Pussycat Pussycat, Where Have You Been?

I don't like animals, not really.

When I was growing up we had a number of them - chickens named Henny, Penny and Jenny and a rooster named Rodney. A goat named Sarah who chased me around so we had to get rid of her, then a replacement goat named Dean who got eaten by the dogs across the road. A dog named Spike (and you probably know the story about him). A boy bird named Mary. Calves named Jack and Daffy - they got sent to 'live better lives on a big farm' (really they got sent to be made into hamburgers). We've had sheep, til they were needed for a special occasion... like a wedding day lunch. Once we even had a friendly kunekune pig visit - it used to eat the soap at the outside tap.

And then there were the cats. Millie, Milo, Gilbert and Muffy. Poor, poor Muffy. Where did you go?

Anyway, the husband is a huge animal lover and since we've been married we've often talked about getting a pet but until now we haven't gotten around to it. Then the other day he was looking on TradeMe and found Mooloo. Who we renamed Lulu. Or Neeka. We haven't decided yet.

Here she is:

The Tiny Human loves her. At least that's what I figure from the way he hits her and pulls her fur. It's a good way to teach him how to use his 'gentle hands', right?

She came from a family of four boys and a baby girl but they couldn't keep her because they were moving to a place with a 'fierce ginger cat'. So we'll love her and feed her and put our hideous allergies second to her. She's kinda cute.

These are my confessions...

I love Glee.
On Saturday I watched three episodes straight (Tim was out watching the rugby, Eli was in bed), and blissfully alone, I sang, danced, laughed and maybe even shed a tear. *Warning: this video contains spoilers!*




So now I'm feeling all passionate about singing and all that jazz. I'm going to get singing lessons, and sing like Rachel Berry. Or something. I'm also going to lobby the idea of Glee to my choir (luckily I've got a couple of friends at choir who love Glee as much as me!). I'm quite keen on dressing up like Lady Gaga or something. Can you imagine it?!

Things I Love Thursday!

Waking up to a cold wintery day, and having it turn out this beautiful...

Baking, for no reason other than that I want chocolate slice...

Brightly coloured warm woolly socks worn over leggings...

This little boy whose hair grows all wispy-like over his ears. I shall never cut it.

What are you loving today?

2010

Dear 2010 (more specifically the month of May),

Any time you want to stop sucking, let me know. I'll be here waiting.

Love Holly.

PS. Today I was reminded of the quote "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade". Please tell Dale Carnegie to give me a lemonade recipe.

Swings and Roundabouts

Our local playground is nothing fancy. In fact, it's a little bit derelict, like someone placed a few things there and thought 'kids might like this', then left and never returned. Our local playground has a swing set (one for babies and one for toddlers - mama's butt don't fit in no swing), two rickety see-saws and a slide. The grass at our local playground is dry, but good enough to eat - according to Elijah.

We go there when we need to fill in some time in the afternoon. Granted, the time spent there is short because first I'm worried if I push too high, Eli will undoubtedly lean back in the swing and fall out. Then I'm worried he's gonna get slide-burn because the sun has been shining on the metal of the slide all day. And there's nobody to sit on the other end of the see-saw, so we don't venture onto that.

Last time we went there was about a month ago at around 11am. We arrived at the same time as an old Indian woman and her (I assume) grandson - the cutest little Indian boy you've ever seen, about two years old... dressed in an all-in-one, if that helps with your imagining. We didn't talk, kind of just played in the same vicinity as each other, smiled occasionally, and at one stage he was able to be the 'see' to our 'saw' and we finally got to play on that elusive piece of playground equipment.

They kind of a little bit touched my heart, for whatever reason, but we left to go home and I resigned myself to probably never seeing them again - what are the chances of going to that same park, on the same day, at the same time? Especially given that we spend a total of about ten minutes there, due to said lack of exciting play equipment!

Today at 3pm we set off for the playground again - our first time since the last time. As it came into view I saw that it was empty as usual, no surprises there. As we got closer I could see some people in the distance heading towards the park as well, an adult and a toddler. NO, COULDN'T BE! IT WAS! Old Indian lady and cutest ever Indian grandson were back, same day, same time, same place!

We had been reunited, and this time we played together, and we laughed and we chatted and they came to our house for a cup of tea! No, not really. Unfortunately we played on our separate things, and then it got freezing cold so I put Eli back in the stroller to make the walk back home. Then, old Indian lady took her grandson by the hand and led him over to Eli. She spoke to him and he reached out and held Eli's hand for a second, then waved to me. Then, amongst much wild gesticulating, patting me on the back, and foreign language, she explained to me that she only speaks Punjabi. I explained back to her that I only speak English, but it would be great to see them back there again sometime and maybe the boys could go on the see-saw together again like last time. I could bring tea and scones, I said, and she could bring a picnic blanket. No, not really. But I did point at the swings and make a motion with my hand, telling the little boy in English that next time I would push him on the swing. He understood, I'm sure of it.

