Wednesdays are my day off. It's the school holidays and my darling Mum is here to look after the kids. It's been wonderful. We are all relaxed, enjoying ourselves and spending quality time together.
We saw a movie this morning and I encouraged Mum to head off afterwards and do some shopping. The kids each had 2 friends coming over so it was going to be a loud, childlike afternoon. She deserved a break.
So the friends come over. 2 brothers, Leo's mates and a brother & sister, Maggie's mates. All easy, relatively quiet, un-argumentative children. My favourite kind. The younger brother of Maggie's mate ditches the girls pretty quick and goes to play xbox with the big boys. All is relatively peaceful for about 35 minutes.
I decide to pop my head in to Leo's room and see how the boys are going.
One of them says
'I smell poop'
The 3 big boys are looking at me in desperation. The smaller guy looks anywhere but at us and the first opportunity he can dashes out the door.
'Maybe it's just a fart?' I say, then on inhale realize that it's much more than a fart.
It's possibly a terrible thing.
I enter the girls room and the first thing the sister tells me is 'I smell something bad'.
I say 'Do you know where your brother is? Is he ok?'
'He's behind the door' they tell me and I see him standing, frozen behind the door.
I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge that I dealt with the following situation kindly, quietly and calmly. At no point did that poor child feel any worse about his situation because of me. I was a fucking saviour. God may it never happen but if my own kids ever shit themselves ANYWHERE may they have a sweet kind Mum angel such as myself to sort that shit out. Pun intended.
So I gently and quietly ask the boy to come with me to the bathroom. On entry I see he has already been in there which explains the shit explosions in, on and around the toilet. His pair of shit ridden jocks are stuffed in the corner of the room, I follow the trail of brown splashes to find them.
I'm unsure where to start, but not for a minute does he see my distress. I turn the shower on, hot and fast and throw his jocks in there. I explain I would like him to have a quick shower to make sure all the poo is gone. He needs to remove his shirt, but not his shorts, he can take them off once he is in there and clean himself properly.
I pull the shower curtain across so he can deal with his shit appropriately and I can deal with the rest of it. I'm dry retching as quietly as possible, spraying bleach on each and every surface, one hand stuffed over my nose the other scrubbing, wiping, rinsing. I clean and clean and clean until thank god all I can smell is bleach. I fucking love bleach. What a glorious, rewarding smell.
He gets out of the shower and I wrap him up in a towel, give him some slightly too big shorts and remind him to wash his hands again. I ask if he would like me to call his Dad to pick him up? No, he says, I want to stay. One part of me thinks this is great, because he is in a safe space and he likes it here, the other part of me is having a massive panic attack thinking fuck fuck fuck if there is a Round Two I cannot handle it. What if it gets on the furniture?
Anyway he stays, doesn't shit on anything (else) and I'm impressed with all the kids reactions (pretty much nothing and the big boys even let him back in to play xbox). I wash my hands about 16 times and drink several drinks that evening in an attempt to rid myself of the visions, the terrible flashbacks.
I scrub the bathroom floor one more time before bed, then I came in to write this. What a fucking experience. I fucking nailed it. Today I was a queen, a goddess, a saint. I never, ever, ever want to live through that again, but in the meantime, I'm a superstar. The more praise I heap on myself the further away from shit sprays I move. Cheers.
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
Tuesday, April 5, 2016
You Write Mate?!
So I started a writing group.
Well, when I say I, I actually mean me and my awesome friend Steph started it (because honestly if she had of said Nah Clare that's a shit idea I would have been like, Oh, Yeah, probably, yeah, nah, if you don't want to do it then neither do I) but she was like 'YEAH - excellent!'. So I in turn was like, YEAH! This is excellent.
It turns out it is quite excellent. We text message bantered over the name - Write Club, Write On, You Write...which quickly became You Write Mate?! which is possibly the best most Australian name for any writing group ever.
Our first session had 10 people, 2 blokes, 8 ladies, only 2 of whom were my mates! Steph and I had prepared a loose running sheet, we were aiming for creative fun & getting words down on paper. It was a brilliant night. We walked out grinning from ear to ear.
A month later we held our 2nd session and it too was terrific, 10 people again, a couple of actual serious writers which was a bit scary and I'm fairly certain that they won't come back - but as for us amateurs - we love it!
It's relaxed, nobody critiques anybody else and occasionally people produce something in 10 minutes that is amazing!
