Triplets (or 'Oh my God we're outnumbered!')

A busy weekend

2010-08-10T04:38:00.007+01:00

We had a kids' birthday party on Saturday morning (in fact it seems we have one of these every Saturday morning for the rest of our lives); I actually got to watch a whole game of rugby on TV without being disturbed (much), we had a 40th birthday party with professional cocktail mixers and caterers on Saturday night, we had a lie in on Sunday morning (well, Breda did...) and finally a BBQ on Sunday afternoon hosted by a professional chief.

To top it all off I got to spend a couple of hours in the hospital with Lonan who, while (play) fighting with his brother, managed to smack his face into the sharp corner of the TV stand.

The wounded hero.

We had a bit of a nasty moment when he was screaming with blood pouring from the corner of his eye but I managed to pry his eye open and was relieved to see it was white and unharmed. He did get a nice little cut right next to it and this required some butterfly stitches to hold it together. (Note that Gitta has been similarly medically treated).

Although the boys were only playfighting at the time they are increasingly doing the real thing and some days all they seem to do is batter each other.

Fortunately, Ava is on the case!

Having finished Dawkins' book on atheism, Ava has now moved onto family psychology. (I swear she picked this herself from our bookshelf).

On the house side - the front has been rendered ready for painting.

Ceilings are up.

And walls have been plastered.

Only coving and windows to be fitted (hopefully this week) and we'll be at lock-up. Which means we can't get inside anymore - bummer.

Kids

2010-07-27T03:17:00.005+01:00

Quick couple of photos of the kids.

We spent the day at the very large King's Park in Perth and had a brilliant time just hanging out with the kids.

I had to put this photo in because I love the expression on Jonty's face 'Tch, brothers..'

Another one of Jonty. He was being all photogenic that day.

A picnic in the winter sunshine. The whole day felt like a mini-holiday and it was great to just focus on the kids without any other distractions.

The kids also attended a Spiderman party.

Jonty as 'Black Spiderman'

Lonan as 'Muscley Spiderman'

Ava as 'Batgirl'? (She follows her own rules, that one...)

House update

2010-07-27T03:16:00.002+01:00

Our real roof is on at last.

The builders have started to plaster the inside.

Then it's ceilings, windows and lock up. Still hoping to be in by Christmas.

Birthday, mine (don't ask)

2010-07-14T06:48:00.004+01:00

Actually, nothing to do with my birthday but just thought I'd start off with a couple of shots of the boys.

Lonan on the left.

Jonty on the right.

For my birthday we took the kids to their first ever movie.

(Well obviously 'ever'. The use of 'first' pretty much makes 'ever' redundant. I apologise for the additional wear on your eyeballs from reading this).

Anyway, the kids had fun albeit a bit scared at times. Quite a dark film old Toy Story 3...

Breda and Ava bake me a cake.

'Quick Breda look, you're being adored!'

'Aww, there you go'

Roof framed

2010-07-14T06:43:00.002+01:00

We have a roof (albeit a bit leaky...)

A couple of mates popped down and took us out of breakfast - a picnic at the house. This was fun but would never have occurred to me to do...

Roof

Roof, roof.

House - bricks finished

2010-06-28T02:02:00.005+01:00

Couple of random shots of the bricks finishing on our house. That was quick, wasn't it?

The alfresco area (to be)

Looking through the front window into our bedroom. Showing the doors to the his and hers walk-in wardrobes and entrance to the en-suite.

View from corner of backyard showing large sliding doors to alfresco and garden. Was delighted to discover that standing out here at night I can hear the surf booming on the beach. Hurrah! Now, if only I could see the damn beach...

Games room to left (aka place for kids to make permanent mess). Living area to right (aka as per games room)

Living room - taken from kitchen.

Kitchen showing fridge and wall mounted oven nooks, walk-in pantry and breakfast bar (to be)

Front of house

House - bricks start

2010-06-28T01:54:00.004+01:00

Couple of random shots of the brickwork starting on the house.

That's my girl!

2010-06-28T01:52:00.003+01:00

Ava has had a trawl through the bookcase in our room and adopted one of my books as her own. She's taken to carrying it everywhere with her and reading it diligently at every opportunity.

When quizzed as to what the book is about, Ava replies confidently 'Sheep'.

As she's so fond of it I can't help but wonder what the reaction's going to be when she takes it to her school one day. Her catholic school...

Ava the Atheist.

Meanwhile the back of our car is looking more crowded every day.

Our new house

2010-05-18T02:00:00.003+01:00

The slab being poured (this photo should come last but I really can't be bothered fighting with Blogger to get it to work properly anymore...)

Breda and Ava pre-slab being poured (see what I mean?)

Fat boy trying to look like he's been working (okay look, I challange any man who finds a pickaxe handle on his land not to pick it up and wave it around a bit)

The proud new owners. Hope they let us share the house with them.

