Being THAT woman (ninja)

Ok, look.

When I became a mother, I didn't suddenly lose my sense of style or my personality.  I didn't become this dowdy, unappealing, uninteresting shell of myself, as some might have you believe.

I feel like I need to tell you all it's ok- even desirable to be THAT woman.  The one everyone judges but secretly wishes they had the kohunas to be like.

I didn't stop listening to the music I like, and I didn't stop being me (rad).  I still dye my hair crazy colours and I have a vocabulary just as colourful.  I just levelled up, that's all.  (learned to quell my enthusiastic swearing a little bit.)

It's probably time for one of those excellent DO and DON'T style posts.  In two parts- because this blog is overdue for a cliffhanger.  So here's what I don't.. do.

"Don't do what Donny Don't does!"

Um.....

Shall we?

Things I don't do. (Society.  LOOKING AT YOU.)

1. Join the coles/woolworths/other super-mega-corporation baby club.
Because having a super-mega-corporation tell me how to parent just seems like a bit of a drag.

2. Babywear because it's hip.
I do babywear.  Because I don't know how the hell not to.  My pram is beautiful but useless.  And how are you supposed to do 'jazz hands' to other random mums at the shops if you don't have both hands free? 

3.  Avoid pink things because I have boys only.
I like pink.  Do I need a reason to not abolish an entire colour from my life?

4.  Find ads about various baby accessories/products informative.
I find them misleading and kinda patronizing if I'm honest.  'All the best moms are feeding their baby [insert processed food here]'  is how it comes across.

5.  Critique every other woman's performance as a mother.
A lot of the judgement mums face is indirect.  Kinda like fear of being judged, before it even happens.  I don't know about you, but I'm not out there looking to scrutinize some poor sleep deprived woman.  I'm looking for coffee.  With cream.  If anything, I'm judging myself........

6.  Require a massive circus-tent style nursing cover for public feeding.
I don't buy a lot of crap I don't need.  People have necks.  People have boobs.  They should probably turn their necks if they're offended by boobs.

7. Spend $80 on a single nursing bra.
Again, no.  Crap I don't need.  Beautiful, but crap.  Nobody was looking at my bra.... they were too busy awkwardly shuffling, trying to avoid potentially seeing a boob.

8. Give a fuck if the other mums at kindy don't say hello to me.  Truth is.... I don't want to talk to anyone at that time of day. 

9. Adopt the fashion sense of an old lady the instant I reproduced.  (TARGET, KMART, BIG W looking in your direction...)

10. Understand why nursing tops have room for a 9 month belly in them.  Usually you're breastfeeding AFTER the baby is born.  Not before. 

Riveting stuff.  To be continued.....

How to take the day off

Today is my day off.  Both of the baby ninjas go to kindy on a Tuesday, and usually DaddyO has the day off too. 

Ooh.  Lah di Dah!  Two parents attempting to relax a little bit.  I know.  The controversial luxuriousness is enough to make you want to judge the shit out of me.  That's alright.  I understand.


Anyway, here's a quick instructional piece for those of you who might not know what a ninja does on his or her day off.


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Wake up super early and fumble around in the kitchen until you have two full lunchboxes.
Throw toast in the general direction of the children, and feign interest in Yo Gabba Gabba.
Find pants.
Apply pants to ass.
Repeat x2, until everyone is wearing pants.
Find shirts, perform sniff test, and apply to torsos.
Reapply any shirts you find thrown on the floor while you brushed your teeth.
Try to quell rage as somebody smears toothpaste on you and somebody else jumps on the bed.
Assemble children, bags and shoes in that order.


Usher everyone to the car.  Make sure to carry everything.
Hurry before one of the sippy cups rotates itself upside down and drenches your back and the contents of the bag.
Argue with Wonderboy over which way he should face in his car seat.
Beg Hurrikane to stop flailing so you can buckle the straps.


Execute a swift kindy dropoff.  Hugs, high fives and kisses. 
Run.  Just run.
Drive back home. 


Change out of toothpaste smeared attire, and reapply something else.
Attempt to look presentable.


Add dirty clothes to Mt Washmore.
Swear about Mt Washmore.
Prepare coffee.
Smear makeup on and around face.
Walk near some perfume and think about having some breakfast- but don't actually do that stuff.  No time.


