Here’s a fun thing to try with your kids:

I was saying goodnight to the Evil Genius Mark I, and the light must have been casting a strange glow on the side of my face. He started to giggle. “Your face looks really weird, Mum,” he said, a comment I did not take kindly to, “you look like this,” as he proceeded to pull a really ugly face.

Quick as lightening, I replied, “Oh no! You’ve seen me without my mask. You see, I’m not really your mother, I’m an alien. I killed her a while back, and now I’m here impersonating her, and gathering information about you Humans. I take my mask off every night when you all go to bed (it gets a bit itchy). It must have slipped a bit. Here, I’ll fix it.” I put my face in my hands an mooshed my features around a bit, then turned to face him in the full light. “See? fixed.”

His brown eyes were as big and wide as a saucepan of melted chocolate, and for a moment there was a wisp of something- fear, or maybe understanding of all the times when he thinks I’m a little off- and then he realised how ridiculous that was, and laughed.

At that moment Evil Genius Mark II walked in, and asked what we were talking about. I told her to pop into bed, and I’d be in a moment to share my darkest secret. She was away in a flash, gleefully tucked up, waiting for the dirt. There’s nothing that kid likes more than being in the know.

I was enjoying my story so much, that I added some embellishments. I made her swear, that if I shared this momentous secret she could not to tell another living soul. I told her of how I had been accidentally discovered, but now that her brother (if, in fact he WAS her brother) knew, then it was only fair that she be included.

I told my story and I told it well, giving a brief history of my alien self, and how I had killed The Mother Figure so I could live amongst the Humans undetected. And then, I revealed my hideously contorted countenance.

She screamed, and  buried her head in her pillow.

I laughed as I had with Mark I, happy that she was playing along so well with the gig.

We are a family of imaginators and story tellers, we tell silly and scary stories all the time, often with the benefit of mood lighting (a torch under the chin), so I was pleased that she knew the correct fake fear to exhibit.

She started sobbing.

Proper, starting from your soles, and grabbing a piece of your heart on the way up, full body sobs.

“Coco, Coco, it’s just a joke honey, a funny story because Liam said my face was weird. It’s not real. I’m not an alien.”

She stopped sobbing long enough to gasp out, between hitching breaths, “But you’re so UGLY. I want my Mummy back. I don’t want a ‘poster.”

“I’m not an imposter, I AM your Mum, ” in my best Mum voice, calm and true.

“That’s exactly what a ‘poster would say!”

I allowed that this was true. So I told her to lay down and face me (careful to keep my prettiest countenance) whilst I told her three things that only her Real Mother would know about her.

This calmed her enough to stop sobbing and start to drift off to sleep. “Mummy, she murmured,” half in this world and half in the world behind the veil of sleep, “can you tickle my legs?” This was her soothing thing, (the thing she cons Nath into doing most nights), gently tickling the dry and irritated skin behind her knees where the eczema is worst. A thing that for some reason, I just can’t stand doing.

My hand went to her popliteal fossa, as if to lightly flutter over the angry skin, and help my little girl safely meander her way into the world of dreams, then a thought flashed into my head: she called me UGLY.

In a moment I was at the door, “I can’t. I never do that. And if I do it now you’ll KNOW I’m an imposter. Go to sleep.”

Teach that kid to call ME ugly.

I’m NOT ugly…. Am I?

Do you ever play tricks on your kids?

Do you wish you were an alien here some days, just collating information on the Humans, soon to return to your home planet Zoybidor (Okay, I think I’m liking this story a little too much now) ?

…From The Ashers

This week the Evil Geniuses have been playing in the pool a lot, so, as it is as the beginning of every Summer, we spend a good half an hour in head-spinning oxygen deprivation, inflating the pool toys from last year, and finding out which ones have slow leaks (which, of course, as is aligned with the laws of nature, is all of them).

So we traipsed off to the shops to make our annual plastic purchases.

This year they wanted donut-shaped rings ($5: tick) and “something else”. The something else was ill-defined. They didn’t quite know what they wanted, but they knew they would know it when they saw it. It turned out that the elusive something was tiny inflatable jet-skis manufactured for 3 years and up. (Replete with graphics befitting 3 year olds of faux Cars and Barbie: that’s what you get for 5 dollars it seems.)