Faces

2010-05-18T01:59:00.002+01:00

The kids have discovered the joys of face painting

Jonty

Lonan

'Will you all please look at the camera at the same time! Oh sod it, I give up'

Pajama Party

2010-05-18T01:55:00.006+01:00

Breda and FatBoy out to a work dinner. Thank god work has these as the last time we got out together was the work Christmas do.

Proud in new pjs

They actually remind me of a really bad glam-rock band. (I'd like to think Ava and Lonan are hugging but that looks suspiciously like a head-lock she's got him in...)

This year's rendition of 'The Mikado' was a major disappointment.

Play that funky music white boy...

David Bowie and the Spiders from Mars

Our three children dressed for school.

Oh right sorry, I meant four children, obviously.

Brotherly love

2010-05-18T01:51:00.007+01:00

Something about peas and pods?

In the general chaos we often lose sight of the fact that we have identical twin boys

It's nice to be reminded of this...

Pick a boy, any boy.

Little scamps...

2010-05-18T01:48:00.006+01:00

What my TV looks like now...

...and how pleased with themselves my children are...

...little scamps.

A couple of random photos I've finally got around to uploading.

2010-03-24T04:53:00.011Z

The kids' first Ferris-wheel. Jonty the brave went by himself and had simply the biggest grin on his face the whole way round (and round and round and...)

Lonan and Ava also loved it and we plan to take them on the big one in Mandurah this weekend.

Jonty chilling with a good book after a dip in our (small, inflatable) pool.
Tough life being a kid, eh?

Bridie baking up a storm with the always keen Ava and Jonty who has some strange pirate- chef thing going on.

The kids on their very first ever day at big school (kindergarten).
Ava, Jonty and Lonan (actually, Gitta-Gitta probably gives Lonan away...)

Duck!

Still trying to finish posting the photos from our camping holiday two weeks ago. Will be Easter soon and then I'll really be behind...

2010-03-24T03:24:00.008Z

Quick couple of 'down the beach' shots. The kids have had swimming lessons and are really confident in the water now. Heads under without a problem and (mostly) laughter when they get bowled by waves.

Above, Lonan basks in the shark-infested waters of WA.

Dancing by the seaside.

I tried hiding out in deeper water for a bit of peace and quiet but Jonty just walks out with a determined stride, oblivious of the waters closing over his head. Think he may be a little too confident, that one.

Bad Parenting 101

2010-03-24T02:26:00.011Z

What do caring parents do when confronted with a sandy road littered with hundred million year old monoliths of such importance that they are a national treasure? Why, let the kids drive, of course...

The boys loved being behind the wheel.

The open road called to their inner rev-head.

However, it was Ava who proved herself to be the true hoon. She's going to fit around here just fine.

(Note, the three comments above were written without me being able to see which video was which (thanks Blogger). Therefore please place the appropriate comment by the most suitable video. Think of this as not-so-much poor blogging on my behalf and more as an exciting bonus - and free! - interactive game to enhance your blogging experience).

Ava poised by the emergency exit, showing little confidence in her brothers' skills behind the wheel.

There's an old sailors trick when taking a photo at sea - point. This gives the impression that there is something of extreme interest just out of shot and you can later show the photo around and say 'This is where we saw the whale/shipwreck/mermaid/rapidly approaching supertanker'

Lonan and I are not doing this trick. I am pointing out that Lonan is going to hit that very large rock ahead of us. Lonan is (helpfully) agreeing with me...

Happy, Happy 4th Birthday

2010-03-24T01:50:00.008Z

Good god, has it really been four years already? Four years since these three little bundles of joy erupted onto the scene and blithely removed our youth, energy and ability to sleep through the night? Oh, and disposable income too, while we're talking of things which have gone missing lately.

And what have they given in return, pray tell? Love? Laughter? Happiness? Well, yes, all that - along with fear, worry and guilt, guilt, guilt (note that financial recompense doesn't figure in here at all...).

All in all though, it's been a pretty good four years. In fact I don't think it'd be stretching the point at all to say I'm pretty sure it's been the best four years of the kids' lives. Not that the ungrateful buggers appreciate that, but, happily, we live in an age of digital cameras which enables me to take many, many photos of them smiling and laughing - which I can later show to them as teenagers when they complain we never did anything for them. Hah! They may be growing up but they'll need to get up a bit earlier in the morning to catch me out! (Actually scratch that; I don't actually want them getting up any earlier..).

But enough from me. Feast you eyes instead on the following pictures of small children joyfully whisked away from everybody and forced to celebrate their birthday in a small and dingy caravan out the back of some cheap campsite. Ah, happy times.

The cake! And what a cake! Not at all manhoodly challenged by Dougal's superb Bird's Nest affair, I quickly whipped up (in a caravan, remember) a delectable Pirate's Treasure Trove of Tastiness.