I'm so proud of it! I'm writing creatively and getting other people to as well. Occasionally I look up during a session and see faces bent over pens on paper writing away and I feel brilliant! We made it happen. A community of writers, together.
Definitely pretty write mate.
Well, when I say I, I actually mean me and my awesome friend Steph started it (because honestly if she had of said Nah Clare that's a shit idea I would have been like, Oh, Yeah, probably, yeah, nah, if you don't want to do it then neither do I) but she was like 'YEAH - excellent!'. So I in turn was like, YEAH! This is excellent.
It turns out it is quite excellent. We text message bantered over the name - Write Club, Write On, You Write...which quickly became You Write Mate?! which is possibly the best most Australian name for any writing group ever.
Our first session had 10 people, 2 blokes, 8 ladies, only 2 of whom were my mates! Steph and I had prepared a loose running sheet, we were aiming for creative fun & getting words down on paper. It was a brilliant night. We walked out grinning from ear to ear.
A month later we held our 2nd session and it too was terrific, 10 people again, a couple of actual serious writers which was a bit scary and I'm fairly certain that they won't come back - but as for us amateurs - we love it!
It's relaxed, nobody critiques anybody else and occasionally people produce something in 10 minutes that is amazing!
I'm so proud of it! I'm writing creatively and getting other people to as well. Occasionally I look up during a session and see faces bent over pens on paper writing away and I feel brilliant! We made it happen. A community of writers, together.
Definitely pretty write mate.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
My Next Life
There is this slightly annoying advert on tv for our local university that says....'Are You Ready For Your Next Life?' in regards to enrolling in and studying for a degree. Well it turns out that I am ready for my next life, but it doesn't begin with university.
A few weeks ago I had a sad few days in preparation for Maggie heading off to full time school. I knew she would love it, that she was ready for it, that it would be amazing but I was desolate that my baby was moving on. Parenting has broken my heart a few times and this was one of them.
Until I got home that first morning after dropping her off, took my newly fixed bike on a 10k ride and felt a freedom I hadn't known for YEARS! The combination of muscle burn, sweat and the wind in my hair was perfect for such a big day.
I've never been much good at housewifing and although the floors are clean and the meals are (occasionally) delicious I had been feeling pretty flat - enjoying my freedom but not feeling any sense of purpose?
So I applied for a job.... THEN I GOT THE JOB! With a wonderful organisation as the coordinator of a new program working part time hours. It's everything I wanted! I still can't quite believe it's happened. I have this ridiculous, hysterical feeling of joy and promise and PURPOSE!
So tonight is the eve of my next life beginning. I needed to share it, because it's a bloody great feeling. Thanks for reading x
A few weeks ago I had a sad few days in preparation for Maggie heading off to full time school. I knew she would love it, that she was ready for it, that it would be amazing but I was desolate that my baby was moving on. Parenting has broken my heart a few times and this was one of them.
Until I got home that first morning after dropping her off, took my newly fixed bike on a 10k ride and felt a freedom I hadn't known for YEARS! The combination of muscle burn, sweat and the wind in my hair was perfect for such a big day.
I've never been much good at housewifing and although the floors are clean and the meals are (occasionally) delicious I had been feeling pretty flat - enjoying my freedom but not feeling any sense of purpose?
So I applied for a job.... THEN I GOT THE JOB! With a wonderful organisation as the coordinator of a new program working part time hours. It's everything I wanted! I still can't quite believe it's happened. I have this ridiculous, hysterical feeling of joy and promise and PURPOSE!
So tonight is the eve of my next life beginning. I needed to share it, because it's a bloody great feeling. Thanks for reading x
Thursday, January 7, 2016
School Holidays
We are in the middle of Week 4 school holidays.
Now I love school holidays. Sleeping in, staying up a bit later, lazy mornings, hanging with the kids.
We run on a balance of about 65% great, 35% fuck this I'm enrolling you kids in vacation care STOP ARGUING ABOUT BULLSHIT.
However I will not enrol my children in vacation care, mostly due to the fact I'm not currently working and no-one will pay for it, but also because a few years ago Leo did go for about a week and it was not a great experience.
Anyhoo. We are making our way through the holidays, together.
After spending an entire day with one another today, I'm talking swimming, playground, completing a 300 piece puzzle, driving, eating, reminding them to clean their teeth.
