threelilprincesses.com

Category: Laugh out loud

  • FEATURE: Hot Cross Mum

    FEATURE: Hot Cross Mum

    I’VE been a bit of a hot cross mum lately. Princess Ella has been testing my patience to the point I’ve had to resort to ringing Easter Bunny. At this stage, Easter Bunny won’t be visiting our house due to someone misbehaving (at this rate, not for the next 10 years).

    Usually I wouldn’t stoop so low, but with the end of daylight saving, 4am starts to the day and Baby Holly popping two teeth at once and going through Wonder Week 26, I veered off the path of good parenting and picked up the phone. I will, of course, ring him back and invite him to drop off some eggs. I am not that mean.

    The real problem is two-fold. Firstly, there’s a little girl who’s not getting enough attention because mum is always throwing her boobs about breastfeeding Holly or trying to get Holly to sleep. I try my best to do as much craft, drawing, “hairdressers”, telephone calls to Dorothy the Dinosaur and hide and seek (with the bonus of getting five minutes shut eye under the bed) as I can. However, for her, it’s just not quite enough.

    The second problem is, dare I say it, me.  Romina from Martyr-hood put it best when she said

    “ how you feel about yourself, actually reflects in your own children’’

    and that

    “anxiety is contagious’’.

    This struck a chord with me because, well, the reason Ella is a grumpy pants, is because I’m a grumpy pants. Time for new undies, I say.

    After reading many blog posts about mums being grateful for their lot in life, I’m determined to change my ways. Naomi of Seven Cherubs has started a Happiness Project that I’ve jumped on board and I’ve already posted by first edition in Maxebella Loves’ I’m Grateful For meme.

    So Tuesday morning, as I set off on the road to get Holly’s six-month immunisation shots (yes, more reasons to jump for joy), I decided to get up and get happy.

    So I started singing at the top of my lungs – always guaranteed to make me feel better. I belted out a stellar rendition of Play School’s Ning Nang Nong where the cows go bong and the monkeys all say boo, and was halfway through Der Glumph went the little green frog one day when I realisedd Ella wasn’t even in the car with me.

    A little embarrassed, I quickly flicked on the radio and got rather disappointed by some bumpin’ grindin’ pop tune with no melody. It was at this point I realised how old I was. Back to the Ning Nang Nong.

    The end result was, however, that I’d released the beast and felt much better. I’d recommend it too. And if that fails, there’s always chocolate. Although, I’d better go ring Easter Bunny first.

    So come on, sing it with me…

    How do you overcome “challenging’’ days with the kids? What makes you feel good?

    Read about the follow-up phone call to Easter Bunny.

  • SHED: It ain’t all black and white

    SHED: It ain’t all black and white

    Ella dressed in Julian's Collingwood scarf and hat

    SHE must have caught me at a weak moment. I know a deal was done, I just don’t exactly remember when or how.

    Let me explain. When Princess Kel was pregnant with our first (which turned out to be Princess Ella), we agreed: If it was a boy it would be a Collingwood supporter; a girl would be a Carlton supporter. Yep, Kellie supports the Blues and I follow the Pies (and despite this we still are happily married and have been for eight years).

    For a while the deal remained true. Kellie would take great delight when I screamed out “GO PIES!’’ and Ella would reply “go the Blues’’.

    But then the tide turned. Ella started to see in black and white. It could have been the fact Collingwood had a winning year last year so she saw the joy it brought me, the fact I constantly played the club song to her during the final series or me getting her a Collingwood footy.

    Whatever, but when I sing out “Go Pies’’ now, Ella echoes it. She even requests “Good Ol’ Collingwood Forever’’ instead of “Twinkle, Twinkle’’ during our bedtime sing-a-longs. She was also more than happy to don my beanie and scarf for a photo which I posted on Facebook (as you can see). These were some of the responses –

    Moya: “child abuse’’.

    Jason: “Now that is just wrong on so many levels’’.

    Angus: “Congrats on giving your child the best possible start in life.’’

    Emma: “Stop it Julian, you’re embarrassing her!! Kel, make it stop!’’