As we left, I felt a smile make its way onto my face (truly, it got there without my knowing). Language is  no barrier at the park and friends can be made by smiling and playing. Now, how do you say 'wanna come to my house for a cup of tea' in Punjab?

Lessons.

Elijah is 8 months old now (yay!). 8 months of joy, and feeling like I am the luckiest mum in the world. Unfortunately it is also 8 months of "he's how old? Gosh, he's huge!". Hey, complete strangers of New Zealand: I KNOW.

I used to justify it to people when they said that: "He was born big - he's actually on track growth wise, and he's in proportion if you take his height into account", but why should I have to? Lately I've just been giving a half-smile and changing the subject, but really I should stand up for my child! Let me know if you have any pithy comebacks I could use.

Here are a couple of recent situations where I could have used something snappy and cutting:

On Friday I popped into the jewellery shop to look at watches (there's a special occasion coming up). The lady behind the counter spots Tim with Elijah and says "How old is he?". "Eight months" I say. "How old?!" she exclaims. "Eight months" I repeat. "Oh gosh, he's big for eight months... are you sure?". Actually lady, you know what? I'm probably wrong.

On Saturday we went shopping again, this time at the appliance store. Just as we were leaving, Tim's name was called. It was his workmate (we'll call him Bryce... cos that's his name). Oh here we go, I thought. Bryce has consistently made reference to Elijah's size - both when I take him into Tim's work, and to Tim at other times. You won't believe the first thing he says... "Hey, is that The World's Biggest Baby?!". At this point, I should have said "Hey, are you the world's biggest dick head?" or something similar, but I showed amazing restraint instead! Then to his girlfriend he goes "He's the size of a two year old!". And I said: nothing. I was flabbergasted (and I am not often flabbergasted). Then we left and I bit my tongue to stop from crying.

My son does not look like this:

And even if he did, I would - most likely - still love him to pieces. I don't know many two year olds Elijah's size either. AND, his size 1 pyjamas are too big for him, SO THERE.

But I'm not justifying myself...

How to be a blog stalker:

Step 1: Sign up to Blogger and pretend as though you are going to make a new entry to your blog each week. Make your blog look all nice and fancy so that people will want to look at it.


Step 2: Find a couple of blogs you might want to follow - a couple I've chosen are Enjoying the Small Things and Our Little Miracle, but you can find your own. Then 'Follow' them. 


Step 3: Check your Dashboard every single day. At least three times. Your Dashboard lets you know when the blogs you are following have a new entry.


Step 4: If you have a spare few hours, and have finished reading the blogs you follow, click 'Next Blog' at the top. This will take you to a random blog, which you can read, click 'Next Blog' again and find out minute details about someone you've never met, their five children, and the craft they enjoy.


You are now a blog stalker. Welcome.


PS. Just in case you were starting to think I was a little creepy, I also follow blogs about craft, like this one, so I'm not so odd after all.


PPS. This is probably my last blog. Turns out I hate blogging, I just like reading.

I love:

1. Having a clean house - a clean house equals a lighter heart. (please note the freshly made cake on the kitchen bench)

2. Getting into a bit of craft.. occasionally. I've been making a cot bumper for about a month now.

3. My boys. They are SO handsome, and so neat!






What do you love at the moment?

Nationals

Today is the first day of National Champs for Tim.

He's the one wearing the hat in fourth seat.
(Photo courtesy of Stephanie Palethorpe.)


I'm excited about this for two reasons: 
The first is that I think he's really good, and have high hopes that they'll make it to finals and win a medal (because how cool would that be?!).
The second, and more important - for me anyway - is that FINALLY, he will no longer have to get up at 5:30am every morning. Admittedly, the last couple of weeks he hasn't had many morning trainings, so we've been lucky enough to have him home. He and Elijah have loved hanging out for a while before Tim has to go to work. He will no longer have to go straight to training after work, meaning he will get home before 8:30pm, and he'll be able to give Elijah his dinner and a bath! For a while there, with morning and night trainings, Tim was only getting to see Eli during his lunch break, for about half an hour... (wears a bit thin after a while!).


I'm so proud of Tim for joining a rowing team - he's really enjoyed learning something new, getting fit, making new friends etc. But we'll be very glad to have him back.


Until next season...

Changes

Notice anything different?


I'm a bit restless in the sense that I don't like things to look the same for too long. I am constantly changing my house around, cutting my own hair (!!), and now this blog. I've changed the look, and I've also decided to change the theme.. as you'll see above in my description, our blog (mine, Tim and Elijah's) is going to be about general things that I happen to be thinking about, or things that are going on in our lives (particularly for those people who are living far too far away and so are unable to follow closely along).