Question - how many times do you need to tell a person to brush their teeth before they actually start to do it without being told? Yesterday we had been out for about 45 minutes (queuing in Medicare/Centrelink no less) when I questioned my kids as to whether they had brushed before we left the house. The answer was no. So that means my 9 year old STILL needs reminding. Which equates to thousands of daily reminders.
Good to know.
Anyhoo. Tonight I decided I needed a bath. Josh was in the kitchen cooking his dinner.
Sidenote : I love to cook. Occasionally.
I also love not to cook, sometimes. Tonight was one of those nights. So the children and I had cheese toast and cucumber slices (one of our faves) & Josh spent about an hour in the kitchen preparing his steak, homemade potato cakes and caramelised onion. It was ready by about 8.45pm which is almost my bedtime & if I had to wait that long for dinner I would be curled up in a corner sobbing - so I didn't feel I missed out on too much.
Back to the bath. I shut the bathroom door, decide not to lock it, sink into the deliciously hot and bubbly water.
Knock knock knock. Door opens.
"Mum, can we have an ice-cream?"
No.
Door closes. message is relayed to sibling. 10 seconds passes.
Knock knock knock. Door opens.
"Mum I'm still hungry"
Is Dad in the kitchen? Ask him.
Door doesn't quite close. About 20 seconds passes.
"Mum, can I have an apple?"
Yes. Door is left wide open.
"Mum can I have a nectarine?"
Yes.
"Where are they?"
In the fridge.
20 more seconds.
"Where in the fridge?"
In the drawer.
15 seconds.
"They aren't in the drawer"
Look in the fridge.
"Where in the fridge?"
In the fucking fridge dickhead. (Ok so I thought that, I didn't say it.)
Check the shelves mate.
23 seconds pass.
"They aren't there Mum"
Yes they are.
Pause.
"Can you look Mum?"
No.
17 seconds. "I can't find them Mum".
I take a few moments to submerge my head, try to be thankful for the 7 minutes of glorious bath time I've been allocated and then I turn and look him in the eye.
How long do you think it will take me to find them mate? I'm thinking 15 seconds max.
He says "I don't think there are any Mum".
I graciously heave myself out of the bath & wrap myself up in my Mum only towel. Its about a month old & the chances are it won't retain the title of Mum Only for long. For now though, it's luxurious, soft and special. I love it.
We walk to the fridge (6 seconds?) and as I open the door I start to count....1....2....3.....
4.
It takes me 4 seconds to find the nectarines. They were in the door, not on the shelf. My mistake. Dickheads.
We have spent the rest of this evening curled up in the parental bed watching screaming goats on youtube. I mean that shit is hilarious.
There are moments, hours, sometimes days where I fret that I could be more, should be more than just a Mum. That time will come. For now, there is a day like today, where we got it almost completely right, together. Thank goodness for screaming goats.
Now I love school holidays. Sleeping in, staying up a bit later, lazy mornings, hanging with the kids.
We run on a balance of about 65% great, 35% fuck this I'm enrolling you kids in vacation care STOP ARGUING ABOUT BULLSHIT.
However I will not enrol my children in vacation care, mostly due to the fact I'm not currently working and no-one will pay for it, but also because a few years ago Leo did go for about a week and it was not a great experience.
Anyhoo. We are making our way through the holidays, together.
After spending an entire day with one another today, I'm talking swimming, playground, completing a 300 piece puzzle, driving, eating, reminding them to clean their teeth.
Question - how many times do you need to tell a person to brush their teeth before they actually start to do it without being told? Yesterday we had been out for about 45 minutes (queuing in Medicare/Centrelink no less) when I questioned my kids as to whether they had brushed before we left the house. The answer was no. So that means my 9 year old STILL needs reminding. Which equates to thousands of daily reminders.
Good to know.
Anyhoo. Tonight I decided I needed a bath. Josh was in the kitchen cooking his dinner.
Sidenote : I love to cook. Occasionally.
I also love not to cook, sometimes. Tonight was one of those nights. So the children and I had cheese toast and cucumber slices (one of our faves) & Josh spent about an hour in the kitchen preparing his steak, homemade potato cakes and caramelised onion. It was ready by about 8.45pm which is almost my bedtime & if I had to wait that long for dinner I would be curled up in a corner sobbing - so I didn't feel I missed out on too much.
Back to the bath. I shut the bathroom door, decide not to lock it, sink into the deliciously hot and bubbly water.
Knock knock knock. Door opens.
