Meeting. 6.30am. My Room. Be there.

As I sit, the clock ticks over to 9.07am. The young folk are still in their pyjamas but this is contrary to the busy activities that have already taken place at an early hour. Not by me, I might stress, I have simply managed to take a shower, eat a bowl of porridge and savour a latte, but the young folk have held an intense meeting, so intense it couldn't possibly be disturbed for trivial matters such as eating or showering.

In fact, the meeting was of such great importance that it required minimal lighting and optional slippers or teddy bears. Yep, Le Artiste had things on his mind, and by jove he was going to have the whole situation under control by sunrise. It would seem that earlier attempts to get the meeting under way were thwarted by Petal's desire to hide under the doona with a packet of playing cards, but Le Artiste is nothing if not persistent.

I must confess, I have enjoyed the serenity provided by The Meeting, because as we all know, important meetings produce only a solemn murmur. There is no laughing or silliness, meetings are serious business, especially when held in your pyjamas under a pop up tent (the cone of silence was already occupied it would seem).

But now it appears the meeting has adjourned. Petal is shuffling past with a Magna Doodle covered with writing (and the odd flower and smiley face) whilst Le Artiste is hot on her heels, wearing a satisfied smirk that would make Donald Trump proud.

"Mum, I have sorted everything out. I have told S that she has to be good, and not argue with me or she'll get more litter duties, and I made her repeat it back to me lots of times so it really sticks inside her brain."

Phew, am I glad that's sorted. Poor Petal, no wonder she keeps looking up at me and longingly asking if I might consider going to the hospital to pick her up a little brother or sister (or perhaps I could swing by the Sexyversity, which my friend's children assure her is the place to produce a new sibling these days).

Oh well, perhaps I can be of service by answering the phones, producing the Babycinos and plating up the breakfast pastries, but I better get a wriggle on otherwise I might get called into a meeting, yikes.

Trust him, you'll like it.

Le Artiste has been a busy little beaver this morning. He awoke at 6.20am (yes, that is 6.20am precisely, not 6.19 and not 6.21, trust me, he double checked on the kitchen clock) and set to work putting together a marketing plan to knock the chocolate bar conglomerates off their perches. I'm telling you, if the new Chock Rock bar from Snip,Snap doesn't blow you away then my name's not Waffles. Let me share some of the excellent selling points as presented on Le Artiste's fine advertising poster.

Well obviously it's the yummyest and juicest chocolate bar EVER ! How can you go past that ? I will most certainly be re-assessing all my chocolate bars from now on and if they don't rate highly on the 'juicy' scale, I will definitely reconsider any future purchases.

And don't we all love a product that is free from artifital colours or flavours with no presurvatives. Especially when it also contains mashmellos and a cream & caramel sauce. Mmm, got to love those mashmellos.

Alright, so say you're not swayed by the ingredients. Surely you wouldn't turn down the incloosion of a plazma TV. I know it's almost too good to be true but I'm sure it's not a misprint, it's even circled with a bright red box. So for the bargain price of 5c (or free, depending on which box you read) you'll not only get a delicious, healthy chocolate bar but you'll get a free plazma television. But wait....there's more....

...it's yummy, healthy, keeps you smart and NEW. It's like a super food, a food of the Gods perhaps, and it will keep you NEW. I'm getting giddy at the mere thought of it.

And if you're still not convinced that the Chock Rock bar is for you, well just take a look at the expression on the face of the non-smoking, skull and crossbone wearing chap above. If you can't take his word for it that it is 'delitous too,' then I am at a complete loss.

Now I'm no marketing guru but if I was the head honcho at Cadburys I would be very worried, very worried indeed.

It was the four year old, in the bedroom, with a red crayon.

Perhaps I wasn't looking hard enough for the fine print in my guide to rearing children book. Maybe an entire chapter had mysteriously gone missing. But no where did it mention that upon having children I would have to don a blue plastic suit and whip out my forensics kit at a moments notice to solve many a household mystery.

If you have children, I imagine that you are nodding your head at this very moment. Every day seems to hold a new and exciting puzzle to solve, some easy, some, not so much.

