undecipherable play

I really ...

... couldn't tell you what's happening here.

And I'm a little afraid to ask.

gender bender

In keeping with the dichotomy which is this child, the two central tropes in Sunday's life at the moment are
a) how she CAN'T WAIT to have her babies and
b) how she's actually a boy, not a girl.

The boy thing has been around for some time. She loves a pretty frock, likes to think 'pink is her favourite colour' like her sister, but lest you be very careful of using the wrong gender pronouns or she'll rake you over hot coals.
She was having a vaccination shot last week and afterwards the nursing sister declared her to be 'such a brave girl'. Both Friday and I looked up in horror - nooooooo - but it was too late. 'I'm not a girl!' Sunday shrieked as the poor nurse floundered, eventually doling out lollipops to lighten the mood and commenting instead on their 'lovely blonde hair' until Friday told her 'my daddy's black' (what?) and I saw the woman's eyes glaze over with confusion as she ushered us out of her office declaring we'd been the 'most fun she'd had all day'.
In the car on the way home Friday muttered, 'I meant Daddy's hair is black', while Sunday rambled on about how she was a nice lady but 'a bit silly to not see that I'm a boy hey Mum?'

We indulge the phase, knowing from earnest conversations that she does really know what's what, but just chooses to live this fantasy for now. And as a child who really, really wanted a willy for my 5th birthday I'm okay with letting this one play itself out.

However the baby thing has been around for even longer. Friday had no interest in dolls as a smallie, but Sunday's maternal urge is strong. We all recall how when she'd just started crawling she'd collect dishtowels around the kitchen and clutch them to her chest, patting them hard and saying 's, s, s'.
She has a small but beloved collection of dolls, named Eyeball, Cucumber, Zebareba and Su'Lala (I couldn't make this shit up if I tried), and the subject of babies (growing them, birthing them and raising them) occupies a lot of her conversation.
For now she's happy playing with her dolls, but beware statements such as: 'You're such a good Mum.'
Oh no, if asked she's a big brother, a father or a granddad to this special bunch of weirdly-named kids.

So it was heart-breaking to watch, yesterday morning as her big eyes welled up with tears, the dawning comprehension that the two dreams had no clear intersect.
Chatting away about how she's a big boy, she suddenly had a moment of clarity and started sobbing, 'But if I'm a boy how will I have my babies Mum?'
My eyes teared up too. It's a sad thing watching the shattering of a dream, however nonsensical it may seem.

She tried to convince me that 'some boys can have babies' but I squashed that one pronto. There are limits to how much fantasy I consider it healthy to indulge. We chatted about adoption instead.
In conclusion she decided that when she was ready to have babies she might decide to be a girl again after all.
You go my boy.

My big boy, in a fairy frock, holding his her baby up to see out the bird hide.

planet kids, muizenberg

I'm not a fan of indoor play places (sometimes I think I'm such a parenting grinch), but Planet Kids in Muizenberg is truly an exception.

A beautiful building, huge room, high ceilings, wooden floors and lots and lots of creative, original and stimulating play to be had.

Exciting sit-on slide, takes kids up to 35kg.

All manner of ride-on's. These padded platforms with wheels and some gorgeous little wooden cars too.

Lovely wooden puzzles and a couple of fooz-ball tables for some calmer fun.

Great imaginative 'ball wall' - with lots of different sized balls and holes to lob them through.

Plus, two indoor jumping castles - one is a UFO with aliens inside! A corner for smaller kiddies, comfy seating for the grown-ups, coffee, an outside jungle gym etc for sunny days, a fun collection of party stuff for sale and a dedicated room for birthday parties.
What's not to love?

FEAT. socks

So ... I bought husband some socks for his birthday last month. Amongst other things okay? Sheez.

I bought him some fancy-pants socks from Feat. sock co. - a wee bamboo/cotton blend nod to hipsterville and all that he ain't.
His birthday was in mid-July, and last week I noticed one of the socks had a hole in the toe.

So I thought what the heck, and sent them a mail kindly inquiring whether they'd send someone round to darn it?
That was on Friday.
On Monday replacements were hand-delivered to our front door.

Considering he wears biker boots all day they gently suggested he try some from their more rugged cotton/nylon blend range. Probably not a bad plan.

I like this kind of service. I like supporting local brands who take this kind of pride in their reputation. I even like their little sock movie (how cute are those scallop-edged socks for girls?).

And I thought seeing as I have a modest public platform here, I'd thank them publicly. Thanks Feat!

gifting money

A close friend observes Ramadaan and we've shared many an indulgent pancake breakfast to celebrate Eid al-Fitr with her family.

In keeping with tradition all the kids receive a little cash gift and at first it felt odd for me, giving small children money. I've generally avoided cash altogether with my kids - apart from some shiny coins from the tooth fairy and the like. We don't do pocket money yet, and although we talk about money - how we earn it and how we spend it - we haven't gotten into saving it etc yet. I'm sure we should soon.

