Bluey blues

Sofia

Brisbane has been declared a disaster area due to the floods and extreme weather. We lost power at our house sometime last night. We've relocated to Nana and Grandad's house overnight bringing all the food in the fridge and freezer with us. I'm using Nana's clothes dryer to catch up on the washing. It's been so wet and humid nothing has been drying.

I've been feeling tired and anxious all day. The memory of the 2011 floods is still fresh. You were awake at 4am last night and I'm sure the rain and my mood is affecting your behaviour. Cabin fever has started to set in.

In the flurry of activity to pack up and drive to The Gap we left your sleepy time buddy Bluey behind. It's taken hours to convince you to go to bed with a substitute yellow rabbit I found in Nana's collection of toys. Stories, milk, lullabies, tears, explanations.

You've only ever slept without Bluey on three occasions. Tonight was not a good night to leave him at home. Weird weather, stressed mummy, sleeping away from home. It's not your usual bedtime routine. I'm sorry we overlooked your needs in the mess of adult stuff this afternoon.

Aussie Italian

Sofia

It's Australia Day, it's still raining, all outdoor celebrations have been cancelled. Floods predicted for some parts of Brisbane. Tornadoes around Bundaberg. It feels like most of the city has bunkered down at home, abandoning the usual larrikin behaviour that today brings out.

I sometimes wonder what it means to be Australian. How is it meant to feel?

I'd like you to grow up feeling connected to both my country and daddy's home in Italy. I often think about how we can help make that your reality. But I don't want you to feel torn between the two countries. Instead I hope you'll be a true citizen of the world moving comfortably between both cultures and languages.

I suspect the sacrifice we will make in order for that to happen will be larger than I realise right now. But it's not your burden. We want you to know and love both extended families. That will involve regular trips to Europe, maybe some schooling there and maybe Italian lessons when we are based in Australia.

It's going to sometimes be complicated, sometimes confusing. My ultimate hope though is that being a dual citizen will truly be rewarding.

True Colours

Sofia

It's raining outside. So the play dough has come out. You are absorbed in rolling, cutting, pressing shapes and mixing colours. All the while you commentate on what you are doing.

Cyndi Lauper's 'True Colours' song is playing, a tape from the 1980's I bought on a trip to Thailand.

I can't come to part with my collection of cassette tapes, occasionally putting one onto the tape player your Aunty Kim bought for a Christmas present a few years ago. I wonder if one day you will treasure them as I do.

Carmen, our lovely housemate from Italy, has made meatballs and tomato sauce for dinner. She is finishing off the fresh tagliatelle. Soon we will to dinner, starting the nightly routine of dinner, bath/shower, pyjamas, warm milk ("warm mummy, not hot, not cold" are your nightly instructions), into bed for three stories and then sleep. I never really understood parents who delighted in the importance of routine for toddlers, but now I'm fully converted.

You tell me you are going to make a star. The table is awash with play dough - pink, blue, green, yellow, red, purple. Mixed up with an array of colourful plastic play dough equipment that Carmen gave you for Christmas.

I watch as you swing your shoulders to Cyndi's next song. She's singing about green and blues. The song is happy and upbeat. Just like you.

Ball Skills

Sofia

This afternoon we strolled down to the park to kick around a small pink inflatable ball you have adopted recently. You decided to use a stick as a bat, despite daddy's concerns about said stick poking your eye out.

 

We later turned the sticks into drum sticks, making music on the fence, the trees, the cement and the posts. You love playing daddy's drums at home, and Nana gave you a toy drum kit for Christmas...but I always think drumming works better outside than in!

 



Why Not?

Sofia

 

Lately you have been throwing your hands up in a questioning way, shoulders raised and asking 'Why not?" whenever someone suggests that what is on your current agenda is not going to happen straight away. It is perfectly in context and always delivered with a cheeky smile.

I wonder where you learnt it?

Pink Florist

Sofia

Earlier in the spring we went for a walk up the road in Paddington. You slowed our progress collecting pink flowers and studying your surroundings with great intent and interest. It continues to surprise me how everything pink captures your attention despite all of our efforts to fight against the stereotyping. It just seems as though you are naturally attracted to pink.