Le Artiste, thankfully, does not seem destined for a life of crime (there you go mum, that should help you sleep easier at nights). When a sticky blue snake is to be found dangling from his bedroom ceiling, he will simply stare at the floor, stare back at the snake, shrug his shoulders and say "Yes, sorry mum, it was me. I threw the snake at the ceiling." Which is always handy as it saves me many unnecessary hours of canvasing the neighbourhood looking for someone who is randomly throwing sticky blue snakes around.

Petal, on the other hand, will deny all crimes, regardless of how blatantly all signs point to her. Whilst using a handy blue biro to scrawl a tag on the lamp shade when no one is around seems like a well executed plan, scrawling your own name will in fact give the game away entirely. As it will when written on the bookshelf or across Dolly's forehead. I'm sure with age she will attempt a wee bit more discretion, but you can bet your bottom dollar that I won't be fooled if I see *Mummy* penned cunningly on to the coffee table, oh no, I will be onto that like a shot... just as soon as I check out my own alibi.

Admittedly, I have a small crime file of my very own, some misdemeanors which I remember and some which I'm sure my parents would be more than happy to remind me of. There was the time I thought it would be a fabulous idea to cut some decorative shapes into my bedroom blind. The time I thought I would try my hand at hairdressing and trim myself a fringe (or bangs, for you American folks) which I then thought I could cleverly disguise with around 20 bobby pins. Oh, and not to forget the time I aimed my slingshot at a lemon and instead took out the stained glass panel next to our neighbours front door, for which my sister caught the initial blame, oops. Ah yes, happy memories, don't you agree mum ? I just know you're reading this with a smile on your face.

Anyway, now it is my turn to play detective. Will I ever be able to solve the mystery of the bent towel rail ? Hmm, yes my dear Watson, I think I see a clue.

It's time to get extreme.

Today has been a big day at Chez Waffler, no, scrap that, today has been a HUGE day. Today my wee little Petal spread her wings and flew straight out of the nest and into a Prep class, her first day of full time school.

Le Artiste commenced Year Four but with the calm, cool demeanor of a seasoned pro. Well he is eight you know.

But there have been no tears, just smiles, old friends, new friends and the promise of lots of activities to keep their hungry little minds busy. All in all an excellent start to the new school year.

So this all got me to thinking, what lies ahead for Mama Waffler ? Well how about some extreme sports ? Now you may be forgiven for thinking, gosh Waffles, that's a little...urm...extreme don't you think ? But let me fill you in on a little detail that most of you don't already know. Back when Le Artiste was about two years old and Petal hadn't yet arrived on the scene, I decided that I was in a bit of a rut. I thought that I should try something new and challenging. Knitting ? I hear you suggest. Perhaps a spot of pottery ? What about painting your toenails red instead of pink ? Well yes, all good and valid suggestions, but no, I decided to take up rock climbing.

Why rock climbing ? I don't really know, I just thought that it looked like fun. Surely you've thought the same whilst watching a person dangling by their fingernails from the edge of a cliff.

Anyhoo, off I tootled to the indoor rock climbing centre, booked myself in for private lessons with a fairly easy on the eye instructor (ah yes, I am a mother but I most certainly am not blind), and began scaling rock walls. Yes I'll be the first to admit that as I hung from a rock wall which was parallel to the floor, with my instructors hands on my derriere, I did take a minute to wonder what on earth I was doing. But overall I really enjoyed the experience (no, not JUST the instructors hands on my derriere) and had a fabulous day when we finally went on an outdoor climb. Even the abseiling was fun.

So, now that I can cross rock climbing off the list I have found some other prospective sports which I am sure are just perfect for a 30 *ahem* something mother of two.

Base Jumping - Putting on my Super Girl costume and leaping off a tall building, praying that I remembered to put the parachute on under my cape.

Cliff Jumping - Putting on swimmers....oh...hang on...swimmers ? No scrap that one, anything that involves swim wear is waaaay too out there.

Free Running - Umm, running, freely, kind of, I think, with the odd back flip off a building and some monkey climbing that would make Donkey Kong proud.

Ice Climbing - Just like a rock, only icy.

Kitesurfing - Balancing on a board and flying an enormous kite whilst jumping over waves and dodging sharks, stingrays and deadly jelly fish...oh oops, swimmers again, no good.

Sand boarding - Balancing on a board and flying down sand dunes whilst avoiding sunstroke, scorpions, snakes and the odd camel.

