Each one was for someone - Nana, Grandad, Grandad O'Neill, Kimberley, Harper, Joe, Dom, Emma, me, Dad-when-he's-back-for-a-visit.
He's not watched cartoons before, and he is only two-and-a-half. No, that's not quite right - he's watched The Simpsons and Futurama , and really, really likes them. With Futurama, he likes the Planet Express ship crashing into the screen during the credits.
What is worthy of a photo today are the butterflies in the garden. There are three of them, they must've just emerged, what with the sitting really still and slowly beating their wings. They're yellow admirals, not terribly special or anything, but it's so nice to see them sitting on the bobbing flowers in the breeze. 
Summer!! Going to bed at night, leaving windows open. Eating all your meals on the deck. Cicadas making a racket. Leaving Sweeney's half-finished glass of milk on the bench overnight and finding yoghurt-y lumps in its place in the morning. Not even bothering to watch the weather report because you just know it's going to be splendid the next day.I'd never considered that there'd be any ambiguity about what your own living, breathing baby would try communicating to you. It seemed to me that my fetus' kicking and slithering and tumbling were quite clear in their meaning. It drove me nuts that I couldn't sleep until 5am each night, but it made me happy to see his feet making waves on my belly in the middle of the afternoon as I sat at my desk. It tickled me to lie on the couch at night, or stand in the shower, and watch him move about. I felt like he was just, and only just, keeping me onside with him. Like he was pushing his luck with japes and a wilful streak and suiting himself, but pulling back at the last minute with a glorious smile.
Which is how I see him now, actually, but I didn't when he was newborn. Right in front of me, he seemed fragile and vulnerable, and that gave me the willies. When I was pregnant, he seemed athletic, impervious, never out of sorts or in need. Once he was born, he cried at being naked, hungry, whatever, unless he was asleep, and he was so pink and delicate-looking. That's all by the way, now. He's his own person, a character that impresses and unhinges me.
And Leo, too. We don't get to see enough of lovely people, we always think we'll have more time. Miss you, lovely people.
Part of being his own person meant that Sweeney came a bit of a cropper out scootering this evening. He's mastered the little slope at the south end of the street, so he tried out the big slope down to the alley at the north end. Ker-splat!! He got back on his scooter before he finished crying, though. So proud.
Although I did give myself food poisoning last week - made a fantastic coleslaw, and there was a lot of it, and I just kept eating it each day, and eventually it delivered its own body blow. Still tasted brilliant, though. I kept thinking of Homer Simpson eating an old, enormous meat sandwich that put him in hospital repeatedly. The experience reinforced my resolve about staying healthy, because three days of wrangling Sweeney, while aching for a truck to run through the house and squash me, was horrible. We read a lot of stories while lying down, I watched him run up and down the beach while I lay down and he was really co-operative about having a few early nights.
Sweeney's got a big thing for Spiderman right now. He's never seen Spiderman, and in fact I've steered him towards Superman because he's always been my favourite of those, ahem, super men, but there's a chap at preschool who lives in Spiderman gear and the enthusiasm has rubbed off. Why I mention it is that I found a Spiderman cap the other day at the Sallies shop on Ghuznee St, and it made me think about:
I guess I never expected to bond with him over bedroom furnishings or anything, but I really thought I'd have more time than this to fill him with awe than anyone who can ride a flying fox or do a big splashy bomb off the side of the pool. But I have to admit, when he turned up on the deck in his new hat, he looked awfully chuffed, and that sort of thing sends my chirp levels right into space.
I've found a sensational website, http://www.101cookbooks.com/, which is informing a fair swag of the eating that goes on in our house. Reasonably healthful , mostly fruit and vege-based fare, some of it quite complicated. While I'm in holiday mode, it's nice to take time to find interesting things to make each day, and spend time doing it. Rather than freaking out that we've just got in and dinner needs to be ready in five minutes or he'll go beyond hunger like he does, and he'll refuse to eat and demand a trough of milk or just muesli bars instead. The absolute joy of him willingly eating a vegetable - tonight he mowed through cobs of corn like they were wine gums.
Today I made some Triple Ginger Cookies, using up some crystallised ginger that's been antagonising me from the back of the pantry for ages. True to the name, they've got ground ginger, stem ginger and crystallised ginger in them, so they're not suited to the ginger dilettante. Also molasses, which I love, but don't often think to put in anything I'm making. My mum's a big ginger fan, and also a lover of food in biscuit form, so a bunch of these little beauties are going a parcel to her tomorrow.
As for the cat, it's one of Sweeney's chores to feed her each morning, before we head off to preschool. His other chores are to brush his teeth twice a day, and tidy his toys up before bed. He's taken it on himself to put his own sandals on every day, and to have a stab at putting on his own shorts. He's the sort of kid who makes things routine very fast, so I figured if we made feeding the cat his job, he'd make a fuss if it didn't happen.
So that's the resolutions.
went for a walk along the water race around the corner from Mum and Dad's house, fed ducks, went to the park. We saw a white-faced heron, looking all wrong with his long legs for wading and his long beak for fishing, mooching about in the mown grass around a tree. My research this week has turned up that there are simply loads of these birds, but they mostly stay close to estuaries, rivers, bodies of water, and in breeding season, which is now, they nest up trees in pairs. Sweeney was really good about keeping a bit of distance and just watching the heron do his thing until another kid ran up to it and he flew up and around for a minute or so before he settled in the tree itself. Glorious wide wings unfolded for us, then folded back in to his sides. Sweeney kept watching the bird as it took off and flew, and laughed and laughed at the whole thing. Delight.
Saturday night was FREEZING. Sweeney got through the night okay and on Sunday we went up to Huntsbury Hill and stomped around in the snow that'd fallen overnight. Kids were sledding. There's a seat up there in memory of our Uncle Ron, Dad's friend since they were boys in Canada, who died 15 years ago. I got some lovely photos of Dad and Sweeney with snowballs - Sweeney's first ever - and will, when I work out how to do it, get one loaded onto here. Meanwhile, this is not him, and there was not this much snow.
A whole new episode has erupted in my life. Just after my last post, Martin and I broke up for good and ever and ever and ever. The biggest shock has been the sense of relief that it's over and there's no working it out and no option of going back into it or anything. Trying to do the friends/amicable breakup thing, but the situation is still fresh and things get a bit bumpy from time to time. The big challenge for me at the moment is to find someone to replace the roof. Martin's friend Mike visited this morning and had a look to diagnose the scary-looking seepage at the top of the stairs, and he reckons he knows some guys. Also need a new oven.
Currently working on a hooded jacket for Sweeney, must get back to that now so it's ready for him when he gets here on Friday. Oh, did I mention he and Mum and Dad are coming up next weekend?? I can't wait ...
