frazzledmummy78-blog

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He drives me crazy...

Me: "Good night Leon...kiss and cuddle!" Leon: "No! No kiss and cuddle." Me: "Oh, okay. See-ya!" Leon: [after I'd left the room] "Waaaaah! I want kiss and cuddle!!! MUMMY! WAAAAAH!!!" Me: "Okay, okay. But no playing games with mummy." [Leon gives me a big sloppy kiss and a squeezy cuddle] Leon: "I lub you mummy." Me: "I love you too Leon, but you drive me crazy!" Leon: "I like cwazy!" Don't I know it...😧

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My poor glasses...

This morning whilst I getting ready for ‘Mother’s Monday’ at our local school, Leon decided to take my specs off the bedside table and play with them...pretending they were a matchbox car ON THE TILED FLOOR. As I was preoccupied, I had no idea of the destruction that was in progress...

The ‘chassis’ of his imaginary ‘vehicle’ was my lenses. I now have a cloudy haze in front of each eye. “I sor-wee mummy.” Me: painful *groan*

I cannot believe it. He has a box of some 30 or 40 perfectly good toy cars in his bedroom, about 20 paces away?! WHY?????????????????????

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Going potty...

Leon’s getting the jist of potty training at long last. HOORAY! The era of nappies is finally coming to an end for us! But, it’s the interim ‘device’ that is causing us grief.

It’s great that these plastic ‘potties’ help kids with that first leap into being a ‘big kid’. But it’s what you do with it ‘post-deposit’ that totally sucks. My husband has been complaining lately about emptying and cleaning the bloody thing, and I’m totally with him. Despite the “Yay! Good job, matey!” and “You’re a big boy now!” praising him for his efforts, dealing with the aftermath makes us dry retch. As Kenny Smyth says in the film Kenny: “There’s a smell in here that’ll outlast religion.” It lingers.

This week, to top his progress, Leon decided to take matters into his own hands and be a REALLY big boy…

Master three went missing for a while on Monday evening. A lot longer than usual, as he’s always hanging around the kitchen asking for food. “I hun-gwee mummy!” is the constant whine that I liken to fingernails screeching down a chalkboard. My husband had just arrived home from work, when Leon came running to him with a resounding “Daddy! I did a BIG POO-POO!” He went into the bathroom to investigate. Sure enough, Leon had done as reported - BUT HE TRIED EMPTYING IT HIMSELF. There was #$%* all over the floor and toilet seat. Darling husband cleaned it up, whilst Leon came to me asking for an Easter egg for doing such a good job (yes, they were the ‘potty-training’ bribe).

I went in to use the bathroom shortly afterwards. Hang on. The hand towel is missing. I lifted up the lid of the toilet, and there it was: the hand towel, soaking in the toilet bowl in amongst all the…OMG. He’d used it to mop up the spill, and decided the best place for it was in the toilet. I suppose if I was three, I would have done the same thing. Smart kid.

The potty was promptly retired and new ‘kid seat’ installed on the big loo, complete with step. We explained the change to Leon - even took him shopping for it to make him feel like part of the process. A brilliant improvement, we thought…until the massive meltdown last night because the potty wasn’t there anymore. AAAAAARRRRRGH!!!

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Mummy...I not a girl. I Leon!

he says as we’re walking back to the car after grocery shopping.

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A sticky mess...

I’ve been sick for nearly two weeks with a bad cold. Yesterday I was pitifully dragging my sorry arse around the house trying to wrangle a 3 year old and process the enormous mountain of washing that was piled up in the living room.

Mid-morning, I decided to take a well-earned break and snuggle up in my lovely, fluffy dressing gown. I’d left it on top of the bench seat, which cunningly conceals a plethora of kids toys. As I was putting it on, something didn’t feel right. OMG...what is that STICKY STUFF ON MY DRESSING GOWN?! It was in several spots, all over it. I carefully sniffed at it. HONEY.

Leon had helped himself to the squeeze pack of honey that I’d mindlessly left on the kitchen bench that morning after putting some in my cuppa. Why the hell he decided to empty the contents into my dressing gown - and only my dressing gown - I will never know. "LEON!!! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!”... “I dunno.”

There doesn’t have to be a good reason when my Leon is involved.

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Growth spurt = four Weetbix with honey and LSA, a handful of grapes (my handful), and an egg on toast. Demolished.

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Knock-knock!

We were driving home from a day hiking in the Blue Mountains, and Amy wanted to tell jokes (obviously the 11km walk didn't wear her out). I started with a couple of silly jokes that were met with silence in the back seats. Then Leon piped up with: "Knock-knock!" Everyone in the car: "Who's there?" "It's LEON!!!" We cacked ourselves laughing...

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Every morning it’s “I want see-wall mummy!”

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He has hearts...

