July16th
Mina: ” X Friend goes to basketball on Mondays, Girl Guides on Tuesdays, Netball on Wednesdays, dancing on Thursdays and gymnastics on Saturdays. Oh, and touch football on Saturdays”
Me: “Fark, when does the poor girl just get to be a kid?”
Mina: “On Tuesdays, before Girl Guides.”
Me: “…”
June23rd
It’s funny how half an hour with someone who gets it can suddenly boost your confidence as a parent.
It’s not something I thought consciously about, but it has been a long time since I was praised for how I parent. Most people are indifferent at best, but I’ll admit that the great majority of feedback I get about my parenting is either from condescending people who think they parent better (just because they parent differently), or from the internet (which is full of freaks), or from the school.
Mina had what started as mild asthma earlier this year, and has extended into what we thought was a heart problem, and is now just plain old anxiety. We think it’s a combination of the school reinforcing it and the stressors of the last few months, and she’s just not sure how to process it all.
Mina’s teacher emailed me with concerns and recommended she see a “play therapist”. I initially took this as an attack on my parenting and was actually very upset that they would see the fact that Mina was thriving on the “attention” of going to the office with “asthma” as a welfare issue. Because I have never received praise. I parent differently to most people – I believe in letting kids be kids. Letting them roam around but still very much monitored. She walks to school. I let her decide what she buys for lunch. Helicopter parents see this as neglect, of course, because I am not driving her to a million extracurricular activities, not hovering, letting her go to the park FOUR DOORS DOWN on her own.
If you could name my parenting philosophy (which is what wankers do), it would probably fit into “free range parenting” and the Montessori method of teaching kids. I regret not sending my kids to Montessori.
And I must admit, that because of that lack of positive feedback (not having a mother and having in-laws that make no secret of thinking I am a bad mother and wife), I seriously started to doubt myself.
But, we went to the play therapist and I was blown away because… well… I don’t really like psychologists. Especially child psychologists. But we went through what has been happening, all the stress we have been under the last 2 years, and rather than JUDGE me, she actually said we were not just good parents, but excellent parents.
That was a shock, because I have never heard it. My whole schtick has been about how I failed as a mother – couldn’t breastfeed, put them in a cot, worked or studied and put them in daycare, let them watch TV, tell them the truth about life… all those things… I have always felt somewhat ostracised by the world for the way I view it and the way I bring up my kids.
And then, I have a child psychologist, who reaffirmed that we have been through so much stress in the last 2 years that it is only natural for Mina to be worried. She’s eight. The world has opened up to her and become scary. She’s lost friends that were important to her, she’s been exposed to the truth of life, through us, and that’s hard to express because she lacks the cognitive development to intellectualise it. But it’s not because we have failed as parents, it’s because we are GOOD parents, that we didn’t try to sugarcoat anything, and we sought help early on and are open to strategies to help deal with her personality and creativity. The therapist even suggested that honesty is the best policy and we were on the right track with our parenting.
So what I initially took as judgement of our parenting style has turned into something really positive – being equipped with strategies to help our child, who is really just a very smart, very creative, very emotional person, to process everything that has gone on.
It’s bizarre how I had never actually realised that I had never been praised before. I mean, I have had old ladies take me aside and say they are well behaved children, and you know, comments from various places… but no one in authority has actually said we are doing an OK job. It’s OK to have a sense of humour about them. It’s OK to be annoyed and frustrated with them. And no, I don’t have to buy wipe warmers or sew ballet costumes to be a good mother.
June20th
Before I talk about our holiday, I need to explain something.
My husband, as much as I love him, does not do ‘impulsive’ terribly well. In fact, if you could describe my husband, one of they very first words you would use would be “not” and the second would be “impulsive”. For all of his excellent qualities, he’s not what you would call… a go-getter. The man still has clothes in his wardrobe from when he was 16. And a $5 note in his wallet from 18 months ago. He’s not a spender either.
So when Jason walked into my office on Saturday morning and said “hey, we should go for a drive to Busselton and stay for 2 nights”, he may as well have said “I have decided I want to be a lady and I am going to go on tour with the drag burlesque travelling circus, k?” and I would have reacted in much the same way. OK, not really, I probably would have expected the second.
