TOILET RE-TRAINING

Dear Mummy,

I've been toilet trained and considered a 'big boy' now for almost a year because I'm able to visit the commode by myself.  I don't understand why, all of a sudden, you insist on re-training my bathroom habits and teaching me this so-called 'toilet etiquette'.

You say I should lift the toilet seat all the way up, but I discovered that by resting it on my tummy, while I go, saves time.  Also, only slightly edging my pants down so "Little Ollie" sticks his head out the top of my undies, pointing straight in the air and aimed towards my face, you call 'silly'.  I call this time management.  If I don't flush the toilet, you refer to this as being 'forgetful', whereas I justify that I'm conserving water, so I can wash my hands for ten minutes after.

When I show you I can go with my hands behind my head, while gazing up to the ceiling and gibbering about the latest bright and shiny thing that caught my attention, for some weird reason, this sends you into panic mode.  I don't believe it warrants an over dramatic response just because a little bit of wee sprays on the seat or squirts off in a long stream to pool in the corner of your ensuite. You always say we 'shouldn't cry over spilt milk'.

Last week, when we were out visiting friends, you appeared mortified when I ran over to tell the owner of the house that I had to visit the lavatory.  Normally you want me, to let you know, when the urge strikes.  I didn't think the lady would understand my special toddler language, so I thought by poking "Little Ollie" out the top of my shorts to say 'hello' and strumming it like it was an air guitar would get my point across.

I notice, you also appear to wear a similar look of chagrin on your face when I visit the latrine during our regular weekly lunch outings at the pub.  When I run through a crowd of pensioners, with my shirt already tucked under my chin and "Little Ollie" protruding from my shorts and underneath my visible belly button, my objective is not to embarrass you, but to merely express my aptitude for efficiency and demonstrate my organisational skills.

Please understand that I don't need a chaperone each time I visit the restroom as I believe I'm extremely capable of accomplishing the task at hand and do not require any further lessons in 'toilet etiquette'.   


Love Ollie xoxo



P.S.  Mummy, do you keep putting those ping pong balls in the bottom of the toilet bowl to help me with my aiming techniques, or is it solely because Linc likes to retrieve them?

A WEET-BIX KID

Dear Mummy,
 
I think I have a competitive edge over most of those professional athletes on the Weet-Bix commercials.

Stephanie Gilmore only manages three Weet-Bix in the morning.   Even Ollie, who's only three and half years old, does four.

Brett Lee reckons he does seven.  Sheesh! I was knocking that back a year ago.


Tim Cahill does an impressive nine.  That's pretty awesome because I also do nine.  The difference is Mummy, I've only just turned two years old.

I'm certain this all signifies that I'm destined to become some sort of superhuman, omnipotent, extraordinary athlete when I grow up.

What can I say?  I'm an Aussie kid.  I'm a Weet-Bix kid.


Mummy, I bet you're so proud of me for eating professional athletes under the table at the age of two! 

Love Linc xoxo

P.S.  I prefer mine straight up, in a bucket, with loads of milk and a shovel.

SNEAKY VEGETABLES

Dear Mummy,

I hope you realise that we're fully aware of the fact that you regularly attempt to sneak those preposterous objects called 'vegetables' onto our dinner plates and hide them amongst our normal food.

We have noticed though, that sometimes you're not very skilled at concealing the grotesque produce within our menu, allowing us to simply yank them out and express our condemnation by hurling them across the table or letting them 'accidently' tumble to the floor.  When you blatantly stick those sprouting green trees, orange rubber sticks or lime green pebbles on our plates, we unabashedly retort by blowing massive raspberries with our tongues or by generating nauseating gagging noises directed at our cutlery.


On some occasions, you think you win the battle, as you're able to successfully and secretly sneak in the dreaded vegetable, without evoking any flamboyant reactions from us, as we devour our meal.  However, we do hold strong suspicions that you endeavour to ruin some of our favourite cuisines, such as our beloved spaghetti bolognese or lasagne, by grating these vicious veges into the mixture.  Lucky for you, we're unable to prove this theory because we fail to locate any foreign chunks and we're able to justify to ourselves that the yummy sauce must destroy the atrocious flavour of those absurd veges anyway.

On rare occasions, like last night, you can demonstrate that you're capable of completely outsmarting us.  You at first appeared defeated when we adamantly refused to touch or even look at the baby-poo coloured, pumpkin soup that you insolently served us.  In a feeble attempt to coerce us into tasting it, you strived to make it look pretty and sprinkled those horrid lime green pebbles on top of the yellowish mash.  Mummy, this was not a clever move.  If anything, this made us more resolved to test our bowls for their aerodynamic qualities. However, we made a huge mistake and severely underestimated your sneakiness.  Suddenly you jumped to your feet, struck by a brainwave.  We initially thought you were coming over to resign from the battle and concede defeat but instead, you whooshed past us and entered the kitchen.  Watching you intently, we witnessed you rummage around in the back of the forbidden alluring pantry.  Again, we guessed incorrectly that you were searching for our 'special treat' chocolate covered biscuits to reward us for our grit and determination.

