Friday
Dec102010

Stand Up From An Almost Four Year Old

Junior Master Chef?

How's about Junior Master Comic?

He leaned young, it's all about the timing.  And knowing your audience.

(everyone's a critic)

Pushy Stage Mom x

Friday
Nov192010

City Kid Milks A Cow

City kid milks a cow. Cow not surprised. Cow, content if anything.

City kid tells assembled press and peers, he is the best at milking.  Cow does not enter a plea.

A bunch of city kids and their city-er mums went to a farm one day. And what do you think they saw?

The cafe serving Swiss Water Filtered coffee, baby cinos and organic, whole food, free range, biodynamic paninis on sourdough toast, thanksverymuch!

Collingwood Children's Farm (as the brochure might say) is nestled on a bend of the Yarra River. A glorious seven hectares of paddocks, gardens, orchards, rustic buildings and shady trees. It is a stunning piece of crown land that just SCREAMS [at me everytime we go there] "Oy! Wouldn't a big modern glass and concrete house look STUNNING here?"

The answer is, Oh.

Oh yes.

Oh yes please, yes.

Kids, actual baby goats, day old piglets, chooks, geese, cows, ducks - as big as Mo! - a confused peacock, some well handled guinea pigs, a cat, some horses and a partridge in a gum tree all line up to be fed, petted, oohed and ahhed at.  They also reportedly house bees and earthworms.

Five baby piglets had been born the day before. Two girls and three boys. The girls are named Target and Sausage.  Someone asked, are you going to name the boys?  The farmhand laughed and said, "No, they're not here long enough."  A city mother looked confused, then horrified.  I must give her my pork and sage stuffing recipe...

Spike's favourite thing about the farm, "ahhh, milking the cow, at the children's farm. That was my favourite thing. And the baby cino. It was cinalicious!"

heh

If you're in Melbourne and you haven't been - go.  Seriously, go. They have a farmer's market the 2nd Saturday of every month and the cafe does a kick ass brekky every day of the week. Try the goats toast.  And give a nod to Betsy the cow that was best milked, by Spike.

[click : Goat feeding. Spike and his bff, Alexander & Mo. More goats! And baby cino time with bff, Jula.]

SRS x

Tuesday
Oct192010

I Am Four (and so is Fugger)

 Yup. Four! Willful. Happy. Gregarious. Funny as a bucket of ducks. Four!

He's had an (almost) year of kinder, where he seamlessly entered the fray.  He walked in that first day, flung his hat on the hook, proclaiming loudly, "Hi everyone, I'm Spike.  This is my Mum.  Say hi to my Mum."  (to this day, anywhere in Clifton Hill I remain, Hi-Spike's-Mum!)  His little buddies are Alex, Jule and Clarence.  He speaks wistfully of Vy and Nikita agressively loves him.  There are three Jacks, three Finns, a Martha, a Tully and an Isadora (to name a few).  His teachers are Penny and Sue.  Two completely fabulous, Fitzroy broads.

He remains quite fond of a cino bébé, s'il vous plaît?  Bambino cino, per favore? 请宝宝国际编号?   Loves, loves, LOVES going anywhere with Daddy (who wouldn't?!) they've been known to hit three or four parks in one go. Nana and Papa's remains the favoured destination.  (Papa has h-u-g-e worms in the garden, in case you didn't already know)  Both boys love seeing their cousins, Tild and baby Angus. "Aww, baby Angus!"  We all love it when Arnie comes over and the aforementioned cafe substance-abuse wouldn't be a date without Rinne Roo.

He's incredibly loving, doting on his little brother until BOTH make a beeline for the same toy/car/food.  Spike's enjoying Mo more now that he can fetch and play CRASH with the cars.  Play School is still on the roster - our night time routine.  Sesame Street and Mister Maker are more often requested.  This is also the year he discovered Mr Bean.  "Wait.  Look!  Mr Bean puts his toothbrush - IN HIS EAR!" It's both incredulous and thought-provoking.

He wants for very little. Has even less on his list of demands. We gave him a large art easel for his birthday.  A chalk side and a whiteboard side (did you know Crayola made whiteboard crayons?!  Us neither!) and there's a giant pole to slip 48 kms of paper on a roll for painting and or making a to scale map to Nana's place!  He can write his name, my name and your name if you spell it out for him.  And he was, rightly so, just as happy with the big cardboard box the easel came in.