Snow Kiting - See Kitesurfing, except colder due to the, ah, snow. The plus side for snow kiting over kitesurfing, no swim wear, unless you are crazy extreme and possibly a little bit deranged.

Now how on earth one decides between such fabulous options I just don't know, perhaps I'll go and have a little hit of Wii virtual golf whilst I mull it over. Extreme ? You bet I am.

A few words for my son.

Dearest Le Artiste,

It would seem, at the grand old age of eight, that you have been blessed with keen powers of observation. Unfortunately you have not yet mastered the art of tact, so I thought now would be the perfect time for me to share some words of wisdom with you.

Here are ten comments/questions that no woman or girl EVER wants to hear. At the moment your giant brown puppy dog eyes may save you from a womans scorn, but in later years, if you don't heed my advice, you may need to learn to dodge oranges and raspberry slushies.

1. Are you turning into a man ? You are growing a moustache.

2. Ewww, grosse, I can see your knickers.

3. Woo hoo, show us your knickers *snigger snigger*.

4. Is that hair coming out of your nose or is there a spider crawling around in there ?

5. My bum's really small, but yours is very big.

6. How old are you ? No, REALLY, how old are you ?

7. Did you go to the hairdressers ? You look like a tiger.

8. Would you like to marry/go out with/ come on a date with me ? 'Cause Jessica/Olivia/Bertha already said "No."

9. Would you like a vacuum cleaner/toaster/lawn mower for your birthday ?

10. Wow, your mum/sister/Aunt Mabel is really hot.

I hope this advice serves you well.

All my love,

Mummy xx

Hello Monday

I thought in my absence you might have started fretting that I'd run away and joined a circus, but it's okay, no trapeze knife juggling for me just yet. See, here I am, having a jolly old time at Le Artiste's annual junior school swim carnival. Can you see that enthusiasm etched into my features ? That is the face of a woman having fun, fun, fun I assure you.

But really, it's not about us is it folks ? It's about the kids, and whilst Petal was supremely unimpressed that she couldn't leap in and give those Year Three boys a run for their money *le sigh*, I think Le Artiste had a great day. The weather was perfect, there was a sausage sizzle and numerous lolly snakes were consumed (tutt tutt Coach, I saw, oh yes I did).

So anyway, silly season seems to have started early for us this year and my poor little diary is chockablock for the next three weeks. But most of my Christmas shopping is done and the tree is up, yes, we are almost counting down on an hourly basis now, yikes. My plan is to try and enjoy the relative calm before the school holidays begin, that's when things really turn up a notch and we have a house full of 'the crazies'....hang on....just taking a few breaths into the brown paper bag after thinking about it. How are you coping with the start of the festive season ? I am sure we can all get through it together...one, two, three...breathe into the bag, that's the way.

Not quite all there.

Image from here

This is exactly how I feel at the moment. Everything seems a tad fuzzy and before you even ask, no I've not touched a drop of champagne or so much as swirled a nice leggy Pinot Noir around in a glass. Rather sad, no ?

Admittedly we are half way through the school holidays, but today we have drifted along at an altogether civilised pace, so I think I must point the finger of blame elsewhere.

Anyhoo, hopefully the fuzzies will blow away in all this wind, it has to be good for something right ? Meanwhile Petal is cleaning her room whilst balancing a book on her head and wearing 3D glasses which make her look startlingly like Roy Orbison and Le Artiste is making a dog named Bob from a cardboard box. Bob certainly looks like he's had a bowl or twenty of MeatyBites. Poor Bob, since you have no legs you really must stick to a stricter diet, or at the very least go and roll down the hill a few times each day.

Chillaxin'

Image taken from here.

Ahhh, yes, it's Sunday and today all is well in the Waffler universe. A memo was forwarded to all members of the Waffler household first thing this morning, it read : Today there will not be crying, bickering, sulking or temper tantrums. Today we will relax. Today we will play games. Today we shall enjoy the glorious spring weather. Today we will exist in a nauseating cloud of lurve. Please sign below that you are in agreement with all of the above terms and conditions. Mama Waffler.

So far, so good, although I don't think Petal signing her contract with a smiley face would hold up in court. Oh, and in case the connection between the above image and my words is as clear as mud, Le Artiste and I are learning to play chess together. I feel there is nothing worse then being taught a new game by an expert, let the novices bumble around in peace I say.