The kids (quite aware of what was going on but obligingly 'putting themselves to bed for a short nap') leaping in a gleeful frenzy from their pit delirious at the prospect of enough sugar to stun a small elephant.

"Hey look, kindly Father has put four candles for each of us upon this (incredibly well-crafted) cake. Let us therefore lean over it and set ourselves on fire whilst ineffectively blowing our fringes about"

(The film of the book...)

Calling the Home of the Brave

2010-03-08T12:21:00.002Z

Quick now, while this bloody thing is working (honestly, I'm thinking of giving this up I'm having so much trouble getting in here to post. Is it really worth the stress?), I need some help.

No, actually, let me quantify that - I need some HELP!

That's right, the world (well, our world, but let's not be picky) is in trouble and, as always in these situations, there is only one place to look for help - America!

I'm actually taking a bit of a long shot that any of the (lovely) Americans who used to pop in here are still about (what with me never posting and all...), but maybe I'll get lucky, or maybe someone out there will know of a friendly American who can come to our rescue(?)

It's Gitta-Gitta you see. He's getting old and worn so that we hardly dare wash him anymore. And yet Lonan - bless his little heart - remains as attached as ever to him. In fact just tonight I have overheard the boys (who are supposed to be sleeping...) playing with Gitta and Lonan saying how much he loooves him.

Unfortunately the whole world appears to be out of Gitta-Gitta's. The whole world? No wait, one small country still holds out against the tyranny of a Gittaless world. Who else but those adorable Americans?

Right, here's the rub. I can order a Gitta from the USA online at a not-unreasonable US$25.00 (I'll pay that to make my littlest boy smile...), but, BUT they want to charge me almost US$200 to ship it here! It's a bloody cloth hand puppet not a bloody golden anvil!

So what I need is a nice trustworthy American who can buy me a Gitta and ship it over at something less than the gross national product of a small country. I will, of course, reimburse said nice American and - as an added bonus - think groovy thoughts about them as well.

Come now, is there no one who will step up to this challenge? Is there no one who will defend the honour (oh all right, honor - see how hard I'm trying...) of the rapidly-going-extinct-but-nonetheless-still-majestic Bald Eagle?

For the hero who can step up to the plate* I will provide full details of where and - importantly - which** Gitta-Gitta I refer to.

*Note the casual baseball-playing-type reference. I really am trying...

**Yes, there has been another version of Gitta-Gitta released by Baby Einstein - however this is nothing but a cheap impostor and we will not sully these pages by discussing him further.

Help me America. You are my only hope.

Ditto to the post below...

2010-01-25T06:04:00.004Z

Actually this needs a quick explanation - the above photo is Breda's mum, Bridie going for a spin on my bike. How game is she?

Mandurah seagulls; noticeable...

Mandurah rats; bouncy...

Right, more old photos

2010-01-25T06:00:00.003Z

I could put captions here but the truth is I'm having so many problems with Blogger crashing my computer that I'm just going to post this as is. I'm sure you can figure it out...

More?

2010-01-25T05:52:00.006Z

Well, I did promise you a photo dump until I get time to write some news...

A free party thrown in a small park at the end of our street.

Bridie and John

Sheriff Jonty Wayne

The Lone Lonan

Ava Oakley

The Whole Pose

New Years Eve (yes, I am aware it was a while ago...)

2010-01-25T05:02:00.008Z

We all went to a local park to watch the bright lights of the Mandurah New Year's Eve fireworks display. For a small town Mandurah puts on a pretty good show and it's nice being close enough not to have to worry about getting stuck in traffic or anything. Even Breda's dad, John, got along fine in his mobility scooter.

Father and daughter.
(I like to think that is her 'I love my daddy' look but I fear there is a trace of teenage 'Who the hell is this idiot?' in there as well. Still, look at that poor deluded, under-the-thumb, doting smile on my face. A complete lost cause.)

Fireworks. We enjoyed them. Lonan loved them...

'Oooooh....'

'Ahhhhhh....'

Uncle Dermot and niece.
(Note the total absence of any attitude in Ava's face in this shot. Oh sure, Uncle Dermot can do no wrong...)

Bridie, Dermot and John

Jonty really enjoying the fireworks now.
Actually the last two times we've seen the fireworks the kids have been scared. This time they were so determined to be brave that they scorned most all attempts to hold them. The pride they showed once the display finished and they'd proven their courage was great to see.

Bubbles enjoying the bubbly. Some things change, some stay the same...

Father and son

Father and daughter

A good night enjoyed by all.

Er, I know it's a bit late, but Happy New Year, all.

Triplet photo spam incoooommmmmming!

2010-01-25T04:45:00.022Z

As promised I present a plethora of photos featuring perky-and-peculiar-type triplets. Feast your eyes, enjoy yourself and put me back on your damn Christmas card list.

