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Sandpit Rage

March 3, 2015
By: Melissa

So one day toward the end of winter last year, I had this freaking genius idea to turn a corner garden surrounded on two sides by concrete into an in-ground sandpit. Bordered by railway sleepers, complete with driftwood and spendy, smooth river rocks, over-flowing with just the BEST sandpit toys {or whatever dregs I found in the tupperware drawer}…….are you picturing this? It will only take an hour or so I told Dave.

Two weekends later……

Hours of fun for Nixon we thought. Made even better by the child’s obsession with diggers and dump trucks – oh snap we have a large fleet of those! Into the sandpit they went.

And it is awesome.

And we do love it, plus I think Nix thinks it’s ok.

There is a dark side to amazing sandpits though, something no-one talks about. It’s kept under wraps, bringing shame upon the family because society just hasn’t come to grips with it yet. Let’s just say if Nixon were a foreign tourist, strangers would be taking the keys to his sandpit off of him.

Nixon suffers from Sandpit Rage.

What begins as a fun game of diggers and dump trucks ends in fists raised to the sky, little muscles bulging, curses and expletives disguised as toddler-babble ringing around the neighborhood at max volume and me carrying Nixon under my arm kicking and screaming back into the house where we can hide our Sandpit Rage behind closed doors.

You see, the diggers don’t always dig in just the ‘right’ way. The dump trucks sometimes miss their mark and aren’t parked in the optimal spot for sand loading to commence and shit, sometimes everything is just way too yellow or sandy……….and the rage ensues.

When I was pregnant with Nix, Dave and I would laugh and say “there’s no way #2 could be worse than #1” and by worse we meant more intense, more stubborn and with a stronger will. “There’s no way that could happen right?” laugh, laugh, laugh. Oh yes way. It happened and it happened good.

So now, instead of the lazy afternoons we imagined, spent outside, playing calmly and quietly in the sandpit, we now count the minutes of relative peace until it all turns to custard and Nix throws his toys. Just a phase? Fingers crossed.

So, who’s up for a play date at our house? Sounds fun right?

Toddler in Sandpit Tantrum New Zealand Mummy Blog

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Toddler Swimming Lessons | The Great Equaliser

February 11, 2015
By: Melissa

In true second child fashion, Nixon began swimming lessons last week at the ‘advanced’ age of 19 months. Ethan on the other hand, had his swimming debut at 3 months and has never stopped – 10 years of swimming $!$

Dave and I were in complete agreement that the need was not there to subject ~~ourselves~~ Nix to hours upon hours of singing nursery rhymes in the pool while spinning him around like a motorboat. Child loves the water and has had plenty of swims over his two summers in pools and at the beach, so we decided to wait a bit until he could actually comprehend swimming instruction and potentially benefit from it.

Unfortunately our weekly swimming lesson seems to be the thorn in my schedules side. I can’t seem to remember the damn date/time. We completely missed the first lesson, I was at the library, chatting away to another mum about how our lessons were beginning the following day, only to get home, check the calendar and find that I should have been in the pool that morning instead of talking about the pool. Monday was my chance to redeem myself – I was prepared for the 10.30 lesson, I was packed and ready to go {apart from being actually in my togs, dressed and with my teeth brushed}. I was almost ready to go!

Then I walked by the damn calendar and 10am leapt out at me like a cattle prod. 10am!!! It was already 9.40 and…..see above…..

I think I may have been trying to sabotage swimming as the make-up lesson graciously offered to me for being so ditzy the week before was a freaking nightmare. A terrible, toddler nightmare.

Dave was working from home so decided to come and ‘work’ via the pool. We thought it would be a great idea for him to take Nixie swimming as you never know when he may be able to attend again right? Such a bad idea. Nixon dominated the whole lesson, bossing, yelling, screaming NO NO NO. You would think he didn’t enjoy it – truth was he was having a great time, as long as he could do what he wanted to do. Baby boy had zero tolerance for listening to instructions, no time whatsoever for doing what the other bubs were doing and certainly no interest in co-operating with his Dad. It was almost embarrassing. There, I said it. My son’s volume goes up to 13 and he DEMANDS attention. The only time he stopped yelling at everyone was when he and Dave would ‘swim’ past the seating area when he would raise up a little arm and wave at the spectators with a huge smile on his dictator-like-angel-face. We left without even getting changed and simply popped a dry nappy on Nix in the car.

