The sort of tired that makes you want to cry. The sort of tired that you feel in every molecule of your body. Bone tired. Dog tired (dogs are very energetic though - except big fat Labradors).
Big fat Labrador tired!
Have no excuse.
Feel old!

Keep wanting to lie down and go to sleep. Want to beg monkey senior for peace and quiet and an hour uninterrupted on the couch.
Monkey senior has sixth sense about tired adults. It affects her volume control and her ability to do anything for herself. She becomes incapable of watching anything on the T.V. for more than three seconds and screams for assistance in rolling over.
It also changes her voice from cute and funny into 'ultra-whiney-hideous-screechy' mode.

Think I may have malaria (the kind that you get in New Zealand that has no symptoms except tiredness). Maybe have Tsetse fly illness. Not sure. Know it must be very bad, very serious illness and not just lazyness.

Bed is still unmade. House is unhoovered, repeat UNHOOVERED! All is not well in my universe. There are crumbs on the bench and I don't care. Would gladly crawl in top of crumbs and sleep on bench.
Even yucky, poor white trash stylie, unmade bed (surely only trailer park residents still have unmade beds at 1.47pm) looks appealing enough to climb into.

Must motivate self. Am nodding off at computer.

Will hoover.