Yesterday was on the whole a rather enjoyable day, with the highs* mostly outweighing the lows **.  There was lots of delectable food, plenty of time spent with Melbourne family (and whole lot of phone tag with my Sydney based one), the odd tantrum or seven (I will save that for another post) and not nearly enough wine consumption by me (but what I did imbibe was delicious).

Hope you all had a lovely day too.

And just so you know, this post is coming to you courtesy of my new precious, a rather generous Christmas gift from mr hissychick. One day I shall have to post a picture of our little nerd family, husband on his laptop, me on my nifty white netbook, A on her Dora laptop and E on her baby laptop. Hey, it’s better than matching haircuts and clothes. Maybe.

*A excitedly declaring to us that “Santa’s really been here!” as she spied her present sack and marvelled at the mess of crumbs, crumpled serviette, drained milk cup and carrot end (for the reindeers of course) left by the man in red. E unwrapping her very own baby born doll, a sister to A’s “Baby good”.

**A asking why Santa had not brought her the robot she had asked for, which was dealt with via yet another parental lie of Santa not knowing exactly which one A wanted, and requesting that she help pick one out for her birthday instead (truth was I couldn’t find a suitable robot that did not have a weapon of some kind, which I find highly objectionable).

The one who missed her eldest daughter’s performance in the end of year Christmas concert and initially did not realise it.

The mother who then saw some footage with her baby girl anxiously scanning the crowd for her beloved mummy and daddy.

The mother who had to put on a bright smile and lie to her daughter, telling her that of course we were there, we were just up the back.

The mother who was running late because she was catching up with a long time friend who has just returned to Australia for the first time in two years and so didn’t carefully read the party program and brushed off her husband’s exhortations to hurry up.

The mother who that morning, had been so awful to her child because she was irritated by her innocent almost four year old Christmas enthusiasm because she was rushing around and worried about-get this-being late.

The mother who is sitting here, tears streaming down her face because under the “What makes you happy?” question in her beloved child’s portfolio the answer was “Mummy”.

I am pond scum.

All went swimmingly well, until, in what is fast becoming a tradition chez hissychick when it comes to playcentres and illness, miss E woke from her afternoon nap. In a pool of her own vomit.

The poor little poppet has either been struck down by food poisoning from a custard that I took with us and fed to her (WWM 08 again) or, and I have everything crossed that it isn’t so, she has caught the nasty gastro bug that is doing the rounds at the moment.

Did I mention that as of this Thursday we are off for a Melbourne and Tasmania family getaway?

By my calculations that leaves each remaining as yet unaffected member of the family precisely 24 hours each to suffer and transmit the spew lurgy prior to our trip. Fun! Fun! Fun!

It also leaves me with an estimated average of seventy five loads of washing per day to ensure that a) all puked upon articles of bedding/towelling/clothing are cleaned and b) we will have clothes rather than garbage bags to wear on our little jaunt.

Say it ain’t going to be so…..

Apparently there are people out there who pay good money to do what our threenager did for free. Maybe I should start hiring her out. Got to be able to pay for my WWM trophy and all that.

ETA: It’s out (damn spot)….

I’m beyond it.

The hissychick inside the computer before you is drained, physically from yet another nightmare night of broken sleep, during which E woke four times absolutely screaming her head off and inconsolable without either breast or rocking.   However it’s the emotional turmoil that has done me in.

I stand before you, the jury, charged with the following: failure as a mother.

Prosecution: Is it true, ms hissychick, that on the night of 15 June 2008 you let your youngest daughter scream for twenty minutes without picking her up?

Me: Yes, mr hissychick and I have tried everything. This has been happening for over a month now. It’s been well over a year since I last had a full unbroken eight hour stretch of sleep. We’d already tried to soothe her and decided that there was nothing else left to do…

Prosecution: Just yes or no will suffice.

Me: Well…yes.

Prosecution: And is it true that after these twenty minutes you screamed at your defenseless child to stop screaming?

Me:Well yes…I’m exhausted and stressed, it was so upsetting, I’m so tired that I am not always rational of late.

Prosecution: Would you care to repeat the last part of your statement?

Me: What? Ummm I am not always rational?

Prosecution: So you agree you are irrational.

Me: Wait a minute…

Prosecution: Would a rational person yell at a baby? Would a rational person let their child scream so loud that they woke their neighbours up night after night?

Me: But…

Prosecution: Yes or no ms hissychick?

Me: I guess not…

Prosecution: So you agree you are irrational?

Me: I guess.

Prosecution: Answer the question.

Me: Yes.

Prosecution: And should a mother be that irrational?

Me: Hang on a minute, we all have our moments, I love my kids, they’re OK….

Prosecution: Answer the question.

Me: No.

Prosecution:  So tell me why this court should not find you guilty of poor mothering when you yourself have admitted that you are less than rational, that you will let your child cry, that you will scream at them?

Me: But…

Prosecution: And have you asked for help?

Me: Well I’m starting to think that might be a good idea…

Prosecution: So you are admitting to the court that you can’t cope?