Lonan-Buzz Lightyear-Ross.
The temperature was in the high 30's over Christmas but we couldn't get him out of this thing for days.

(Note that Blogger is being a pain tonight and not letting me move photos around, so if things seem a tad disjointed I suggest you blame them)

A motley crew wearing their Christmas finery.
Jonty-the pirate
Lonan-the already introduced (thanks Blogger...)
Ava-the disturbingly dressed

Alright look, I agree that she looks cute in a small-girl-in-frilly-pink-dress kind of way...

...but those high heels just creep me out.

Breda with Jonty (this photo was supposed to come last in this series of three as a joke of the 'oh look they can never get a photo of Jonty, ha, ha, ha' type. But you know, Blogger...)

Breda with Ava (see how funny the above joke would have been?)

Ava and Granny baking yummy mince pies to make Daddy nice and fat(ter)

Breda and Lonan (There is no continuity here! None!)

Children and Santa. They didn't really understand the concept of 'Santa' before Christmas day, but my word - they do now.
Everything they see that they like is now accompanied by the statement 'Santa Claus bring me that', said in tones of absolute conviction. It seems that next year they will learn about disappointment instead...

'It's no good honey, we'll have to throw them back. Apparently we're over the limit...'

The kids are having swimming lessons now.

It seems to be going well.

They really are growing up fast.

Some things stay the same, like Lonan in blue...

...and Ava hogging the camera. But some things change...

...like Jonty actually standing still for a photo.

And speaking of Ava hogging the camera, let us go out with a few of her playing in the backyard.

The sun is shining...

...the kids are growing well...

...life's not too bad really, I guess...

2009-12-20T02:08:00.009Z

Okay look, this is getting a bit silly now. I know posts here have been rarer than a redneck hen's teeth but I've been stupidly busy. The last two months have involved 14hr days and 7 day weeks as standard - including through Christmas and New Year. So merry everything and as for 2010; you can keep it.

What I will try to do over the next few weeks is post some photos of the kids, albeit without my usual cutting-edge and oh-so-hilarious comments.

So, let me reward your patience with a pile of photos of my family which will be of absolutely no interest to anyone. Makes you wonder why you bothered checking back in here, doesn't it....

My grandfather on a scooter. She what I mean when I say this post is unlikely to be riveting for anyone but my immediate family?

Three generations of Ross men. Worrying enough but - and I really do need to apologise for this - there is another generation on the way...

My grandfather and my parents. Together. In the same place. Really should frame this one...

My mum and my sister, Tessa.

Tessa's grown up a lot since I last saw her.

She's stylish and funny and just plain cool.

Too cool to smile for the camera though.

Typical, I try to match Tessa's grumpy look and she pulls a grin out.

Hah! Caught her again...

And let us end where we came in - a video of my grandad on on a scooter.

For those who wish for a bit more excitement in their blogs you could look here. But please don't if you're going to get all worried.

Playing me (god help them, they know not what they do)

2009-11-24T00:40:00.015Z

Lonan - never needing much of an excuse to dress up in my bike gear - has decided that he's now Dada and must head off to work (complete with grumpy huffing and world-weary eyes).

Lonan - just like his Dad; slim, handsome, er, short...

Spurning - without a moments hesitation - his previously much loved Virago, Lonan climbs confidently aboard 'Lonan's Big Dada Bike'.

Closer examination of the picture will show that he is also checking out his 'bikie face' in the mirror. If you build a mirror, he will come...

So far I think he's spent more time on the damn thing than I have...

And of course being a dead cool bikie type he also has to practice his 'beating off the women with a stick' technique. Just like his dear old Dad. No, no, really. Oh, all right then...

Ava, a firm believer that what's good for the goose should be bloody well explored by the gander, also had to have a go. However she scorned the more traditional 'riding a bike' concept to wearing all the gear in favour of the 'maniacal robot from the deepest pits of hell' approach.

"And thus did I rend him limb from limb..."

Or possibly it was her 'Dada coming home from the pub' interpretation.

There will now be a slight pause in transmission (yes Valerie, again), as I am leaving the kids in the eminently capable hands of Breda and her parents and buggering off to NZ to see my folks for a week. On my return I am to be immediately thrown to the consulting wolves as we have a slack handful of very large projects we need to get sorted before Christmas. I fully expect the next time I see my own family to be around April next year...

My new baby

2009-11-14T12:46:00.006Z

Okay, here's two posts on the same day - wow, eh? For those interested in the kids, see the post below. For the others, here's a couple of shots of my new baby.

She's a 2008 Suzuki DL650 V-Strom.

