A Very Not Lovely Thing happened

 
You may have noticed there was no new blog yesterday.

That is because a Very Not Lovely Thing happened to me and Tiger.

It happened while Tiger was having her nap. It was a windy day in Ditch Town and so, when I heard a bang coming from the back of the Candy Pink house, I thought something had blown over on the back porch, or that Mephy Danger Gordon had knocked something sideways during one of his jumpy adventures.

I wasn't scared. Until I heard footsteps coming up the hallway.

Yep. Somebody was in our house. And, having only just emailed Husband Bear and not having heard the car in the driveway, I knew it wasn't him.

And then I heard the not-Husband-Bear banging around in the lounge room. And I knew: This person was not a Nice person. This person was a Home-Invading, Robber-type person.

So, of course, I freaked. Inwardly and quietly, obviously, so as not to alert the Not Nice Person to my presence. And then I very quietly called HB. Who freaked. And called the police. And, somewhere in amongst this freaking-and-calling, Tiger woke up and started making her traditional Squeals Of Waking Happiness.

Which, obviously, the Not Nice Person heard (she is LOOOUUUDDD). 

And, thankfully, he freaked. And scarpered.

Long story short, the police then arrived, we discovered the NNP had emptied my wallet of cash and taken my house keys but nothing else. 

The police didn't find the NNP. They suspect "he" (I assume this, though, of course, I'm being horribly sexist here), was just a kid, after money or small items he could quickly pilfer, who took advantage of our seemingly-empty house and my (stupidly and unusually) back door. When he heard there actually were people in the house he freaked out at the thought of being caught and bolted.

Luckily.

Because you have no idea the thoughts that were running through my head as I sat, terrified, in that room.

The poem I wrote afterwards (while still in shock, so please cut me some slack), might give you some idea:

In that moment,
As we huddled,
Curled against the darkness,
All within me
Was yours.
My own blood belonged to you.
My own limbs existed only
To run with you to safety.
In that moment,
A thousand voices cried
Your name,
So loudly I thought
They would hear
They would come
They would know.
I was certain their ears would prick,
Hear my heart
Beating in time
To your dream-quickened breath.
In that moment,
I thought, "be silent, for her.
Be still, for her.
Don't let them come."
In that moment I was
An eagle with you,
Nested beneath my wing,
A tiger with you,
Tucked beneath my paw.
I would have pounced,
Would have clawed,
Would have rended flesh from bone,
To make you safe.
In that moment,
I didn't think
Of what would be done to me,
Only,
That you kept breathing, 
Kept dreaming,
Kept being.
"Hush little angel," I whispered.
"Don't say a word."

The thought of Tiger being hurt is the worst thing I can possibly imagine. We were very lucky yesterday. So, perhaps, I should say that the Thing that happened was Very Lovely Indeed.

~ Love, Miss Cackle x

Attention, Please!

 My Tiger has turned into an attention addict.

Seemingly overnight, my quiet little girl has become ... a PERFORMER!

Tiger seems to have discovered that the things she does can evoke a REACTION in Mummy and Daddy and, by golly, does she live for those reactions!

Look at me crawling! 

Look at me sitting up!

Look at me blowing raspberries!

Look at me banging my bowl on my high chair tray!

Look at me STICKING OUT MY TONGUE!

LOOK AT ME GETTING INTO YOUR HANDBAG AND PULLING EVERYTHING OUT AGAIN!!!

I LOVE this new Tiger. I love the utter glee she feels when Mum and Dad laugh or clap or smile at her. I love that she is coming to understand cause and effect - if I do this, this happens. I love watching the thought processes as she realises, "Ooh ... If I drop my rusk, Mum has to pick it up for me. This is FUN."

Tiger is really growing up, and she is growing into a clever, cluey, vivacious little girl who has inherited her Cackle Mummy's live of performing, along with her Daddy Bear's fierce cleverness - a lethal combination, probably, but oh golly gosh, I'm loving it. My girl is headstrong, feisty and the brightness in her eyes is addictive.

I love Tiger the Attention Seeker. She is just lovely ...

