Smile - you're on Candid Camera!

It has always amazed me how children have an innate sixth sense which they use to the sole purpose of detecting the presence of a camera.  It does not matter what type of camera is in question.  It can be a small, almost invisible point and shoot film camera, a sophisticated SLR top of the range with super long telephoto lens, a video camera filming from a distance of 100m with a digital optical zoom, or my personal favourite, my small credit-card sized video camera that I don't even know I am holding; it does not matter one whit - the second that the record button is pressed, the sixth sense kicks in.  Some examples:

Children rolling over and cooing for the first time - Sam and Paddy did this almost simultaneously, and were rolling backwards and forwards on the towel after their bath one night, cooing and giggling at each other.  Enter video camera.  Result: four and a half minutes of footage of two babies lying almost immobile on a brightly patterned towel, so quiet that you think the sound is off.

First words:  Sam says "crocodile" clearly at the age of thirteen months and we rush to preserve the moment for posterity.  Press record on the super small camera proudly purchased for just such moments as these.  Result:  "Bo ba da da da", said with a slightly imbecilic expression.  And then a loud burp.

Little Miss Snoopy gets her doll, a nappy and some cream and changes Dollie's nappy on the carpet in the lounge, remembering to use wet wipes and put cream in the right areas.  I quietly film the scene from behind the corner, holding the camera out at an odd angle and coughing to mask the sound of the record button.  Result:  two minutes of Little Miss Snoopy sitting on Dollie's head and bouncing up and down, with the nappy on her own head.

Likewise, the two boys climb up onto an antique tractor and pretend to be driving it, making comments like "look, we're driving a rescue combine harvester".

Ditto when it snows in our city for the first time in 50 years.

Also when the boys spend hours talking to the donkey and pretending it is talking back to them.

But then, for some inexplicable reason, something just snaps (or perhaps their radars are off for a while) and you manage the perfect shot...and suddenly it is all worthwhile.

Bungle in the Jungle

There are some trips that you take with your children that just stand out in your mind - magical, wonderful moments that you all spend together when the sun appears to have been shining continually, the kids have all been happy, and you are with the ones you love doing something fascinating that is enjoyed by all.  To be honest, those moments are normally few and far between.  I mean, let's face it, there is usually at least one person (normally small, but not always) who says "I want to go to a park/McDonald's/swimming/etc. rather" at some stage of a trip.  However, today was one of those amazing times that you never want to forget.

We made a journey out to our local wildlife sanctuary, a habitat for all manner of local animals located a long way down a scenic (read very twisty, narrow, and hilly) road.  The scenery was breathtaking the whole way there, and for once I had come anticipating every need of the kids - snacks, water, juice, wet wipes, hats, etc.  and so I did not have to try to persuade anyone to "wait until we get there".  The sanctuary itself is set in magnificent park-like grounds, and I found myself remarking more than a few times to the Sweetpea how well it was laid out.  The little ones went running off along the paths, discovering different animals in natural settings hidden like jewels amongst the thickets.  Their chirping voices were lively with excitement and irrepressible joy, floating back to where the Sweetpea and I walked hand in hand.  Then suddenly they all fell silent.

Rounding the corner, we saw what had arrested their attention.  A huge native pig, surrounded by his concubines, was trawling through his pen, looking disdainfully for offerings of food from the hushed crowd of kids that regarded him just as balefully back.  "Look, Mama," said Sam into the oppressive silence, "that pig has titties as well as a willy." There were a few titters from the adults gathered there.  Somewhat jokingly, I replied "Perhaps it is a hermaphrodite pig, darling."  I should have known better than to introduce such a concept into a conversation.  Questions pelted me as I tried to explain the concept of "hermaphrodite" to three-year-olds.  After a lot of strenuous talking, they were finally satisfied, and we started off again.

We sat in the lee of the mountain beside a rushing river for morning tea, and were soon surrounded by peacocks in full spring plumage looking for our scraps.  "What are those?" the boys asked, never having seen peacocks before.  I explained again, and the boys sat mesmerised by their beautiful plumage.  

"Their feathers are iridescent  aren't they?" said Paddy, to the wonder of all the adults around.  The Sweetpea noticed my ill-disguised pride and pulled me aside.  "Sure," he whispered to me, "it's fine when they use words like 'iridescent' in conversation, but what are you going to do when they start talking about 'hermaphrodite'?"  Hmmm - I hate to admit it, but he has a point.  

Urine for a Big Surprise!!!

Most people assume that children are guileless innocents, skipping through life unhindered by deeper and darker thoughts.  While I love this theory, I think that most parents will probably be able to guarantee that this is actually not the truth:  closer to it is that kids can sometimes be like secret operatives, working silently and in a most sinister manner to undermine an entire system, much like KGB spies.  They can be inclined to embarrass spectacularly at the moment when you least expect it and you are thus least prepared to deal with the fall-out thereof.