Suddenly, unearthing what you were after, you returned to us brandishing a couple of colourful, bendy straws.  OMG Mummy, how'd you know that we'd be enticed, intrigued and unable to resist the magnetism of being able to consume our dinner with a straw?  Admittedly it turned out to be a fun exercise for all of us.  Linc and I enjoyed playing with the straws and chuckled a lot while trying to avoid sucking up those green pebbles and you appeared to smile contentedly and revel in your small victory.

Bravo Mummy! Bravo!

Just ... don't get used to it!  We'll be watching out for you and those sneaky vegetables.

Love Ollie and Linc xoxo
























Cookie Monster Photo Source: http://dantania.blogspot.com.au/2012/06/damned-vegetables.html

TRAPPED: IN THE NIGHT GARDEN

Dear Mummy,

Every night, the anticipation for it to start is unbearable, and we notice this applies not only to us, but for you and Daddy as well.

The nervous excitement grows as the sun begins to set. On one of those rare organised days, with bellies full and pyjama's on, we pace the room, eagerly waiting for it to begin. Suddenly our favourite owl and his funny friend in his pyjama's fade to black and there he is ... our beloved strange little blue creature, riding in a tiny sailboat, heading towards the Night Garden.

OMG Mummy! It's 'Igglepiggle'! Screaming like crazed groupies, we gather two centimetres from the television with our breath showing up in quick successive pants on the flat screen.  You never fail to shuffle us back towards the middle of the room or to our chairs, so we can take in the entire garden scene. Very smart thinking Mummy.  

"Oo Oo Oo!" Will it be the 'Ninky Nonk' or the 'Pinky Ponk' that arrives to take our bizarre little friends on their wacky adventures tonight?  Oodles of noise, bright flashing lights and mesmerising tunes envelope us as we're drawn deeper into the enchanting night garden.  We can't wait to catch up with the tubby 'Makka Pakka' and clap along to his adorable little chant, "Makka Pakka akka wakka mikka makka moo!".  We're a little concerned that he has a slight case of obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to cleaning though, as he's always polishing rocks and uses his sponge to scour the faces of his friends. Eager to join in with 'Upsy Daisy' as she dances around, we also wonder why she repeats her own name constantly.  We giggle when the 'Tombliboos' pants slide down and love when they rock out with a loud jam session, playing their musical instruments, in their egg-shaped hedge house.  We can always rely on there being ten squeaking 'Pontipines' living in a tiny house and sleeping in minuscule beds and four massive 'Haahoos' bouncing languidly around, somewhere in the garden.
Our favourite character, by far, is the loveable, yet insecure 'Igglepiggle' with his comforting red blanket.  He's funny because he's blue and he keeps toppling over whenever he gets surprised.  Wouldn't it be great Mummy, if we could all live in the Night Garden?  What a magical place.

However, Mummy, we discern that you and Daddy exchange a look of fear and avidly groan every night, about this same time, and mutter to yourselves, something about 'cruel and unusual punishment'. We're not sure what this means, but every time we point something out to you and shout gibberish at the creatures roaming the garden, it stops your eyes from rolling around and helps you both to focus.  Returning cheesy grins, you nod your heads and clap your hands frantically, so we figure you must think, like us, that it's the best show in the whole wide world.  We don't understand why you don't watch all of it though.  Whenever the random birds commence their high pitched squawking or the 'Tombliboos' start banging on their drums and smashing the piano with their fat fingers, making a cachophony of sound, we look to involve you in our noise driven, frenzied dance, but for some weird reason, you've made a quick escape and are nowhere to be found.

We heard you say to Daddy that you "didn't think it through very well" when you bought us the whole series of "In The Night Garden".  On the contrary, we think you must have put a lot of thought into it.  Buying us the DVD means we don't have to wait until it goes dark anymore to view it.  It's such a bonding experience and now we get to watch this 'cruel and unusual punishment' with you all the time. Thanks Mummy!


Love Ollie and Linc xoxo

SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS

Dear Mummy,

We often wonder why you bother putting us in our own beds to begin with, when you and Daddy know that Linc and I like to migrate to your room at some stage during the night.  We do this because we like to comfort you with our presence as you both look so lonely in that big spacious bed.  It only makes perfect sense that we bridge the remaining gaps with our warm little bodies and sprawling arms and legs.