Eight years ago.

Eight years have passed and yet the memories remain as vivid as if it were yesterday. Compose yourselves peeps, for today is the day that the Waffler is going to take a serious moment, but I promise, regular programming will resume tomorrow.

On this day eight years ago I was not yet a mama Waffler, I was still a Mrs Waffler with a rather pronounced 'bump'. D-day was looming and I was ready, ready to meet the little man who was scheduled to arrive on the 12th of September 2001.

As with many a first time parent I was super organised, probably had the hospital bag packed four months early, but when it came to watching the birthing videos...well....we kept popping that into the 'tomorrow basket'. We had a few weeks to watch the video before we were due to return it to the hospital but we realised eight years ago today that the return date was the 12th of September, 2001...oops.

We were slack but diligent, so we pulled it out and sat down for an.....interesting....nights viewing. Strangely enough, the decision to watch the video completely disrupted my early to bed schedule, and so I found myself feeling slightly traumatised and exhausted, wearily dragging my swollen ankles off to bed at a fairly undignified hour.

I don't even think I had a chance to put my pyjamas on before The Coach called out, he wanted me to see something on the tv, sheesh, did the man not notice the giant tummy ?

I tried to fob him off but he was persistent, "No, you really have to see this."

So I waddled back to the living room and sat beside my husband watching events unfold in America. Even now, my hands are shaking as I remember the thoughts which buzzed inside my head like a swarm of angry bees, the trauma, the disbelief, the uncertainty, the horror and above all the sheer panic as to what sort of world I was bringing an innocent little person into.

We sat up until about two o'clock in the morning, then fatigue overcame the horror and I fell into an unsettled sleep.

Four hours later I awoke to an unmistakable sensation, muscles clenching in my abdomen, it seemed that no amount of trauma or lack of sleep was going to stop my little man from arriving bang on his due date. I showered. I washed and dried my hair. I groomed my eyebrows and popped on a smudge of concealer (old habits die hard). I called the hospital. Finally when I was completely organised I woke The Coach who, after running around like a headless chicken for ten minutes, got himself together and we tootled off to the hospital.

Such a strange day, gradually increasing contractions as I sat in the labour ward waiting room watching the news. Filled with uncertainty about the world, about people, about all the horrors awaiting my unborn child and yet overwhelmed with anticipation at finally meeting the person behind all those internal nudges and pokes.

My labour progressed without incident and so it was, that later that day, in a darkened delivery suite with soothing music, as I sat in a tub of warm water, Le Artiste arrived in this world.

It was a crazy roller coaster of emotions in the preceding twelve hours, but as soon as I held my baby and drank in every perfect feature, somehow I could believe that everything was going to be okay. That for all the bad in the world there was also such beauty and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that this gorgeous, tiny creature would be loved and protected.

And now here we are, my baby is now a big school boy who amazes me and makes me so incredibly proud. Tomorrow he turns eight and I hope that he has the most perfect and wonderful birthday ever.

This day marks one of the most amazing days of my life but I will never, ever forget the pain and sadness experienced by so many people on the other side of the world. My heart goes out to you and my own experience of joy will forever remain intertwined with your unimaginable loss.

Sorry, which shop ?

The following conversation was recorded between an exhausted mother and her curious child. Names have been changed to protect the identities of those concerned.

Petal : Mummy ?
Mama : Yes Petal.
Petal: When I become a growed up, can I have a car ?
Mama : Yes, I suppose so.
Petal : Can you show me where the car shop is ?
Mama : Yes, I can take you to the car shop.
Petal : What about the key shop ?
Mama : Which key shop ?
Petal : The key shop, where you buy the keys to start the car.
Le Artiste : That's right next to the car shop silly.
Mama: Urm.....
Petal : Is it near the hairdryer shop or the animal shop ? Mummy, can you show me where the hairdryer shop is ?
Mama : Urm......

I'm thinking that Petal would be a perfect candidate for a navigation system and I for one will be very interested to see what pops up when she lists 'directions to car key shop.'

