Monday 27 February 2012

Toddler talk

In our house, we have our own language.

We didn't always have it. I was careful to ensure the kids had the correct pronunciation of each word they tried, paranoid after we were told that their (temporary) hearing problems may have an impact on their speech. But life is short, and toddlerhood is even shorter. One of the most heartbreaking times of our lives was when Little Man stopped saying 'crocodiler' and 'the affe' and started saying 'crocodile' and 'giraffe'. His own affinity for language meant that we got less than 24 hours of 'eebops' before he self-corrected to 'hiccups' - who can honestly tell me that's an improvement?

So, we've relaxed. And by 'we', I mean 'I'. Hubby has always been more naturally relaxed with just watching them grow. I'll still help them with pronunciation when they're stuck, but maybe not everything needs to be totally perfect just yet. This means that when you come to our house, you'll see a drawer in the playroom labelled "pooting things and booping things". I was genuinely shocked when I revealed to coworkers that Little Man wanted a pooting thing for Christmas and they didn't understand my dilemma. Apparently, most people would call it a "gun". Who knew?

I've also recently been guilty of telling the doctor that Little Lady's cough is not improving "even though she's using the Roro every day!". Thankfully, when I explained that we always sing "Row, row, row your boat" while using the inhaler, she realised that I am still a fit person to be a mother!

There is so much joy to be had in the kids while they are small, and excitable and utterly innocent that I just can't bear to take any of it away just yet. So come to our house, where you'll notice as flish as a flash that things are a little different there. Our favourite television show is Happy Pig, which is best watched while wearing jaamas. We love it when Nanny and GwanGwand come to visit, or our "Auntie" Beeraid. We do NOT like things that are Beeskusting, but love eating Beetatoes.

Our little language sets us aside, says that the four of us are in this thing together and that we understand each other like no one else can. It is our language of love.


Thursday 16 February 2012

I'm dyeing to help

This is me.
Although in real life I'm a little less blurry.

Soon, I won't look like this though. Why, you ask? Well, because I'm taking part in Today FM's Shave or Dye campaign.
So, on February 29th, I'll be doing to Deirdre in Headrush salon in Kilcullen, where she will (for free - she's been extremely generous and helpful) cut my hair quite short and dye it a vibrant shade of red. The hair cut off will be sent to Little Princesses in the UK, to be made into a wig for a cancer patient.

At this point in the explanation, a number of people have again asked me "Why?" - with varying degrees of panic in their tone. To be honest, I'm not really sure. The best answer I can come up with is simply "Because I can". I have been blessed with good health and also with strong, thick hair that is constantly commented on at the hairdressers. So, why not use it to help someone else?

My plan is for my hair to help someone to regain their dignity, to feel more like themselves again. And also, for you to help fight the disease that has stripped them of that dignity (and much besides). All you need to do is make a donation. Money goes to the Irish Cancer Society, who fund services for cancer sufferers, as well as much needed research to help fight this disease.

Now that I've got my lovely sponsorship pack, I will be fundraising in earnest. If you'd like to sponsor me in person, just let me know and I'll arrange to collect the money from you. (On reflection, I feel I should point out that this option is preferred for people I know, as opposed to ax-murderers...)
You can also sponsor me via mycharity.ie (where you can also see how much money I've raised so far).
Finally, don't forget that you can also simply text "Shave" to 57080 to donate. Texts cost €2 and a minimum of €1.56 goes to the Irish Cancer Society.

A final note, I started off with the suggested target of €500, but as I'm getting close to that already, I think it would be lovely to reach for the stars here. It feels dishonest to go back and change the target - but please don't think that once I've reached €500 that I don't want any more!
And, of course, thank you to all the wonderful people who have already sponsored me. Every single cent is much appreciated!

Don't forget to come back to see my fab new hair on March 1st :)

Tuesday 14 February 2012

Romance in real life

It's a dreary evening. Around about 8pm. I come downstairs in my pyjamas and dressing gown, tired from settling Little Lady down for the night.
Hubby can be found on the couch, in his pyjamas. Running through the list of recorded programs on our Sky box to decide what we'll watch this evening. Neither one of us even notices the toys strewn around the floor anymore.
Dinner will be eaten in front of the TV. Leftovers from the healthy meals we cooked at the weekend.
Apart from the strains of a lullaby over the baby monitor, and the voices of the cast of How I Met Your Mother, silence reigns.

Then, Lily says something funny to Marshal, and Hubby laughs. Just once, just quickly. But it is enough. I take a second look at him. At his stubbled jaw, his dimples and the crinkles he has around his eyes from smiling.
"Oh," I think. "I remember you!"