I was so scared of a repeat performance.

Luckily we arrived with minutes to spare and Nix was on his best behaviour. We only had one incident where he climbed out of the pool and ran away from me, laughing of course! This was the moment I realised that when you are in a pool filled with numerous small people and their parents {and who knows what volume of wee mixed with chlorine} you are all equals. There is no time to visually measure yourself up against the other Mums, to check out mani-pedis and the brand of swimwear each other is wearing – my nana-esque tankini is from Shanton if you were wondering. There is nary an ounce of grace and beauty to be found in my being whilst I am in the pool with Nixon for his swim lesson. It feels like helping a blindfolded baby hippo/octopus navigate through Farmers when all of the pensioners are shopping on cardholder day. Excruciating in other words.

As I was hoisting myself out of the pool after my naughty boy, I caught a glimpse of another mummy blogger waving at me from the seats. Of all the times in my life to bump into one of the most put-together, 10/10 babein mamas it would be on the day I was running super late, ergo I look like shit, I’m in my togs in public – FML – and I’m wrestling with Nixon. Too good I tell you, but you know what? None of it mattered. My little guy had so much fun in the pool which was a huge relief and I loved the feeling of his little hands gripping me tight around the neck when we did exercises he wasn’t quite sure of, I loved the joy on his face when it was time to jump off the edge of the pool and how it felt to catch him and pull him close. I loved the whole damn, wet half hour and I’m kinda looking forward to next Monday to do it all over again.

God, this parenting gig never ceases to amaze.

Toddler Swimming Lesson

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This day. These hours.

January 31, 2015
By: Melissa

I have been selfishly pining for this day all week.

I have;

silence
light rain
an empty house

and holy shit does it feel good.

Dave spent the week working in Wellington and upon his return yesterday, Nixon gave him a cursory glance and a quick high five then resumed following me around, tugging on my shirt, standing on my feet {which I hate more than anything} and yelling “MAMM, MAMM” every five seconds for around 8 hours. I just sat here holding my head after typing that, feeling like a bit of a failure for complaining about my beautiful little guy, but yesterday was a struggle – on top of a myriad of 10 year old struggles over the past 5 days ::::::shakes fist at Xbox – bane of my life:::::.

When Dave did arrive home at around 10am, he was so busy with work that he spent the day chained to his laptop, no relief in sight. Except naptime. The day before, Nix had napped for 3 1/4 hours so my respite expectations were high. Too high it seemed. 1 hour was all we got plus a screaming wake-up after which it took me about 25 minutes to calm him down. I ended up popping him in the baby seat on my bike, grabbing E and cruising the streets for a while simply because surely no-one could demand anything from me when I’m on a bike right?

We salvaged the afternoon with some ice cream and a lemonade popsicle for Nix {oh yes I did!} and headed home for the dinner shift.

Keeping me going throughout the day was the promise of an evening run. Headphones in, Hole, Dinosaur Jr and Nirvana spurring me on as I try not to die from breathing in the hottest, most humid air ever. Pumped. Until E decided to run with me. He normally rides the 5.5km so I was really unsure about how it was going to play out. I imagined him giving up 1km in and me having to drag him home, totally gutted because I couldn’t get a good workout in. Kid smashed it. He power walked when he needed to, told me to go ahead then chased me down, he filled my mama-cup to bursting just when I needed it.

Need it I did as Nixon fought bedtime {something I had also been looking forward to all day} for like, the first time in his life wtf. 9pm was when Dave and I sat down to eat dinner.

Oh day of days. Nothing totally bad happened, so……so, gawd, it must have been me. Me at the end of 5 days of solo-parenting through the last week of the school holidays. That and I’m still pissed about getting attacked by a rooster.

So, I don’t have a whole day to pull myself back together into the Model of Motherhood perfection that I normally am HA, but I do have about 3 hours until the boys arrive home from their trip to the museum – overtired and overdue for a too short nap no doubt, but ready for a cuddle with a grateful and recharged Mama.