Find the coffee you made and forgot to drink.  Pour that shit down the sink.
Almost lock yourself out of the house without your keys.
Drive to local shopping centre and attempt to find a park.


Drive around for 20 minutes and give up, realizing there actually are no parks.




No shit.  No parks.  Stupid Christmas eve-eve.




Pull over to enjoy watching the temperature gauge in your car falling from the HOT zone.
Have a quick sauna waiting for the car to cool down.
Start driving again. 
Decide to live dangerously and get yourself a fancy drive-thru iced coffee.
Overheat again on the way back from getting said iced coffee.
Drink your iced coffee free of regret.  It was worth it.
Pull over 3 times on the way home.
Swear a little bit.
Drink some more coffee.


Arrive at home, dump 2L of water into the........ place you put the water in a car.  *cough*
Agonize over whether or not to bail out on appointment to inspect a new rental property on the grounds of shitbox car struggles.
No!  Decide to power through.  Your middle name is danger.
Think about breakfast again.  But don't do it.
Bravely leave the house again and head in the general direction of your appointment location.  (30mins away).
Overheat within 3 minutes. 
Pull over and call the cavalry. 
Finish that coffee and update your FB status.  Why not?


Be escorted to the safe zone by the cavalry, riding his mighty steed.  (er, DaddyO, his workplace, and work van)
Overheat some more but just make it to the safe zone without pulling over.
Join DaddyO on his mighty steed on a delivery driving adventure.  Not exactly what I had planned, but Okay!




(Yes, DaddyO is working on his day off.  Because that's how HE takes a day off, apparently.  Lucky man he is.)




Complete our annoying mission of stopping at the butcher to pick up meat for elderly co-worker who can't take a hint.
Feel guilty for not feeling very Christmassy.
Arrive back to the safe zone and fill the radiator of the shitbox with water.




Alright it's not a shitbox, but I'm really irritated right now so let's not get all technical and dissect my choice of terminology.

Summon your courage to get back in the car and face the highway again.
Realize you don't know who you're praying to.
Drive all the way home without any more problems, and thinking about breakfast, still.
Arrive home and dress in your least decent attire.
Drink a litre of water and collapse on the couch.
Write a ranty, whiny blog post outlining the shithouse day you're having.
Feel slightly better.


Re-strategize the afternoon and think some more about a meal.
Realize there's no actual food here, and add food shopping to your afternoon strategy.
Decide to attempt a power nap until DaddyO gets home from performing his elderly co-worker home-droppage daily taxi service.
Feel smug and sarcastic.........................................................




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The moral of the story?




Ninjas don't do days off.  You may find you're actually a ninja too, after reading this easy to follow guide. Do you rise above the general annoyance that is summer, tourists, the Christmas rush and crazy car problems with style and pizazz?  Do you manage not to karate chop anyone in sheer frustration? 




If you answered yes to any of these questions- you're probably pretty badass.  You're also allowed to swear and stuff whilst awesomely overcoming adversity.  I know I do.


Hey,  I'm not a fricken wax model of motherly perfection.  I'm a ninja.

Attempted Laundry 101

It's like my laundry has sex with itself and multiplies.  This is especially true in the post-ninja apocalyptic zone of destruction.

It sounds simple enough.   Wash clothes.   Dry clothes.  Put clothes away.   Wear clothes.  Repeat as necessary.  Well... allow me to introduce you to reality.

It goes more like this :

Wash clothes.
Cram too much in the dryer.
Wash another load while first one dries.
Realize later that load in the dryer now stinks as it sat half dry for hours because you overloaded it.
Throw that on the floor.
Move second load from washing machine to dryer.
Put most of first load back in washing machine.
Kick the rest into the corner to stink.
Turn on washer and dryer.
Go to bed.

Return at 4 or 5am.
Note- dryer should be open now with half its contents hanging out.
Make mental note to nag partner about trashing the joint.
Procrastinate instead of emptying dryer.
Drink coffee.
Attempt to scrounge an outfit for the kids from the dryer.
Dress kids.
Empty dryer.
Get interrupted.
Move yesterday's first load back to-  shit.  it's all stagnant smelling again.  Procrastinated too long.
Re-wash first load for the third time.

