It’s wake up time!!

Since my boy started high school, the funny episodes in the morning have slowed down considerably. It could be because hormones are turning him into a younger, male version of me, i.e grumpy, doesn’t do well in the mornings, hates sunlight… you understand.

I feel that I should illustrate the point.

A typical morning consists of me getting up only because Baby J is threatening to break glass with her good morning shrillness (to be fair, she doesn’t actually do this. She actually babbles quite sweetly in her cot for a bit and then says an enthusiastic ‘Hi!’ when she sees me. But the potential for shrillness is always there, at the back of my mind kicking me into action because at 5am that will hurt.)

It’s then all about the morning tea and coffee, which as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, sometimes involves a game of rock, paper, scissors but recently not so much as I just do it because I’m up anyway  - and I get brownie points

Then it’s onward to the deep dark depths of the boys room…

In his wisdom my darling husband decided that we needed to get our son a double bunk. That means it’s a bunk bed the size of a double bed. Uber cool for boys, utter crap for mothers. The main issue is I can’t physically get to him to drag his behind out of bed. He capitalises on this by hiding just out of reach (yes, I have poked him in the ear and tickled his nostrils before in an attempt to break through sleep fog. It doesn’t work, but it was fun to try. He has now subconsciously counteracts this by being millimetres too far for me to reach him without physically climbing the ladder – which is obviously not going to happen.)

A typical dialog will be like so.

“Morning!” (voice filled with sing-song-hate-inducing-carefully-cultivated sweetness perfected over time to elude the audio block that the male species uses to filter out most female voices)

“Iiiiiiiiit’s wake up time!” I say with gusto!

Nothing. Then amazingly.. ”mmmpftmmmppphumftah”

“What was that, dear?”

“Why? Why now??” says a voice from the bunk tower.

“Er, because it’s time to get up. You have school and you need to get ready.” I say helpfully.

“NOOO! COME ON, REALLY?” He bellows, and then because that took every last ounce of energy he’ll follow that with.. “I’m coming, I’m coming. 5 minutes…”

20 minutes later I’ll venture in again. By this time I’m not a happy bunny and it’s always the same three things that have ruined my day…

1. Oh no – he does NOT get to sleep in if I can’t
2. Damn, I forget to go call him again after 5 mins
3. I do not believe I actually thought he was going to get up.. IDIOT!

“BOY! I swear if you don’t get up now….” I start, when I get the classic line.

“Muuuuuuuuuuum, you don’t UNDERSTAND! You don’t know how HARD it is to get up. It’s not FAIR!!!!!’

It’s at roughly this time that I go to my happy place. And of course so does my son….

The double J noise duet

sssshhhhh!! Don’t move. Don’t breath. Not a sound if you please.
Both the kids are sleeping…

I can physically feel the happy spreading over me as I become the little old woman version of myself sitting here in silence listening to the morning bird song with a slightly moronic smile on my face. I feel no guilt that it makes me so happy that my children are so blissfully quiet. You have no idea how rare that is in my house.

J, my first born nutter is the personification of pure joy, and that isn’t a quiet thing. It’s amazing to watch him find joy in all that he does. Even if he’s been naughty and sent to his room, minutes later you hear him singing away. When he’s happy, his volume control button is automatically bust and immense amounts of booming voice, chatter, laughter and so on can be heard from here to the other side of town. I admit he drives me insane a lot of the time, because it’s so hard to make him take anything seriously. He is the human version of an excited Labrador.

My latest, Baby J, is the personification of a cuddle. She is a loving sweet little soul and if I could, I would have her in my arms all day. I don’t think she’d have a problem with that at all. She does of course also have her moments where she makes one heck of a noise such as if I take a bit too long to get the feed prepared or she’s lost her dummy or if she simply wants UP… now! She has some lungs on her when she really gives it all that.

And of course we are now into the Easter Holidays which means that the children combine to make one happy harmonious noise medley. So again I say to you… ssssssshhhh. Don’t move. Don’t breath. Not a sound if you please.

Stop your Jibber Jabber!

I woke up the other day realising that with 12 weeks to go until our new baby enters the world, I’ve done a grand total of nothing to prepare. I have 3 packs of nappies, 2 packs of botty wipes and a cute lil baby grow from my friend in Cape Town. My lil girl will sleep in a tin bucket and bath in the kitchen sink, but we have the poo situation sorted for all of a couple of weeks. Boo-ya!

So this morning I’m off to our biggest local baby department store, Mothercare, to make a list of stuff I need and start planning. Start… Planning…

11 years ago, with lil fella, I don’t recall being in such a pickle. Everything seemed to appear. We just had stuff. Lots of stuff. I have awesome pictures of his nursery looking like Hamley’s… I think I didn’t notice where everything was coming from because my head at that stage had actually come loose from my shoulders, so I actually was the headless chicken, and all memory of pre-birth has also just been wiped away. I was on auto-pilot it seems. Worked out well though, but leaves me with no experience to draw from and this honestly feels like I’m doing this for the first time.

Lil fella is quite excited about the whole business when he’s not busy worrying about my general welfare. He does worry an awful lot for an 11 year old.

“Mum, sit down. You’re preggers..”

“Mum, are you alright? Do you feel sick?”

“Mum, where am I going to be when you’re in the hospital screaming?”

“Mum, be careful.”

“Mum, do I have to change nappies?”

“Mum, how’s your breathing?”

Poor guy is going to burst. I suppose it comes with the territory of having the large age gap. He is feeling the build up and the excitement but he’s also aware of all the other stuff a younger child wouldn’t be. He keeps saying he’s stressed. At 11? I didn’t even know what stress was at that age. I just cuddle him a lot and hope it helps a little bit.

On the flip side it appears he’s an absolute clown at school, which leads to it’s own set of issues. We’ve been having calls from the teachers saying he just won’t be quiet in class. Talks ALL the time I hear, disrupts the class and so on. I can’t imagine where he gets that from… (snippet from high school year book… UK_Saffa can talk the hind leg off a donkey and is likely to work in a profession suited to her gregarious nature…). I believe that means I probably talked. All the time. To everyone. Sorry boy – it obviously runs in the family.

School is on the whole going well for him. He seems generally happy, has made some new friends and is starting to form his identity. I have a feeling this identity of his is going to make me go prematurely grey, but that’s high school I guess. I can’t expect him to grow up and be under my thumb, so now begins the balancing act of letting the lil fella grow up and giving him the best guidance we can. Nerve wracking.

So our lil girl is coming at a very pivotal point in our lives. She’s already quite active, and has been keeping me up most nights with her 3am acrobatics. The first lesson I will be teaching her is the importance of beauty sleep.. ‘Darling, it’s essential you go to sleep or you’ll wake up looking like a miserable old troll…’ Well you can’t say that isn’t true! At the same time I will be teaching the lil fella the importance of baby sitting and how it’s directly tied in with any teenager-I-need-money-for-going-out-pocket-money. ‘Darling, it’s essential that you babysit or you’re going to have the social life of a miserable old troll..’ Genius!