I am getting pretty darn tired of picking up rusks, though :o)

~ Love, Miss Cackle x

Easy Like Tessa Tiger ...

Today's post is less "post" and more "question".

It's a question for parents and all other people who look after Very Small Humans.

See, the thing is, being Tiger's mum, right now, is super easy. She is the most laid-back, happy, chilled, contented little sweetheart. People in shops, the doctors, randomly on the street, comment on how blissed-out she seems. And it's true. The grumpiest she gets is a bit of a growl if she drops her rusk.

But it wasn't always the case. When Tiger was younger and had reflux, her sore tummy meant that every feed left Tiger in intense pain, and it was horrible seeing her suffering. For about a month, my heart contracted with pain as I watched my gorgeous girl in terrible agony. They weren't easy times.

But for the past, oh, five or six months, parenting Tiger has been effortless. Which leads me to ask ... Is this as good as it gets? Is this three-to-nineish-months period NORMALLY the easiest time in a child's life? Will it all end the moment she hits ten months? Or will Being Tiger's Mumovich be smooth sailing until she becomes a sullen teenager who Hates Me So Bad?

So my question is this: What was the "easiest" time in parenting for you? What was the hardest? Can I expect a horrible time in a year? Or will life be simple until age nine?

I'd love to hear your stories. What were the Easiest and Most Challenging stops on the Parenting Express in your family?

Tiger would love to know, too. Just so she can sit back and smugly declare, "Yeah, I'll always be the awesomest Tiger that ever there was. At no point shall I ever be THAT CHALLENGING."

We'll see ...

But for now, goshdarnit she is lovely!

~ Love, Miss Cackle x

Acceptance

Something that has happened that is Kind Of A Big Deal for me.

Yesterday afternoon, I looked in the mirror. It's something I don't actually get to do all that often these days - looking after Tiger takes precedence over looking after my appearance. 

Not that I ever really spent that much time on my appearance. I was always the girl who'd chuck on some clothes, slick on some lipgloss and a bit of mascara and declare, "I'm done," hours before any of my friends put down their hair-straighteners. But, since Tiger, I'm often halfway down the street before the thought hits me, "Did I wash my face today or do I still have yesterday's mascara halfway down my cheeks?" (yep, I'm bad at cleaning my makeup off, too).

But yesterday I had to take Tiger for a checkup and I always make sure to check my appearance before I leave for anything baby-related, just so the doctor doesn't clock me as an obvious Deranged Person and call in Child Services.

So anyway, it was during this rare mirror-check, that it happened.

Or, rather, the inner voice spoke.

And, for the first time in my life, it said this:

"I like you, wonky nose. I like you, alien eyes. I like you, little double chin". 

Up  until this point, I'd always been nonplussed about my appearance. I'm not beautiful. I'm not particularly elegant or striking or even all that interesting-looking. Sometimes this fact got me down but, mostly, I just consoled myself that I'm a good person and Daddy Bear loves me, so what do I care if I'm not Scarlett Johanssen?

But, now ... maybe it's because I see pieces of me reflected in Tiger, or maybe it's just because I'm getting old, but I suddenly don't wish to look any other way. I may not be a blonde beauty but there are enough of those, anyway. I'll stick to being me, because there is only one person in the world who gets to be Tiger's mum. 

And, you know what? She loves my face. She loves stroking it, nuzzling it, staring at it. She thinks I look okay.

And now, I do too. 

And it's a lovely feeling.

~ Love, Miss Cackle x

Millions Of Peaches ... Peaches For Free!

My big girl.

I know I say ALL OF THE ACTUAL TIME how much I can't believe how quickly Tiger is growing up, but I really, really, really felt it yesterday.

Daddy Bear and Tiger emerged from a little turn about the garden, with a very precious find.

A lovely, ripe, fuzzy (in a way that reminded me, sweetly, of Tiger's funny, fuzzy little head), straight-off-the-tree peach.

And, after he took a bite himself, Daddy Bear held the gorgeous little fruit to Tiger's gorgeous little mouth.

And she opened up.

And took a big bite with her two little teeth.

And then she gummied up the bite of peach and she swallowed it.