Toddler Life Mummy Blogger NZ

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Childhood Unplugged

January 19, 2015
By: Melissa

I’m pretty sure he doesn’t realize it at the moment, but I’m hoping that this Saturday just been will firmly cement itself in Ethan’s head in an “oh yeah, that’s what we did when I was a kid” kinda way. It won’t be a Best Day of My Life kind of memory, more of the Normal Day in the Neighborhood variety; similar to the memories I have of riding bikes until dark {sans helmets of course!}, playing tennis on the road, rollerskating and pole tennis tournaments. Awesome memories that make me smile every time I cast my mind back.

E’s rugby coach came and picked him up in the morning to assist in a working bee at the clubhouse. He got stuck-in with his friends and teammates, scrubbing the tackle-bags, hopefully doing a good job and learning a thing or two about chipping in and helping out, pride in your club and team spirit. He had a great time by the sounds of it, yet I can’t even imagine what would happen if he was forced to clean anything at home that took longer than 10 minutes – it doesn’t bear thinking about honestly!

Whilst he was at the club, two of his other mates that live close by had popped over twice, desperate to go eel fishing with E in the river. Despite his protestations, we sent him off to find his friends when he arrived home. He totally wanted to stay at home, sit on the couch and play Xbox or Clash of Clans or some other waste of summer. It was worth the fight and the filthy looks as Dave and I knew he’d be stoked within 5 minutes of walking out the door. These are the battles that are worth fighting. These are the ones that matter and will have a bigger long-term impact than policing wardrobe choices or riding his ass about every, single manners slip-up.

The three boys had an awesome {muddy} time down at the river and caught themselves an eel which they decided they were going to gut and eat. They took care of business, hopped on their bikes and headed to another part of the river for an afternoon swim, supervised by one of their lovely Mums {not me, I was in DIY hell with a paintbrush and polyurethane but that’s another story}. Following this they headed off on their bikes again to the third amigos house where their eel was pan fried and they shared dinner together.

Ethan arrived home on his bike at 8pm with some of their {surprisingly delicious} eel for us to try. He was tired, happy and satisfied after a day which couldn’t really have had too much more ‘boy’ squeezed into it. Good, old-school fun with an absolute minimum of screen time. Loving it!

We live in a pretty special little pocket of Auckland that is very small {at this stage} and still very safe. Ethan is 10 years old. It’s time for him to experience independence {within clearly defined boundaries of course!} and having a little bit of freedom on his bike and with his friends is part of that imminent transition from child to teenager that is creeping ever closer. Without showing him we trust him to make good decisions, he would be bored at home and we would be forever battling the screen. It certainly helps to know other parents in your community and be able to quickly reach out and communicate with them via text message etc. If you can find a lovely place for your children to spread their wings in a safe community, it’s worth every penny.

Childhood Unplugged Mummy Blog New Zealand

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5 Tips for Easing into Potty Training with your Toddler

January 11, 2015
By: Melissa

After Nixon was diagnosed with Hirschsprung’s Disease we were told to expect that toilet training would probably be late, be very hard work and would likely take a lot longer than other children his age.
We were prepared for the worst basically.
What we have noticed however, is that post-op he does have sensation when he is toileting and he is letting us know when he has any action going on down there! Just more testament to the amazing skill of the surgical team at Starship I suppose, but our babes recovery has been nothing short of a miracle to us!
So, naturally, with all systems go in the plumbing department we have begun thinking about toilet training and all the trials and tribulations that go along with it. We’re not going to rush things; potty training before a child is ready is totally detrimental to the whole process in my opinion, but Dave and I have discussed getting the ball rolling at the end of summer to capitalise on his cognition and the warm weather!
Trying to remember the process we used when potty training Ethan has been doing my head in, it’s a bit like dumpster diving into the depths of the mummy-brain archives. Much like the pain of child birth; I think the tricky times like bed wetting and endless laundry get buried amid happy milestones and cute Instagram photos lol.
I have remembered a few tricks that worked well with E so I’m going to document them here for my reference as much as anyone else’s!

