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Everyday, conversations go like this...

Alexandra: Mum, one day can we get a fish?

Me: Maybe when you're old enough to clean the bowl out.

Alexandra: OK, but when I'm a teenager, and you're like, nearly dead, can we get a dog?

Me: (Speechless)

Alexandra: And if it's a good dog when I move out I can take it with me...

Oh Dear

Alexandra came home from school yesterday with a bunch of wattle. It was actually very pretty, and she set to, tying a beautiful gold ribbon around it.

Alexandra: I think I might give it to Dad. Or maybe Luke... Yes, I'm giving it to Luke.

Me: Hmmm. I think Dad would really love it. Why don't you give it to him? Luke might not really be into wattle...

But no, her mind was made up. This morning, the wattle was arranged into a paper bag she'd made, with 'I Love Luke, sweet' on it.

We were walking home from school this afternoon when she suddenly announced, 'I'm breaking up with Luke.' Apparently, Luke had given her bunch of wattle to girlfriend #3. The tears started. A flood actually. Enough to break a mum's heart.

I couldn't believe that a seven year old girl could feel genuinely enough about the situation to really react like this. I couldn't believe that Luke could do that to her. Actually, I could, I wasn't surprised at all. And although I didn't start at age seven, I could completely understand how she felt... When you give a male who you think is special something important, whether it's an item, or even just small expressions of emotion, to have them treat it with such little regard just breaks your heart. And worse, makes you think twice about doing it again. Until you turn into a hard-hearted old bag... Guys, you have so much to learn about making your own lives easier. (insert rolling eyes here...) And anyway, Luke, I hate to tell you but you're too short for my daughter. She needs someone big, strong and tender.

Now Alexandra is on a mission to get her bunch of wattle back. She reckons if only Luke had told her he didn't want it, she could have given it to Dad. Big, strong, tender Daddy, who loves everything his little girl gives him. I don't like her chances getting the wattle back. But she does have one thing to look forward to: the hope that girlfriend #3 can read the paper bag with the wattle in it. If she can, she'll either figure out that Luke is spreading himself a little thin, or she'll think Luke has tickets on himself. And it may just be enough to make her drop him. Oh dear, Luke...

And oh dear to me. If this is how things are at aged 7, I'm dreading 15...

Breeding One Myself

Christopher lately has been intent on picking my brain about my early love life, wanting to know details like how old I was when I first had a boyfriend (not until high school - you'd understand if you knew the boys in my class...), did anyone like me at school (Bruce Valentine), did I kiss him (No!)and how did I handle it? (Ignoring it...)

Hmmm... Some questioning on my part confirmed that yes, my gorgeous-natured, long blonde-haired, olive-skinned little nine-year-old boy is indeed getting chased by the girls. On Valentine's Day he was bombarded with cards and items, much to his embarrassment. Did he like those girls too? Well no, not like that... And just last weekend he went to his first night-time party, for a girl's 10th birthday. Far out. Is it just me, or are things moving younger and younger nowadays? My girlfriend, who has a son several years older, assures me that girls are way more aggressive now than back in our days (and we're not even sitting on some porch somewhere with canes and rocking chairs!)

Well, it turns out that I may have contributed to this epidemic. Check this out:

In case you can't decipher a seven year old's writing, this is what it says: 'Love Luke, so romantic, I so love Luke G, he is the sweetest.'

All that's missing is the 'Love from Alexandra' sign-off. So this was the hot topic at a family birthday gathering last night. Grandma managed to establish that Luke G reciprocated Alexandra's sentiments. He also, unfortunately, seems to be in love with Alexandra's friend Georgia. Cousin Michael's advice was to tell Luke G that it's over. Grandma advised Alexandra that it would simply not do: tell Luke G that he needs to choose between her and Georgia. Alexandra thought about it for a moment, then said:

'I can't see the problem. He can just have a wife and a girlfriend.' Hey, lucky guy, Luke!

Next Time Just Commit Me First...

Alexandra had her 7th birthday last week; on the weekend we held a party for her at home. Here's a few things I've learnt:

• We can break droughts. Not just with canvas, but by planning a party at home. With eighteen 7 year olds coming. Yes, it started to pour about 5 minutes before everyone arrived...
• Don't pay someone to clean your house the day before - save that privilege for after...
• Next time we play games where people get wrapped in toilet paper, and three dogs later get to chew on said toilet paper, spring for better quality than Homebrand: the type that fingers won't go through, and dogs don't chew into a billion microscopic bits...
• 3 x doggy guests = 1 x cat stuck on roof all day...
• Don't provide balloons - somehow, small boys can manage to bash them hard enough into other kid's faces to split lips...
• Just because she says she wants a pinata, and even though she's had a bash at the pinata several times before, don't assume that your daughter REALLY WANTS TO BASH the doggy pinata she nagged you to buy... unless you like to hear blood curdling screams and to see rivers of tears through doggy face paint...