Go about your day and forget about it until the next day.
Re-wash a fourth and final time.
Move that load to dryer.
Gather stinking pile of rejected first load moistness from the corner you kicked it to.
Put in washing machine and add some more from the epic pile you've accumulated whilst the machine was occupado.
Carry dry clothes upstairs and throw haphazardly on spare bed.
Go back and collect everything you dropped on the way.
Almost fall down the stairs because you're rushing.

Later, check on dry clothes and realize they need a little longer.
Swear a little bit about bad weather and how you don't use the washing line when it's sunny either cause you ain't got time for that.
Go to bed and forget the load in the machine... wet..... stinky.....

It just dawned on me that I haven't completed the task of laundry in about 5 years.  Mount Washmore, and Mount Foldmore are permanent fixtures in my life.  In fact, they take up so much of my time,  they're like children.

When Wonderboy and Hurrikane are both at kindy, I'm always comforted in the knowledge that I'm in no danger of slacking.

Stay tuned for the next episode in this instructional series:  How to take the day off.

I just wanted pancakes

Sometimes when I'm woken up at ass-crack O'clock, (4) I feel like pancakes.  Here's the thing though.   A hot breakfast isn't something we ninjas are frequently partaking of.

Lucky I'm not the only ninja in the family.  We head off on the 40 minute drive to my sister's place.  Wonderboy (Ninja 1) and Hurrikane (Ninja 2) love visiting their Aunty.

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You'll understand the reason for the new ninja names later.  let's not spoil the magic of this tale.
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 We have our pancakes.  (Well I do.  Ninja Aunty sadly never gets hers...)  Everything is going well until Hurrikane takes a dive into a very pointy bit of skirting board/ bottom wall edgey part.  It's horrible and it's hospital worthy.

I just wanted pancakes.  Now there's blood and crying and I'm quietly freaking out.  Let's roll!  Let's roll!  We rush to the hospital.  I leave Wonderboy and Ninja Aunty (Ninjaunty?) in charge of parking and emergency beverages.

Hurrikane is reasonably cooperative at first but has major mood swings.  Wanting to boob continuously, then trying to run full speed around the waiting room and climb furniture.  I'll admit to thinking 'holy shitballs..'

Wonderboy does a good job of remembering where the car is parked and presents me with a fat coke.  Super refreshing.  I feel like I can get through this now.

While Hurrikane had a nap and some more free range mummy milk in the procedure room... Ninjaunty strategically maintained a steady flow of vending machine treasures and random strolls for Wonderboy.   Eventually someone came around with the glue.  No stitches, small victory!

The doctors were really quick and were happy to work around the crazy planking woman hovering over the baby's bed.  Yeah.  Me.  I had to bust out a semi-plank-pushup type manouvre and gymnurstically (it's a word) feed bubba. I don't usually perform strange breastfeeding stunts in public.. but in this case, I was going to do whatever it took to keep him calm.

Some people probably think I'm a whackjob.  I'm not super concerned about that though... mwahaha.  This ninja does. not. care.  Not today, or next week or whenever.

We're out in about 3 hours.  Nice.  I'm exhausted and Wonderboy is way overdue for an outburst.  The last vending machine triggers him, and I'm way too cranky and tired to be zen.  We get the hell out of the carpark and I say fuck a few times.

Seriously,  people.   I just wanted pancakes.

But no.

noooooo......

I ate the last half of my chocolate block stash with my head in the pantry when I finally got home at about 3.30.  I threatened to eat it at like 5am though, so really I have excellent willpower.

I think next time I'll have peany toast or something.

Solid plan.

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No ninjas were harmed in the making of this post.  Hurrikane is back up to no good and as usual, a total trooper.  Wonderboy didn't want to drink his milk at bedtime, and didn't believe that the water I replaced it with was actually real water.  Standard shenanigans.

Keeping it real.

Social media... an excellent way to maintain the façade of having it all together.


We all know that one person who has a pretty ordinary life- complete with the standard hassles, challenges and dramas we all have.  You know them outside of social media.  You know them inside, too.  And you know they're a fraud.




Ok, some of us know people who genuinely have it all together.  This is not about them.  They rock, but it's not about them.