"Mum, can we have an ice-cream?"
No.
Door closes. message is relayed to sibling. 10 seconds passes.
Knock knock knock. Door opens.
"Mum I'm still hungry"
Is Dad in the kitchen? Ask him.
Door doesn't quite close. About 20 seconds passes.
"Mum, can I have an apple?"
Yes. Door is left wide open.
"Mum can I have a nectarine?"
Yes.
"Where are they?"
In the fridge.
20 more seconds.
"Where in the fridge?"
In the drawer.
15 seconds.
"They aren't in the drawer"
Look in the fridge.
"Where in the fridge?"
In the fucking fridge dickhead. (Ok so I thought that, I didn't say it.)
Check the shelves mate.
23 seconds pass.
"They aren't there Mum"
Yes they are.
Pause.
"Can you look Mum?"
No.
17 seconds. "I can't find them Mum".
I take a few moments to submerge my head, try to be thankful for the 7 minutes of glorious bath time I've been allocated and then I turn and look him in the eye.
How long do you think it will take me to find them mate? I'm thinking 15 seconds max.
He says "I don't think there are any Mum".
I graciously heave myself out of the bath & wrap myself up in my Mum only towel. Its about a month old & the chances are it won't retain the title of Mum Only for long. For now though, it's luxurious, soft and special. I love it.
We walk to the fridge (6 seconds?) and as I open the door I start to count....1....2....3.....
4.
It takes me 4 seconds to find the nectarines. They were in the door, not on the shelf. My mistake. Dickheads.
We have spent the rest of this evening curled up in the parental bed watching screaming goats on youtube. I mean that shit is hilarious.
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Christmas Traditions
Another Christmas done and dusted.
I've just finished packing away the tree, carefully storing away ornaments, branches and all the other bits and bobs involved.
I love decorating the tree. When I was a kid it was the most wonderful thing to open the box of Christmas. It had a little wooden nativity set, decorations and a smell. The Christmas smell. To this day I'm not sure what the smell was but I know when we opened that box I would be flooded with joy. Christmas! In Alice Springs we used to buy our REAL Christmas tree from Kmart. Oh how I loved the process of selecting a tree and inhaling that pine fresh smell. We would take it home, stick it in a bucket and decorate it, listening to Boney M carols and feeling that all was right with the world.
Then of course my dear Dad went and died early one Christmas morning. From then on, Christmas was greeted with dread, not joy. My Mum in particular found it terribly hard, the carols, the well wishes, the memories. We would just endure it and be glad when it was all over.
I can't remember when it was that I re-opened that box of Christmas, I think it was some years later. I was an angsty teen, trying hard not to care, self pity flowing through my veins. But when I opened that box and smelt that smell, of so much joy and happy memories, when I saw that precious nativity set, I felt love, not pain. I felt happy to have the memories. Sometimes remembering the good stuff is harder than the bad stuff, sometimes it hurts more to remember the love. But that smell reminded me of too much happiness, so I was never going to be miserable about Christmas again.
You know the rest. My magnificent children came along and healed me up, at least where Christmas is concerned. Now it's a time for family, food and presents! They look forward to it as much as I ever did. I felt so privileged today, packing away that tree, remembering all this (so much so I had to write it whilst it was fresh!). Grateful for making these memories now.
I've just finished packing away the tree, carefully storing away ornaments, branches and all the other bits and bobs involved.
I love decorating the tree. When I was a kid it was the most wonderful thing to open the box of Christmas. It had a little wooden nativity set, decorations and a smell. The Christmas smell. To this day I'm not sure what the smell was but I know when we opened that box I would be flooded with joy. Christmas! In Alice Springs we used to buy our REAL Christmas tree from Kmart. Oh how I loved the process of selecting a tree and inhaling that pine fresh smell. We would take it home, stick it in a bucket and decorate it, listening to Boney M carols and feeling that all was right with the world.
Then of course my dear Dad went and died early one Christmas morning. From then on, Christmas was greeted with dread, not joy. My Mum in particular found it terribly hard, the carols, the well wishes, the memories. We would just endure it and be glad when it was all over.
I can't remember when it was that I re-opened that box of Christmas, I think it was some years later. I was an angsty teen, trying hard not to care, self pity flowing through my veins. But when I opened that box and smelt that smell, of so much joy and happy memories, when I saw that precious nativity set, I felt love, not pain. I felt happy to have the memories. Sometimes remembering the good stuff is harder than the bad stuff, sometimes it hurts more to remember the love. But that smell reminded me of too much happiness, so I was never going to be miserable about Christmas again.