• Sticky tape's great for sticking pinatas back together again...
• Somehow, it's all not so bad when she's going to bed and you hear the words, 'That was the best day ever!'...

Overheard

Alexandra: "Christopher, when I grow up I want to marry you."

Christopher: "You can't marry your brother!"

Alexandra: "But who else am I going to find who makes me laugh like you do?"

Identified, at the age of 6, what every woman wants. Amen, sister.

We've Been on Holidays

And some time before we went away, I had suggested to Gary that he shave his moustache off. This may not seem like a big deal, but I've never known Gary without a moustache. Never wanted to. The appeal of moustaches probably started with Tom Selleck in Magnum, PI. That kind of macho thing. Gary was good at wearing a moustache, in many different forms, from handlebar to waxed and curled. I even liked kisses with it. But the appeal of Gary's moustache has been on the wane of late. Not because of the scratchy kisses. Not even because it acted as a filter for his coffee. But rather, where once it was brown, it has of more recent times been far more grey.  Looking a bit on the aged side. Here's an example:

   

He suggested that maybe he could shave it off while we were away - if it didn't look good he had time to grow it back over the 4 weeks before he went back to work.

All good. In theory. The reality was this:

A huge, white, top lip. A seriously round face. An all too striking resemblance to his mum. I have to admit that I found myself staring at his top lip as he talked, mesmerised by this thing I had never before seen, and even recoiling when I'd forgotten about the missing moustache... until a glance at that blindingly white spot jolted my memory. Yuck.

Well, it wasn't just me. The kids also had never seen that white lip either, and weren't too enamored. Alexandra summed it up best: a couple of days after the shave, she looked at Gary, then whispered to me "He still sounds like our dad..."

PS: It's still off. It took about two weeks for me to realise that I was no longer recoiling. The tan helped. But the clincher for Gary was when he went back to work, and amongst the "Have you lost weight??" comments, there were the "You look 30 years younger!" Does that mean he now looks 15? Or that he looked like 60 before? You be the judge...

Just Wondering

Alexandra: Mum, can we get an addict?

Me: An addict? Do you know what an addict is?

A: Yeah, the place where you put broken things…

Me: Oh, you mean an attic?

Let Your Imagination Guide You

I just have to share my absolute favourite ad on the TV at the moment: it's for the city of Melbourne - Let Your Imagination Guide You - where a guy meets up with a giant who shows him around the city. This is just so absolutely me. It shows some of my favourite parts of our city; I love the accompanying music. But I really love it because of the giant. When I was young I had lots of imaginary friends, and they seemed to come in twos: Heather and Feather, Sultana and Raisin were the main ones. They went with me everywhere - talked to me, played with me... what can I say? My sister is almost 4 years younger; I was a bit lonely for a while! She only had one imaginary friend - Cheryl - who usually took the form of a bag of oranges or potatoes. For a while there, it was common practice in our family to ask someone for some help carrying 'Cheryl' when you needed a hand to move something.

But I had a veritable group hanging out with me, helping me to make pies in the sandpit, pushing me on the swing, and running around with me at the back of the oval in primary school, willing me to run just that bit faster so my feet would lift off the ground and I would find myself flying.

I also love the fact that in the ad there is another imaginary friend who appears to be a pixie; it reminds me of a recent conversation with Alexandra about when she lost a tooth a couple of weekends ago. She was camping in the Dargo high country with Gary and some friends (I was working that weekend) when the tooth came out. There's no mobile phone reception around there, so the Tooth Fairy had to wing it. The conversation went something like:

Alexandra: Mum, I was worried that the Tooth Fairy wouldn't find me out there. But (one of the other people camping there) said they saw a white light flying over us and it was the Tooth Fairy.

Me: Yes, I'm sure she always knows just where to find you. She even knows to come when you've lost the tooth that just came out.

A: Yes, and she brought me lots of monies [about $5]. But she didn't bring any Fairy Dust. Why not?

