shadow puppets

It is 8:26pm.

My children are currently playing shadow puppets with their nightlights in their room. I'm pretending I can't hear them, just like I pretend not to see the secret-biscuit-stealing from the pantry that they indulge in from time to time.

Yesterday, Levi told me he wanted me to go and be a teacher again. Just like that. Mummy, I want you to go and be a teacher again so I can go to kindy every day. It's not fun with you. Did I take it personally? You bet. A few days prior when I informed him that we were having stuffed arancini for dinner he rang his Nanny and asked to go and live there, with a stop for a McDonald's cheeseburger along the way.

Did I mention they call me Queen Mummy Fun Police?

There are times I am certain that goat herding would be a more fulfilling profession.

I've been doing this SAHM-ing gig for nearly five years now. At times it's really not unlike being pecked to death by a chicken.

But then there are the other times. The times where you almost expect some slow, sweeping music from a movie soundtrack to start playing as you have that blissful moment with your child. While I don't quite believe the little old ladies in the supermarket who always pick the most inopportune moment to tell me that 'these are the best days of your life', I can understand a sweet nostalgia creeping in as my small ones grow.

Levi crept into the bed at four am this morning, and snuggled in next to Shan. I, the resident insomniac, lay awake and watched the light creep into the room, before turning my eyes to my boys, curled up exactly as they used to even when Levi's foot was no longer than my thumb. Scarley is ever-so-quickly losing her baby-ness, determined to keep up with the big two, to not miss out on anything. We talk phonics in the car now, at their request, and I seem to be producing endless amounts of sandwiches and pasta, eternal 'kid food'. I've read Where Is The Green Sheep so many times that during one bedtime story reading after a particularly long day, I realised I was reciting the words exactly as they go in the book, while Scarley held it upside down and flipped randomly.

They scream in the car. They pinch each other in the car. They fight over Scout. They are of the run-of-the-mill-finicky-eater-variety {garlic bread, even, is out, as it has Green Things}. Bee sleeps with approxmiately seventeen stuffed animals and wakes screaming if one dares to fall out.

They are good kids. I teach them about their world, and in turn, they teach me how to be their mama. They hold a mirror up to me and teach me things about myself I never knew. 

They are good kids.

They're still making shadow puppets.