She's a dual-sports bike, ideally suited for commuting to work in Perth while proven and capable of circling the globe in comfort, with an engine regarded as one of the most reliable ever fitted to a bike. To quote a review "the DL650 may just be the most shockingly competent machine in the world today". Who am I to argue?

Apparently the only drawback is that most riders consider her to have been smacked rather hard with the ugly stick. Well, I don't know...I think she's pretty good looking, but then, I may just be in love...

The promised photos (at last...)

2009-11-13T00:27:00.014Z

Let's see now...over the last week so much has happened that there has been no time at all to post. However, as promised, I did find some time to upload some (pretty dull) photos and a video or two. Note that the photos are 'pretty dull' simply because we haven't had time to take any lately.

The boys asleep in the car. I post this here simply to poll whether people think they look 'identical' and, if not, which one do you think is which?

Ava, not asleep in the car - which is a very unusual state for Ava, indeed. The girl could sleep on a razor blade. All that Ryan blood, I reckon.

We did find time to visit the local hillbilly country fair. The horses were prancing, the cows mooing and pooing, the tractors gleaming and the mullet haircuts blowing proudly in the breeze. There was also a small train which, try as I might, I simply couldn't get Breda off of.

I'm telling you the girl loved it.

Loved it...

God, but we live in a cosmopolitan haven.

Helping Mum to bake. Hey, exactly how many fingers should a kid have?

Now look, I never wanted to be one of those parents who hold up every distorted, indecipherable piece of finger-painted smeared 'art' and cry proudly 'Look at my children! Are they not gifted?' But, I've got to be honest, I think this effort (done on an Etch-a-Sketch) by Ava is pretty damn good. It's of Breda (Mummy) and I think she really nailed it - particularly the hair...

Just one of those days/months/years/lives

2009-11-03T12:03:00.004Z

Well, I'm here. It's been while I know. To be honest I've not re-entered these pages without a small degree of trepidation. You see, the longer I am away, the more I have to write and the less inclined I am to want to as I just can't face having to backdate what we've been up to. However, fortunately I have Val to motivate me and poke me with the guilt stick when I get too slack. Therefore I hereby provide a quick overview of life here and vow to get my finger out and post some photos next time.

So many mysteries.

A few posts ago I alluded to a mysterious event which was in the offing. I must apologise for the melodramatics but we had a lot of threads to pull together – any one of which could have put the kibosh on the whole project – and so we didn’t want to say anything and then have to turnaround and print a retraction. So here we are then – the news…wait for it…Breda’s pregnant!

No, no, just kidding. We’re not mad.

Actually, we’ve bought a piece of land and are building a house. Or, to put it another way, we’ve committed ourselves to a year of paying both rent and a mortgage in order to put a roof over the kids’ heads. I hope they bloody appreciate it…

Work.

This is a bit stupidly busy at the moment and likely to get more so in the near future. I have also been away in Melbourne for a week stuck 80' up a chimney sampling the air quality inside a motorway tunnel. It has been exactly as exciting as it sounds.

School(s).

There are a number of schools in the Mandurah area; some good, some bad. Finding a good primary school is not a problem but decent secondary schools are another thing altogether. The trouble is that unless the kids are in a good secondary school at primary school level then they won't get into a good secondary school once they have finished primary school. Therefore we need to be looking for a good secondary school at primary school age. Or, to put it another way, in the scale of our schools selection process, the secondary is primary and the primary secondary - except that the primary (which is actually secondary), is primary if we are to achieve the primary secondary, secondary.

It is enough to give me a headache. Or rather, give Breda a headache, as she is doing all the leg work while I am assisting by nodding sagely at whatever she tells me.

The situation is not helped by the fact that because there are so many schools in Mandurah the catchment areas for some appear to be about the size of a very small, small thing, seen through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars.

The situation is further not helped by the fact that until very recently we did not know where in Mandurah we were going to live - and hence - what catchment area we would end up in. (See note on building a house above. Although, apparently, the catchment area doesn't count until the house is actually built...).

The situation is additionally not helped by the fact that we need to take up three of the precious places at the good schools which is not always possible.

The obvious solution is to give up and fly Grit over here to home school.

Life in general.

Perhaps due to the above we are both struggling to keep our heads above water at the moment. We are feeling very old, unfit and generally run down and this seems to be supported by nagging cold like symptoms which are hard to shift. The kids, sensing weakness, are playing up a lot. Jonty in particular is going through one of his 'anti' phases and would be hard enough work without the other two. I come home at times to find them all literally hanging off Breda and screaming for her attention. She's shattered after a full day of the same and there is no respite for me either as a busy day at work I don't even get a second to take my shoes off before being drawn into the chaos. As much as we would like to, there is little enthusiasm and less energy for exercise or even eating properly by the time the kids are finally bludgeoned into bed. To be honest the whole thing's a bit of a grind at the moment.