When we decided it was time to begin daytime potty training I ensured that we could have at least 3 days of uninterrupted home time so the potty was always easily accessible and accidents resulted in minimal fuss.
We had previously planted the seed the month prior with lots of positive talk about using the bathroom and losing the nappies.
Be prepared for no pants, hence we will be beginning potty training in summer. Pulling pants, underwear, shorts, whatever, up and down is only going to complicate an already complicated skill your child is going to learn. If they are bare bottomed the are much more likely to succeed in making it to the potty on time.
Celebrate the victories and gloss over the accidents completely.
Take the next step of night training very slowly. When toddlers begin waking with a dry or slightly wet nappy and they have mastered day time training, you’re probably good to go! We made sure we eased into this phase with supplies at the ready; mattress protectors or Brolly Sheets – make sure you have at least two so middle of the night accidents can be quickly cleaned up, and training pants such as Huggies DryNites to help ease the transition out of nappies and into underwear with minimal bedwetting. These were invaluable for Ethan; they represented a graduation from nappies – a Big Boy pair of pants that acknowledged his successes. To help establish the new dry-night routine, Dave and I always lifted Ethan to the toilet before we went to bed. We did this for months which helped build his confidence and ensure we all got a good nights sleep.

So, we’re going to think on that for the next 8 weeks or so and see how Nixon’s progressing come Summer’s end. It’s good to feel like I have a little bit of a plan in place as we head into this next era of no diapers!

This post was sponsored by Huggies DryNites.

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The yawn-worthy cesarean vs vaginal delivery debate. Let’s put it to bed.

January 9, 2015
By: Melissa

So here’s a ranty post. Things were getting strangely nice around here but luckily FB came to my rescue with an annoying item in my feed which got me riled up enough to get the creative juices flowing.
See, I just read another (there are millions of these right?) post from a blogger discussing her multiple cesarean sections. She was discussing the social repercussions of non-vaginal birth, the ‘stigma’ and patronising glances she was subjected to. The disappointment of long labour that didn’t bear fruit through the birth canal as one would hope.
Can I ask you something? Is this really a thing? Have you ever stooped so low as to judge a woman by how she gave birth?
I guess I’m just a bit over the ‘poor me, I had a cesarean and find myself a victim of an un-empowered birth’ line.
Some births, I imagine, are empowering, wondrous moments, filled with a feeling of innate physical prowess and accomplishment – a real “we knocked the bastard off” moment of satisfaction. But let me set the record straight, having a birth without intervention is no guarantee you are going to conquer your own vaginal Mt Everest.
I have never written my birth stories because I personally don’t need to. Dwelling or reminiscing on details immediately prior to the MOST important events in my life serve no purpose for me and don’t really need to be rehashed, especially in the case of Nixon’s birth.
You see, Ethan arrived in a very textbook way I suppose. 18 hours of labour, epidural, epidural wore off, I screamed and pushed and he was born. 7 lb 12 Oz of sweet baby Ethan. Did I feel super proud of delivering him vaginally? Hell no. I was just glad I survived it and have never given it too much thought since.
Two of my oldest and dearest friends gave birth within the next year or two, both enduring such traumatic vaginal births that they were visibly uncomfortable talking about them, I’m pretty sure one of them was brought to tears when we were discussing future siblings. They did not feel like the empowered, magical super heroes oft imagined by other women who have had cesarean sections.
8.5 years later I experienced my own horrendous, nightmare of a vaginal birth. I WISH I had been offered a c-section. You don’t hear that often do you? 10.4lb of Nixon showed up on D-day posterior and uncooperative.
We had plenty of warning that he was large. I had insisted throughout the pregnancy that this baby was big. The scans showed he was big and continually tracked above the 97th percentile. My midwife paid no heed to my warnings, confident in her profound knowledge that every third trimester mother insists her baby is huge.

With every fibre of my being I wish I had a team of professionals that noticed he was posterior well before the 11th hour and said, “lets cut our losses here and deliver your 10.4lb baby via c-section? Hmmm? How about that? We can save you the excruciating pain of having that jumbo head stuck upside down in your pelvis FOR HOURS, save your baby the trauma of being ripped out via forceps and save you the intense recovery and utterly demoralising consequences of literally being ripped in two – from your VAGINA onwards and inwards”.

Fuck, that sounds like a plan. I would have said. Spare me a week in hospital and countless breakdowns at home wondering if feeling in my lower spine and continence would ever return? Hit me with that c-section I would have said.

I guess what I’m saying is, when you’re flat on your back and the doctors are looking at each other with their Holy Shit faces on; when the surgeon on duty the day your son was born comes to your room to repeatedly apologise for what happened in theatre, you really, really do not care one iota that you can claim victory over an ‘empowering, vaginal birth‘. Pffft.