Most of us do it.  I catch myself only posting the cutest, smileyest, most 'got it together' pictures I have.  Most of the time though, I try to keep it real.  I spent a lot of my early motherhood struggling with the idea that I was the only one who didn't have it all together.  So I created a hashtag in the name of keeping me real.  #andthenthishappened .  That pretty much sums it up.  I have a pretty extensive library of kids getting into mischief, epic messes and other similar moments that would make anyone reach for the whiskey.






Whiskey?  So it seems I'm channelling my late Granddad today.  Alrighty.....






The introductory trilogy pretty much set the standard for this blog, and my general vibe in life.  Shit happens.  Trying to gloss over it doesn't mean it didn't happen, it just makes it harder for all the other mums trying to live up to some crazy unattainable standard.






You there, in your undies.  Solidarity!  And you, with the unrecognizable remnants of your baby's breakfast smeared on your shoulder- you're badass.  If you can reach under your couch and pull out enough crumbs and broken biscuits to make a cheesecake base......... raise your hand.  I see you there, all dishevelled looking, with your hair haphazardly strewn around your face.  You look fabulous.  You look like me!






Sometimes it's fun to maintain the illusion that I'm actually in charge around here.  I have lots of photos to document that, too.  But most of the time, this is what my life looks like.


[If I was tech savvy, this is where the images would be.]


Well, I can't work out how to get my pictures uploaded in a timely fashion.  Not under these conditions, anyway!  Naptime is oh so short and I fear I'm not going to make it.  Pictorial evidence will follow when I figure that shit out.


So, next time you're feeling crummy about the general chaos of your everyday life, remember- you're not crummy.  It's all the posing, editing, gloss-over-anything-that-isn't-impressive culture we're immersed in.  You're just fine.  It's fine.  Go and get yourself a cup of coffeecream and salute yourself.   Solidarity, sisters!


[EDIT- You may notice I changed my profile picture.  I used the one I took that one time I brushed and styled my hair.  Classy!]

Code Brown- toilet training a ninja.

It's been a difficult couple of weeks.  The title says it all.  I've lost count of how many times spew and poo bugs have torn through this household this year.  Due to my close proximity to various bodily fluids..... I have a 100% hit rate for catching illnesses.


All that screaming 'SHARE!! SHAREEE!!' has backfired on me, it seems.  Note to self.  Nobody has to share anymore.  It's ok.


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I just want to take a moment to shout out to my one follower.  Hey there, I see you. 
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Amongst the challenges of our recent illnesses, I managed to claim one small victory, in the form of a white porcelain bowl.  Toilet training!  It's happening!  I can almost hear the groans.  'Bout time!'  Yes, it most definitely is.  Now seems like a good time to praise Ninja 1 for his excellent body awareness and communication.  High five, buddy.


So here are my top toilet training tips.  Ninja style, of course.


1. Accept that there will be shit on the floor at some point.  You're going to have to touch it.  Deal with it.
2. Nudie time is best conducted outside.  You're less likely to find yourself touching excrement.
3. Forget about potties.  They're stupid and you just have to wash them out anyway with one or both ninjas clinging to your legs.  (See point 1- high probability of touching a turd in this instance).
4. Beware of teaching your ninja how to remove their nappy for toileting.  They WILL remove it after they've filled it.  It will be smeared everywhere.  (this hasn't happened yet but I can sense it coming.  Watch this space.)
5. Praise until your throat is sore. 
6. Don't bring chocolate or treats into the mix.  It's just another opportunity for your ninja to attempt to outwit you and gain access to the stash.
7. Become a proficient rapper.  Make up a phat rhyme for each and every toilet trip.  Dance moves are optional.
8. Ninjas don't care about reward charts or stickers.  So don't bother.  A simple high five and an inversion/somersault is enough of a payoff.


The next step of course, is ditching the nappies altogether and trialling undies.  It breaks my heart to think that spiderman is going to bear the brunt of some major accidents.. but alas, it can't be helped.  I'm sure he'd understand.


Stay tuned for future developments!




Riveting...

Ninja parenting- A day in the life of...... EPISODE #3: AFTERNOON DELIGHTS

It's an oxymoron today. There isn't much that you could call delightful about a lack of simultaneous naps.  Both ninjas used to have a nap at 11 every day.  Now it's more of a jumbled mess of random power naps and screaming about how I'm a potato, and he's a chicken burger.  (True story.)