But the motherlode of 4th Birthday presents came in the form a gift certificate from Nana and Papa - a ride on the steam train, Puffing Billy.  We went last weekend and a little boy lost what was left of his tiny mind!

Though, if you ask him about the day, he'll probably only tell you about the pie with sauce he had at the cafe.  That's my boy!

We love you, Spike.  We love you like little boys love trains.

Mumma and Daddy and little baby brother, Morrison xxx

Monday
Aug302010

Cold, White, BLISS

He be his mother's son. This also harkens close to Daddy's Colorado heart. Our eldest boy can NOT get enough of the snow.



All snow is good snow. Right? You betcha!



Lake Mountain is just a little over an hour outside of the city centre and the snowfall has been gorgeous. Melbourne has had an extended, cold, ski season this year (due to Global Warming, The Ozone Layer, Barack Obama and/or Our Own Hung Parliament) so we traipsed up the mountain for a frolic or two. Praps, three. Ten. Ten frolics, tops. Plus a whizzy. Ya gotta have a whizzy!
    

Spike hit the slopes, grabbed a handful of snow and piffed the biggest snowball he could manage. Morrison looked on with suspicion... suspicion bordering on contempt. He would not be having any of this 'snow' carry on. Just direct him to the chips and he'll forget this whole incident ever happened.

Spike on the other hand threw himself on a sled (Daddy "it's not a toboggan, a toboggan is at least a metre long and blah blah blah [insert actual snow talk]") and whizzed up and down the mountain (Daddy - "It's not a mountain. It's a hill if anything. Mountains are X metres high and have altitude [insert more hillist comments]") at great speeds without regard for anyone's safety, least of all his own.



He was retrieved from a spectacular spill off the sled (with his brother which only cemented Mo's deep hatred of all things snow), from between the legs of other people and on one spectacular 'final' backward run - from underneath a snow making machine. Each time, with a bigger grin on his face.



Frozen toes nonwithstanding he is ready to go back to the snow, every second of the day. He knows where his gloves are and he's pretty sure Mo Mo will like it more, this time.

Way to be optimistic Spike!

Spike's Frozen Mother xoxo

Saturday
Jun122010

The Gene Has Been Triggered

Which one?

The What Ever You Say, Adding The Words Poo or Bum Makes It The Funniest Thing - Ever! a locatable region of genomic sequence, corresponding to a unit of inheritance. I blame his father's side of the family. My side is more about Falling Over Is Hilarious! (because it is). Needless to say, the overnight triggerable onslaught of the poo related answers to benign questions has struck this house, with full force.

Grins img_5344 grins2

Literally, an overnight thing. Monday morning he woke up and when asked what he'd like for breakfast, he considered his options carefully, looked up with those big green eyes and said matter-of-factly, "A poo sandwich, please." Then dissolved into a pool of maniacal giggling. "Ah yes, a poo sandwich. Anything else to go with that?"
"You've got poo in your hair." [insert more mania]

I was a.... what's the opposite of proud?

So, we've been playing the "what's for lunch? is it poo?!" game for a few weeks now. Until this conversation transpired.

Me: What do you want for lunch, Spike?
Spike: [careful consideration - it's all in the timing"] A poo sandwich! Bwahahahahaha!
M.: Ok, then!

Preparation of a braised steak sandwich, something he's had before.

M: There you go buddy, a poo sandwich!
S: [long smileless inspection. a slight retch] I don't like it.
M: A poo sandwich? How can you not like a poo sandwich!?
S: I just don't. No [dry retch] no! I don't like it!

Even after being assured it wasn't realllly a poo sanga he wouldn't touch it. And he did dry retch quite a bit. Especially when it became apparent Mo, DOES like a poo foccacia. I will say, this incident hasn't stemmed the poo sandwich tide but it is now followed by, "not really, Mo will have it!"

Is IS all about the comedy in this house and as you can see, his delivery will take some perfecting.



Til then, we fervently hope you all have poo in your hair! bwahahahahahahaha

Spike's Equally Hilarious Mother xo
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