Me: Well I’m not doing so crash hot right now, but I am sure that with a bit of help and advice I can get the sleep issue sorted that things will improve and this will-be a blip on the horizon…

Prosecution: Ms hissychick, just answer yes or no, are you coping right now?

Me: No

Prosecution: I put to you ms hissychick, that a mother must cope. A good mother knows she has to cope and she does.

Me: But I will get through this. I am a good mother, I’m just having a rough patch, my kids want me and need me as I do them..

Prosecution: But have you not just admitted to the court that you are not coping, that you are irrational?

Me: …

Prosecution: Yes or no?

Me: Yes.

Prosecution: No further questions.

********************************

Words have a way of coming back to haunt you, as I am sure these ones will.

Guilty as charged.

Then again, just how seriously should I take something uttered by a little person who keeps trying to climb into the television to join Iggle Piggle, Upsy Daisy, Gavin*, and Bobo the dog faced clown* In the Night Garden?

Either way, in A’s eyes I am obviously the frontrunner for WWM 08.  Sigh.

* Probably not actual characters in the show. Although they should be.

Nomination #2

For outstanding performance in failing to prevent potentially IQ reducing head injuries in the cruising soon to be toddler I give you:

Being aware of the potential danger but too distracted to prevent what I saw was coming not once, but twice on Monday, resulting in a bruised forehead and an almost black eye for E. The first incident involved E walking headfirst into the dining room table and a chair as she attempted to reach for one of A’s forbidden toys. I had been about to move said toy but was too busy taking my first sip of my necessary to commence day upright and conscious cup of tea.

The second incident involved E clipping the side of her face on one of our low coffee tables which is home to A’s dollhouse. Just seconds before I’d been idly thinking “oh we need to put the safety corner back on that table” but then got distracted by a broken nail…hey presto.

I am the queen of prioritisation when I am sleep deprived. Not.

Nomination #3

For outstanding performance in the field of royally screwing your threenager up on one of life’s Big Issues I give you the following:

Last Friday afternoon. A spies the empty fishbowl which has been put outside on the lawn to dry after her deceased pet fish has been disposed of and said bowl has been cleaned.

A: Where’s bluefish? (You’ve got to love the fact that our girl labelled our very much red coloured goldfish with this moniker. Such an Aussie).

Me (trying to be upfront and honest): Sweetie, he died this morning.

A (pondering strange new concept): Died? Can I see him?

Me (dread rising): No…

A (thinking some more): So he’s gone to a new place?

Me (wondering where this is all leading): You could say that…

A (suddenly going into overdrive): What new place? Can I go there too? Why can’t I see him? What’s ‘dieded’?

Me (panicking): Sweetie, bluefish didn’t wake up this morning so he’s gone.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How stupid am I? Can’t. Take. Words. Back. Must. Do. Something.

Me: Um, Mummy didn’t say that quite right. Hey do you want an icecream?

********

Yeah, that last one is pearler isn’t it? To be honest, I wished I had put that flipping bowl away before I picked A up from daycare because I was not, am still not in the least bit prepared to be discussing death with her. Then again, who is prepared to rock the secure and previously immutable foundations of their child’s world?

Mr hissychick and I were both raised in the Catholic religion. The best bit about this is that we were both taught to understand that faith is a personal thing and to respect an individual’s right to their beliefs (provided you don’t push them on us that is). And given that religion is always a touchy subject, I am not going to divulge our current beliefs in this post.

However I am not comfortable with introducing religious concepts at this stage of A’s life because we aren’t dealing with facts, but faith. I would prefer for our children to be exposed at a later stage when they can more readily understand that people believe in different things to help them deal with life’s big issues, and that they too can find their own way.

That said, I really wished I’d just said that the fish had gone to Heaven and left it at that. And I really, really wished I hadn’t been so idiotic as to mention sleep in connection with death. It’s a number one no no and whoever first came up with that stupid euphemism obviously wasn’t thinking about kidlets who already fight sleep with all of their might.

Thankfully miss A hasn’t said anything since so I may have dodged a bullet but am not entirely convinced as she misses nothing. In the future I think whenever I am asked anything further about death I am going to stick my fingers in my ears and screech “Go ask your father LALALALALA”. It’s the least he deserves seeing as he’ll be palming off all the sex ed stuff onto me.

Anyway please peoples, keep ‘em coming. The WWM stories that is. Surely I can’t take a clean sweep of the awards. Um..can I?

And here’s my first self nomination. In the category of outstanding achievement in the field of patience I give you:

Yelling at my ten month old to SHUT THE FUCK UP when she awoke yet again last night, thereby resulting in more tears from her and waking up my sick husband, the threenager and the entire neighbourhood. Of course it would be another two hours before I could get both little treasures back to sleep.

I am still feeling both horribly guilty and rather deservedly sleep deprived this morning. So here’s what I’d like you to do: ‘fess up on one or two of your own less than perfect parenting moments.

Pretty please. Otherwise it’s sackcloth and ashes for the rest of the day, nay week, for me.

*For those who haven’t yet figured out this little acronym, WWM= World’s Worst Mother.