But, he suggested it, and we booked into the Abbey Beach Resort based on their website. On the beach? Wireless? Check. Mini bar? Check. Restaurants with room service? Check… and check. $600 for 2 nights? Well, if it has wireless and is luxurious and has room service and a spa, well… let’s just indulge for a little while. We have a funeral on Monday afternoon we’d rather not think about.
Let’s not forget, we have 3 children – all of whom are not known for being the most flexible on the planet. But, they roll with it as much as they can and are happy to come along. Which is just as well because we blew our load on the hotel room and can’t afford a babysitter. So, it was basically a choice between a holiday or being locked under the stairs.
But of course, it doesn’t take long for the feral to kick in and I feel the urge to do both.
We arrive at a $300 a night “beachfront” resort that has glimpses of the beach (if you look past the 3 tennis courts and the giant tree), no mini bar, no room service in the apartments. The wireless costs $10 for 2 hours, but doesn’t reach our apartment. There is a queen-size bed, which we can live with but we are not used to, and our children are that lovely combination of excited and cranky at the same time. So, about every 3 minutes or so the jumping around and screaming will be interrupted by crying. And then the baby will go straight for the dishwasher buttons, then the knife drawer… whilst Jason and I try to figure out how the hell we are going to have dinner in our room because the kids are too tired for the restaurant.
So I hit up the lounge bar with my laptop, check emails and drink a glass of wine whilst I wait for our takeaway dinners. Which arrive on 4 plates and a tray. I have a laptop. It should also be noted that the restaurant is roughly equidistant to our room and the lobby… and they bring me the meals to the lobby. Which was nice of them, but I a) don’t understand why they can’t just bring it to the room and b) I now have to carry 4 plates and a tray back to our room. I smile through gritted teeth. Confused, perplexed gritted teeth. Oh and some bright spark decides to wolf whistle me on the way which, you know, made me feel sexy. Fuckhead.
By this point the baby is screaming and won’t go to sleep. Mina and Jules are basically ready to hit up the drawer with the baby and have a knife fight with each other, and I am at my wit’s end because I have had to carry food across a $300 a night resort with no wifi and am grumbling to myself how holidays are so much fun with kids.
We finally get the kids to sleep around 11pm and I decide to have a spa. A spa that, as it turns out, has a drain 2/3 up the side to prevent you filling it above that point. Apparently they’ve had issues with it flooding because people overfill it. And then it occurs to me that bogans ruin EVERYTHING. Then I think “hey, I’ll have one of these “indulgent” hot chocolate sachets they’ve laid out. Mmmm, powdery, lumpy, snotty cocoa.
Did I mention that the baby threw a spatula off the balcony yet?
We then go to bed for a very uncomfortable night’s sleep and wake up with the day ahead of us. Tired, cranky children but we manage to have a nice breakfast, where the resort redeems itself just a little bit. We stop by the resort playground, where the baby manages a triple somersault onto his face and Jules throws a tantrum or two. We hit up the beaches, go into Dunsborough, have look around and take some photos. The kids start complaining of dying hunger (despite having huge plates of ginger pancakes an hour and a half earlier), so we go and get them McDonald’s. Yes, the Brennan children are all about our lovely local Southwest cuisine. Sigh.
And then we head down to the Busselton Jetty and go for a walk. Mina and Jules go down onto the beach and I take some photos. And before we know it, both of my children are in the water, in full clothes, having the time of their lives. And for a brief moment, I want to tell them to get out of the water, but instead I just roll with it and take pictures. And laugh. And relax and realise that they are having fun and so am I, for the first time in a very long time, and we just enjoy the moment.
And boy, did I get some photos.
We return to the hotel room (where I have managed to purchase wireless access from the Caravan park next door), the kids are happy, soaking wet, getting out of their clothes. They jump in that crappy spa, Angus goes down for a nap (after again trying to eat a dishwasher detergent block), the kids start whingeing and Mina gets belligerent.
But I go and have a nap.
I wake up to Mina complaining she’s bored and Jules playing Angry Birds on the iPad. Jason and I then see fit to tell our children what OUR childhood vacations consisted of: poo in a bucket, showering from a bucket (at which point I said to Jason that I hope it wasn’t the same bucket), hanging around a holiday village where the most thrilling thing was a trampoline… and 7 people in one caravan. And our daughter was complaining that the resort playground was boring. Hum. The older two again start bickering and we endure dinner in the Brasserie, where they make so much mess it is embarrassing, I am wearing dress boots with tracksuit pants (because I forgot a bag), and the baby smears $30 seafood risotto all over his face. And the carpet.