You know the rest. My magnificent children came along and healed me up, at least where Christmas is concerned. Now it's a time for family, food and presents! They look forward to it as much as I ever did. I felt so privileged today, packing away that tree, remembering all this (so much so I had to write it whilst it was fresh!). Grateful for making these memories now.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Holidays
We are going away for 12 days this festive season.
Months ago we started to wonder who we could get to look after the house and dog. Our previous housesitter had selfishly gone and become a homeowner so she was no good to us.
Someone I know had housesit for a friend of mine and I totally got the vibe that he spent some serious time sniffing around her private affairs. Searching bedside drawers for vibrators, reading through personal notebooks, looking for porn on her browser history. So I knew I wouldn't be asking him to stay. Oh the notebooks he could read! We needed a responsible stranger of mature years to mind our lovely home and dog.
Miraculously easily we found them! A husband & wife on the mindahome.com website. I was able to check them out (totally legit & 'normal') through their references via airbnb and the only thing I was really concerned about was how they would cope in my tidy, but not particularly clean, home.
Honestly if I could change one thing about myself it would be that rather than eating when I feel stressed instead I would clean.
Our home is by no means dirty, it's just a bit dusty and smudgy. The floors are maintained but goddamn it you do know if you clean one area of a wall you then need to clean ALL the walls in that room because it looks just as bad with one clean area as it does one dirty spot.
Anyway I became aware of how many areas needed to be clean in order for me to comfortably allow these strangers to stay in my home free of charge for 12 days. Fucking ridiculous.
Kitchen drawers. Cupboards. The pantry. The fridge (17 dead flies. 17!? How did they get in there? When? Who let them in? Fuck!). The cupboard above the pantry that actually had cleaning products in that expired in 2012. Along with a few more dead flies. And heaps of dust. So much dust.
I hired 2 lovely Irish girls to help me clean for 2 hours ($100 - money well spent!) the day before the housesitters arrived. What a genius idea that was. My house is just lovely. It always was, but now it's lovely without being dusty.
The housesitters arrived today, they are delightful (semi-retired, here to visit grandchildren, easygoing) and I am so pleased to be leaving them in my wonderful, clean home. We are going to have a lovely Christmas break and I look forward to returning to our deliciously clean and tidy (for now) home.
Months ago we started to wonder who we could get to look after the house and dog. Our previous housesitter had selfishly gone and become a homeowner so she was no good to us.
Someone I know had housesit for a friend of mine and I totally got the vibe that he spent some serious time sniffing around her private affairs. Searching bedside drawers for vibrators, reading through personal notebooks, looking for porn on her browser history. So I knew I wouldn't be asking him to stay. Oh the notebooks he could read! We needed a responsible stranger of mature years to mind our lovely home and dog.
Miraculously easily we found them! A husband & wife on the mindahome.com website. I was able to check them out (totally legit & 'normal') through their references via airbnb and the only thing I was really concerned about was how they would cope in my tidy, but not particularly clean, home.
Honestly if I could change one thing about myself it would be that rather than eating when I feel stressed instead I would clean.
Our home is by no means dirty, it's just a bit dusty and smudgy. The floors are maintained but goddamn it you do know if you clean one area of a wall you then need to clean ALL the walls in that room because it looks just as bad with one clean area as it does one dirty spot.
Anyway I became aware of how many areas needed to be clean in order for me to comfortably allow these strangers to stay in my home free of charge for 12 days. Fucking ridiculous.
Kitchen drawers. Cupboards. The pantry. The fridge (17 dead flies. 17!? How did they get in there? When? Who let them in? Fuck!). The cupboard above the pantry that actually had cleaning products in that expired in 2012. Along with a few more dead flies. And heaps of dust. So much dust.
I hired 2 lovely Irish girls to help me clean for 2 hours ($100 - money well spent!) the day before the housesitters arrived. What a genius idea that was. My house is just lovely. It always was, but now it's lovely without being dusty.
The housesitters arrived today, they are delightful (semi-retired, here to visit grandchildren, easygoing) and I am so pleased to be leaving them in my wonderful, clean home. We are going to have a lovely Christmas break and I look forward to returning to our deliciously clean and tidy (for now) home.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Secret Santa
Here's something I wasn't exactly prepared for.
