Where have you been?

In the months between switching hosting companies for our websites and various petty yet persistent illnesses sweeping the family, Morrison has grown into what we can best describe as a, 45 yr old man with a temper.

Where did our baby go?!

Sure, he's a youthful looking 45yr old man who obviously, loves Vegemite. But man, can he turn?! Don't get in his way. Don't take something he wants and what ever you do, don't you dare try to redirect his attention away from the flaming pile of broken glass and poison. Look, you've been warned!

This kid of ours will never be pushed around. He's taken to head-butting things, with alarming force.  Reminiscent of that scene in Steve Martin's Parenthood where his youngest child puts a bucket over his head to go outside and headbutt trees. That sound you can hear is a surge of pride. Yes. Pride.


He's 11kgs of funny determination. I have to say, as stroppy as he can get, he's equally as loving. Hugs are doled out in this house like they're soon going out of fashion. Pounding noises and cries of, "ow!" are quickly followed by, "Aww" and "thanks, Mo Mo." He shadows his big brother without regard to his own limitations.  Spike has balance and coordination on his side. Morrison, bruises and carpet rash. Like all boys, he's mad for things with wheels, piles of mess and shoes.  Ok, that last one might just be him.

He's crazy in love with his cousin, baby Angus. And just quietly, the feeling seems mutual.


Such a perfect little bugger. He doesn't talk as much as Spike did (but really, aside from his mother, who does!?) but he sure understands what we say.  Nods of yes and no are precise and emphatic.  You better take notice! You know what you want.  We get it, Mo. He'd like to report he's well and truly feeding himself now. Oh fun. Oh Mumma's gorgeous sandblasted glass dining table... He'd probably live on Vegemite sandwiches, cruskits, yoghurt and chicken if we let him. He can not wait to get outside. Loves grabbing Papa's h and to go feed the chooks, roll in the grass and dig up the plants. He doesn't like his routine to be interupted. Which he let us know when his morning nap and Spike's Steam Train trip clashed.  Woo! Who's the grumpy little man in the nappy then?

We've done a survey and there's probably not a kid who is more ticklish, more determined or more perfect.

Take that, other crap kids!

Morrison's Equally Stroppy Mother xo


Things I like. Things I don't like.

I like Nana. A lot!
I don't like, snow. A LOT!

I like Ox. And I like to sleep with a tea-towel over my gimongous head.
I don't like keeping my socks on. Ever.

Food. Wow, I like food. Any food. Now please. Any hint of 'food' illicits a deep and abiding, "oooooh!" followed by a baby stampede.
I don't like food with random lumps in it.

I like my highchair (cause that's where I get the most food).
I don't like being taken out of my highchair if I have not had enough of the aforementioned.

I like anything with wheels. Anything noisy and anything your currently holding.
I don't like you getting in my way.

I like it when my brother is at kinder.
I don't like it when we take him to kinder but then leave without him.

I like the wholemeal CheesyMite rolls from Bakers Delight in Clifton Hill. I can eat a whole one!
I don't like cake.

I like my bike and my trucks. They're noisy and fun and I can pull them apart. I like to dance with ALL my rhythm. (Like my brother, Play That Funky Music, White Boy)

I love my brother, he's funny. I like baths, they're splashy! And I like my to hold my own bottle while I watch PlaySchool before bed.

Mostly, I love it when my Daddy comes home. I throw my arms up and say, "Yay!"
And did I mention my distaste for the white fluffy stuff? Oooh that stuff sucks.

Here's my brother's stats from
roughly the same age. We're pretty close on milestones. I'm bigger, taller, louder and my head is waaaay more humongous! Granted, Spike was more verbal and social. But we both have curls to die for and smiles that stop traffic. We're good at routines and both excellent at unarmed combat.

Mum hates a list of thing but what's she gonna do about it? I'm 16 months old fercrissakes!

Mo (as dictated to the parental unit) xo


It's the tongue out series.

Boys! They're perfect!


Mumma xxoo

Learning to Walk or Zombie?

You be the judge.

Finally, he's off and running. Morrison sure took his sweet time and it was bliss! Now, nothing is safe from sticky, grabby fingers. He's also very good at stairs. But that's a story for another day.

lotsa love,

Mo's Spotter xx