Phases like this come and go and we know that we'll ride this one out as well, but oh, doesn't the thought of collapsing by a pool for a week while being fed and cleaned up after sound attractive. I think this sort of thing is called a holiday but figure it probably exists in the same fantasy realm as dragons and elves and being allowed to sleep in past 0530...

Dancing in the streets

Despite the whole woe is me sob story above there have been some fun times. Like the other day when we were passing a mall which had music playing outside and the kids started dancing and soon we were all laughing and enjoying strutting our funky stuff to the amusement, disgust or total indifference of passing shoppers. The kids - when behaving - are fun and sprouting up like weeds. The only problem is that even when they're good, we're simply too exhausted to be able to enjoy it. This makes us very sad.

Other news.

I know there are quite a lot of things which could be written about here but quite honestly I can't be buggered.

Photos next time, I promise.

Chaos comes in threes

2009-10-14T12:42:00.008+01:00

Throughout history mankind has made many successful tripartite agreements, pacts and accords. These have cemented relationships and ensured peace and prosperity between what would otherwise be incompatible cultures and ideologies.

In 1984, George Orwell presents us with a world governed by three intercontinental superstates, any two of which are engaged in a perpetual state of war with the other. Alliances change without any discernible reason and all trace of previous loyalties is erased from history.

Now, for twenty points - which of these two scenarios do you think best reflects life in our house?

And the answer is...actually, you know what? You're all smart people, I'm going to assume you've managed to figure it out for yourselves...

War has been declared here and it's not pretty. Every waking moment the house rings...no, wait, that's the wrong word...the house reverberates with the clash of arms, the cries of the wounded and the battle cry of triplets in arms "You're not my friend!"

Sometimes one poor soul will be singled out as "Not my friend" by the other two for hours on end; other times the not friends change so rapidly that it's impossible to know where the battle lines lie. As in any war there are tears and screaming and frantic appeals to higher (and desperately trying to remain neutral) powers. And it's noisy. So very, very noisy.

There does not seem to be any hope of peace on the horizon. In fact the only time a truce appears to be called is when there is a sudden need to present a unified front against the dangerous foe of parental authority. In this situation they bring out the big guns - "No!"

Ah yes, no. Apparently 'the' holds the honour of most used word in the English language. On the assumption that my kids aren't significantly more horrible than other peoples' I don't see how 'the' can reattain its title as at a conservative guess I would say 'no' is spoken, shouted or screamed approximately 246,000,000,000 times per hour. Perhaps the people who compile 'the most used word in the English language' lists don't spend much time hanging around small children (possibly they can't find anyone who wants to mate with them...)

Unlike the 'why?' stage, I can't say that even in my wildest fantasies have I been looking forward to the 'no' stage (please God, tell me it's a stage). I think I could cope if they said 'no' at reasonable times. "Go to bed" "No!" I could handle. "Eat your greens" "No!" I could understand. "Will you please stop saying no" "No!" I could at least respect. But what gets me is that 'no' appears to be the new 'yes'. "Would you like an ice-cream?" "No!". "Shall we go to the park?" "No!". "Would you like me to be your absolute slave forever and ever?" "Er...No!". Actually to be completely honest, 'no' appears not just to be the new 'yes' but the new 'perhaps', 'maybe' and 'hello' as well.

And that's not all...but, no...wait...that's enough moaning for one night. Deep breath...Hoc quoque transibit, 'This too shall pass'.

The WWW life (World Wide Why)

2009-10-04T11:53:00.007+01:00

Well, it's happened.

Just like we were warned it would.

The kids have started to ask 'why?'.

And why?

And why?

And on and on and on...

Actually to be honest I've been quite looking forward to this stage. In my naivety I fondly imagined myself artfully fending the kids questions with a laughing ease (in this fantasy I am resplendent in a large leather armchair in front of a flickering fire with the children seated quietly at my feet, staring at me in rapt fascination - their little eyes aglow with barely contained hero-worship - as I pontificate worldly. Strangely I also appear to have greying mutton-chop whiskers and am wearing a fez).

In my fevered imaginings a typical 'why' conversation would go thus:

'Daddy (polite child agog at the wonder of the world), why is the sky blue?'

'Well you see little one - it's not really blue at all! (Gasps of astonishment. "Pray father, tell us more"). It all has to do with the refraction of light through the atmosphere known as Rayleigh scattering. As light moves through the atmosphere, most of the longer wavelengths pass straight through. Little of the red, orange and yellow light is affected by the air. However, much of the shorter wavelength light is absorbed by the gas molecules. The absorbed blue light is then radiated in different directions. It gets scattered all around the sky. Whichever direction you look, some of this scattered blue light reaches you. Since you see the blue light from everywhere overhead, the sky looks blue. Simple!'

(Innocent eyes all aglisten) 'Oh papa, how knowledgeable you are!'