All. By. Her. Little. Self.

Later, (after stealing a few Very Big Girl licks of a special ice cream treat in the park), Daddy Bear chopped up another peach and Tigesy FED IT TO HERSELF WITH HER OWN LITTLE HAND.

Daddy Bear and I are already planning sandwich fillings, and how Tiger might have a couple of small bites of our dinner when we go out as a family for Valentine's Day.

Because she is Big Now, so she can do that, you know. 

And, in the meantime, we have a tree positively bursting with peaches. 

Millions of them. For free. For Tigesy.

How lovely is that?

~ Love, Miss Cackle x

Housework Blues

I hate housework.

I know, I know this isn't a revelation to anybody who has seen any of my houses, or known me for any extended period of time. And I know that there probably aren't many people in this world who actually do like it, but I don't just not like it.

I actually, actively, intensely loathe it.

I hate vacuuming. I hate dusting. I hate doing washing. I hate washing up. I hate cleaning the toilets. I hate putting the bins out. I hate ironing.

Don't even get me started on changing the bedsheets.

Seriously. Don't.

I actually lie awake in my bed at night, dreading having to do all of it the next day.

And I do, actually, resent the fact that, as part of my Mum job title, I have to do it. I mean, while being a mum is never hard work, it is a full-time job. Plus, I'm meant to be a full-time writer as well. And on top of it, I have to be a cleaning fairy?

It sucks.

Or, at least, I thought it did, until  realised something. 

I realised what the alternative would be. 

The alternative to having to do housework would be having to do out-of-house-work. 

And I fully, fully, fully support parents who go off to work. After all, I do work. I'm just lucky that I get to do my work from the home. With Tiger.

Yep, I hate washing and washing up and dusting, but, when I do it while singing and chatting to Tiger, it's much less horrible.

Everything is less horrible when done with Tiger.

So yes, I am being a complainy-pants, when really I have nothing to complain about. Because vacuuming might not be lovely. But being with Tiger is. And, if that's the trade-off, I'm happy to take it.

~ Love, Miss Cackle (who still hates housework) x

I'm a Mum

I'm a mum.

Not a "domestic engineer".

Not a "home duties specialist".

Not a "house manager".

Especially not a - love you to bits, Nigella, but still - "domestic flipping goddess".

I'm a mum. I don't need to invent some fancy title for it, to make it sound more "legitimate" than it is. Because it already is legitimate! Why do I need to make up another name for what is, without question, the most important job I've ever done?

I've been a checkout chick, a bakery assistant, a "geeky cards and assorted other geeky things" seller, a systems support librarian, a land tax advisor, a school librarian, a university "liaison" librarian, a cinema projectionist, a bookseller, an author ...

NONE of those jobs is as important as what I'm doing right now.

I'm spending my days being the primary carer for an ACTUAL HUMAN BEING. An ACTUAL, HONEST TO NON-DENOMINATIONAL-DEITY PERSON.

Her life is, literally, in my hands. 

And oh golly it scares the living livingness out of me, on a daily basis. This little gorgeous person's happiness and health is up to me. That's what being a mum is. Being entirely responsible for the everything of this tiny actual person.

Oh. My. Golly. Gosh. Is there anything bigger than that?

I mean, sure, I've never worked as a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist or an army sergeant or any other job where actual lives are actually dependent on my actions. In my previous positions, the worst that could possibly happen was that a bunch of cinema-goers might have a slightly blurry movie experience, or a child might not absolutely love the book Grandma bought for their birthday. 

This is the most important thing I've ever done. For every mum and dad out there, this job is the most important job we will ever do.

Mum. Dad. Those labels don't need "legitimising", or "snazzying", or "bettering" in any way.

I am proud that my job title is "mum". And I am thankful that raising Tiger never, in any way, actually feels like a job. It feels like a gift, a privilege, an opportunity.

It also feels so very, very scary. I hope she's happy. I hope she's healthy. I hope that I do a good job of this most important job of all.

Because she deserves it.

She deserves for me to excel at this job called Mum. I hope I can.

~ Love, Miss Cackle x