We had gone for tea at some friends of ours who have grown-up children and have therefore forgotten the worst bits of parenting little ones (I sometimes think selective memory is one of the most important aspects of being a parent, otherwise very few of our firstborns would actually have siblings at all.  There is some vital defense mechanism in the hearts of all parents that manages to gloss over the incredibly difficult times and remember the wonderful ones with ease.  Thus being friends with parents of teenagers raises its own issues, since they can't remember their own kids ever being as naughty as they think your's are).  They brought out all of the old and treasured toys from their kids' collections for our kids to play with, and I nervously watched as the boys and Little Miss Snoopy set about playing with the precious memories of someone else's children.  I began to relax as they played responsibly and happily with the toys.  Aha, I thought to myself, faultless execution of Good Parenting displayed in action, and settled back smugly with my cup of tea.  

Trying to get Little Miss Snoopy to play with something other than cars (what can I say - she has two brothers after all), my friend drew her attention to a gorgeous doll, beautifully clothed and with eyes that open and shut.  "And look," she exclaimed, "she even has a potty to go wee-wee in," she said to my youngest, producing a tiny, ornamental potty about the size of a teacup from the same box behind the couch.  "Oops!" she yelled in surprise, and I looked round to see what she was worried about.  There in the bottom of the potty, was a wee-wee that no dolly had ever done.  And also a smallish (but undeniable) poop too.  Ah well, I told myself, at least Little Miss Snoopy had managed to find a receptacle for her offerings and not just done them on the carpet, which would have been worse.  Slightly.

Hark the Hero Angels sing

It is difficult to get kids  to focus on the real part of Christmas when there is so much out there designed to entice and distract from the true meaning.  After all, a jolly, large man in red, distributing presents and sweeties with abandon trumps a hay-filled manager scene any day in most kids' minds.  So every year one of the local churches does a "real Christmas" experience for the little ones - one with no trees or fat men in red suits, but a taste of what a real Christmas so long ago must have been like.  They always have a small petting farm there too, where the kids can get up close to the animals that might have surrounded the first nativity.  There are  a couple of sheep, usually a donkey (this year it was a small horse, but I don't think the kids really noticed), a goat or two, and the usual sprinkling of small furry creatures like guinea pigs, rabbits and even a chicken.   There's something about kiddies and small animals together that just melts the heart.  The boys spent about ten minutes brushing all the hair on the horse upwards in the wrong direction, so that when they were finished, it might as well have been a shaggy-looking donkey standing there anyway.  

At the entrance, an "angel choir" greeted us with rousing Christmas carols (no Rudolf or Good King Wenceslas, thankfully!) but a traditional mix of Away in the Manger and Silent Night.  The choir master had fully entered into the spirit of the event, and was clothed in white with huge feathered wings. There is something a tiny bit odd about seeing a grown man with a beard and angel wings, but the boys were impressed no end.  "Look," whispered the one to the other, "It's Hawkman!" 

"The legion of the Super-friends!" whispered the other with shining eyes.  

 

I think they somewhat missed the point, but it caused a great deal of excitement.  Probably more so than if he had been an actual angel. They made him a bit nervous as they followed him around adoringly for a while.  And suddenly, the birth of Jesus suddenly seemed so much cooler with the added presence of a superhero at the side of the manger.  Yay - real Christmas, 1, Santa, 0.  It was official - the real Christmas was the best! 

Shop til you drop...

Whoever came up with the expression "as easy as taking candy from a baby" was clearly misguided, delusional or possibly both.  It is never easy to take candy from a baby.  Or any kind of sweet treat from a pair of twins either, once their minds are set on it.

This season of goodwill is a minefield of terror for any parent.  Everywhere you go in the supermarket are tempting goodies piled high, teetering on minuscule platforms made of matchsticks.  Every aisle has a display of some kind of sweet, biscuit, chocolate or lolly prominently displayed at the end, where an unwary mother, rounding the corner too fast with twins and a toddler, could conceivably bring the whole lot crashing to the ground.  Not only that, little hands are lightning-fast when it comes to snatching the very treat on which the rest of the treat pyramid is precariously balanced. 

I have mine well-trained.  They know better than to snatch at things as we round corners (I fervently hope).  However, that does not stop them asking, each and every time we pass such a display: "Mama, don't we need some chocolate/sweeties/cookies, etc.?"  And every time the answer is the same - "No, we don't".  The answer doesn't stop them asking though. A lady who had obviously been following the same path as us through the supermarket started laughing out loud to herself today as the question was asked for about the fortieth time. 

I think it is probably the first sign of madness - I have become immune to the constant nagging.

Not only that, but the queues at the tills seem to go on forever, and the wait is about forty minutes long.  Try to keep twins and a toddler away from the endless display of goodies stretched out for about ten meters in front of the till, on both sides of you, for forty minutes.  It is like trying to persuade Moses not to enter the Promised Land.  And once they have an item in their hand (or teeth as the case may be), you haven't a hope in hell of being able to pull it away from them.  To say nothing of being unable to put it back on the shelf due to the teeth marks in the wrapper from where they have tried to gnaw their way through the plastic like starving rats.  After all, one chocolate in the mouth is worth two on the shelf, right?