The Perfect Tantrum

I'd like to start by clarifying that the young lady above is not one of my children, in case the accent didn't give it away. I was quite impressed with her point by point instruction on how to perform the perfect tantrum but I'm afraid, compared to Le Artiste, when he was at the height of his 'tantrum throwing ' days, she really is rather an amateur.

When Le Artise was three he learnt how to throw tantrums of epic proportions. These were the kinds of tantrums from which legends were born. Earth rocking, building toppling, extravaganzas. Subsequently Le Artiste didn't enter a shopping centre between the ages of two and five. Some kids get to have parties or go to theme parks for their fifth birthday. Le Artiste, he was allowed to go into a shopping centre, oh the joy and awe on his sweet little face, am I the best mummy in the world or what ?

Anyhoo, Le Artise's tantrums were quite a sight to behold and they followed a tried and true formula. It went something like this :

1) Stare at floor while mulling over reason for ensuing tantrum (generally the word 'no' was involved).

2) Let bottom lip drop and perhaps quiver, just a touch.

3) Scrunch up face and begin colour transformation, first red.

4) Second stage of colour transformation, purple.

5) Take a huge breath (the bigger, the better)

6) Wail, scream, holler, sob, whilst bunching hands into fists.

7) Drop to floor and perform a cockroach death spin (very important to maintain the vocal factor whilst performing the spin)

8) Stop spinning. Kick feet and pound fists on floor.

9) Forget what it was that had caused tantrum in the first place.

10) Kneel up, face upturned, arms raised into the air (think that final scene in Platoon)

11) Projectile vomit all over the place.

12) Fall asleep.

I found the most effective way to deal with these all consuming tantrums was to ensure that Le Artise was in a safe environment then to just step back and let him ride it out. Perhaps a polite golf clap at the conclusion and a score out of ten for effort and overall enthusiasm.

Ah yes, the memories that brings back. Now maybe people can understand my response when I'm asked if I plan on having any more children. "Nope, all is well and the baby factory has closed and bolted it's doors."

Two words, sounds like......

There are days when living with two young children feels akin to being trapped in a perpetual nightmare of the longest game of charades known to mankind. You're sitting there under the glare of the fluorescent lighting in the bingo hall and all of a sudden you realise that no one else playing the game can actually speak English, in fact the odds are fairly high that if you could manage to get out of the bingo hall you would find yourself in a small village on the outskirts of Russia. I'm not the only one who's had this nightmare right ?

Anyway, we're now working on a new and improved system which involves guessing, charades and award winning mime and dramatic interpretation. I have to say, although I may be a tad biased, I do believe that Le Artise and Petal could be destined for Tinsletown domination, once they finish topping the class at NIDA.

Le Artise in particular goes for an entire body performance when attempting to relay a story. The words begin, and are repeated, and repeated and repeated, then he huffs and puffs (but no, does not blow the house down) and his eyes widen and his arms start gesticulating wildly. By this point I am pulling random words out of the air and throwing them at him....... School ? Boy ? Girl ? Today ? Xylography 101 ? Who says you can't have fun with the English language ?

It's quite an exhausting process for all involved but can be very rewarding when we finally unravel the plot, oh yes, high-fives all round before mummy nips off to gulp down a couple of pain killers before her head explodes.

Petal doesn't get caught out in the eternal repeat cycle which loses Le Artise, oh no, she just keeps on talking. Random words ? Who could possibly know ? The expression on her face says 'Look here, I'm telling you this fabulously entertaining story and yet you look completely perplexed. What gives Kimosabe ?' But even I struggle to keep up when a conversation starts with the flavour of grey clouds (for the record, they're smokey) and concludes with mistaking a log for a cow and would a unicorn eat fairy bread ?

I must admit, some days it can all just become a bit too hard and I allow the game to continue on it's merry way whilst I just nod and add the odd "Yes, hmm mmm, sure," But I just know that the day will come when I will get caught out in spectacular fashion, like the afternoon that Le Artise pipes up with,
"Mum, I'm going to begin work on a thesis examining existential philosophy and whether it truly is the 'explicit conceptual manifestation of an existential attitude.' You seem to be constantly confused and disorientated, do you consider the world meaningless ?"
To which I will cleverly answer " Hmmm mmmm, Ben10 is awsome sweetheart."

Charades, do you love it ? I'll just bet that you do. It's a game that the whole family can enjoy over and over and over.....