Powered by Blogger.

Ch 44: Don’t mention the C word

As we find ourselves thrown amongst the trials and tribulations of toddlerdom, dear husband and I have recently found ourselves dealing with the most random and unexplained challenges neither of us could have ever predicted nor possibly avoided.

At any hour of the day or night we find ourselves scratching our heads with unexplained and perplexed looks on our fatigued faces muttering nothing more than...
Wha? Hang on, say what? Did he just..?
No, he didn’t. Yes he did.
Ohh, what now. Not again. Really?
Let me fill you in.

Firstly, picking dry snot from your nose and subtly wiping it on your mother’s neck is not cool Toddler B. Not cool at all. You could at least eat it like most other two year old boys. Or like your father.
Secondly, waking at 3.00am, wailing then heaving uncontrollably whilst running away from comforting cuddles and hiding in various corners of the house does not make for happy parents in the morning. Then acting as if nothing had happened whilst you inhale your vegemite toast a few hours later does not fool us. Neither does your breaming cheesy grin and big wide eyes. Dammit. Yawn.

Thirdly, we are so thrilled you love sharing with your favourite pet in the world, Buddy Dog. But offering him some of your raison toast, dangling the fluffy sugary bread and sultanary goodness over his drooling mouth, letting him lick the baked delight yet then pulling it away and devouring it yourself is also not cool. And very unhygienic and makes for one unhappy and rather peeved off Buddy Dog.
That aside there are also lots of fun moments. I’m sure I will write about them all one day. Really, I will. Once I wipe the snot off from all my clothes.

One slight issue we could never predict and still are yet to accommodate for is an obsession like no other. Sure, there’s been The Wiggles, bottles of milk, sultanas was up there for a while and of course his favourite comforter, Flat Teddy.
Yet this one has hit us for six. In a big, comforting, sugary, yellowish and sometimes banana custardy kind of way.

Yes. I said it. The C word.


Damn you custard!! We used to be friends!
Your once off treat for ‘something different’ and ‘fun’ has turned out to be a dairy infused nightmare!

Picture this.
2.00am: heaving child, distressed, upset possibly from a bad dream. Who knows? We sure as hell still don’t have a clue! Cuddles not working, won’t settle down. Wriggles out from cuddle. AP and dear husband exchange glances. Tired, over it kind of glances. Our eyes follow Toddler B.

Toddler wraps himself around the fridge door. Heaving. Still. Wipes tears from face. Wails ‘Ca ca’. No. Gawd No. No Custard. No more. Toddler B Screams as if world has suddenly fallen apart. ‘CAAA CAAA’. Noooo. I said No. It’s all gone, remember that litre of the stuff you inhaled this afternoon? It’s all gone!
Ok, a litre might be a slight exaggeration…but you know. I’ve got a tale to write here ok?

Toddler B throws himself on floor. Continues world ending behaviour, desperate for the yellow stuff.
2.53am: AP: ‘just give him the fricken custard!! I don’t care anymore, I need to sleeeep! Dear husband succumbs, settles Toddler B with a satchel of Heinz Baby Yellow Sugar Stuff with Banana. Child sucks on packet happy as a pig in…umm custard? Finishes and falls asleep within minutes.

Dear husband collapsed on couch, Buddy Dog relishing in having the bed all to himself, AP slumped in kitchen cursing the day she decided to bring a bit a variety, a bit of something different, a bit of custard home for the little angel which inevitably turned him into a monster. A monster with a super cute green dressing gown! Nawwww. And his pyjama pants are too big for him. Nawwww again!
Right, snap out of it. Where were we.
Ah yes. In terms of our custard dependency recovery process, we are still in the early stages of weaning him off the hard stuff.

We are not allowed to even say the C word in our house.
We use cryptic language and even spelling it out has its risks.

If Toddler B is rewarded with such a very special treat on a weekend, a small packet of C-U-S-T-A-R-D may be unexpectantly found by some sort of custard fairy, Humphrey B Bear fairy or the Easter Bunny..Fairy..? Regardless, it is very very special.
When doing the weekly grocery shop, as we make our way through the diary section I deliberately distract my junior addict by waving cartons of milk, packets of cheese and start doing a wiggles inspired trolley dance and sing-along down aisle eight. Much to the delight of my fellow customers.

What is she on?! They must be thinking.
I tell them - custard. It’s custard I tells ya.

Don’t go near the stuff, it only ends in tears..yet great for strong bones and teeth.
Enjoy. In moderation.


Ch 43: You like apples?

I have a confession to make.

Our State is in the midst of our third heat wave in as many weeks. 35 -40 degree Celsius temperatures (102 degrees Fahrenheit ) are slowly frying our thoughts and have made the simplest of tasks almost impossible. For instance, try ummm, errrrr hang on, what was I talking about again? Hur? Who are you and what are you doing here?!
You see now?
With today being a Friday, my day at home with Toddler B, and 36 degrees forecast, we raced off bright and early to get the weekly stupidmarket run out of our hair.