Anywho, I've also decided to make another - rather large - change, and this one you'll have to help me with. I am no longer a lazy sod (and I would appreciate if those negative ninnies could refrain from saying 'yeah right' about now). I've been lazy for about as long as I can remember... I'm really sick of spending all of my time on the computer, or watching television. I'm a homemaker. That is my job, and the description of a homemaker is not 'one who sits on their arse doing nothing all day, but occasionally hangs out the washing'. In fact, the actual description of a homemaker is: 

Homemaker

A lazy woman who sits around the house all day, often under the illusion that their job is just as hard as a mans, and that they deserve to be paid for it. Of course, they fail to take into account the fact that most women waste half of the money their man makes on crap they don't need like about 20 pairs of shoes and other unnecessary garbage. Also, when asked what their job is, many women will say "I'm a homemaker!", when in reality they are unemployed. Brad's mom is unemployed and stays at home all day sitting on her ass. She is a homemaker.

Oh wait, that's the chauvinist Urban Dictionary version (and, scarily, quite accurately describes Lazy Holly).


Here's the aspirational version:


A homemaker handles household responsibilities as his or her main daily activity. Common tasks include cleaning, cooking, and looking after children.

One of our dreams (mine and Tim's) is to own a house in the country and be at least somewhat self sufficient. We will own pigs and chickens and a cow and sheep. We will grow vegetables, and fruit. We will make our own bread and dry our own herbs. For this kind of life, you cannot be lazy. 


I don't want Elijah (and future children) to grow up sitting in front of the T.V. Kids should be out climbing trees and finding curious things in nature. And since we, as parents, are the primary models for our children, it has to start here at home. In this house. With me. 


Today: Cosmetics - dishes, washing, floors etc etc.
Wish me luck!

Exercise

I know I said this one was going to be about "Hits of the 90s", but I felt like that was too boring, so I chose something else.

You might have seen my Facebook status a week or so ago, which said that I had just been for a run and a bike ride? Well the general idea of doing so - other than to get out while I could - was to begin training for a duathlon. A little before this, I had mentioned I was thinking of doing a triathlon. Then I remembered I can't swim to save my life, so a duathlon it is. It's not until February 2011, which gives me PLENTY of time, so don't go holding me all accountable and such. Although, I'll definitely do it again shortly.. I saw three baby rabbits hopping around in a field, which I wouldn't have seen if I had just stayed home!

Anyway, I am no gazelle. I didn't just get dressed and set out for a leisurely run, then return and go for a leisurely bike ride. It was HARD. I'm asthmatic, so running isn't freeing and I don't feel all wonderful when I'm doing it. My chest tightens and I'm pretty sure I'm going to die, more so every step I take. My legs begin to feel like cement, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep going to the next powerpole, the next street sign etc etc.

For this very reason, the last time I actually ran in an actual race was probably in primary school.. which brings me to a memory.

It was cross country day, and my cousin Ebony and I decided we'd run together. (NB: When I do the duathlon, although I might enter with someone, I will not suggest sticking together). So we set off, and after about a hundred metres, I'm starting to die. Ebony on the other hand has a heap of energy, so being the loving cousin that I am, I allowed her to take up her true calling to try to WIN THIS RACE! Later on, Adam McDonald said she was like the Energizer Bunny. Truly. I don't recall whereabouts she ended up coming, but it was most definitely ahead of me. I like to blame the asthma. It made me come second to last. Second to last, much better than last last (I can hear you thinking). Well yes, you might think so. BUT, I came in front of another girl from my class, who wore moonboots because she had bad arches in her feet. So I don't run.

I'm also not a great bike rider. The last time I rode a bike prior to last week was probably about 5-10 years ago. But, so they say, an elephant never forgets, and on I hopped. I chose to ride a nice country back road where there would be few cars. And there were, but according to the white subaru legacy that went past me, the speed limit was about 150km an hour. Aside from this, it was relatively painless (except in the place that anyone who rides a bike will be well aware of).

So, anyone wanna join me?!


Next time: Bargains!

Our Family.

The other day, thinking about nicknames from my childhood led me to think about if I was/was not bullied at school... I really don't think I was, although I have a very vivid memory of one incident.

I used to ride the school bus home when I attended intermediate, and one particular bus ride, a girl (who we shall just give initials - SLP) thought it would be fun to tell me I looked like Droopy Dog - the tired eyes I imagine. Do you know Droopy Dog?

Don't worry, I smacked her across the head (unfortunately her dad was a client of my dad - up til then).

Anyway, so I was thinking about how I looked like Droopy Dog as a kid, and I began to wonder which cartoon character Elijah looked like. And thought it might be helpful for those who have never seen a picture of Elijah due to our strict No-Pictures-On-Facebook rule. I finally settled on Theodore Seville...