Yesterday morning, as his sister ate breakfast alongside him, Leo nonchalantly said 'Mum, is Santa real?'.
There was an awkward pause whilst a low hum of static blew through my mind. Eventually I said 'well mate I believe in him'.
He looked at me inquisitively - 'a kid at school said it's just your mum and dad that do it'.
I managed to change the subject but later pulled Leo aside and said - 'mate - if you want to talk about any of that stuff make sure Mags isn't around to hear it - ok?'.
Ok. Great job so far Mum.
I mean, he's 9.5 years old. He's ready to know the truth. I'm just uncomfortable admitting to him that we've been feeding him bullshit for his whole life. Lovely, magical, present-inducing....bullshit.
Later that day after Mags is in bed I walk out to our lounge room. Josh & Leo are sitting together deep in conversation. Luckily I'd given Josh a head's up earlier and as he's never been particularly delighted with the whole Santa Lie, was more than ready to talk it through with his eldest child.
Leo looks at me, his eyes filled with a kind of bewilderment, a bit wounded, slightly shocked. 'Santa isn't true' he says.
I will honestly never forget his face in that moment. My child has grown up. I am so pleased, but heartbroken as well. I'm sure 9.5 is a good age to find this out. We sat and had an honest and funny conversation about the whole thing. He confessed to having his suspicions, for not only did he see some wrapping paper last year that looked exactly like santas, but he also thought the idea of flying reindeer was ridiculous.
Not quite as ridiculous as a rabbit that hands out chocolate to commemorate the resurrection of Jesus so we discussed both that and the tooth fairy. He is now in possession of very important truths that he must uphold - by lying to the people around him that don't yet know the truth.
What a complex web we've woven.
So tonight we are all sitting on the couch and little Mags, who is only 5, says 'Mum- is Santa real?' and I say - 'Well who's that on the tv mate? Looks like the real santa to me' (This week Elf starring Will Ferrell has been on the tv twice and we have watched it both times. I had never seen it before, but it has established itself as one of my all time favourite christmas movies ever. Hilarious. Poignant. Perfection.). Leo quickly pipes up to his sister, legitimately and almost truthfully - 'yeah! Of course he is Maggie'. And even I believe him.
Yesterday morning, as his sister ate breakfast alongside him, Leo nonchalantly said 'Mum, is Santa real?'.
There was an awkward pause whilst a low hum of static blew through my mind. Eventually I said 'well mate I believe in him'.
He looked at me inquisitively - 'a kid at school said it's just your mum and dad that do it'.
I managed to change the subject but later pulled Leo aside and said - 'mate - if you want to talk about any of that stuff make sure Mags isn't around to hear it - ok?'.
Ok. Great job so far Mum.
I mean, he's 9.5 years old. He's ready to know the truth. I'm just uncomfortable admitting to him that we've been feeding him bullshit for his whole life. Lovely, magical, present-inducing....bullshit.
Later that day after Mags is in bed I walk out to our lounge room. Josh & Leo are sitting together deep in conversation. Luckily I'd given Josh a head's up earlier and as he's never been particularly delighted with the whole Santa Lie, was more than ready to talk it through with his eldest child.
Leo looks at me, his eyes filled with a kind of bewilderment, a bit wounded, slightly shocked. 'Santa isn't true' he says.
I will honestly never forget his face in that moment. My child has grown up. I am so pleased, but heartbroken as well. I'm sure 9.5 is a good age to find this out. We sat and had an honest and funny conversation about the whole thing. He confessed to having his suspicions, for not only did he see some wrapping paper last year that looked exactly like santas, but he also thought the idea of flying reindeer was ridiculous.
Not quite as ridiculous as a rabbit that hands out chocolate to commemorate the resurrection of Jesus so we discussed both that and the tooth fairy. He is now in possession of very important truths that he must uphold - by lying to the people around him that don't yet know the truth.
What a complex web we've woven.
So tonight we are all sitting on the couch and little Mags, who is only 5, says 'Mum- is Santa real?' and I say - 'Well who's that on the tv mate? Looks like the real santa to me' (This week Elf starring Will Ferrell has been on the tv twice and we have watched it both times. I had never seen it before, but it has established itself as one of my all time favourite christmas movies ever. Hilarious. Poignant. Perfection.). Leo quickly pipes up to his sister, legitimately and almost truthfully - 'yeah! Of course he is Maggie'. And even I believe him.
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