Linc, however, is only new to this game and does not quite understand how to achieve longevity out of his visit.  No matter what time he toddles out of bed to venture into your room, he makes too many mistakes along the way.  His first impudent blunder, is signalling you that he's coming, by dragging his musical car steering wheel, that does not support an off button, or some other cacophonous toy or singing book, behind him.  You must have grown immune to these unique sounds though, as sometimes, you amazingly don't stir at all.  Either that, or you're just pretending you don't hear his incoming approach.  Linc is persistent though.  If his first attempt fails to wake you, he ensures you're alerted to his arrival, when he reaches your bedroom door and proceeds to fling it open and slam it shut approximately eight times in a row.   If he hasn't received a pillow thrown in his general direction or a gruff sleepy command to 'cease and desist' by then, he always receives the attention he seeks by clambering onto to the bed to join us.  Usually he gets his desired reaction when he commando rolls, over your resting bodies, only to sit on your face with a loaded, squishy nappy.  Linc's strategy doesn't work in my favour at all though, as eventually, you bound out of bed like a cranky tigress, towing her cheeky cubs (including me), back to their cave.  Don't worry Mummy, Linc's still in training and I'll continue to teach him the ways of the ninja, to perfect the stealth maneuver into your bedroom and ultimately into the premium sleeping positions.

I, on the other hand, have had extensive experience in this area and have refined these night time rituals to accomplish success and avoid the risk of being carted back to my room and returned to my lonely bed.  By way of elimination I have deciphered the code.  If I prematurely fall asleep in your bed before you even get there, the next thing I know is, I magically wake up in my own bed, vaguely recalling dreams of being hoisted into the air and flying in the comforting arms of someone like Buzz Lightyear.  If I come in too early, when you've only just rested your head on your pillow, you pop out of bed, like a jack in the box or with the energy of Sportacus, from Lazy Town, quickly diverting any attempts to infiltrate your boudoir.

From culmination of all my experiments, I've realised that the perfect time to undertake my covert operations is when you've been asleep for a couple of hours and holding intense conversations with the sandman.  At this stage, your energy has completely depleted and you're in no mood to move over, let alone poke a leg out from under the blanket, to create a feeble attempt to defend yourselves from my attack.  The best method I've deduced, is to approach in stealth mode.  I dare not breathe too loudly and learning from past experience, I'm careful not to tread on sleeping cats.  At first I listen for the contented, symphony of snores and deep breathing emitting from both you and Daddy and then take this perfect opportunity to sneak into bed.  Lately I don't even gamble between which one of you I should snuggle up to and instead, simply slide stealthily into the bottom of your bed, near your feet and drift back to sleep.

Once I've achieved my secret squirrel maneuvers, the sleeping games commence.  Throughout the rest of the night, it's like a wonderfully choreographed synchronised swimming performance, smoothly interchanging positions and pillows.  Most mornings I discover that I have somehow hijacked your pillow and find you curled up at the end of the bed, breathing in Daddy's big toe and supporting my legs with your back.  Other mornings, either you or Daddy, are completely missing in action, only to be located, snuggled up and asleep, in my single bed.

Turn the baby into an above average toddler size and add another little person. That's us!

As each new day dawns and the sun cracks through the blinds, I'm not sure why we regularly hear you and Daddy mumbling something along the lines of 'lack of sleep'.  Mummy, we also wonder why you often complain about having a sore neck and query why Daddy whinges about cramps in his legs.  We can't understand this.  We always feel rejuvenated after each tranquil sleep, ready to embark on the day and eager to start devising the next midnight raid.

Love Ollie xoxo







Photo Source: Baby Sleep Positions: http://deescribbler.typepad.com/my_weblog/2012/02/co-sleeping.html

MORE THAN JUST THE TERRIBLE TWOS

Dear Mummy,

I know you suspected that I've not been myself over this past week as I am behaving, out of character and at times, very oddly.  You were initially concerned that I might be evoking my right to brandish my license to be a 'terrible two' year old, but I'm certain even you realised (or hoped) something was indicating that it was more than just that.  
 
The first sign of my strange behaviour was when, for a couple of mornings in a row, I demanded that you sit next to me, within centimetres, as I ate my breakfast.  This was so I could rest my heavy head on your shoulder.  When you slightly adjusted your seating position, I didn't mean to burst out into terror screams and flood my beloved weetbix in tears.  I was simply afraid that you were going to leave, force me to eat my breakfast in solitary and make me hold my big head up by myself.

Another sign, which must have been obvious, was that my appetite dramatically reduced and at times I even refused food.  Normally, food is my favourite activity and I devour it faster than the cookie monster, so this extreme change must have activated alarm bells everywhere.  Anything I did manage to consume, I had to throw my head back, chew loudly with an open mouth, make 'nom nom' sounds and close my eyes.