I look over at the young honeymooners at the table near the fire and realise that we are that family that either ruined their honeymoon, put them off having children for the next 10 years, or if their wedding was because of a baby in her tummy already, scare the crap out of them that they are just a few short years away from wearing tracksuit pants in a restaurant, drinking wine a little fast, and barking at her kids to sit down every 45 seconds.
Naturally, we have to leave the restaurant and take dessert back to our room because the kids are tired and bickering… and we finally get them to bed at 7:30, get to enjoy each other’s company for a little while, watch the first episode of Mad Men on DVD and then off to sleep I go because I drank my wine a little too fast during dinner.
And this morning we’ll be having breakfast, where they’ll find new and creative ways in which to embarrass us with food smears and tantrums, and then we head home for my Grandma’s funeral and one of the hardest days of my life. But, in amongst all of this, I realise that this was the best idea ever and even though holidays are exhausting, frustrating, and sometimes downright disappointing, it really is all about this moment. This $1200 moment.
February28th
Moo.
Holy shit.
Moo!
ONE!
Where the hell did the last 12 months go? On one hand, it seems like so long… and on the other… so fast.
You poor, poor forgotten third child. I need to apologise in advance for bringing you into the world last, because for some reason, you seem convinced that you are our first. You seem to think that you can do stuff – like play – without being harassed by a well-meaning but otherwise utterly boorish 4 year old. You seem to think that you can get food without a cascade of other children nagging for my attention. You seem to think that, you know, giving yourself a severe egg allergy is something I won’t whinge about every time we need to make a cake or something. You also seem to think that if you scream, I’ll actually get up – rather than assess the cry and carry on.
Boy, do I have news for you.
That’s not to say I don’t love you… of course I do. In fact, in many ways, the fact that you had such a horrible start to your life makes me appreciate you just that smallest bit more… because we nearly lost you and I can’t not think about that every single day.
When Mina & Jules were born, I managed to write out a story about the day they were born… you know… peppered with jokes… that sort of thing. All of my pregnancies & births have been really tough, but with the other two I managed to intellectualise a lot of it as the luck of the draw, in capable hands… and find sufficient distance.
But with you, it was so different. And I want to talk about this just for a little bit because I have never really been able to until now… and I don’t want you to think that the absence of a written birth story is somehow because of the “third child” thing. It isn’t. It’s because I could never summon up the strength to talk about the worst month of my life… because if not for something within me that said things weren’t right, you probably wouldn’t be here.
And I don’t know if that is something that I can ever shake. Partially because now that 12 months have passed, I can no longer pursue any complaints; partially because I just felt so disempowered and humiliated by this doctor for demanding adequate care; and partially because the thought of you, on all those machines, on all that morphine, on all those drugs… is just too much to bear. So I never really processed it because frankly? I spent every single day of the last 12 months just trying to forgive him. I think it might take a little more time.
I will never forget that Sunday morning, when I hadn’t felt you move for a while, when I called up the hospital, went in, and found you were distressed. I will also never forget the numerous arguments with my “Doctor” over the fact that my blood pressure remained uncontrolled, that I felt sick, that I was so swollen I could barely move… and he did nothing. I asked for a second opinion and he lied to my face about the doctor being out of town. I will also never forget that Tuesday, after spending 9 days in hospital, feeling ill, not feeling you move, and hearing “oh he’s just a quiet baby” over and over again from the incompetent, bullying, private hospital midwives, and having my Doctor walk in, and discharge me with a blood pressure spike of 170/110 the night before. I will never forget asking for growth scans (having had 2 hypertensive pregnancies before) and being told “2 weeks won’t show anything new”
I will never forget locking myself in the bathroom from the stress, leaving Dad to argue with the “Doctor” in my hospital room, and finally sacking him, walking out of the hospital, and requesting that he arrange for me to be seen at King Edward by a Doctor who actually gave a crap. 2 days later, we were seen by a Maternal-Fetal Medicine specialist.
I will never forget being right. For being told by an experience sonographer that not only was there no such thing as a “quiet baby”, but that in 2 weeks you had gone from the 50th percentile to the 10th. I will never forget feeling a little relief that my blood pressure seemed to have settled down, but still being told that you needed to be born, because you were under significant stress. I will also never forget being told that if we had left this another week, your chances of being stillborn were significantly high.