Amy: “Mummy! Leon squashed my fingers and it hurt! Waaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” Me: “LEON! Say sorry to your sister!” Leon: “Am I bad boy, mummy?” Me: “No. But that was mean.” Leon: “Sorwee Amy. Look mummy - I have hearts!” [holds up ten chubby fingers in front of me]

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Fort Knox

One morning last year, I made a very early visit to our local Bunnings store to buy whatever I could to lock the crap out of everything in the house. What brought about this desperate purchase? MILK. A litre of milk poured into the aquarium...

At 6:00am, our daughter Amy dashed upstairs and burst into our room yelling “LEON PUT MILK IN THE FISH TANK MUMMY!” Oh God. Quick. My husband and I scrambled out of bed and ran downstairs to inspect the damage and hopefully rescue our goldfish, Topsy. Poor Topsy had already been subjected to two near-death experiences: both occasions involved Leon depositing the entire contents of a full fish food canister into the aquarium. You couldn’t see the fish for all the flakes, making the rescue mission very difficult. This time, it took four bowls of fresh water to rinse the milk off and revive him.

We’d already had a ‘milk incident’ a month prior to this one. It was worse. FAR worse. Leon had got into the fridge when I wasn’t paying attention (i.e. I had left the room for a couple of minutes) and for God knows what reason, poured milk into the cats water fountain thingy. Of course it went ‘off’ over time - and one of our cats kept drinking it. By the time I went to top up the cats’ water, it was too late...Lilly had vomiting and diarrhoea so bad, she ended up at the vet for a week on intravenous fluids at a cost of five hundred dollars.

Leon had broken all the 'child-proof' latches we’d tried - those cheap and nasty plastic things with adhesive that’s as useless as a fart in a spacesuit. And we were on our THIRD solution...

Did I take Leon to Bunnings? I did... Whilst I was trying to make my selection, he put a shopping basket on his head and proceeded to chase random customers, roaring at them like a dinosaur. I walked into the next aisle to hide, as if to say “That is definitely not my child.”

I found a mesh-coated steel bicycle chain with combo lock to secure the contents of the fridge. I also bought:

a stainless steel latch for the bread bin. Why? Leon had split a whole loaf of bread between two plates and smothered both ‘stacks’ in Vegemite for him and his sister.

a stainless steel latch for the aquarium. No further explanation required.

a heavy-duty plastic latch for the pantry. Why? I came downstairs one morning and he’d helped himself to four Carman’s muesli bars for breakfast.

a heavy-duty plastic latch for the display cabinet. Why? Because we put our board games in there, and Leon has a penchant for simply tipping out the entire contents of each game on the floor. At least the games were entertaining for him.

I think things should be pretty secure now...?!

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It’s been a long and hard day...

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Movicol

I had a friend tell me when I was pregnant with my first baby: “You’ll know you’re a mum when you’re scrubbing poo out of your wedding rings.” So I went through my pregnancy telling myself “That will never happen to me. Surely not.” I was saved of this awful predicament, until this happened…

We were on holidays in Perth, staying with my folks. Before we left, Leon had a visit to the GP because his bowels weren’t working properly (I’ll leave it at that). Movicol was prescribed, so we thought we’d start him on it once we got to Perth. We diligently followed the instructions on the packet…

That same day we had family friends come over for a barbeque. I hadn’t seen my friend Erin in years. She’s a talented primary school teacher, and super-mum of three beautiful kids of a similar age to mine. She also has a very handsome husband (yes indeed). They’ve seemingly got their shit together too: well-behaved and impeccably-mannered kids, in addition to being incredibly fit and organised. In comparison, I felt like a frazzled, old, losing-my-shit-all-the-time parent with practically zero control over my feral kids.

I was giving Erin an update of all things family, work, etc., when I heard Leon crying hysterically. He was running towards me with an awkward, lopsided gait - his right hand down the back of his nappy. Then the unthinkable happened: he pulled his hand from his nappy and swiftly but surely wiped it down the front of my dress. Erin was horrified. I squealed. Leon screamed. I promptly led him to the bathroom.

Poo was everywhere, not just down the front of my dress. It was even in his hair (God knows how it got that far up his back). I put him in the shower recess to strip him off. I crouched down to take off his shorts and nappy when I felt Leon put his hand on my head - the same hand that was down the back of his nappy. “LEEEEEOOOON!” FFS! I could hear raucous laughter coming from outside the bathroom. I then had to take my lovely $25 Target dress off, smearing poo over the side of my face as it was a snug fit around the bodice.

All showered and dressed in fresh clothes, I re-joined the family gathering. They thought it was hilarious. “I’m never, ever having kids” said my youngest sister. “My ovaries just exploded and ran away” said my other sister. “You need a drink, Jo.” said my brother. And drink I sure did…whilst Leon proceeded to terrorise his sister and our young guests. Sensational.

Later on I learned that it’s best to give Movicol AT NIGHT BEFORE BED, and not in the morning…