    Kellie: “ I’ll never have an afternoon nap ever again. My poor Carlton-loving daughter…’’

    Deep down, I know I’ve brain-washed my little girl and deep down I know Kel thinks I have reneged on a deal. She can hardly complain though. There is a long tradition of first-born daughters following their father’s footsteps. Why does Kel support Carlton? Because her dad does ….

    Have you influenced which footy team your child supports?

    Don’t forget to vote for Julian in the Top 25 Daddy Bloggers.

  • Grateful for underpants

    Grateful for underpants

    Holly's new toothy smile

    This week I’m grateful for:

    1. Underpants. Thankfully, Ella had knickers on at dancing this week. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, may I suggest you read When life goes bottoms up. Good if you like to have a giggle at someone else’s expense!
    2. Toothy pegs finally breaking through. Baby Holly popped her first tooth this week… and her second. There’s no point doing things in halves!
    3. My first paid PR job, including “Skype meeting’’. The wonderful Kat Cho from Deals for Mum gave me my first (unexpected) PR job this week. And my business isn’t even set up yet! I spent ages doing my hair, makeup, dressing nicely (well, from the waist up) and even sprayed on a bit of perfume to hide the baby spew smell (just in case you can smell someone while Skyping them! Cue: hubby rolling his eyes).
    4. Most importantly, the fact that when sleep deprivation has been all too much (due to No. 2), there’s always been something to make me giggle (see No. 1) and smile (see No. 3). I love my life!

    Tell us, what are you grateful for this week?

    I’m joining with  Maxabella Loves to share what I’m grateful for.

  • FEATURE: When life goes bottoms up

    FEATURE: When life goes bottoms up

    Ella's dancing feet

    WHEN preparing for three-year-old Ella’s dance lesson in the morning, I’ll be double, no triple, checking we have EVERYTHING. Why? Well first, let’s rewind to last Friday morning.

    Last Friday was particularly hectic – there was breastfeeding to be done, bags to pack, dishwashers to clear (well, only one dishwasher) and bottoms to be wiped. “No mum, I can wipe my own bottom’’. Here we go. “Of course you can, darling. Just make sure you put your underpants back on, OK?’’

    Let’s just say this conversation went on for a while (I won’t bore you with the script) and ended with “I’ll put them on later’’. Fine, put them on later. I’ve got other things to do. Ah, we spend so long pushing for the day our li’l people become independent, little realising the ramifications.

    You see, half way through her dance lesson, as I bounced Baby Holly on my lap, the dance teacher instructed her li’l subjects to lie back, feet in the air and pretend to be seals balancing a ball on their toes. It looked so gorgeous. Twenty sets of little feet cycling towards the sky.

    Then a thought crossed my mind, my body suddenly felt hot and I slightly choked. Had Ella put her pants on in the end? If not, there were quite a few people now getting an eye full. Yep, she was as naked as the day she was born.

    “Next, let’s all twinkle our fingers in the air, now bend over and touch the floor.’’ Nooooooooo. Please. She hasn’t got pants on. Too late. The other mums around me were in absolute hysterics. I had my hands full with Holly and could do nothing but watch it all unfold.

    A few minutes later Ella runs over to me. Little does she realise just how much of herself she’s revealed to her peers. I quickly do the hand-up-the-dress thing just to confirm what I already know and indeed, there are no underdaks covering the “front and back bum’’. I try to convince her that we need to get her spare pants out of her bag before the next dance begins, but she runs off laughing. Yeah, real funny.

    Finally, when dancing has finished, she complies and happily jumps into a pair of stripey pink and white knickers. Too late now, love. Everyone’s already seen what you had for breakfast. *sigh*

    So, my lesson to you is, fight for your little people’s independence, sure. But understand, as with everything, there are consequences.

    Do you have issues with keeping your child in underpants? Or is it just my child?

    Don’t forget to follow us on Facebook to keep up to date with news from TLP.

    This post is part of FlogYoBlog Friday. Click on the links to read some incredible posts from around the mummy blogosphere!
    Click on the links to read some incredible posts from around the mummy blogosphere!