He's the one on the right (it's the cheeks).

Tim was a super cute child, so it was hard for me to come up with a cartoon character which he may have resembled, but I think I found one:

But with browny hair.

In real life Tim and I are a bit more 'adult human' looking though, and Elijah is FAAAAR cuter than a chipmunk.

Next time: Hits of the 90s

Nicknames!

When I was born, I was lucky enough to be named Holly. I really do like my name, and if it wasn't mine, I might even consider naming one of my unborn children that. But run through the alphabet and you'll soon realise 'Holly' rhymes with EVERYTHING. Bolly, Colly, Dolly... Yes, even Eolly. Thanks to my terrible information recall, I don't really remember anyone mocking me about this when I was growing up, although I'm sure they did. I would have.

My brother, Ethan (whose name doesn't rhyme with anything, by the way) made up a special ditty for me about my name. It went a little something like this: "Holly Bolly, fat and jolly". He loves me really. Ethan, funnily enough, still gets called Baby, Babe and Bubba by us... He's 18 this year.

A family friend calls Stacey 'Racy Stace' every time he talks to her. She loves that one.

Over the years I've had quite a few special nicknames though - Hollywood (kids at school), HollWoll (Mum), Leesh (derived from my middle name, Alecia - from Stace), and once I even got called Polly, but I think the lady who called me that actually thought my name was Polly. I think the last time anybody was called Polly, it was this girl:

And even her creators had the decency to tag another name on the end.

But my very very favourite nickname was given to me by Dad. Just wait, there's a lead-up to this one. One sunny summery day (probably), Daddy and I were having a chat (I'm sure) and he issued a statement to the room. Maybe something like "Today, Holly and I saw a purple spotted iguana" (or something similar). The room looked at him sceptically. "A purple spotted iguana?" (they would have said). Here it comes... "Yeah", said Dad. "Eh, Holl?.... Heh, heh... heh, heh, heh... Eh, Holl... A-Holl... A-hole!!!". (Get it???) Yip, that's definitely my favourite.

What were yours?

Next time: Pictures of our wee family...

The Beginning...

Excuse me while I get on the blog-wagon. Everyone's doing it, so why not me? Weeell... maybe because I don't have anything particularly inspiring to say, or particularly funny. Ahem. Anyway, you don't have to read it.

Today's weather (thunder, lightning and general storminess) is quite serendipitous given the topic of today's blog - my earliest memories.

Let's begin at the beginning - my very first memory. Until I was four years old, we lived in a white two story house at the bottom of the world's steepest driveway. Anyway, that's not important to the story really, just setting the scene... One stormy day, my sister Stacey (of KendylsPlace fame) and I decided to take our stopwatches outside (everyone had a stopwatch when they were little didn't they?) and measure the time between thunder and lightning to see how far away the storm was. Or was it the time between lightning and thunder? Either way, there we were measuring with our stopwatches, when the first drops of rain began to fall. Mum quickly opened the ranch slider door and called us in - probably worried that if she left us out there we would be struck by lightning. Most likely.

Mum says this memory never happened.

Another memory from living at this house was the first and last dog we ever owned. Spike. He looked something like this:

But maybe a bit different. One day we went to go for a walk and when we got to the top of the steepest driveway, Dad untied Spike so that he could come with us. At the top of the driveway was a road. Spike was just so excited to be coming with us, he bounded all the way up the steepest driveway, but he didn't stop. He ran right on to that road, and was promptly run over by a taxi. Or not a taxi, maybe just a regular car. We buried him under a tree in the back yard.

Maybe I made some of this up (I don't have very good information recall after all) but we did have a dog called Spike. And he definitely got run over. And something about having blood on his nose. Ask Mum.

But here's one I know is definitely true. And I know it's true, because my sister remembers it too (unintentional rhyming). We - Stacey (eight years old) and I (four years old) - were in the garage with our neighbours, a boy and a girl, doing some dancing. The boy held me by the hands and spun me round and round and round and round. So there I was, having the greatest time... and he let me go. I was spectacularly airborne. Until I wasn't anymore. SMASH. I came into direct contact with a tin of paint, right on the bridge of my honker. Ouch. This is the part of this memory Mum says never happened - I sat on the bench in the kitchen, in my denim overall dress, probably wearing my Mary-Jane's, with my hair in pigtails, crying my poor four year old eyes out, blood caking under my fingernails. It's a very traumatic experience you know. Then I went to the hospital and got about 20 stitches (okay, I concede, maybe it was five). I've got a scar now - my only one. If you were to come right up to my face and have a real good look, you'd see it. It's the reason my nose looks funny... one of the reasons.

Next time: Heartwarming Nicknames from my childhood.