But apparently, you know, 2 weeks doesn’t make a difference, and that “Doctor” we had fired, to his face, had instructed me to see him in a week at his office and discharged me. It plagues my thoughts, wondering, if I had been compliant and listened to him and his assessment. And it makes me so angry that he gets to treat women who might not be as stubborn as me.
But you know… I never could really write about it in the same way, with distance, that I did with your brother and sister… because I am still not over it.
But you know, in a way, it’s been the catalyst for me deciding to go to Medical School. All of these cumulative experiences have given me the push I needed to make the decision. Not that I wouldn’t trade that experience in a heartbeat, but, you know.
Unfortunately you were born in the eye of a storm… because 2009 was an extremely stressful year. After the stock markets crashed at the end of last year, the clients were fairly light on, I was in hospital and your Dad had to take a whole heap of unpaid leave. We had a lot of financial difficulty at the beginning of the year, and it eventually resulted in the repossession of my car. But hey… we recovered. After you were born and I got back to work (I had a conference call at midnight the night after your were born and still in the NICU), things started to slowly recover and I managed to pay some debt.
Then, your Dad got injured at work, was bullied by his employer and the insurance company and, well… that fucked us right up for 6 months, only settling a month ago. I also got really sick, have had to battle with Doctors and all kinds of stress… and basically… we started 2010 optimistic with it slowly proving to be just as fucked as 2009.
With the settlement money not even covering our losses, we are back to square one and its stressful. But, you have your Dad home with you, and he takes care of you whilst I work. All day. Every day. I am exhausted and still quite unwell… but… getting no government support, no family support and, well, basically being on our own, I have no choice really but to make it work.
I write about this now because I find it funny that by the time you are Jules’ age I will be pretty well on my way to being a Doctor. And by the time you are Mina’s age, I will be one. So I am just taking a moment to remind you that things were hard. In fact, I expect them to stay that way, because, well… we aren’t the luckiest people in the world… and I expect things to get worse before they get better. Because I am tired & sick, your Dad is tired & sick, and we snap at each other a lot just trying to survive.
But we do try to protect you from that as much as possible. We do that with all of you as best we can. We fail frequently but… you know… we try. We just keep on going forward, one foot in front of the other… and hope that someday all the effort pays off. Maybe it ill in the form of tenacious children… who knows what the future holds, but hey… it’s certainly not boring.
So, you know, you’re walking and getting into shit and being basically cute… and I am trying to enjoy every minute as much as I can. I say that the only good thing to come out of 2009 was you… and I mean it. I can’t imagine our lives without Moo, and despite feeling very unlucky most of the time, I am just so blessed to have you in my life… even if I have to make you special egg-free food.
Happy birthday!
December2nd
I opened Mina’s birthday post with the phrase “holy fucking shit balls”, which is kinda hard to beat, really, and I am just going to use that as my excuse for taking nearly a month to write this birthday post.
Yes, it was the pressure of trying to beat that opening phrase that did it, and not at all the fact that you are living in the eye of a complete fucking cyclone right now. And not at ALL because I am lazy.
We haven’t been very good at hiding it, either, even though we try really, really hard.
But I have to say, that with everything else going on, you make my day so much brighter in so many, immeasurable ways, in that way that only Julesy can.
Because holy fuck, you are one funny kid. Not just in that way that all kids are precocious, funny and quotable, but in that “Not everybody gets me and I am OK with that” kind of way. You love the in-joke, the repetitive, especially if it involves the “Squirrel!” joke from “Up”.
You’ll be having a conversation, sitting there talking to me and you’ll just say “Squirrel!”.
And yes, I laugh every time. And then I do it, and we start again. And that’s our day.
And even though you’re funny, we have been going through a bit of a thing at the moment where we are a bit concerned about those fixations: what is normal, what is healthy and along with some other little things, we are a bit concerned.
Through friends, your Dad and a shit load of watching, I have become aware of Asperger’s. And honestly? Even though I initially thought that you might be Aspergic, after having really observed you for the last period of time, I honestly don’t think it’s the case.
Because you care too much. You express empathy in a way that an Aspergic 4 year old wouldn’t. You are genuinely caring and loving towards me, and haven’t yet learned that that is the expected thing, so I am not inclined to believe it without just seeing how we go.
Because sometimes? Kids are a bit different form other kids. You are shy with other kids, take a long time to adjust to change and really love your routine. But, I dunno… I just don’t see it.
