Pants for grots

My son's a grot. He's outside all the time, loves to eat with his whole face, sit in puddles and has had a runny nose for about two months. It's totally cool. I think we all wish we could be grots most days. So this got me thinking; if I was a grot, what would I wear? Stretchy pants, absolutely. Pants I could high kick in, pretend to karate kick-n-sweep, jumping pants, climbing pants, scratch and sniff pants, and pass out in the hallway on my face pants.

So I decided to make some Pants for Grots for Alfie. Here they are. They cost me $4 each to make (thanks to a ripper sale at Spotlight) - the price of a cup of coffee. They took thirty minutes to cut, sew and elasticise and presto, here they are! 

And here's how I made them:

• Grab a pair of your grot's current jeans. 
• Measure the length and add an inch on the top and on the bottom. 
• Trace out a big letter 'U', like a harem pant. 
• Sew the sides of the U together, turn over the top of the pants an inch for the elastic, and same for the bottom of each leg. 
• Measure the elastic around your kid's waist and ankles.
• Cut the elastic and weave it with a mega safety pin through each folded cuff.
• Cut off all the loose threads, turn inside out and WHAM... Pants for Grots.

I'm hoping the elastic waist is going to be ace when it comes to toilet training. However, let's start with the basics... trying to get my kid to wear pants in the first place!

Enjoy!

xx

Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina

It’s a famous line in the Kindergarten Cop flick

You know the one, where the little boy’s so slick

When he states to Arnie, in the classic one liner

That ‘boys have a penis, and girls a vagina’.

It’s stuck with me for all of these years

A line that’s shouted with peers and beers

But now with my two-year-old boy in tow

He thinks it’s something that everyone must know.

While standing in a very long bank queue

My son (who is also fascinated with poo)

Went up to a stranger, and pointed at his dacks

And shouted ‘doodle?’followed by sniggers and cracks.

The man looked at me, unsure what to do

I explained that my son had just turned two

That he was curious about the thing in his nappy

But talking about it seemed to make him happy.

The tantrums themselves are awkward enough

But how in the hell are you meant to handle this stuff?

There’s a time and a place for this chat, to be frank

But it’s not the time, nor the place when we are in a bank.

It’s no different at all when we go to the zoo

Where there are plenty of doodles and a whole lot of poo

We explore all the gardens and eat picnic feasts

But it all gets exciting when we check out the beasts.

Just last week, we watched the elephants play

My son glued to the fence on this rainy day

Then a male elephant weed and boy it was a hit

And on top of that he took a massive shit.

Oh the squeals of delights, from my son and other boys

Who were all lined up, attracted by the noise

The other parents and I all rolled our eyes

I was thankful that the excitement was no surprise.

In my household filled with blokey gents

Where it’s rare if anyone is wearing pants

I feel left out because I’m ‘missing a tail’

But at the end of the day, I’m proud to be female.

This ode first appeared on BubbaWest.

Old el perfect

Erk. Today was one of those days where everyone else in the world looked like they had their shit together and I, well, just didn’t.

Couples were cruising around with their babes, holding hands like they have never farted in bed. Toddlers were walking on the footpath with their parents calmly cruising beside them without a care in the world. Every kid I saw had a clean face and t-shirt. Every parent I saw had a clean face and t-shirt.

Now I’m the first to admit that I’m not perfect – I’m pretty close to it – but not quite there yet. But FAR OUT, why does everyone have to look so goddamn put together on the days where things are just so out of whack for me?

It’s on these days that I want to kick myself in the shin for the extreme jealousy I have when I see dads cruising with the pram (God, it sometimes kills me when my husband works all weekend) or when I see a child SITTING STILL in a high chair in a café while their parents eat bacon and eggs and drink soy lattes and talk to each other and read the paper and sigh because they have the time to. Or when I hear that so-and-so’s kid watched TV all morning so she got all her housework done in a flash. Man, the only time Alfie watches TV is when he’s aiming something at it.

It’s also on these days  that I get really hard on myself and I reflect back on my pre-baby days when I’d hit the pub to watch the Grand Final, not whinge to my child-free pals in the park drinking a tinny hidden in my coat pocket. When I would have saffron in my pantry, not Old El Paso  burrito kits. When I would head to a Sunday movie matinee at The Astor Theatre, not prepare everything to time in with The Block’s Room Reveal.  And when it would be MY choice on how many outfits I would wear a day.

Today, being Grand Final Day was activity filled. My son and I didn’t watch any football, but we chased one around and around the park together today while we ate hot chips. All the other kids in the park were eating fruit, zucchinis, saffron and cauliflower in clean t-shirts (of course). 