All that you should be doing is counting your blessings that your baby was born healthy, full term and full of fatty delicious chub to help him recover from the horror of his hugely violent and undignified entry into the world.

Because, it’s not about me anymore anyway.

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Mummy Dilemma #77: Do I need to go to the doctor?

December 16, 2014
By: Melissa

So.
I suffer from hideous seasonal allergies, usually resulting in massive sneezing fits but in particular it’s my eyes that are getting hammered this year. I’ve been making it worse by rubbing them when I get stressed and tired {which is a lot at the moment} and have woken up on numerous occasions over the past two weeks with a completely bloodshot, icky and crusty eye.
So, being the thrifty and time poor mummy that I am, I have tried antihistamines, ClearEyes, cold compresses…..and then I remembered that Nixon had been prescribed some antibiotic eye drops when he was a baby. I of course threw caution to the wind and have been self-medicating, not a thought to the fact that I was dropping expired medicine into my eyeballs! Pfffttt.
As long as I don’t have to go to the doctors office right? I would actually prefer to drop meths in my eyes then go to the doctor’s office with Nixon.
There are approximately 10 million pot plants in the waiting room, all in various stages of dehydration, making their pots perfect, lightweight baby bowling balls. There are about 103 shitty, germy old toys that Nixon thinks he loves more than he loves his brother, toys guaranteed to invoke instant tantrums the second you even motion towards the door to leave. There are also at least 3 hacking cough-ers, 2 grumpy seniors and one toddler who is primed to take an instant dislike to Nixon and any possibility of sharing the beloved toys.
You feel me? You’d stay home and use expired eye drops too right?
Tell me I’m not the only one.

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The Pain of Teething

November 27, 2014
By: Melissa

This post is sponsored by Nurofen for Children.

Nixon has had to deal with more pain in his short life than I can even imagine. Before his diagnosis with Hirschprungs Disease, the first year of his life must have been so uncomfortable. His inability to poop on his own meant that there was always some procedure or other we had to put him through which was pretty awful for him and us both. He’s had doctors rummaging around in his abdomen on multiple occasions, removing the bits of his large intestine that didn’t work, replumbing him and then recovering from the whole ordeal, which took six hours in the operating room! {you can catch up on Nixon’s Hirschsprungs journey here and here}. It almost seems cruel that after such an unusual and difficult start to life our little trooper would be hit so hard by teething pain. Our happy-go-lucky baby was seemingly transformed overnight into a miserable, clingy, super needy little ball of tears – after a couple of days and sleepless nights I was feeling much the same way! I knew it was teeth, he had all of the classic signs {check teething symptoms} and the only thing providing short term, temporary relief was breast-feeding.

After Nix was taken off the opiates post-op, Nurofen was prescribed to manage his pain. I find personally that Ibuprofen is more effective than paracetamol and I can see that the same is true for Nixon, he coped beautifully at home and we were able to keep him comfortable without too much trouble. I medicate the kids so sparingly that sometimes I have to be reminded to do it, luckily my Mum was on hand when Nix was really beginning to struggle with his teeth and reminded me to “get that boy some medicine!”. We fully use natural remedies when we can, I love Nixie’s amber beads, I do believe they have helped so much with his pain but some days the rumbling in his gums has just been too acute to let him suffer through.

Thankfully we are in a teething lull at the moment, but those big molars will be on the move in the next few months so we are prepared!

Visit the Nurofen for Children website for more tips on Kids Health.

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The Circle of Life……

November 16, 2014
By: Melissa

I’ve had a revelation dear reader, and being the giver that I am, I’ve decided to share it with you.

{Truth be told, this philosophical divulgence occurred some time ago, but it has taken 6 weeks to get a picture of that damned frog!}

So here we are. Is your mind clear? Are you sitting with an open heart and incense burning {preferably on an organic, free trade hemp mat, but beggars can’t be choosers so read on}, ready to receive the blessing of todays spiritual enlightenment?

The circle of life has nothing to do with Elton John. Or Simba. Let’s let that sink in shall we? No! You’re good, ok. Moving on; The circle of life also has nothing to do with birth, death, regeneration, planting your placenta under a tree or anything else completely normal like that. Shit’s getting cray cray, stay with me reader.