  • SHED: Like mother, like son

    SHED: Like mother, like son

    Julian's mum with Baby Holly

    AS A child, there were many things I thought I would turn into when I was “bigger”. For a while there I thought I would be the first fully professional BMX Bandit (Nicole Kidman beat me to it). Then I thought I’d make a good Prime Minister (I didn’t even make the school council).  I also thought I’d be the first white Michael Jordan (I ended up closer resembling the first white Steve Urkel).

    However, there’s definitely one thing I didn’t think I’d turn into when I grew up … and that was: MY MOTHER! Yes, you heard right. As time progresses as a parent, I fear – in fact, dread – I am turning into my mum.

    Don’t get me wrong, there are worse things in the world to turn into (a Carlton supporter for one), but it’s a little disconcerting for a bloke in his late 30s to suddenly find himself channeling a lady with a penchant for Tupperware, knitting and candied ginger.

    This phenomenon occurred to me the other day when I was scolding Princess Ella, whose three-year-old tantrums are making the “terrible twos’’ seem like a full body massage with a Pina Colada chaser. Tired of Ella’s rebellion, I launched into a lecture. “Ella, there are two words you have to stop saying – `no’ and ‘I don’t want to’,’’ I said. At the end of the sentence I realised the stupidity of what I’d just said and couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Ella looked at me like I was weird.

    In hindsight though, something scared me. What I’d just said sounded completely like something my mum would have said. It was at THAT moment it occurred to me, as a parent, I was more like my mum than my dad.

    Already Kel has caught me several times calling Ella “Holly” and Holly “Ella” – something my mum is famous for. Mind you, she had seven kids and I have two. Also, my version of discipline is pathetic, much like my mums. My siblings reckoned I had my mother wrapped around my little finger and, if that’s the case, then karma is a bitch. Kellie is constantly onto me because I no sooner threaten Ella than I give her chocolate and a cuddle. Wrong, I know, but I can’t help it.

    Since this devastating revelation, I have come to terms with my path in life. I resolve that if indeed I am turning into my mum, I shall dedicate my future spare time to learning the difference between “knit” and “purl”. I am also now in the market for some mauve skivvies.

    Read more from The Shed and don’t forget to vote in the Top 25 Daddy Blogs.

    Then hop on over and visit Where’s My Glow?, where Kel is guest posting today.

    Lastly, if you want to read about more daddy blogs, check out Reservoir Dad, who is putting together a list of Aussie dad bloggers today (direct link will be put up as soon as available).

  • Lesson for wives No. 4: Bras are for boobs

    OK, THIS may not be a lesson just for wives. In fact I think the main culprits of this disturbing trend are probably not in steady, long-term relationships, but it is an important lesson to be noted nonetheless. Although one of the recent culprits I witnessed was indeed pushing their pram up the street when I saw them commit this heinous crime.

    “What is the crime?’’ I hear you shout. Well, when did it become OK to use your bra to hold you mobile phone?

    Seriously, I am not joking, in the past week I have seen about 10 women at different times poke their mobile phone into their bra instead of their pocket. It’s a growing phenomenon. I wasn’t even aware Target sold bras with built-in mobile phone holders these days (and if they aren’t, then on the evidence, maybe they should start).

    Ladies, while it may be convenient, it looks downright ordinary and if you think otherwise we blokes might just start sticking our Nokia’s down the front of our Bonds hipsters … um, though I’m not sure I’d then want to stick the phone to my ear without giving it a good wipe down first.

    Now, I can hear you all thinking “well, what are you doing looking when women do this?’’. Well sorry, but frankly it’s hard not too. It’s especially disconcerting when standing, waiting for service at a shop beside a lady when her boobs start ringing to the tune of Lady Gaga’s latest single.

    Please, remember boobs are for bras and mobile phones are best kept in pockets or those expensive things designed for carrying stuff you girls love so much – yep, handbags.

    Read more Lessons for wives.

    Rewinding with And Then There Were Four.