(Settling back comfortably and stirring my brandy) 'Ah yes, of course this reminds me of when I was based in Antigua in the West Indies..'

(Excited clapping of hands) 'Oh goody, goody, goody, papa is going to tell another of his sailing stories. Oh do run quickly, Ava, and fetch mother so that she may not miss out...'

It was a nice fantasy and I was quite fond of it (particularly the mutton-chops which leads me to wonder if I've been overdoing the Flashman memoirs lately). Unfortunately - but not particularly surprisingly - the reality has been slightly different:

(Me; sloughed in my dining chair, eyes haggard and three-day-old food stains on my shirt) 'Sit down and eat your dinner'

(Child [it doesn't matter which, they are interchangeable in this particular arena]; 'Why?'

'Because it's dinner time'

'Why?'

'Because your mother has cooked dinner and now it's time to eat'

'Yes; but why?'

'Because...because...because I said so'

So that's it then, one week into the 'why' stage and I've already fallen into the same standard, predictable parental catch-all as everyone else.

Out of everything, I think I miss my whiskers the most.

Whooosh. "What was that?" "That, lad, was your bank holiday weekend" "Oh...did I enjoy it?"

2009-09-21T12:44:00.013+01:00

I read a theory once which stated that time really does go faster the older you get. The thinking behind this was that when we are young we have very fast metabolisms and this has the effect of making time appear to pass very slowly. As we age and our metabolisms slow, time appears to speed up. This made perfect sense to me (I may possibly have been in a state of artificially expanded mind at the time) and it still seems the most reasonable hypothesis as to why the fatter and slower I get the faster the rest of the world seems to be moving; until I reach now, a state where time passes in such a blur that I look up briefly and discover four days have gone past and that I appear to have missed them completely.

Tune in next post when I will discuss whether - as I believe - perception really is reality and whether that is why nobody understands me. In the meantime - some more photos...

Judging by the deafening silence which greeted my last post I assume you're not going to be fobbed off by any more 'opps I forgot to post this' posts. Therefore I provide some, relatively, up-to-date ones.

I say relatively as these were taken before Breda clippered off all the boys' hair which has had the effect of making them look like tiny little thugs and extremely difficult to tell apart. We have identical twin boys. Sometimes we lose sight of that...

Some of you may wonder why there are always more photos of Ava than the boys.

The answer is simple - she's the only one who hangs around when the camera comes out.

And so I give you, Ava.

Again.

Okay, to be honest, I did actually manage to get some time to myself this weekend and went out for a game of golf with a mate. Which brings me to a new segment to this blog which I will entitle - The Most Pointless Jobs in the World.

Allow me to kick this off.

The Most Pointless Jobs in the World # 1:
The bloke who mows the grass on the fairways.

I mean it must be very disheartening for him to go to all that effort when it's obvious that my ball will only ever have the most transient relationship with his work...

Hey look, it's some photos I uploaded ages ago and never got the chance to post.

2009-09-21T02:37:00.000+01:00

Look - sunshine and kids who are about six months younger than they are now.

Okay, so you can look at this two ways. One says that I'm just a lazy git who can't be bothered posting anything new. Or, two, that this is proof positive that I have no time in my life.

Ooh, ooh, I just thought of a third option. You could pretend this is a trip backwards in time - whoooo...spooky.

Do not adjust your set; there is no sound. No, I don't know why. No, I don't have time to figure it out. Yes, I know this is unforgivably slack.

I'm sure I used to have a life, does anyone know where I left it?

2009-08-26T01:29:00.020+01:00

Things have been...busy. No, wait. Make that...stupidly busy.

The thing is I can't even blame work - although they did ship me off to Melbourne, which is the first time I've been there in twenty years, but that's another, fairly sordid, story. No, I'm afraid this is all our own fault for two reasons.

The first I don't want to go into it in any depth yet as it is still possible that all the running about, meetings till midnight and general madness will turn out to be all for naught and simply an energetic waste of time. We shall see...

The second reason though - and what I believe is probably the real reason - is that we recently went on holiday. We had a couple of days off with the kids and had a simply wonderful and relaxing time and so - obviously - life decided that we should be punished by not being allowed a second to ourselves for the next three weeks (yes, it was that long ago that I optimistically loaded these photos with the honest belief that I would update the next day. Hah. Nice to know I can still be so wrong about things)

So, without further blathering allow me to present some photos from our mini-holiday (of course this was now so long ago that the kids have all grown up, gotten married and left home by now, but, hey, no one promised this blog would be good...)

Artistically posed (but poorly taken) photos of various small children wedged in trees and left for wolves...

Lonan and some woman I vaguely remember meeting once.

Ava of course. Intelligent, beautiful, artistic and blessed with perfect balance and poise.
Totally wasted on this family that girl.

