Boys like skirts too...

Turi had his first 'grown up' ballet class today (we've been going to 'mummy and me' classes for a while but he's finally graduated).  He was so excited and so well behaved.  The only slight hiccup was that he wanted to wear a skirt like all the girls.  I can completely understand where he is coming from.  All the little girls get to wear special ballet outfits with leotards, crossovers and twirly practise skirts while the boys just have to wear black leggings and a white bonds singlet.  He wanted something that felt special.  So I let him wear fairy wings to class today so that he didn't feel too left out.

Which brings me to my point tonight.  Everyone is so caught up with raising their 'non-gender' stereotyped girls that we often forget how narrow the gender expectations are for our boys.

We are going to a friend's wedding on Friday.  I took Minty out shopping and bought her a new dress… velvet with tulle and flapper fringe for extra fantastic twirling.  When we got home she paraded it for Turi and he asked me hopefully, 'do I get one of those too?'  I'm fairly sure that the pair of slacks and shirt that I had in mind isn't going to cut it.  So I took him out shopping today to find something that would meet with his approval.  He whispered to me with excitement, 'I'm going to look fabulous!' and then proceeded to pick out a faux leopard fur vest from the girl's department, some oversized sunglasses and some black shiny gum boots.  Suffice it to say we came home empty handed.  Gender stereotypes aside, I wasn't about to let a child of mine go to a wedding in an ensemble that looked chillingly like something 'Scary' Spice may have worn in the early 90s.  He cried all the way home.

I like to think of myself as a liberal minded parent but the few times I have let Turi go out in a skirt it elicited such alarmed and tortured looks from (I thought) otherwise progressive parents that I'd rather not subject him to that and burst his bubble of innocence.  People's facial contortions generally resemble someone trying to politely swallow an unexpectedly unpleasant mouthful at a formal dinner party. 

Which begs the question what is it about a boy in a skirt that is so unnerving?  And why is boys' fashion so boring?  And even more importantly what on earth is Turi going to wear to this wedding?!?

In which Minty is a cupcake and I am an idiot...

Sorry for my disappearance this week.  I had a severe allergic reaction to some antibiotics I took and have been coping with a whole bunch of crazy side effects.  

Lessons learned this week (and yes in hindsight I realise these seem ridiculously obvious):

1. Whenever you take medication be sure to read the list of possible side effects listed on the leaflet inside the packet…  especially if you begin to experience strange symptoms.

2. The following people are not doctors: the pharmacist, the nurses at 'nurse on call', the ladies at the health food shop, google.  While they are all probably very good at their respective jobs, they have not been through med school and it is unwise to rely on them to diagnose you.

3.  If you suspect you are having an allergic reaction stop taking the medication IMMEDIATELY… even if those listed in point 2 tell you it is 'highly unlikely'.  Do not continue to take said medication for four days… the results will not be pretty.

In other news… Minty performed in her first ballet concert this week.  She was a cupcake from the Mad Hatter's tea party.  It was all very adorable, with most of the 'tiny creative' class staggering about like stunned deer in the headlights.  Minty loved it.  Sadly I couldn't take even a single photo of her in her costume, since parents weren't allowed to watch any of the rehearsals or go backstage and no photography was permitted in the theatre.  I never even got to see her costume close up.  One can of course pay for a photo from the 'official photographer' of the kids on stage, but I really think it's a shame that there was no opportunity to take candid portraits.  I'm not really sure why a little kids ballet concert has to be such a commercial enterprise.

This is the one and only (slightly blurry) photo I have of the girls relaxing in between performances.

In which Danny comes to breakfast...

My kids are wretched first thing in the morning.  Low blood sugar prior to breakfast inevitably leads to some combination of sobbing, whining and brawling, with flash points caused by disputes over who will or will not get honey drizzled on their porridge, and who will get to sit on the much coveted pink chair.  The usual scene at breakfast time, involves the two kids jostling at the  child gate to the kitchen, both chanting 'I want pink' with increasing hostility, whilst I hurriedly try to make the porridge before someone comes to blows or bites someones ear off.  By the time the breakfast is ready it is not uncommon for one or both children to be so overcome with grief that they are unable to eat a single bite.  On the very worst mornings, my solution is to invite Danny Kaye (via youTube) to breakfast.  There really isn't much Danny can't fix.  I defy anyone to start the morning with 'the best things happen while you're dancing' and not feel energised and ready to face just about anything.  Other firm favourites include the songs from Hans Christian Anderson (particularly the ugly duckling), everything is tickety-boo and of course lullaby in ragtime.  By the time breakfast is over Turi is usually tapping around the lounge swinging his best broadway arms!

Conversations with Minty...

Me: I'm getting really fed up with you today.

Minty [exasperated]: me too because you keep shouting at me!

In which we hoola our troubles away...

This week was a bit of a fail.  I didn't get any work done, I've been on a short fuse with the kids, I had a series of interactions with various people that whilst not serious left me bemused and feeling like I'd rather throw on my pyjamas and avoid further human contact.  So this afternoon I was determined not to let the week end on a sour note.   My recipe for salvaging the week: Minty and I baked a batch of nutella cookies (more on those tomorrow), I grabbed my camera and we headed outside for cookies and hoola-hooping.  When we were all hoolaed out and Turi was up from his nap, we all went to the beach.  The tide was on it's way out and the sand was littered with hundreds of shells.  The kids took off their shoes and paddled in the rock pools, soaking up the winter sun.  On the way home they stopped at every driveway so Turi could sing a little tune, 'tap, tap, tap', and they did their best dancing impressions of Gene Kelly and Shirley Temple.  'Stop' signs became maypoles to be circled and their joviality was infectious.  Then into a hot bath to wash the sand and salt away, followed by home-made okonomiyaki for dinner.  So after today, I think on balance this week wasn't so bad after all.

In which I loaf on the couch and my eyes bleed...

I haven't written much this week because I've been bogged down by an extremely hectic TV schedule.  I felt it was my personal responsibility to watch all the series returns and pass judgement.  Sadly everything was somewhat disappointing and I ended up with a stabbing pain in my right eye which I can only assume was my conscience or God telling me to get off the couch and do something productive.  

These pics are from Minty's first dance class.  She loved it, though she spent much of the class awol playing with a hoola hoop (she's two what did I expect?).  

In which there are girl friends and proper grooming...

Up until now Minty has shown a marked preference for playing with the rough and tumble boys, or as she calls them 'my boys'.  All that changed with the arrival of Aerin.  She has a strong enough personality to hold her own and Minty is smitten.  Periodically Minty announces, 'I love Aerin… do you love Aerin?  …Turi loves Aerin'.  But it's not all love and hugs, like any friendship it has its ups and downs.  Last time Aerin came to play there were some very heated negotiations over who would get to use the pink crockery for lunch (Aerin's and now coincidentally Minty's favourite colour), akin to the struggle over palestine.  Several days later Minty sadly confided in me that 'Aerin snatched the pink chair', having conveniently forgotten that she snatched the pink bowl, spoon and cup.  Mental note: 'lose' all pink items before next play date.

This week the girls are starting 'tiny phoenix creative' dance class together.  The whole thing scares me a little, with the girls required to wear proper ballet shoes, pink leotards, and hair gelled or pinned back in a bun, showing 'pride in appearance'.  According to the studio 'good grooming is part of dance training'. Ok I've been told - now how to pass this information onto the girl who launches a full scale revolt at the mere mention of a hair tie?