Her third birthday was fairly low key. I'm afraid the little lady is always going to have that mental "Christmas rush" thing surrounding her big day, but that's what you get when your ridiculously fertile parents have poorly timed sex. Sorry Annie. Anyway, we spent the day at the local pool with her accomplice, Miss Clara, having a picnic and generally getting all razzed up on sugar and sunshine. 'Twas a good day.
I was kind of looking forward to the "terrible two's" being behind us. I wasn't expecting a miracle mind you. It's not as if I thought she might wake up the next day and suddenly resemble one of the children from Little House on the Prairie, but I thought perhaps my small but emotionally volatile house mate might have chilled out just a smidge. No such luck I'm afraid. If anything she has been spurred on by the craziness of the last few weeks, and all the sugary, over-tiredness it has bestowed upon her 3 foot frame.
The first hair cut could have been a disaster but actually turned out to be one of those moments you think you're going to have (but rarely do) when you envisage having children one day, where you gaze down upon the smiley, unfathomably cute little miracle you have created, through tears of pride and love. Unfortunately all sentimentality came crashing down in steaming pile of horse crap though when I tempted fate and tried to squeeze the grocery shopping in after. It wasn't pretty.
I fear "imposter Annie" and I may be inadvertently responsible for motivating the creation of future offspring for the 20 something year old hairdresser lassy, who was witness to this rare display of sweetness from my little psychopath. The presently perky and well rested young woman will no doubt be cursing me amidst her own Coles toddler meltdown one day for having given her a false impression of "the joys of motherhood" and instead into the harrowing experience that is shopping with a semi wild animal.
Christmas was, as it always will be from now on, a mixture of sweet moments where you remember the magic of being a child on Christmas morning and are stirred by the looks on your own children's faces as they experience this wonderment for themselves, contradicted with bitter resentment toward corporate greed as people seem to spew money into wealthy department stores in some sort of frantic display of psychotic spending.
It's easier if I do a list.
What I really hate about Christmas (I probably shouldn't start with the negative but it's much easier)
- Over spending. I refuse to spend $18 on a tin of short bread biscuits shaped like a Scotty dog. Go away.
- Christmas shopping. People seem to be at their very crappest when shopping at Christmas. I have so little patience for "the peoples" at the best of times, but overcrowded shops full of mentally deranged consumers with trolleys piled high with plastic crap really makes me freaks me out. I have a permanent scowl when I am Christmas shopping.
- Slutty Mrs Clause costumes advertised in the junk mail.
- Mariah Carey in my face (wearing a slutty Mrs Clause costume probably).
- The inevitable religious associations that come with celebrating a Christian holiday... and yes, I know that makes me a massive hypocrite because I am, for all means and purposes agnostic and my partner a militant atheist, but I celebrate Christmas for my kids because I don't want them to "miss out". It's very complicated.
- Car travel in the heat. I have a 5 degree comfort zone (18-23 degrees), anything outside of that requires some method of heating/cooling. I don't engage well with the heat. Hot seat belts, sweaty legs, shade blinds that spring up. I don't like it.
- Hot weather. Don't even.
- Putting up the Christmas tree with my kidlets while listening to Christmas carols. It reminds me of my childhood. Of complete and utter blissful ignorance of anything outside of my own little world. Sigh.
- Michael Buble in my face. He is the Christmas whore (as Sash eloquently put it) but that's okay. He's a hot guy that can sing. C'mon!
- Seeing friends and family that I rarely get to see.
- School holidays. I have to admit I love having my boy at home with me. He is such a darling and it's nice not to have to contend with the school run everyday.
Right, so, rant over. I'm glad things are starting to slow down a bit and return to normal. However that is providing that normal includes rinsing skid marks from tiny, fairy adorned knickers.
I call it the "hover cry". In the event of the hover cry there is an ever so brief moment in which to distract a toddler with something shiny or loud, high pitched sounds. I wasn't on the ball.