During the last school holidays, Ethan headed north to spend a few golden days and nights with his Nana & Geoff in Waipu. He loves it there, he can roam free with the big dogs, fish for eels and………catch frogs all day. We are fully versed in the one-way relationship that comes from having pet frogs; you spend $140 on a terrarium to house your new friends, add to that a budget of $20 on flies once a week, put flies in tank, frog eats flies, frog poos in water, you clean the tank (because Steve Irwin Jr lost interest after day 9). Needless to say after a couple of years of this we released our amphibious friends and sold our terrarium – because there was no way we were EVER having pet frogs again. Mmm mmmm, no way.

Can you see where this is going? Can you?

Ethan returned from Waipu clutching a 20 litre paint bucket like it was the last bucket of Resene Quarter Tea left in existence. Inside was the biggest freaking frog we had ever seen. Despite a generous offer of a frog palace from friends, we were going to need a bigger tank.

So you see reader, the circle of life isn’t a matter worthy of deep, spiritual meditation. The circle of life is complete when you are purchasing your SECOND $140 terrarium and naming the biggest, fly guzzling creature you have ever seen, Benji.

The lesson here is simple, don’t sell your terrarium / fishtank / hamster house ever. Hoard that shit in your garage until all kids are at least 21, then make them take it flatting. The ~~husband~~ children will always find a way to smuggle more pets into your life, this is how we ended up with Dash, and goddamn it I can’t lose that dog for want of trying.

Namaste x

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Being PRESENT means learning not to sweat the small stuff

November 14, 2014
By: Melissa

Thanks to Rexona Invisible Dry for sponsoring this post – originally published on nzgirl

I am a Mum. I am also a stay-at-home Mum.

Every choice you make as a mother comes at a cost; the equal and opposite alternative to your decision to stay at home or go to work will always be there, niggling a little on those tough days and always reminding you of what you have given up.

For me, dealing with the daily predictability of an unpredictable toddler and a pre-teen means I have to stay focused and keep my head in the game – the game may be as unglamourous as getting the laundry done and the beds made but that’s my reality right now. Getting stuck in my own head and focusing on the minutiae of everyday domestic life will no doubt result in a spanking clean kitchen but it won’t help ease the professional yearnings I left behind when I bid adieu to paid employment.

But, being present, visible and in the moment with my kids does and will fulfill me in ways that I never expected before I had children and that I don’t think I could replicate any other way. But, you have to be open to that fulfillment. Over the past week I’ve been practising a little trick I call Stop & Drop. Basically, I have promised myself that when my 1 year old brings me that book about diggers we have read 172 times already today, I will stop what I’m doing, drop the dish towel and sit on the floor and read to him. When my big boy wants desperately to show me his Minecraft creation that I have zero interest in, I will stop what I’m doing and sit at the computer with him for five minutes and simply look and listen.

Breaking the habit of saying “No, Mama’s too busy” is hard, it requires me to let go of my ‘perfect house’, ignore the crumbs on the floor, breathe through nap-time strikes and relish this time with my babies above all else. It’s learning not to sweat the small stuff, and radically loving the bigger picture, be it your kids at home with you each day, or the joy you feel when you pick them up from daycare. In both my prior role as a working mum and currently as a stay at home mum, one thing I simply don’t have time to worry about is excess sweating. Post-baby body issues and being spotted in your around-the-house uniform of yoga pants are enough of a battle without the stress of ruining your clothes with sweat stains. Rexona Invisible Dry has worked for me, the 48 hour protection keeping me feeling fresh, even on those days when a shower has slipped to the bottom of the priority list!

There are many areas where we can feel like we’re failing as parents, try sweeping the slate clean, cutting yourself some slack and getting real with the expectations you have put on yourself as a mother. Make some micro-goals and try and work them into your week; if you’re worried the amount of fish finger dinners getting served, allocate one night a week to try a new, healthy recipe, if you’re worried about screen time incorporate some outdoor activities or simply get down on the ground and drive toy cars around the house for half an hour. Simplify and you will be amazed at how your kids react, they will LOVE it!

Practise makes perfect but simply being a mother who is visible, present and accessible to her children is the best kind of mother there is.

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