No amount of explaining that these toys were too small for a 10 and 7 year old, that they would probably at best sink, and at worst pop on impact, were wasted on the Evil Geniuses. They had made up their tiny minds. And they had their own money.

So we came home with our cache of age-inappropriate floatation devices.

As soon as they helped us pump them up (by blissfully swimming in the pool, whilst we sat on the edge, sweltering in the midday sun, and almost fainting with carbon dioxide poisoning) they were away. They jumped onto those teensy jet-ski replicas and were off. Literally. They couldn’t stay on them for more than a second or two. And once the plastic grew slick with water, the chances of successful circumnavigation of the pool were significantly reduced.

Liam was quick to blame the faulty side floats and the lack of appropriately scaled handlebars for gripping. (He doesn’t like to be wrong, my boy. I’m thinking Apple, Tree)  Coco just said, “We’re too big for them Liam. They’re made for three year olds.”

No shit. It’s not as though anyone had said that IN THE SHOPS. BEFORE they were paid for.

Both of the Geniuses agreed that they “couldn’t do it.” And that they should give the toys to smaller children they know. I suggested that perhaps they could think of another way to use the toys, mainly because I was still light-headed from the lack of oxygen, but also because I hate to see five bucks wasted. They agreed that would be a good idea, and proceeded to try other methods of staying on.

After all of about five minutes of continued falling off, Liam said, “Well, that’s it. I can’t do it.”

I asked him how he could give up so easily, considering how much he had wanted those toys only moments before. He said, “It’s like this Mum: I find if I’m going to be good at something, I can usually do it on the first try, or pretty soon after. If I can’t do it almost immediately, then I’m never going to be able to do it.”

I conceded that he was probably right. He looked at me in disbelief. This wasn’t the usual party-line here at The Asher’s where learning and failing and repetition and then success, were valued. I said to him that if he had that belief, then that was exactly how things would come to pass. If he didn’t think he could, then he never would. If however, he wanted something badly enough, and with enough joyful passion, then he would probably find a way. We stared at each other for a long and loaded moment, and he said, “Oh no, it’s like Coco mastering the monkey-bars isn’t it? She took the whole year and had blisters all over her hands and bruises on her shins, but she did it eventually.”  I told him that that was exactly what it was like. Keeping focussed on a goal, and never giving up.

We were silent for a moment, lost in the reverie of all of the times we didn’t perservere. Of all the times we gave up too early.

We looked around the pool, to see Coco, feet wedged securely into what Liam was calling the ‘lateral stabilisers’ of the mini jet-ski, floating silently around, collecting the red berries that had been blown in by the nor-wester’. Immune to all of the doubts and insecurities and negative self-talk. Immune to everything really, other than the task at hand.

We looked at each other, my little apple and I, smiling at that weird little yellow kid in the pool, completely oblivious to all of the things she teaches us, and we said at the same time: “Tenacity.”

She really is a different kind of fruit.

Have you purchased your yearly stock of pool-toys, with their excellent repair “stickers” yet?

Are you tenacious like our little banana? Or do you give up easily like us apples?

…From The Ashers

If you are a RR you would know one of the Geniuses wasn’t quite so evil this weekend just gone, and he planned and presided over a Golden Garage Sale, to raise money for charity. He did well.

Then today, as a result of that, something wonderful happened.

Liam received something in the mail from a beautiful lady who knew about the garage sale via my Facebook Super-Spamming on Sunday. She took the time out of her day to write Liam a lovely letter, and to make a donation to his cause. When he read it, he did a little fist pump. When I read it, I got all teary.

I tend to get a bit emotional about lots of things these days. I blame The Menopause, rather than admitting that I could be going a bit soft. But this action really touched my heart.

And it got me to thinking about how it is relatively easy to perform and act of kindness, and to change someone’s day. Liam is taking what he calls “the full-on letter” to school tomorrow to show his teacher, and then he wants it put in his memory box. I can tell by the way he proudly read it out to me that he has started to see himself in the way she described him. He is considering himself to be the type of guy who does good, who makes the world better. Psychologists have a term for it: The Pygmalian Effect. I have a term for it: A Bloody Grouse Way To Build A Kid’s Self Esteem.