I don’t really know what normal boys are like, to be honest, so I am kind of flying blind here (you can just be a practice run for Moo :)). The male role models in my family aren’t exactly stellar, and your Dad, as wonderful as he is, has issues of his own. But you know what? Honestly, if you are Aspergic, or even if you are completely normal, you would be wise to follow your Dad’s example of how to be a man.
I want to take a moment to talk to you about the person that will be your biggest influence, inform your world view, and hopefully be your guide through the inevitable talk (that I want NOTHING to do with) about male bodily fluids, Playboy magazines and car-things – but also about the good stuff like how to treat girls, how to talk to your mother and sister and how to take the blame when the Feds hit us up for downloading Dexter.
Your Dad’s ego & spirit have copped a pretty big flogging this year. Actually, everyone’s has really, but having to watch your Dad be bullied, called a liar, harassed and belittled, simply for the crime of being injured at work, is something that I am kind of glad happened when you were too young to remember.
It sucks. There’s not much else to say about it.
But something that I want you to know (because I honestly don’t know how this is going to end – whether our marriage is going to survive, or he is!), is that your Dad went to work every single day at 5:30am. He came home in the middle of the day for a few hours and helped me look after you & Moo. Then he went back to work until around 6-7pm, sometimes longer, to help support the family. And then he’d come home and help me.
He worked those hours when you were a baby, when I was building a business and only earning $10,000 a year in the process. He worked those hours when I was sick. He worked those hours throughout so much of your life, because I was building a business so I didn’t have to go back to work. And no matter what happens, I want this written here as a reminder of the selfless, caring, honourable man your father is.
He was good at his job. So good, in fact, that when a driver pulled out in front of him with only a couple of metres to spare, he managed to swerve a whole bus away from the car, avoid killing the driver, and injured himself in the process. He was so good at his job mostly because he’s a buttburger, but you know what? He’s the best kind of buttburger. He’s OUR buttburger.
And even if it turns out that you are, in fact a fellow buttburger, the same applies to you. We don’t love you in spite of how you are, we love you because of it… mostly because I never stop cracking up at the burger & butt jokes… but nonetheless… I hope as hell that you are like your Dad. But don’t tell him I told you.
The other thing that I wanted to talk about is the birth of your baby brother. I’ll admit, I had my doubts about how you’d cope with not being the baby, and as usual, I have underestimated you. How you are with your brother is indescribable – like – the initial shock of finding out Moo was a boy, even though I was SURE he was a girl – has melted away. Because now, I have my 2 boys. My 2 boys. Wow, that’s weird to say, but man, it’s something to behold.
You share your CARS with Angus, and he doesn’t fully appreciate how important that is, because your cars are the most important thing in the world to you right now. And you let him slobber all over them. You are such a great big brother, there are no words.
So you start Kindy next year, I am very nervous about it, but all we can do is hope for the best. I have a feeling it’s going to be OK, because I am starting to learn more about you. And you know, as my inevitably neurotic middle child, you’re actually kind of cool and you enrich my life in ways that are constantly surprising. And I will always have your back. Always.
I love the fact that you think haircuts are painful, that anything other than yoghurt is poison, that you run “like Dash” with a superhero shoulder lead-in (hilarious), that every morning I wake up to you running up and down and up and down the hallway. I love that you use half of my internet quota on youtube, that you are already computer and internet literate, and yet still call a drink a “wink” and Frank a “wank”, and Lightning McQueen “Lighting Irene”. I love that you are happy with the simplest of toys, and you like my attempts at cookies and cakes for your birthday, and that you think that me making you a Milo is a miracle to behold.
I love you Julesy, you’re wonderful just the way you are. Happy Birthday Rock Star.
August16th
Jason: "How come Mina gets so many parties? She’s had more than I have in my whole life."
Téa: "heh, I dunno… last year didn’t really count as a party… but you can have one this year if you want one."
Jason: "Yeah, I WILL. I am going to invite ALL my friends to my awesome party."
Mina: "But you don’t have any friends!!"
Jason: "I will invite all my Facebook friends."
Mina: "Don’t be silly, Facebook friends aren’t real friends".
This kid is SEVEN YEARS OLD.
August15th
We were watching some weird Hippo-related animation that was making fun of a donut eating hippo that hides in the water so as not to dry out his skin, then has a facial mask and weirdness.