And I do. Suddenly, I remember that this is not just the man who distracts the kids while I run off to the bathroom, or splits the weekend's lie-ins with me. Nope. This is my Hubby, a man who I adore.
He's the one who visited me in work every day for weeks, when I was clueless about his feelings. And the one who got up out of bed at 2am just to dance in the rain with me. Who very patiently watched me disappear two nights a week for college, for four years, just after we'd moved in together. The very Hubby whose funny stories can make me laugh in an extremely unladylike manner. The one who said "There's no way MY pregnant wife..." any time I tried to lift more than a feather while pregnant.

So I smile. And I cuddle closer. My darling Hubby turns and smiles, and that is it. We remember to share the funny and ridiculous stories of our day. The television is paused indefinitely while we chat and laugh and generally act like normal human beings instead of zombies.

Some days, the memory of each other is triggered by a sneaky kiss to the back of my neck while I'm chopping vegetables. Or a "Hey, I brought home this bar of chocolate for you". It might even be so simple as a request to be taught how to do ponytails in Little Lady's hair.

It's easy to forget about each other in the mundanity of real life. I think everybody gets bogged down to some extent in the day-to-day routine of it all. There is so much demanded of us, all day every day, that I think it's inevitable, and understandable, and even forgivable.

But, we chose each other for a reason. And even now, at the tender ages of 3.5 and 2 years, our children are showing signs of independence. They are reminding us that one day, they'll leave us behind, and it will be just the two of us again. When that day comes, we'll have all the time in the world for each other and I believe we'll make the most of it. Until then, we'll keep on muddling through. Most importantly, we'll keep remembering to remember.

Friday 10 February 2012

I Came to Dance (Dance, Dance, Dance)

Zumba! Even the name sounds kinda cool doesn't it? It seems to have its own flourish.

Goodness knows it's popular at the moment, with classes seeming to spring up straight from the ground after a fresh bout of rain. Despite this, and despite having wanted to do a class for aaaages, I prevaricated, procrastinated and well, basically sat on the couch a lot.

Enter Pigsback.com (yes, I have an affinity for Pigsback, but I think they've earned it) and their MegaDeals. Shortly after my crochet class had been cancelled, with no option for substitution, the lovely Curly dropped an email into my inbox with a deal for six Zumba classes for only €24. I actually hurt my mouse-clicking finger by snapping that deal up so quickly!

Signed and sealed, I duly delivered myself to my local community centre Tuesday night to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of women there! Women of all shapes and sizes, all ages, fitness levels and ideas of what constitutes fitness wear... But ALL of these women had one common trait - a smile on their faces. They were here, on this freezing cold night, because they love Zumba. After an hour there, I understood exactly why - and left with a smile on my face too!

Zumba is fun, it is exercise, it is a way to get out of the house and it is easy.

In my first class, I'd estimate I picked up 75-85% of the steps. They're designed in such a way that you can pick them up quickly, and get up to speed. This way, no time is wasted on slowly learning steps at the pace of the least coordinated person in the room. Every person there gets a full workout, and if you don't have the step exactly right, you just keep going. No one minds, no one is looking at you. Some of the steps are repeated in later songs, and you get them a little bit better the next time, and so on.

The music is fantastic, exactly what you'd hear on the radio, or in the oldies sections of some nightclubs (by oldies I mean anything other than the UNSS-UNSS-UNSS places). This is music that you sing along to, and that you want to dance along to. The moves are maybe a little more extravagant than you'd normally go for in a public place, but that's part of the fun! I don't think I'll ever be able to get that shoulder shimmy right, but I certainly enjoy pretending :)

And here was the clincher for me. After an hour of putting my body through things it is not used to, of using muscles that had themselves forgotten they existed, the Zumba girls did a proper cool down and stretch routine. A really good one. I've done cardio-salsa classes a couple of times before and the cool down was either inadequate or non-existent. Thanks to the comprehensive cool down routine at Zumba, I have no aching muscles afterwards!

I will be back. Sure, I'll finish out my 5 already-paid-for classes, but I'll also certainly be going back on their extremely useful drop-in basis. It's nice that I don't have to commit, to feel like I have to go on a given night. This makes it feel even more fun, it's certainly never going to be a chore to go along.

For me, Zumba is time to dance, time to exercise and time out of the house. What a nice way to kill three birds with one stone. (I'm hoping to use the stone that currently sits around my waist. I feel it's poetic somehow)

Wednesday 8 February 2012

Cute conquers all

"Wah"

...

"WAHHHH! Maaaaahhhhmmmyyyyyyy!"

Sit straight up in bed. Mmf? Check clock. 00.47. Ugh. Scramble for dressing gown. Give bleary medicine instructions to Hubby.