So this letter? It changed Liam’s day today. But who knows what it has done to change his perceptions of himself in all of the tomorrows.

BJ Palmer once said, “We never know how far reaching something we may think, say, or do today will affect the lives of millions tomorrow.” Who knows what these little charges we have inherited will become; pilots, plumbers, painters, publicans, politicians? Regardless of what, experiences like these will define who. And most likely how.

I appreciate you, lovely lady.

What can you do to change a kid’s life for the better?

Or an adult, for that matter?

…From The Ashers

Golden

Sometimes kids can be annoying. They can be silly, they can make annoying noises, laugh at inappropriate things, get ALL of the toys out, not eat their dinner, have to be reminded to do basic, basic stuff, and, you know, just be kids. So annoying.

And other times they aren’t like that at all. They are amazing, and you get a little sideways glimpse of the adults they may become.

We had a weekend like that here.

On Saturday Liam went to a coding workshop at the library. It’s something that he has wanted to do all year, but the course fills up quickly and he has been on a waiting list. It finally began this week. I can’t tell you how excited he was to go, and how bubbly and light he was when he came home. At ten years of age he was one of the younger kids there, yet still he put his hand up to present his coding results at the end of the course, in front of everyone. Who does that willingly? I suspect he is not of our making. He has somehow, in the ten years he has been under our care, made himself.

At times I forget to parent the kids that I have, and try to parent the kids that I think I should have. I try to stop them from reading and writing stories and playing make-believe games with sound effects and mess. I tell them to “get outside”, to kick the footy, ride a bike, run around. And of course they do do those things at times, but that is not what comes naturally to them, or at least, not always. Today is a day off and I asked them what they would like to do, open slather, anything you want. Answer: a resounding chorus of “Pajama day”. So, in trying to parent some other mythical children, I said, “How about a bike ride instead?” They both just looked at me blankly, and Coco said, “Why did you ask us what we wanted, if you were just going to make us do something else?” Fair question. And why would I want my little dudes to be anything other than who they truly are?

For those little dudes did something pretty cool on Sunday.

They planned out an event called ‘The Golden Garage Sale’. They culled their cupboards and collected bits from other people to sell. The made signs, they dressed in gold, and they sorted things into themes. (Coco is still gutted that the goods in her “Pinkatorium” didn’t sell out.). When customers were scarce, they went out onto the main road and danced around with their signs, to drum up business. Liam did some busking, and Coco jumped up and down.

Ready for business

And they did all this for charity.

For gold coin donations.

This was all without direction from us- Liam chose to do it and how it would go. He explained what was going on to all of the customers, and managed to get quite a few donations, as well as sales. Several times during the planning I tried to add things, change the charity, or just generally make it how I thought it should be, and he would quietly say, “It’s my garage sale, Mum.”

And he was right.

This life is theirs for the taking.

They should be allowed to play this game however they like. It’s their game. Their days are just how they should be, the most perfect way for them. Not me, not Nath, not some other kid up the road. Them. And these days are just fine.

In fact, they are golden.

…From The Ashers

There are two children in this family, but sometimes by these posts you could think there was only one. The one who demands more time and attention. The one with all of the needs, that sometimes take over the other, more mundane requirements of a family. The squeaky wheel.

We also have a quiet wheel. A kid who has not given us a moment of trouble since the day he was born. Hang on, that isn’t strictly true- we had a day when he was about a month old called Black Sunday. I remember it well because there was stupid car racing on the telly, and Nathan wouldn’t turn it off, and the kid somehow got overtired and cried and cried and just WOULD NOT SLEEP for a whole day. That one day, I thought he might never sleep again. For those moments, I feared that this may never pass, and that my life would always be like this, with a crying child and a grumpy husband, that I would be pacing the house juggling the two of them forevermore. Then he fell asleep and it was all over, and I learned that he was the type of child who thrived on routine and structure and in knowing what was coming next. So I never varied from the predictable again.

So this baby who was soothed by schedules has become a boy who is independent and knows his own self. He knows what he likes, often before he even tries it, and he can be tricky to coerce into things he has already made up his mind about. So of course, because I am the mother and I worry about things that have not even happened yet, I try to modify that, to make him more open to change, to try new things, to do be okay with spontaneity (even though deep down I suspect it has “its time and its place”*)

That child also came on the bush walk.