Your daddy and I have made our peace with it now. Just as I loved purple as a teenager and love red as an adult we embrace your preference for pink as a little girl.

 

 

Photographer

Sofia

Modelling our example of taking lots of photos you often come up with your toy camera and ask us to stop and pose. "Cheese" is followed by "So beautiful", and off you trot to photograph something else.

It's boooo-ti-ful

Sofia
Yesterday you told me the following things were beautiful, drawing out the "ooo" sound with your little Aussie accent and stressing the "ti" like you would in "bellissimo" in Italian:
• the silver party hat you received at the Tom and Jerry show
• daddy's wet T-shirt hanging in the laundry
• the bras you selected off the lower racks regardless of how utilitarian they were in style while patiently waiting for mummy
• the pink bras mummy tried on in your honour, a major break from my preference for black or nude
• the imaginary photos you took with you adopted toy camera
• the three babies you spotted while wandering around the shops

I embrace your concept of beautiful and hope you continue to view the world through such a positive filter.

Little helper

Sofia

As I was preparing vegetables for dinner one evening last week you declared "It's dinner time", loudly and confidently. You were naked having stripped off your Minnie Mouse swimmers, a gift from your Zia Irene (Aunty Irene) following another afternoon of "swimming" in a laundry tub outside. I was happy to see you bouncing around carefree but your daddy was less impressed when you grabbed some plastic forks and knives to set the table and jammed them between your thighs. Who knows why? It did delay your table setting mission though as he marched you to your bedroom for some lower half garments.

Undeterred, you soon returned and quietly spent the next twenty minutes setting the table. Place mats, cutlery and bamboo mats used as drink coasters were all lovingly laid out. And then reorganised so that you sat at the head while daddy and I were seated together along one side of the table. You rearranged everything several times before walking away satisfied, again chanting "it's dinner time" over the noise of the vacuum cleaner.

I've asked you to help set the table before and you always help willingly. However this evening you demonstrated initiative, perseverance and your observation skills. As I laid the food in the centre of the table I noticed that you had put everything in its rightful place. Fork to the left, knife to the right, cups on the bamboo mat.

We took a photo of the table to capture our delight. It's these little daily surprises that remind me that you are growing up. It's happening both quickly and in slow motion at the same time. It also reminded me that one of the most important things I can do for you is model the behaviour I would like you to display.

It also gave me hope that just maybe we are on the right track; teaching you that the jobs that keep our home a pleasant place to live are a shared responsibility. Not chores to be a avoided or a way to earn pocket money but simple tasks that contribute to our family lifestyle.

Sofia, thank you for setting the table this evening. It was perfect.

Bum heads

Sofia

I walked into your bedroom to find you and daddy singing a new song with your underpants on your heads. The new head gear suited the song which had one line, repeated over and over.

"Bum heads, yeah, yeah."

Watching the utter silliness and lack of inhibition you were both sharing reminded me of what a lovely daddy you have.

Changes

Sofia

This morning two of my work colleagues asked about you. I proudly conveyed that you are now 3 years old, fully toilet trained (having insisted on New Year's Eve that you no longer wanted a night time nappy) and almost rid of the pram. It occurred to be last week that it might also be time to transition out of the car seat, but after checking online I think we can wait.

 

Sometimes it's easy to broadcast the changes that have been happening in our household. At other times I struggle to articulate the small, subtle shifts that happen all around me every day.

 

We spoke to Nana and Grandad on speakerphone during bath time this evening and I found I didn't really have anything much to report.

 

Nana and Grandad are currently in Melbourne, visiting your aunt, uncle and their two sons. We've discussed how they are away on a holiday. "Grandad's on holiday" you chanted at me after child care this afternoon. "Nana's on holiday" you echoed. I agreed only to have you follow up with "Grandad come home now!". Definitely a statement of fact and not a question. "No, not yet, baby" I lamented.

 

I know Sofia, I miss them too.

Steph's hat

Sofia

I remember the day my cousin Stephanie was born, just days before I left to go to Thailand in 1987. I held her as a newborn and then departed for a year away.

In contrast Stephanie was living overseas when you were born. It was sometime before you two met but when finally I introduced you she gave you the sweetest hat I had ever seen.