And as we sit in the car on the way home, accompanied by bags of various wet and soggy bars of chocolate that I did not intend to buy, I unwrap one and eat it.  And I find myself starting to smile again.  Because everyone has their price, and mine just happens to be chocolate!                                                                                                                                                        

Not all heroes wear a cape - some wear Baby Gap...

I was thinking the other day about how you can judge the age of a child roughly by the kind of superheroes that enthrall them at any given time.  My theory goes something like this:  the older the child, the more powerful the superhero.  My two have run the gamut of the superhero world, and sure enough, prove the rule.

When the boys were about thirteen months old and just starting to talk, there was only one person who attained the status of superhero.  It was our postman.  Even hearing his 60cc bike wheezing up the hill outside our house was enough to send them into ecstasies of "It's Postman" (spelled with a capital P, like Spiderman, or Superman).  I often used to wonder what super-human powers Postman was endowed with - certainly not the ability to get the post to us on time every day.  But to the boys, he was amazing.  I think it had something to do with the bike - Postman has equipment, somewhat like Batman.  Cool.

Following hot on the heels of Postman came Garbageman.  He was cooler because he drove a bigger vehicle and could stand at the pavement and throw garbage into the truck with one hand.  For a tense few months (for me) the boys wanted to be nothing but Garbage men when they grew up. 

Next, it was the turn of Jack Stone.  For those of you not familiar with Jack Stone, he is a Lego character who can turn any piece of Lego equipment into something else.  He is able to turn a boat into a helicopter and a crane into a lasso that can catch a helicopter out of the sky.  This phase was characterised by the boys stomping around in the biggest set of boots they could find (usually the Sweetpea's snowboots) and saying things like "Where there is a problem, there is a solution", and "Can do, will do, done".  

However, for all of his ingenuity, Jack Stone was just a man, and so faded out when the next hero appeared on the horizon:  Fireman Sam.  All men are created equal, after which some men become firefighters: they are hot stuff according to my two (pun totally intended). The boys insisted on having fire badges drawn on the backs of their hands in pen, which they would flash at unsuspecting people, and they would yell "Emergency, fire!" at the tops of their voices, causing a few moments of alarm in the hearts of unsuspecting shoppers and playgroup leaders.

But now my little ones have graduated on to the real superheroes in life - ones that have muscles on their muscles, those who can fly faster than a speeding bullet, walk up walls, spin webs to catch thieves, or who have small, much-envied sidekicks named Robin.  If it doesn't breathe ice or move mountains, it's just not good enough, as far as they are concerned.  

Somehow, it is programmed into a boy's genetic code to need a hero to look up to.  And I hope that as time passes, my two will set their sights on a hero somewhat closer to home - their dad.  And if they do, they will learn that being brave is all about being the only one that knows he is afraid and facing that fear anyway. They will learn that courage is not brutal force, but force of reason and virtue;  it is the ability to not let actions be influence by fears.  And if they learn the half of that, they are going to turn out all right.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

We don't really do Christmas.  I have always thought that to see the spirit of Christmas through the wrapping of commercialism that accompanies it gets harder each year.  The cynic in me sees it as a deeply religious time that each of us observes, in our own way, by going to the mall of our choice. In  packed parking lots, people sit in their vehicles, hopefully following people who seem to be walking towards their cars with the same dedication as the wise men who followed the star.  Everyone is frazzled and upset as they search for the perfect gift like they were searching for the stable in Bethlehem.  It seems as though the whole hype of expensive presents and "get, get, get" fills everyone with an almost religious fervour and desire.  

Also, when you have kiddies, you can't avoid the endless parade of Christmas parties.  Last year we had six to go to.  They all tend to blend into one, I am afraid.

However, a real highlight this year was the Multiple Birth Club's Christmas party.  I think for the first time, the kids have been old enough to really appreciate the entertainment provided.  I was amazed as they sat transfixed by the magician (Little Miss Snoopy too), for a whole half hour.  Normally within that time period they could have got up to some serious mischief, but no - Zappo had them eating out of the palm of his hand.  Just the looks on their little faces reminded me that Christmas  is really not about opening our presents at all - it is about opening our hearts.  It is about seeing the world through the eyes of a child once more, when everything is wonderful, where every decorated tree is thirty feet high and you are surrounded by the ones you love and who love you.

My favourite quote about Christmas actually comes from a book loved by children the world over:

And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, 

stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so?  

It came without ribbons.  

It came without tags.  

It came without packages, boxes or bags.  And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore.  

Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.  

What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store.  

What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.  

~Dr Seuss

So to all the cynics like me out there, take heart.  It is not about presents under a tree.  It is about your presence in their lives. You can find the joy of the season in the smiles on your children's faces!  And perhaps (or even most definitely!) that is all that matters.