With the kidlet in the car ready to go, I decided to turn on the water sprinkler in the front but terribly parched garden (or what used to be a garden) for a quick drink whilst we were at the shops.
Easy. We will have that lawn looking like the MCG turf in no time.
Whilst at the stupidmarket, the following occurred:
Copious amounts of pink lady apples were selected then coughed on, snotted on, dropped, licked, pinched, dropped again (this time on my toes), and generally flung around the trolley as if they were miniature basketballs. Feeling too guilty to put any of them back, tainted with Toddler B’s childcare germs, they all came home with us.
A Thomas the Tank Engine birthday card was selected for Toddler B’s cousin. Apparently the paper version of Thomas fly's. Everywhere. Then drops suddenly onto the ground. Again. And again. And some more. What an annoying sh*t of a game. Pity such exertion made Thomas famished very quickly and he then found himself immersed amongst the pink ladies.
Then came tears. Tears soon dissolved once the current flavour of the month, SPC Fruit Crush-Ups, danced before his eyes. Shrieks of delight echoed from aisle eight. Proudly holding his very grown up non-baby branded package of fruity delight, the toddler tears soon emerged once the realisation that the mango goodness was staying put until we got home. Or in the car at least.
Tears were followed by wails which were followed by squeals which were followed by snot bubbles.
A random customer, walked by and endearingly called out to Toddler B ‘hello grumpy!’.
I’ll give you grumpy.
The pet food was missed (sorry Buddy Dog..you like apples don’t you?).
The checkout was near.
We arrived and I started to frantically unload the trolley, Supermarket Sweep style. As soon as the SPC package beeps through the scanner we could all be relieved of this toddler madness.
Then it dawned on us. We had just introduced ourselves to the world’s slowest checkout chick.
She was delightful. I think her name was Kerry. Chatty. A bit too chatty. Hurry the ef up!
Luckily, a customer distracted Toddler B, tickling his toes, playing hide and seek with the apples (I know, they just keep coming baaack!) and commenting on how big and beautiful his eyes were and how well behaved he was.
After cleaning up my own vomit we progressed to payment with the little screamer beaming with delight, sucking down the mango flavoured water sugar thingy, kicking his heels and now cuddling up to an elderly nanna. Oh he’s gooorgeous.
I’ll give you gorgeous.
Trolley unloaded, Toddler B was still in the child seat refusing to place in the bin his empty plastic pouch which once contacted some sort of fruit like puree material.
With the basement carpark starting to heat, I quickly distracted him, threw the pouch in the bin and hopped across the carpark pretending to be a horse and jockey only to be sprung by a bunch of teenagers, sharing a smoke and clearly wagging school. Excellent.
We left home at 9am. Got home at 10am albeit a little frazzled. The heat had really started to kick in.
Let’s move forward to 1.10pm.
Oh my apple I’ve left the sprinkler on. It’s been over four hours and I am the worst over user of water in this dry, barren State. I am hideous. We have just moved into the street, what will the neighbours think?!
With barely a moment to think, I threw Toddler B into his bathing togs, hat, thongs, zinc cream on nose, hat and floaties on the dog (yes the dog, I panicked ok?). With beach ball blown up in record time, despite almost passing out due to lack of oxygen, we were ready to hit the beach, oops I mean the front yard with a crappy little sprinkler.
What a performance. All in aid of keeping the little mite and his furry mate cool on this hot day.
Of course. *gulp*.
We scurried off inside with the hose now turned off. Toddler B looked confused and tired so it was off to bed.
As for me, I spent the afternoon baking apple pie for all of my new neighbours.


Ch 42: Sorry seems to be the hardest word..

4 January 2014.

AP: Knock knock (Wipes sweat from forehead).

My once devoted readers: Opens door, rolls eyes.

AP:  Wait! Hi. How are you?

Readers: Why hello there, it’s been a while. (Looks AP up and down).

AP: Blushes. You look good.

Readers: Thanks. So do you. (Turns nose up in the air, pretends not to be interested).

AP: Starts to quietly sob. Ummm, I just, ummm…


AP: Drops to knees, tears streaming down face. I’m SORRY, I’m SO SORRY!

Readers: I thought we had something?!

AP: We do, we do! It just happened..

Readers: What?? What could have possibly 'just happened' in 2013?!

AP: Life. Life kind of got in the way. Work, kidlet, house stuff. I know it’s not an excuse. I thought about you every day, I promise. Then it just got too hard. And I didn’t know where to begin again. Have I lost everything?

Readers: Is there someone else? Third party perhaps?

AP: No! My gawd. 


AP: Well no not really. I mean Instagram and I kind of have a thing going, it’s really fun and you can join too, if that’s not too weird? But I miss you.

Readers: Instagram? Right. Pictures, with little words. Hashtags. Doesn't really replace your Confessions of a Tired Mother words does it?

AP: I’m going to keep writing too, I promise. And I want you with me? Will you come back? Please? (miss youuuuu….).

Readers: Scratches forehead. Taps foot. Sighs. Oh alright then. Come on in, I’ll pop the kettle on while you get started.

AP: Squeals. Goober cheesey grin on face. Skips into Microsoft Word and starts typing away.

Well there it is folks. My attempt at an apology for being so absent last year.

As you can see, 2013 sort of disappeared before my eyes and my writing went with it.

Yet I’m back and so excited as I missed writing terribly.

To give you a quick run down, in January 2013 I went back to work (paid work that is) four days per week, we sold our house (that took five long long months), moved closer to the city, husband started a new job, we took copious amounts of sick and carers leave, the little master has embraced school (childcare but we call it school) wholeheartedly and has grown out of his baby fat rolls (awwww). 

The dog is still furry, we have just bought a new house and are due to move (again!) in mid January. We’ve had lots of wonderful times but plenty of not as wonderful moments. I lost myself every now and then but would soon find the rainbow again.

So the last time we met, the little master was nearing one and looked like this:

Now, almost two, he looks a little somethin’ like this:

Master B is a handsome little man, full of energy and personality.

You can view our journey, here on Instagram!

So please join me in 2014, here on our COATM blog, on twitter and insta.

Oh and one more thing….I’m still fricken tired! But more on that later.

Till next time..soon though. Not in 2015, I promise.


  © Blogger template Shush by Ourblogtemplates.com 2009

Back to TOP