His challenges were different to his sister’s. He found the actual activity easy, but he soon tired of the sameness that is the Australian bush. He said he felt like we were just walking around in circles, and that there had better be a good reward at the end of this trip, because the journey sure was boring. I almost laughed aloud at how similar we are. As his sister and father were looking up down and all around at all of the different trees and plants and trying to spot wildlife, we were stomping ahead, intent on ‘getting there’. For us the joy of the journey was in the arriving. We have a lot to learn, my boy and I, from those other two. (Remind me sometime to tell you the story of the Woolomi Lighthouse.)

Once we ‘arrived’ he immediately got prepared for the fun to start. He had seen a rope tied to a tree that someone had left behind, and he was keen to swing into the rock pools. I said to go ahead and do it, mainly because I didn’t think he would.

So I sat back and watched his preparations: testing the rope for strength and then for fastness. He then did three or four practice swings, swinging out over the water, making sure he had the distance right, the grip on the rope sufficient. He did things that I wouldn’t have thought to do. I asked him what made him consider all of these variables. “Standard safety checks, Mum,” was the reply.

Oh. Okay then. You would have thought it came with a manual.

Finally it was time for the real deal.

Got the camera on Mum? Check.

In video mode? Yes Liam, I said check.

Okay, here we go then.

I held my breath a little, still thinking he wouldn’t really do it, but holding it just in case he did, and cracked his head on the rocks or something, not wanting him to do it, yet really wanting him to dare to do something outside his comfort zone.

I didn’t video it.

He gave me a foul look (that I suspect I will see some more of in the years to come) gave the little sigh that leaks out when you have to deal with idiots, and prepared to do it again. For fun? No, for the camera. I pretended for a while that I still wasn’t getting the shot, just to make him do it over and over. All of the videos are almost exactly the same. He swings the same way every time, drops at the same moment, surfaces, and gives me a thumbs up. Mission accomplished.

Pretty much how he does his life.

When did you last do something that takes your breath away?

Are you trying to change someone’s ways because you think they could be better?

*A quote to run your life by right there: from the character, Alison, in “The Sure Thing”, sometime in the 80s.

Also: I would have loved to have shown you the video (which I did take) but I can’t figure out how to import it over here. Feel free to enlighten me WP nerds.

…From The Ashers

Today the Evil Geniuses had their first introduction to the evils (and merits, depending on which side you’re on) of gambling.

Evil Genius One (who is the true genius in this story), drew up four notes. See Exhibit A:

Exhibit A: The four cards. One says “bup-bawll” like the noise on Family Feud.

He placed these notes in a little box and began his spiel.

He talked long and lyrical about the lusciousness of Lindt chocolates (of which he happened to have a full box) and the luck we might encounter, by placing a mere fifty cents in his sweaty little palm. Fifty cents bought us one lucky dip, a one in four chance (which he assured us were ‘excellent odds’) of ‘earning’ a Lindt ball.

I had one dip, did my dough and declared myself out of the running.

Evil ‘Genius’ Two however, was smitten.

She hauled her money box upstairs, and gave him dollar after dollar after dollar, in an effort to procure just one small ball. Her luck was so bad, that eventually he had to show us the notes, to prove there actually was a winning one. He was holding all the cards and she was holding back the tears.

I told her to stop giving her money away. She said she couldn’t because “I’m so close now Mummy, I can’t stop. I just have to win one soon.”

I told her that wasn’t necessarily true, and anyway I had Mentos in my bag, and I would give her one for free.

I told him to give her a break and just give her a choccy. He said he couldn’t because, “That goes against the rules of the wager.”

Eventually she did get a bit of a run on, and won a few chocolates, to calm those jangly nerves.

At the end of it all I asked them if they had learned anything useful from all this illegal gambling.

Liam: Gambling is addictive and ace, especially if you are the one holding the cards. I don’t know why it is illegal. It’s an excellent way to make money, if you make the odds good enough.

Coco: Gambling is fun and exciting, a bit like a scary ride at Aussie World. You have to pay out a lot and you might have to be patient, but eventually you win. So it makes it worth it.

Great.

Epilogue: There are no Lindt balls left, and Coco has about 25cents to her name.

…From The Ashers xx