Me: Well, I guess that she only had so much room for such a long trip. I guess it was the money or the Fairy Dust. Would you have preferred less money?

A: Mum, what does Fairy Dust do? Is it different to Pixie Dust?

Me: I'm not sure... What do you think?

A: I think it makes you fly. Does it make you fly?

Me: Well, I don't think it makes me fly. I'm a bit big.

A: So am I. But it could make Erini [the smallest girl in her class] fly...

Here's a photo of A with some class mates; Erini is on the left, Alexandra is on the right:

Sadly, she's probably right. But, I guess she could always get a job as a guide for the City of Melbourne...

Super Powers

One of the benefits of being a mum is that you grow eyes in the back of your head. How else would I know who poked who? Or who hid their broccoli in a basket in the play tent? But that's not all. I happen to have other extraordinary powers... Gary calls me 'Detective' because I can be away for 5 days, and within 5 minutes of being home give a rundown of everything that transpired at home while I was gone, right down to how much toast was burnt and who came over for a play, and where they played that's off-limits. [It helps if your child takes photos with your camera when you're not there...:)]

But my dad really has got super powers. He can find you. I can be out somewhere, a place I didn't even know I'd be, and my dad will walk in. And not because he just happened past - because he just knew I'd be there. Over the years he's put it to good use in large shopping centres: we'd hear his particular whistle through the throngs of people, and sure enough, there he'd be.

Gary has an unique ability to remember every inch of every outback track he's ever travelled. And every moment of every trip we've ever taken. Ask him what he had for dinner last night and he'd be hard-pressed to remember.

And Alexandra has her own set of super powers to counteract mine. She has this ability to know exactly which of my buttons to press, at the most (in)appropriate time, two steps ahead of me. Either super smart or not, depending on what life expectancy she has in mind. Although she does know when to step in with a well-timed, sugar-coated, 'I love you Mummy'...

What super powers do you possess?

Heart In My Throat

It was the day of the Melbourne Cup horse race here yesterday. Every first Tuesday in November, Melbournites get a day off work to celebrate 'the race that stops a nation'. We were at home and ran our own Cup sweep - 24 horses names into a pot - we picked out 6 horses each and Gary and I naturally supplied the 50 cents per horse to fund the project. Fortunately for us, Gary and I won first and second places; Alexandra won third and earned herself $2.00. After school tonight, after dancing class and while Christopher was still at his, Alexandra wanted to go to the local milkbar (shop) to buy an icecream with her $2. But I was making dinner. And had a meeting to attend shortly thereafter.

Alexandra had it covered however. 'I know! I could go to the milkbar on my own! I'll ride my scooter!' The milkbar is not that far away. 500m. Walking distance. But it does involve crossing a relatively Busy Road to get there. Alexandra is 6 and has the road sense of a kangaroo with eyes affixed to car headlights. So I wasn't keen. 'PLEASE Mummy!", she pleaded. I thought back to the two other times she had encountered this Busy Road. One time, I was involved in vacuuming, and wasn't worried about my three year old child, who was locked into the backyard by a big set of metal gates across the driveway. The three year old child who was able to drag a chair across to the gates, stand on chair and unlock them. I was oblivious to this, until the phone rang and it was a friend who lives on the corner of our street and the Busy Road. 'Are you missing something?' asked the friend. 'Er, no,' I replied, suspecting that this wasn't the correct answer. 'Your daughter is standing in the middle of the Busy Road...'

So from then onwards I was actually aware that the three year old child was attempting Escape From Backyard regularly and with gusto, so I assigned the 5 year old to watch her during the times I had to look away. And lo, all my children disappeared. Would they have gone to the school playground, a short 3 houses away? Best check. Nope. Then the sprint began down our street... I was only half way when a car pulled up, and a policeman jumped out. 'Are they your kids dancing in the middle of Busy Road? Do you realise that cars travel [illegally] over 90 km per hour down Busy Road and you shouldn't let your kids stand in the middle of it?' I resisted the temptation to reply that actually, I sent them there myself, before preparing a martini and sunbaking in the backyard, just to get a little peace and quiet. By which time they had returned, chastened at least by a word from the police.

So here we are today. A good three years on. Should I let her go to the milkbar to buy an icecream? Should I not let out the apron strings just a little? OK. We went through the road rules. Don't stop and talk to anyone. Just buy the icecream and come straight home. Off she went on her scooter. I've never looked up into the back patio so many times in the space of 10 minutes. And I never been so glad to see her scooter sprawling by the back door.