One of them is always awake.  One of them always needs something.   Right now, Ninja 2.0 needs to sit on my lap force feeding me soggy popcorn.   If you want to be a ninja parent,  you roll with that shit.

Anyway,  as the story goes, it's approaching the usual naptime.  The one that doesn't happen anymore.   I have to stick my head in the pantry and eat a cookie.  It's all about survival and stealth.  If they hear the packet rustle I'm in trouble.  A sugar high would spell my doom.

Lesson #8- Have a chocolate/ cookie/ chocolate cookie stash available for the hard days.  Take as required,  frequently.   If symptoms persist, buy a cheesecake.

We attempt to read stories.  Ninja 2.0 would prefer to sit on my face.  I look outside.  It's so hot and sunny I'm almost positive I can smell the hot.  (Sure, it's a thing.)  Quick decision!   TV - don't fail me now!  I can't find the remote.   Of course.  Ninja 2.0 does his best impression of a ball and chain- clinging to my ankle and being very committed to his goal.  So tenacious.  So heavy.  So frustrating!

Got it.  Cartoons are on and I have enough time to think about sitting down.  Nice!  Ninja 1 encourages his baby brother to lick his feet.  *for fucks sake....* instead he blows a raspberry on it.  It's all fun and games until someone gets kicked in the head.  *more inaudible profanity*  The couch is not for doing flips!  Stop dancing on the coffee table!  These are a few phrases I never imagined I'd need.

As soon as I put that fire out, there's that familiar smell I've grown so accustomed to. I swear, if motherhood could have a signature scent, it'd probably be poo.  Nobody would buy that.  I know what you're thinking.  I must get tired of being right.  You'd be wrong, so that makes me right.

Lesson #9- crackers dipped in custard is an appetizing snack.  Not really, but experimentation is mandatory under ninja code.

Daddy-O makes an appearance.   He's home from work and just in time,  too.  I'm fresh out of creative ways to be rad.  I get to use the toilet without worrying about a ninja fight breaking out.  It's pretty awesome.   I convince Daddy-O that he should change one of the dirty bums.  (Sadly, the frequency of this type of coordinated poo assault is increasing.  They're learning to work together.  Divide and conquer.)   It's time to dance now.  I know this because Ninja 1 won't stop screeching until I bust a tasty jam on my trusty smartphone.  (Ninja-parent tool of the month, right there.)

After dancing, Ninja 2.0 is the last man standing, and big brother is fast asleep on the couch. It's a pity, but he won't be manipulated by the promise of milk and cuddles.  I'm pretty sure I meant to have another mug of cream earlier.  Or maybe a spoonful of nutella.  I'm weary from battle, and then I remember dinner.  It's a thing I'm supposed to do every night and it's supposed to be organized and all I want to do is lock myself in the bathroom with the nutella and a glass of fat coke.  Fat coke is the best.

Lesson #10-  Every good ninja has a trademark beverage or beverages.  Mine is fat coke or coffeecream.

So the rest of the day goes by in a pretty noisy blur.  Obviously there was no way in hell I was cooking, it just wasn't gonna happen.  Chinese food saved the day and my sanity.  I'm still picking fried rice out of the rug but it was totally worth it.  Bedtime was 6 PM after the fastest bath in history.  (Dunk n swish manouvre) I was in bed by 7.15, because I'm a huge party animal and that's how I roll.

As much as I'd love to get into the nitty gritty of the dinner, bath, bed routine- that'll have to be another story.  Ninja 1 just got naked and he had a water bottle so I know he's plotting something bad.

Back later to finish the guide to a less convenient reality- at a more convenient time.

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Aaaand I'm back.  Here are the final two points of the parenting simulation., for those of you playing along at home.

9.  Smear a bunch of food and snot on your shirt and wear it for 3 days straight.  You still have to leave the house.  Might as well wear it with your white spaghetti jeans.

10.  Carry 2 bags of potatoes, a teddy, your wallet
, car keys and two sippy cups EVERYWHERE you go.

So that concludes the series.  I hope you found it informative.  We should do it again sometime....

Ninja parenting- A day in the life of.......... EPISODE #2- ATTEMPTED PRODUCTIVITY

I know what you're thinking.  With a title that punchy and succinct,  it's gotta be good.  Well, you'd be right.