My son slept after our mad park date for ages. I should have used this time smartly by hanging out washing, cleaning the floors, hosing down the high chair, cutting my toe nails, doing a poo on my own without someone looking at me, plucking my eyebrows, eating lunch, spending time with the dog, renovating my house etc. Instead I spent my time on Facebook, looking at other people’s perfect, happy, clean faces and “Liking’ statuses on Channing Tatum’s page (very excited about Magic Mike XL).

So here I am on a Saturday night. At home with my dog on the couch while my hubby works. I’ve just put Alfie to bed after singing probably the most inappropriate bed time tune (Warren G’s Regulator – it  was all I could think of after my long day). Did I waste my day – perhaps? But I got to hang out with the grubbiest kid in Yarraville, who watered everyone’s garden on the street in his nappy and gumboots. A kid who wanted to go to bed with the computer mouse. A little man who had a piece of Duplo hidden in his nappy for hours without me realising it. A tiny boy who carried a handbag with him everywhere. And the sweetest kid who told me the dinner I made him (Old El Paso) was ‘yummy’ made up for all the envious, perfect crap I witnessed today.

Perhaps I will be that person tomorrow? If you bump into me and I have a clean t-shirt and a clean child, please give me a high five. I will respond with a ‘down low’. Don’t be slow.

This post first appeared on Bubba West.

Swimming

I work four days a week. Monday to Thursday. It’s busy, but I don’t mind. It’s life. We deal with it daily.

I can’t wait until Friday comes along though. I get to hang out with my son Alfie who has just turned 15 months old. He’s an absolute nugget. He’s built like a tank, eats like a teenager and has two speeds: on and off.

So come Friday, we head down to the local pool for swimming lessons. I love it. I get to catch up with a small group of parents and their kids. We laugh, we might occasionally swear and we do the same hokey-pokey / jelly on a plate / this is the way we wash our face routine every week. Brilliant. It’s the only routine Alfie and I have.

Last week I was in a bit of a frazzled state. My son didn't want a morning sleep so I was busy trying to play, pack a swimming bag (and we all know I’m not the greatest with this [Ed refer to Undies piece]), monitor the hyper dog and find my togs.

I couldn't find my swimming lesson togs – you know the ones, plain black, boring, racer back style, non statement, non bikini. I was running late as per usual, and the only pair of swimmers I could find were resort-wear style aka they were cheetah print with gold baubles down the front, low cut, halter neck and, god-forbid, sexy. Not appropriate.

I rock up to the pool, get in the water up to my shoulders hoping the gold baubles could hide under the waves. The lights kept reflecting off them. Eep. Another parent rocks up, a dad, he’s cool and I’m hoping he doesn’t notice. He does. I apologise for wearing inappropriate ‘sexy’ swimwear and make a joke about how I thought I could pick up the Friday dads by doing so. He looked uncomfortable and found a distraction.

The teacher rocks up. She’s great and we get along like sisters. She says: “Wow Ali, you’re heating up the pool today!” I’m red cheeked.

Alfie gets fidgety and starts playing with the gold baubles. My halter comes undone and my boob is flashed. I get panicky and hand Alfie to the teacher trying to do up my inappropriate resort suit. I’m dying.

We do the lesson. All the kids want to play with the baubles during hokey-pokey. I’m mortified. Boob pops out again.

The lesson ends and I stand with Alfie in the shower feeling self conscious in the cheetah print. He wants to walk everywhere so I walk him to the dreaded change room where the logistics always get tough. It’s bloody difficult trying to get a kid changed out of wet clothes into dry clothes while you are standing around in soaking cheetah lycra, freezing. I manage to get him changed and I give him a snack to distract him. I do that weird changing room change where you modestly try not to reveal anything.

I manage to get my underwear on and a t-shirt. Then I look around, Alfie has disappeared in the 20 seconds it took me to get my t-shirt over my fat head. I run out of the changing room and he is headed for the automatic doors. He gets through them and is running out onto the footpath. I run outside, wearing just a t-shirt and my undies and grab him and take him back inside. A truck beeps its horn.

Standing at the counter are the other parents looking at me, standing there holding my kid like a surfboard, pantless and cold.

I head back to the change room, put my pants on and grab the swimming bag. I go to leave and the teacher shouts to me over the top of the other parents: “Yo, cheetah. See you next week. Bring those togs again. And some pants. It all adds to the excitement around here.”

This post first appeared on Bubba West.