Jason: "No wonder they’re so grumpy"
Me: "Yeah, I’d hate it if I had to lay around avoiding the sun all day"
Jason: "What do you mean? You do!"
I gets no respect.
Between Jason, Mina and Me:
Jason: "Well, you never know, Mina could just end up a HOUSEWIFE. Would you like that, Mina?"
Mina: "hmmm…. no!"
Me: "No, you want to be a big business lady like me, don’t you?"
Mina: "Well, no, not a fat one!"
I’ll tell you again, I gets no respect.
July26th
As many of you may know, I have not been your traditional, um, mother. It’s not that I deliberately go out of my way to cause trouble with other parents, or to be indifferent to the needs of my children, but, well… you know… I never much went for all that over-mothering and over-consuming nonsense. I love my kids, of course, but you would never find me in the middle of a room of mothers, sipping coffee and bignoting about my children, or even worse, the brand of pram I own. It’s just… not my style.
Which is why I have surprised myself by starting to organise a birthday party for Mina’s 7th birthday, coming up. It’s never really been my bag (remember last year’s cake disasters here and here), so I am both excited and nervous about the prospect of actually making an effort. And before you ask, no I will not be making the cake this year (although I am tempted to attempt one purely for the benefit of the blog – my cake disasters seem to be quite highly anticipated!).
So anyway, I am doing something that is completely weird to me, hiring a hall, organising a "Daisy Rock star" party that Mina requested – because she’s getting a Daisy Rock for her birthday, and she’s uber-obsessed with them… so… here we are.
It is such a balance though, teetering that line between going overboard and over-indulgent with the party, and wanting to give Mina a great party. Mina came to me about 2 weeks ago, with a pile of sketches, telling me how she wanted her invitations to look, how she wanted to the cake to look, what colours, who to invite, etc etc… if she was paying me she’d be a great client (or the client from hell, I am not entirely sure!).
Anyway, so here I am, trying to plan a party when I have no inclination or experience… simultaneously balking at the excess of the party and being at least a little excited about organising it.
I gotta get out of the middle class-ness quick smart, I think it might be eating my soul ;)
March14th
There are times when I wonder if my children take after me, and even times when they really appear to be from another gene pool altogether. But this video really does dispell any doubts about whether Mina is at all like me.
The answer is a resounding yes.
This may shock you to read (actually, probably, it won’t), but there was once a time when I was a bitch. I really thought that I had the right to correct poor grammar, or remind people of their mistakes. I even made a drummer cry because I told him he couldn’t keep the beat (being the wannabe diva that I was in high school)… I upset him to the point where he was a no-show at our performance.
Obviously with age and wisdom and a little dose of humility called, you know ALMOST DYING THREE TIMES IN 6 YEARS, and I have become a much more tolerable, mellow, and even occasionally nice, individual.
But now, I see these little tendencies popping up in my daughter. On one hand I am proud of her for sticking up for herself, or being bright, but on the other hand, I really feel for the poor drummer that she is no doubt going to humiliate in a few years.
Mina decided she wanted to make a Care Bears video for Kay Hanley, who I am currently working with. Mina is absolutely mental for the Care Bears at the moment, and it just happens that Kay sang songs on it. So, being the oh-so-influential person that I am knowing allllll these famous people, Mina decided to make her a tribute. She made a paper background with Care Bears, went to all sorts of trouble to get things right, and it all went awry:
My kids crack me up.
January5th
Mina has always made up her own funny little songs. For as long as she’s been able to speak, she’s always made up funny little songs with random lyrics, often having us in stitches.
Today, she decided she was going to put a concert on for us and sing a couple of songs, and I even filmed a little of it before my camera battery ran out (Stupid Everio loses charge)…
Anyway, not long after this, Mina broke into a random made-up song about Santa. Apparently he discovered a cliff, fell off the cliff and died, and went and met a woman… or some weird shit… anyway, Jason starts helping her with funny song lines (the tendency for Brennan conversations to digress like this are not uncommon)… and WITH NO VIDEO CAMERA ON, Mina cracks it and says “Stop it Dad! You’re just trying to STUFF THIS ALL UP FOR ME!”
And, just because it’s funny, here is some video of Jules getting in the way of Mina’s concert:
If anyone ever asks you what’s so great about being a parent? Its those completely random and daggy moments, where they lob into each other’s “concerts”, or thump each other, where you get this inexplicable warmth in your belly that you made these little people.