Over the years I've looked for ways to make Eid money playful, which felt a bit more fun than just handing over cold cash.

My 'go to' has often been the origami shirt - really quick and easy with a couple of presentation options.

This year I tried something new, and although they proved really hard to photograph, these cash 'n confetti balloons were fun to make and got a good response from the kids.

Tip 1: I rolled the notes up and secured them with elastic bands a few days before so they'd stay fairly tightly rolled once in the balloons (I removed the bands before inserting them).
Tip 2: Make sure the parents of the kids you're giving these to have a hand-held hoover, or a relaxed attitude to confetti being strewn about the house. It's a celebration after all!

If you were celebrating, hope you had a good Eid, and if not - a very fine long weekend!

small girl sads

Sunday is loving school these days. We went through a rough patch towards the end of last term (when she was so deaf poor thing) and then a rocky re-entry at the beginning of this one, but now we're in a rhythm (I'm sure being able to hear has made all the difference!), and she's loving it.

When I collected her yesterday she and her friend Max were waiting for his Mum and I, desperate to ask whether Max could come and play at our house one afternoon soon.
We made a plan for next week and Sunday was so pleased. I realised it'll be the first time she'll have an independent friend here, not one of my friend's kids or one of Friday's friends - Sunday's own friend from Sunday's own school coming to play at her own house. It's kind of a big deal.

She couldn't wait to tell Friday. 'She's going to be so 'sescited Mum! She's going to jump up and down!', couldn't wait to share her big news with her big sister.

But ... she didn't get a chance.

Friday burst out of her classroom, ponytail and backpack swinging, 'Mum, Mum, Amara says her Mum is going to phone you to ask if she can come for a sleepover on the weekend. A SLEEPOVER!! Please Mum say yes, please please please.'

And so Sunday's first playdate gets trumped by Friday's first sleepover. And as much as I tried to balance the levels and monitor who shared their exciting news with Dad first and make as much of each thrilling life event as the other, I could tell Sunday was deflated.

Does having a big sister mean one always has to share the limelight? I don't know, I don't have one. But it's a little heartbreaking to watch.

big girl talk

I really don't know how people with lots of kids (like, more than two) do it. Trying to find time for them all when one, or some, of them are more demanding of that time than others.

Since she could crawl Sunday's been ace at picking up that Friday and I are about to have a meaningful conversation, and scooting over to insert herself between us and have AN EVEN MORE MEANINGFUL ONE ABOUT ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AND MUCH MUCH LOUDER.

One does always seem to have more one-on-one time with the youngest as it is. She's home with me at least one morning a week, not yet going off on play dates by herself, and still much more physically clingy.
And it's great, it's lovely to have the time to spend with her.

But my big girl needs me too.

A year ago Friday found a tampon in my bag and asked me what it was. I was quite pleased with myself for replying that it was 'very hygienically sealed cotton wool' - an honest answer which neatly evaded any discussions about bleeding from the vejayjay or inserting foreign bodies there, both concepts I felt needn't be introduced to a barely 5 year old.
But today she found some again, and this time she asked, 'What are these really Mum?'.
So this time I told her.
In between Sunday prattling on about a hundred unrelated things and trying to climb on my back and get Friday to teach her the words to a song about a scarecrow.
This is not how I'd envisaged having these woman-to-woman type conversations with my daughters.
Plus, I'm bargaining on only having to go through this stuff once, so I need Friday to have grasped the concept well enough to pass it on to her younger sister (if and when she ever stops to listen) with the least possible terrifying misinformation.

Later, it being a TV watching day, she asked for The Lorax, but I persuaded her to watch David Attenborough instead. It's been a while.
So they watched The Great Tide, and when those sardines started running and the thousands of dolphins came a-leaping and the gannets were dive-bombing and the sharks were circling and Sir David himself was almost hysterical with the drama of it all, she turned to me with eyes shining and said, 'I'd forgotten how exciting this is!'

This evening we put the girls to bed separately. Even though they share a room we split them up for bed time and I lay in my bed with Friday and answered some questions about menstruation and sharks and how movies are made and what David Attenborough is probably really like.
I read her a chapter of Laura Ingalls Wilder and then inevitably had to lie with her to ward off panthers as she fell asleep.

And while she dozed off I held her tight (that is until she muttered that she 'couldn't breathe') and thought about how my big girl needs me for many things.
She needs me to have big girl talks but she also needs to me to remind her that she still loves David Attenborough when the call of loud and colourful Hollywood is becoming so much louder, to sing silly scarecrow songs together, to acquaint her with the literary friends who saw me through adolescence and I hope will be there for her too.

And you know what, I need her. I need to have big girl talks and sing silly songs and be reminded that nature is awesome and boys are gross and lipstick is only really cool when it's on so thick you can't grin. I need to find more one-on-one time for all that.

daddy play dough

This is what happens when Daddy gets asked to make play dough.

Have I mentioned how much we love play dough?