My little bit

So my last post let you know how I’m almost at my saturation point for hand-wringing and mulling-over that state of the world and the ability of humans to be absolutely grossly vile to each other.

The only thing bringing me back from worry and sadness is just how stabby the ABC TV promo for its Leaky Boat documentary makes me. It’s the one which shows footage of John Howard giving permission for every bigoted racist in Australia to think their attitude was acceptable, even right, in a shrinking, violent and often ugly world: ‘we will decide who comes to this country and the circumstances in which they come.’

 

But I’ve decided to spread some cheer today.

Look, a (very) blue Lego brick cake!

 

I know there are many of you who remember when he was born and my whole adjustment to being a mum to four but now, well now he is four. FOUR!

Why yes, that would be a Justin Bieber shirt he has on. We saw them at Target last week and I got Chef’s mum to get one for him – it was worn for three days before I was allowed to peel it off his body to wash it.

Family of freaks.

You think I’m kidding?

Ridiculous. Clowns. All of them.

This is the child who without fail comes into our bed every night at either midnight or 3:08am.

The one who ruthlessly calls his brothers names. Usually baby. The irony is lost on him.

He who is going to be Justin Bieber when he grows up.

The one who will not do as he is told. Ever. And gets most indignant when reprimanded for such ill-behaviour.

The turdinator still quite partial to a public urination.

The ‘cooker man’  who regularly makes bizarre concoctions of eggs, yoghurt, maybe some chilli powder, some herbs and anything else I haven’t put away then stores them in the fridge. Or pantry. And WOEBETIDE if you so much as look like you’re going to turf them.

The boy who angers just as quickly as I do.

Who has the most hilarious sense of humour.

Who is bolshy and brash and yet paralysingly scared of spiders and amusement park rides. Or climbing the wobbly ladder at gymnastics.

The one who prefers bread to toast. Is not partial to vegemite but can manage chilli heat hotter than most adults will bear.

Who makes me pull my hair out at his delinquency and rudeness and refusal to follow rules or do as his told and then makes me chortle with laughter at his latest story or notion with what makes the world turn.

 

How the hell is he four already?

 

Onward!

 

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  • Look at your gorgeous boys!!! Happy birthday Mr 4! My baby will be 4 in September. Just. Don’t. Know. Where. The. Time. Goes.

    • I’m kinda hoping that four is a hell of a lot easier with him than two OR three. But I doubt it.

  • Kill

    You tell that four year old to leave his attitude in the mountains. Or, there is a spare dog kennel for any little horror who does not do as mummy says. Mummy shall be treated like a princess in my house. Oh, and happy birthday gorgeous.

    • Oh dude, I have been riding him SO hard, I suspect he will either be impeccable or absolutely vile. We shall see. Still, it is rather cute hearing him ask CONSTANTLY if we’re going to Killary’s today.

  • Congratulations, Kim! You’ve survived so much, and what an awesome blue cake that is! Happy Birthday, Mr 4!

  • He’s a cutie-pie. A pie of cuteness. Do you say that in Australia? Cutie-pie?

    I love your list of his characteristics. Especially this one: “The one who ruthlessly calls his brothers names. Usually baby. The irony is lost on him.”

    • OH yes, we have cutie-pies, and he turns that on most when he’s been particularly naughty. Like cutting up or drawing on his sheets.

  • I’d bite his face. Truly.
    Happy Day.

    • He is wicked. You would adore him and totally egg him on.