After the crayon incident, and needing to use the snot-sucking device on Ninja 2.0- I decided it was time for a change of tactics.  Movies!  My favourites.  The ones I've seen a lot of times.... yeah.  I was getting desperate.  So, being the party animal I am, I bust out the popcorn.  I throw it in the general direction of the children, and retreat back to the kitchen.  It works for a while....

But then I got cocky.  I decided it was safe to go upstairs and pee.  They're fast.  I underestimate their speed frequently.  As I walk back into the lounge, I see Ninja 1 holding the snot sucker.  You know in the movies, how everything goes into slow mo when something crazy is happening?   That's exactly how it was.  Before I could speak..... it was in his mouth.  And..... yeah.  I heard the slurp.  I didn't know what to do, except squeal "GROSSSS!!!!"  I know.  Pretty badass parenting right there.  I lunged for it and threw it into the stairwell.  (Total ninja.  I bet it looked really cool,)

#Lesson 4-  Don't ever pee.  Ever.  Also, the kid who won't eat actual food, will eat baby snot.  Irony at its finest.

Somehow I regroup.  The dishes I was attempting to clean are finished.  It actually looks kinda like I accomplished something.  I'm so proud, I decide I'd better cook something exciting for lunch.  But first......  Ninja 2.0 needs a nap.  I can tell by the non-stop high pitched whining noise.  And the arms flailing through the safety gate.  You'd think I was in China, not just a metre away.  Seriously.

Ninja 2.0 falls asleep in about 3.2 seconds, but proceeds to stir and chomp down every time I.... breathe.  I let him bite me about 7 or 8 times before I carry him upstairs to bed.

#Lesson 5-  Gentle nursies is also contraindicated under ninja law, apparently.   Gymnurstics is where it's at.  Foot on my face, standing up and flipping upside down,  picking my nose for me type of nursing.  Now I can add extreme sports to my resume.

So it's 10 o'clock, and I have another bright idea.  I should make pizza for lunch.  From scratch!  I'm pretty rad like that.  (Ninja 1 can confirm this.)  I get my super mum on and even patiently watch on while Ninja 1 flings flour on the floor I mopped about 12 hours prior.  I pat myself on the back.  You're so rad.  You should have wine tonight!

Everything is going well for about an hour.   That should've been my signal that something was about to go wrong.  Ninja 2.0 wakes up just in time for pizza.  Excellent!   He's the one who likes my cooking.  I'm excited to go and get him until I notice the stench.  Again?  Alrighty!  I sit him on the rug while I search for a nappy.  He jumps up to run.  I give chase- dodging strategically placed obstacles with speed and agility second to none.   Then I see it.  He's got one side open.  Oh god!  Oh shit!  It's happening! !! (I have a fear of a poo catastrophe happening.  It's bound to one day.)

Imagine you have a cat.  It's all cute and fluffy.  Okay, stay with me.  It's doing that thing that all cats do at one point or another.  That ass-dragging-with-poo-still-attached thing.  Now you're in the zone.  This is the appropriate level of panic, I think.

#Lesson 6- Know where the hell your supplies are.  And keep all suspect nappies in your line of sight at all times!!!

Lucky for me, today was not that day.  (You didn't think I'd actually be beaten by a small, smelly boy- did you?)  And even better, it was a phantom poo.  I've never been so grateful for a fart.  Truly.  After all the nappy excitement, I serve up our delicious cheese pizza. I also deliver an enthralling commentary to keep them from throwing any more stuff on the floor while I'm busy.  I'm pretty sure they're impressed.  Not much stuff got thrown, so I'm calling it a win.

Ninja 1 announces he doesn't like pizza now.  Classic Ninja 1 style.  He drinks his watered down juice while the rest of us eat our actual food.  Not much of it ends up on the floor.  I did find a crust which was smuggled into the lounge but otherwise,  it went where it was supposed to.

#Lesson 7- Letting your child choose his lunch is pointless when he changes his mind every 4 seconds.  Letting your child help prepare their lunch is an excellent opportunity for learning.  I learned how not to scream about the flour on the floor.  He learned how to put flour on the floor.

So that about wraps up the attempted productivity portion of the day.  Next episode?  Afternoon delights.