"Maaaaaahhhhhmmmmmyyyy!"

Stumble down hall. Cranky. Open door. Crying stops. Mumble soothing noise. Pray she'll go back to sleep.

"Mammy - the silly cough is coughing in my mouth!"

Smile. Relent. Well played, gorgeous girl.

Lift her up. Sit in rocking chair.

Cuddle.

Tuesday 7 February 2012

I am Mother, hear me roar!

They say that in times of duress, a mother can draw on reserves of superhuman strength to protect her children. I think most mothers believe this. Because love is powerful.

When you find that perfect man, you love him. You love every fibre of his being with every fibre of yours. To you, he is perfect. But when the two of you decide to make a child together, that child is a part of you. The love is fierce, and visceral. It is shocking in its intensity.

I have tried to explain this to my own darling Hubby a number of times. I know, and have always known, that if anyone harmed my husband, I would kill them. Of course I would. And then we had children. And I know with utmost certainty, that if anyone harmed my children, I could kill them. I may have said this a dozen times since the birth of our son, but I'm still not sure I understand the difference there. But something, somewhere behind my solar plexus knows what I mean.

On a day-to-day level, protecting your kids is - thankfully - rather more mundane. It's making sure their feet are dry and their chests and throats are warm. It's kissing fingers better, and scolding the "silly" doors that have caused pain. It's letting your kids know that you, for now, always have the answer.

I think that parents need to be a source of constant security for their children. Of strength and courage. All too soon they will learn that we are people too, but for now we are parents, a higher breed. An infallible species. This is why my kids do not know that I'm terrified of the very milk that I pour into their bottles at night. They don't know that I'm scared too when Daddy's not home yet on his motorbike. And why I'll never let them know that I have gone almost a year too afraid to use a set of downward-moving escalators.

Having broken my teeth falling down the stairs, I'm terrified of escalators. For years I could manage them if I waited until the third step had passed (I don't know why) but I've gotten worse and worse to the point that it's not worth it. The fear of falling is the thing most likely to make me fall and so I've given up.

Until this weekend. When Little Man and I were out shopping alone. With no buggy, we had no legitimate reason to take up space in the elevators. And of course, being the adventurous child that he is, when he saw the escalators, he made a beeline for them. Excited, happy. Exactly as he should be. I took a breath, held his little hand and said "Yay! Escalators" and we hopped straight on and went downstairs not just once, but twice.

A small victory, but it was mine. My happy, courageous boy knows nothing of what we achieved, and I hope he never will. I also hope, fervently, that this is the biggest test of the powers of a Mammy over the powers of a mere Aisling. But still, I know that for my Little Man and Little Lady, there is nothing I wouldn't do, nothing I couldn't do.

You might say it was one small step for a Mam, one giant leap for my peace of mind.

Friday 3 February 2012

Holding out for a Hero!

Over Christmas, one of my very good friends gave Little Man a fireman helmet. No one could have suspected that a simple piece of yellow plastic with a black flap at the back of the neck would bring so much fun.

Now, I don't know if you realise this, but being a fireman is an extremely serious business. Everything must be done quickly, and to Little Man's exact specifications if we're going to save the day. A typical Saturday morning in our house could be described as follows:

Little Man: "Mammy, Mammy, come whickly! Someone is in trouble and we need to rescue them. It's an emergency!"

Mammy dutifully runs to the playroom where roles and responsibilities are doled out.

Little Man: "Ok, I'm gonna be Fireman Sam, Mammy will be Penny and Little Lady will be Fireman Pat. Let's go! My baby leopard is in trouble!!"

Mammy, Little Lady and Little Man don their (real and imaginary) fireman helmets. We sit in the firetruck (also known as the futon) and put on our seatbelts very carefully. After a thorough seatbelt inspection by Little Man, he drives us "whickly" but carefully to scene of the emergency, siren screaming all the way.

At this point, I'm starting to get a little worried about the fate of the poor baby leopard, but I have faith in Fireman Sam - he'll know what to do.

Soon, the firetruck comes to a stop. Now, we must all take off our seatbelts, open the doors and put our helmets on the seats of the firetruck. (Yes, I have asked that question, and apparently it's because we don't want them to fall and get hurt. Perfectly logical.)

Now is Little Man's time to shine, his big moment, his opportunity to show us what a big, brave fireman he is and to save the day. We locate the poor unfortunate baby leopard, lying prone on the floor. It doesn't look good. I turn to my own little Fireman Sam, and ask him what we're going to do next. He tells me and his little sister to stand back, holds his arms out to protect us from harm, and with just eight little words, he saves the day:

"Baby leopard, come out from trouble! This minute!"

Well, that solves that then.