Whoa. Ok. I don’t know how to write this post without sounding like an annoyingly gushy, proud mother.
My two year old was playing quietly with his playdoh in the lounge room. I was washing the dishes in the kitchen, when I felt a tug on my jeans. “Mummy look! Cake! Candles! Blow!”
It was the first time he had made something on his own – using his own initiative and imagination.
I was speechless. In fact, I was so surprised that I just stood there dumbly, going wow.
I’ve never shown him that you can make cakes out of playdoh. Let alone pretend that matchsticks can be candles. Until this moment, he’s only ever made something because I made it first.
My baby’s thinking for himself! He’s becoming a person! A genius!
I sit here with a silly grin on my face, feeling like I’m the first mother in the world to watch a child grow up.
Thursday nights are usually considered as MY nights.
This means, the moment my husband returns from work at 5pm, I’m outa here. Well, kinda. I think 8 weeks is still too young for a breastfed baby to be left without his mum.
So yeah. I fly out the door, in search of selfish indulgence in domestic freedom, with lipstick, heels… and a baby.
Last night I hit the shopping malls. I picked up some shoes (my sister’s) that I sent in for repair. Bought a pair of sunglasses to replace the ones I sat on. Eyed a pair of pants from Witchery. And I picked up some bargain Lush soaps.
I also caught up with a friend for dinner at the David Jones cafe. We sat pressed up against the huge glass windows, looking down onto the tiny ant-like shoppers. They marched this way and that. It was nice to watch the world go by. I ate a very yummy chicken and avocado caesar salad – which made me feel very ill a couple of hours later.
The last few Thursdays, I’ve been having a great run of good baby behaviour. Sean would literally sleep right through whatever I was doing. 2-3 hours straight! But this week, Sean grizzled all night. I had to constantly carry and rock him through dinner. I’ve seen other mothers doing this and it was not fun at all. Ah, I didn’t realise how good I had it. Oh well, it looks like my weekly night outs will have to come to an end. Hmm, unless I do something where someone ELSE can carry and rock the baby through dinner.
Last night we were hoping to catch a spectacular sunset at the beach. But it clouded over as we approached the coast and it was a bust. Trying to make a good thing out of it… we lugged the kids over to Oxford Street for a cruisey night out. Nothing fancy. Just dinner in a kebab shop and hot drinks in a cafe.
As we sat sipping our hot chocolates, I pointed out the eclectic jumble of dirt-moving toys and semi-naked Ken dolls strewn about the cafe interior. My two year old kept shouting, “MUMMY! LOOK! BIG YELLOW TRUCK! MAN NO CLOTHES!”
I love quirky cafes. Cafes that aren’t afraid of dirty mirrors, peeling paint, spider webs, split leather couches, faded retro fabrics, scuffed wooden floors and out of date magazines.
I just love that sense of being deeply confident, despite having a few rough edges. Or imperfections. Or shortcomings. Or just the kind of qualities that makes something unusual, unexpected and beautifully unique.
There’s a certain kind of self-confidence needed to make someone happy with the way they are. One that looks past the senseless and unattainable drive for perfection. Looks beyond imposed expectations. And looks inward, with a bit of faith, and smiles.
I sit, sipping my hot chocolate and I look at my kid. He grins and giggles uncontrollably as he slowly nibbles away at his pink marshmallow, savouring every delicious, mouth-watering and syrupy moment (he doesn’t eat sugary things at home). He waggles his legs and sings “Yummmmmmmmmy!”. It’s so cute. I pause and wonder, how on earth do I bring out this confidence in him? Lots of love, I guess. Is it really that simple?
I think the glory days of the X-Files was the last time I followed any tv show with the ferver of an infatuated 15 year old teenager. Oh hang on, 12 years ago I WAS an infatuated 15 year old teenager. Hmm… ok ok, and I still revisit my Star Trek addiction once in a while.
Anyway, despite my aversion to reality tv and popular tv game shows, I have to admit that I was happy to tune into the mind-numbing droll of prime time commercial tv just so I could see squeaky clean + aussie bloke Tom Williams take off his clothes.
With 2.3 million viewers, a live studio audience, a dull judging panel, a family-tv show rating and all the glitz and glamour of a mind-numbing commercial tv game show… Tom’s bulging, flexing, glistening, naked and muscular body looked SO out of place. Yet. I. Could. Not. Take. My. Eyes. Off. Him.
Everytime I have doubts about being a stay-at-home mum, and then begin to entertain the prospects of picking up a bit of web/design work… I only have to look no further than Clientcopia : Stupid Client Quotes for a cure.
These are my favourites :
“We love it like this, but we were wondering if we could change the font, the color, and move a few things around?”
“I need more pesshht peesshht chuttt chutt papapapa on this animation.”
“Please change the “SUBMIT” button to “DONE”. Submit sounds too kinky.”
“We want it to be black, but could you not make it so dark?”
“Just because we signed off on the proof doesn’t mean we were happy with it!”
“Can you do it like in the Matrix…you know with numbers, zeros and ones, and glowing light, like in the Matrix, you know?”
“Can you print out a copy of every page in the website and post it to us? We need to fax a copy to our US office so they can have a look at it…”
Me: So who will go to this site and for what reason?
Client: I don’t know
Me: Well what is the purpose of this site!?!?
Client: I don’t know
“Um, could you make it more… i don’t know… enhanced?”
“Can you make the background constantly change colors? I want people to know that we are fun and exciting.”
“Don’t use too much red, our tests show that red downloads slower.”