I thought it might be fun for the non parents to continue playing along, and include some more simple tips for a less convenient reality.

5.  Attempt to make a business call with aforementioned DEATH METAL cranking.  Act natural.
6.  Wear white jeans.  Nuff said.  That shit is tempting fate.
7.  Take your cat grocery shopping.  Keep it entertained.
8.  Throw spaghetti on a freshly cleaned floor.  Leave it for several hours.  Try to clean it up.  Don't forget the white jeans....

Ninja parenting - A day in the life of.. EPISODE 1 : MORNINGS

I hear a tiny squawk on the baby monitor.   Urgh.  Already?  It's the middle of the. ... oh.  I have to squint pretty hard but it's starting to look suspiciously like morning.  4 AM.  Close enough.  

Lesson #1- The sun doesn't have to rise before you can call it morning. 

I throw myself out of bed, leaping clear of the sleeping 3 year old on the floor beside me.  (He's a bit of a bedtime gypsy.)  I stagger into bubs room.  He's standing behind the door, of course.  (Lucky I didn't enter with a flying kick... this time).  I should probably mention that 'bub'- a.k.a ninja 2.0- is more of a toddler these days.  An almost 17 month old, who walks (sprints) talks and high-fives his brother. 

So I scoop him up quickly before he can run out of his room and start wreaking havoc.  I crawl into my bed with him and attempt to silence him with milk.  I last about 20 minutes before he loses interest and starts bouncing around.  I open one eye to see a little blonde head pop up beside me.   "Hey baby K!"  It's 4.30.  Seeeeeeeriously?  They both run around the room while I attempt to find pants.  I have about a 50% success rate.  We head downstairs.   By head, I mean I carry ninja 2.0 and ninja 1 holds my hand.  

Lesson #2- Walking is prohibited under the ninja code, apparently.   Especially if there are stairs involved.  You MUST jump and flail.

I manage not to drop any children or swear words on the stairs.  Coffee!  The reward should be cof-  urgh.  Someone's got a poo.  Poo patrol takes at least 10 minutes.  Sometimes the culprit denies it and tries to run.  Ha.  Funny joke there.  The culprit ALWAYS runs.  And throws furniture and toys in my path for good measure.  I've probably muttered *fuck* under my breath at least twice by now.  You're lying if you say your mornings are any different. 

I do my motherly duty, and eradicate the poo threat.  Coffee!  I need coffee!  I break free of  ninja 2.0, who by now- has dissolved into a sobbing mess because there hasn't been a boob in his mouth for 13 whole minutes while I was elbow deep in.... joy and warm feelings.  I lock myself behind the safety of the baby gate and marvel at the destruction in the kitchen.  I mutter *fuck* a few more times.  Being careful not to trigger an avalanche of dirty dishes, I turn the kettle on.  Its pretty blue glow is comforting, for about 3 seconds.  Now they're both crying.  Ninja 1 wants cartoons.  Ninja 2.0 just wants to be permanently attached to my body.  

Before I can finish making my coffee, three toy boxes have been upended on the floor and a fight has broken out.  Mission abort!  Mission abort!  I attempt to avoid a full on riot using whatever means necessary.  30 minutes in, I realize that just like every other day, it's not going to plan.  I bail back out to the safety of the kitchen after throwing crayons and books into the riot.  

It's definitely a 'cream in my coffee' kind of day.  Hell... every day is a good day for cream.  I'm only having the coffee as an excuse to drink the cream.  Okay.  Slight exaggeration there, but the point is- I like cream.  Three large gulps into my cream with a side of coffee........ and someone has drawn on the walls.  White walls.  I say *fuck* some more and abandon the coffee.  Cream.  Whatever.

#Lesson 3- Crayons seem harmless but they WILL ruin your cream.  Or coffee.  Or coffee cream.  Whatever your morning beverage of choice... it will be ruined.

I think that's enough learning for today.  If you're a non-parent, and want a realistic parenting simulation to try, follow these easy steps.

1.  Stay up really late the night before.

2. Set your alarm for 4am, volume LOUD, ringtone DEATH METAL.

3.  Bury your phone somewhere in your room and try to find it in the dark without swearing.

4.  Light your ass on fire.

Stay tuned for Episode 2- Attempted productivity before naptime.