Blue and white check cotton with a lovely wide brim and a Peter Rabbit label it was a hat that you soon grew into. I added an elastic chin strap and it is still undoubtedly your favourite hat. You wear it everywhere and determinedly put that elastic strap between your teeth before carefully placing the hat on and slipping the strap under your chin.

I love that hat and I love that it was a gift from Stephanie. Every time you wear it I think of my cousin. A stylish and practical gift given to a baby that is still serving the three year old is indeed a special gift.

Water play

Sofia

It was a hot January day today. In an effort to keep you cool I filled up two laundry tubs and a bucket with water for you. We spent hours outside in the shade of the patio, a gentle breeze coming through as you served cups of tea and made up a myriad of water games. I was only sorry that the tubs weren't big enough for me to join you - although you did invite me on several occasions.

 

   

Private reader

Sofia

After breakfast this morning you disappeared. I found you tucked up in bed again reading to yourself. We both enjoy reading to you but it gives me the greatest delight that you already find pleasure in squirrelling yourself away for some private time with your books. It reminds me of your Aunty Kim.

Reflections

Sofia

 

It's hard to believe that this time three years ago you were just one month old. We lived in a villa apartment close to a thriving suburban high street.

You and I had both come to terms with the process of breast feeding. Both natural and foreign, I loved the forced rhythm of taking the space and time to nourish you. Some people refer to the "demands" of breast feeding but I always quietly enjoyed the guilt free reason to just stop and be with my newborn.

I also loved the way your daddy would join us for the early morning feeds, sitting on the sofa watching his wife and daughter. I sometimes suggested he go back to bed, sleep at 3am being a luxury at that time. He always refused, never wanting to miss sharing the experience of feeding you and motivated by his Neapolitan upbringing to keep me company. His companionship was a nightly reminder of his commitment and love.

I watched you at the dinner table tonight. Using your fork to drum on the table. Purposely dropping your spoon on the floor with an exaggerated "uh oh, oh goodness", scrambling to get off the chair. Sticking your hand in your cup to play with the last of the milk, knowingly watching my stern expression of warning. After several warnings and yet another cheeky act I lost my patience and sent you to sit on your bed for two minutes.

We're trying to teach you table manners. But I also want you to know how to behave at mealtime so we can all enjoy the pleasure of eating together. Sometimes I forget that you are still only three and that it's your job to push these boundaries. You are of course still learning what is expected and etiquette is certainly not a concept you should grasp no matter how much of a "Prin-thess" you are.

Instead of asking you to apologise to me before you returned to the table to finish your meal perhaps I should have also have said I was sorry for expecting you to behave like an adult. It has after all only been three years since you were completely dependant on my breasts for every meal.

It's mine

Sofia

It's mine. The call of the wild for all toddlers. I try to steal your honey sandwich at the park today. "It's mine" you chant, grinning at me, understanding the game.

 

I would never come between you and your beloved honey sandwich.

Denial

Sofia
Sometimes you turn your back when I try to take your photo. Tonight daddy was the happy beneficiary of your denial.

The beginning

Sofia

It's a long time since I last kept a blog about living in southern Italy with your father for two years. A lot has changed since we returned to Australia in 2007. More than you can imagine. There was an emotional period of heartache and angst. The more important thing that happened was your conception and birth.

Now you lie sleeping in the next room, just over three years old.

You embody pure joy. I never expected to be prepared to embrace the challenges of motherhood, but your daddy and I are certainly glad that we rode out the storm and welcomed you into our world.

I'm not promising to blog every day my daughter. But there were many days towards the end of last year when I found myself thinking about what I would post if I had a blog dedicated to capturing your childhood, changes and sweetness. So I've begun.



 

Last Friday we caught the bus into the city. It was our first venture into town without the security net and burden of the pram. You haven't been on a bus for some time, and like most 'new' experiences you sat quiety watching the passengers and the world outside. You quietly sang 'Wheels on the Bus' as we went through the tunnels.

 

At the State Library you got to work on some pasting and we reinvented the cardboard into a crown. 'I'm a Prin-thess' is a current catch-cry.