My strange eating patterns continued at Ollie's swimming lesson today, when I noticed you were horrified that I was eating the smelly sock right off my own foot.  It was also clear tonight, that you were completely shocked at my reaction to dinner, which you had lovingly prepared for me.  When you presented me with a bowl of pasta, I bet you never predicted that I would suddenly scramble down from my booster seat, run over to the side door and start licking the windows!  Before you consider calling in professional help, there is an explanation for all of this. 


Other indications that things haven't been quite right, have also been witnessed through my rampant emotions this week.  I'm sorry I had a melt down when you gave me the wrong coloured towel at bath time and apologise for my relentless, atrocious behaviour when sculpting play dough.  I admit I haven't been in complete control and my mental state has been unusually unstable.  Anything minor has harnessed the potential to trigger the waterworks and provoke the gratuitous tantrums;  Someone turned on a light switch, my storybook was on the couch, the cat looked at me the wrong way, my storybook was on the floor, the dog flicked his tail on my bike, my storybook was in the bookshelf, a fly touched my leg, someone put Buzz Lightyear into my toy bus...

I also developed a few new obsessions this week, such as my love affair with all shoes.  Well, I've been captivated by shoes for a long time, but my attraction has evolved and it's imperative that I now put them on myself, regardless of their size or owners, and regardless of how many breakdowns this may cause.  Mummy, I also know you've been curious about my recent fascination with the laundry basket but now that I've combined it with my infatuation with tissues and the art of tissue shredding, I realise you've graduated to become a little concerned.
 

For most of this week, you and I have been unable to explain my frequent outbursts, which are exasperated from nothing in particular.  Mummy, I think my bizarre eating habits and other weird behaviour can be explained by the onset of the winter flu which became evident today.  My temperamental nose, which is either fully blocked or constantly dribbling, explains my bizarre eating rituals and losing the sense of taste, justifies my urgent need to lick the windows and test this theory.  I have also really enjoyed composing the evil little laugh that I have established this week too, however, I now fear this has just been generated by my sore throat.  I'm disheartened to think that this wicked snicker, may disappear, over time.        

I strongly believe that my rotten behaviour is due to my poor aching head and sore little body.  As this is the case, I believe I should be exempt from all the disappointed looks and vibes of frustration that have been sent my way during this past week.  Reimbursement, for being incarcerated within the naughty corner is also sought.


Admittedly I do like my new obsessions though and will allow you to acknowledge these as being a crucial part of the 'terrible two' stage.    Although I cannot alleviate your fears that I'm not going to take you on a roller coaster ride during my second year, I do know that, once this nasty flu bug has flown away, your adorable little monkey man will return.

Love Linc xoxo

By the way:  Not listening to you and doing what I want instead, is simply my rights as a kid and also an integral part of the "terrible twos". (i.e. I will stick my toe in that water, even though you tell me I shouldn't.)

BIKIE WARS

Dear Mummy,

Do you like the 'Brothers In Arms' gang we've recently formed?  We think it's really cool that you let us cruise around outside, despite the constant wet weather.  When performing circle work and lapping the patio up and down, we love to feel the crisp wind rip through our hair and the water which sprays sporadically over our legs.

Linc complains he's at a disadvantage with his short stumpy legs, so I generously ride the little plastic scooter, rather than my large dirt bike, to put us on an even playing field.  Secretly I prefer the smaller bike anyway, because the faster I go, the louder it becomes.  On some occasions, specifically when you're on that loathsome phone, you have been known to impound my bike for the noise pollution it emits.

As we don't come across many other rival gangs in our backyard, it can sometimes turn into brutal bikie wars, within our own club and just between the two of us.  Mummy, although you have appeared to gather some pretty damning photographic evidence of Linc being thrown from his bike, please be assured that Linc admits that he likes to do this himself, to add a bit of dramatic flair.  Don't you Linc?

If the sun, which you assure us is still lurking in the sky, ever pops it's head out of those big fluffy clouds, can you please arrange for our gang to have its first debut down the main drag strip in town?  If not, maybe you could set us loose in the park or along the esplanade.  We'd love to stop our internal club fights and find some other unsuspecting bikie gangs to play dodge 'em cars with.

When we do get to venture out into the big world beyond our fence, we want request a couple of things;  Firstly, please don't confiscate our bikes, especially in front of other opposing gangs, as that would be mortifying.  Secondly, we're also sure that the other Mums wouldn't embarrass their gang members, by giving them big squishy hugs and smoochy kisses each time they crack a lap.  We love you but we certainly wouldn't want to be accused of, or beaten up for being Mummy's boys.

Love Ollie and Linc xoxo  (Brothers In Arms)