Jonty looking a bit 'American Outdoors Man' in denim and jacket with dead animal trim (obviously not a real American child as, at the mature age of three, he should be packing at least two guns by now...)

"I didn't kill my wife! It was the one-armed man!"

The kids had fun on the slides - Jonty

Ava - oh no, wait, it's that odd woman again.

And the other one, you know, whatshisname

The only correct way to send triplets down a slide.

Groovy, huh.

We visited a wildlife park where I enjoyed a close encounter with some pretty and completely harmless very small birds.

Breda, meanwhile, was savagely attacked by a series of vicious giant killer hawks...

...and bravely protected her small daughter by holding Ava securely between her and the nasty bird and...hang on...I don't think she's protecting Ava at all...I think she's using her as a shield...

Look at poor Ava laughing in her innocence, unaware that her mother is offering her up as a sacrifice to the avian god. Poor deluded child.

Meanwhile Jonty was making the acquaintance of an old friend.

A boy and his turtle. What could be more beautiful.

Later still we visited (yet another) playground, where there was only room for one driver in charge of the ice-cream van.

"Now boys - flick, flick - I want you working - flick, flick - hard back there or you'll answer to me - flick..."

Lonan the truckie.

Ava "Biggles" Ross

And Ava again. My but she's getting the lion's share of camera time again isn't she.

And finally the obligatory 'family in front of an obscure tourist eyesore' photo (In our case with the obligatory screaming child who doesn't want to be photographed in front of said tourist eyesore. No doubt with an eye to avoiding future teenaged years worth of embarrassment, in which case - sorry for this blog boyo..)

And finally, finally - that odd woman again.

These are the pros and cons of tiplets...

2009-08-25T12:27:00.007+01:00

My department at work went out for an extended lunch to farewell a colleague who is off on maternity leave. Another colleague brought along her 18 month-old son who burbled away merrily all through the meal. He was a cute kid and to be honest I was a bit jealous of both how easy it was for the mother to look after just one child (she even got to eat her own lunch), and how simple it was for her to lavish time and attention on him. I couldn't help but feel sad that we never had time to enjoy our kids one-to-one when they were small.

To compound this feeling the main character in the book I am reading commented, from a position of comfort, that 'It reminded me of when I was very young, two or three years old, when my father would sometimes pick me up after supper and hold me until I fell asleep'. And I thought; when have I ever been able to dedicate such time to one of my children as to hold them until they sleep? Not since they were babies that's for sure - and I was way too exhausted to appreciate it then. I fear my children will never have the pleasant memory of that book's main character of drifting gently away in the warm embrace of their father's arms.*

There are many, many wonderful things about being lucky enough to be the parents of multiples (No, honestly. What? You want me to name some? Alright, there's...and then...um...well, let's not forget...oh bugger it, what the hell do you think this blog has been about for the last three years, it's not all been whining and cheap shots at Breda, surely?). Many, many - as I say - wonderful things, but time to pause and saviour the moment is very definitely not one of them.

*To be fair the main character (a somewhat reluctant Saint slumming it in hell, skinny-dipping and discussing cosmogony, teleology and eschatology with the regenerated ghost of Rahab the traitor harlot and an imp with rather cute horns) did make this comment whilst being borne away in the arms of a 100 foot high manifestation of the demonic lord Lucifer through a rift in the time-space continuum on a journey to see Lucifer's boss in an attempt to secure the release of his common-law wife who was now, apparently, a misplaced Danish zombie. (You know, that old plot line). Since the main character finds the above situation 'comfortable' I suspect there may be unresolved father-issues which transend simply being cuddled to sleep.

'Eh? What's that?' 'I SAID, I THINK YOU'RE DEAF!' 'Oh, about 2:30.'

2009-08-18T12:36:00.005+01:00

An Ava update.

Remember some time ago I said that Ava was having problems with her ears and might need corrective surgery, or grommets, or superpower giving radioactive spider bites or something? Well good news, after a month of oral antibiotics (and about six months of waiting to see a specialist again) the results are back and - please provide your own drum roll here - Ava can hear perfectly! Hurrah and Hosanna!

Or not.

Ava, or course, is not one to do things by halves and so therefore has naturally done this by halves and can hear perfectly in her right ear but is, to all intents and purposes, totally deaf in her left. So, less 'Hurrah and Hosanna' and more 'Hur... and Hosa...'

On the plus side the specialist is pretty confident that another month on the antibiotics should correct the current infection and she should grow out of the problem eventually. In the meantime we have to ensure Ava is either directly facing us or that we are standing on her right if we want to have any chance of her listening to us. It is a shame, really, that she's played this card so soon as the smart move would have been to spring it on us as a teenager and thereby have the perfect excuse for ignoring us. Hah. Rookie mistake...

Thar be Pirates

2009-08-07T02:17:00.019+01:00

Twas a dark and stormy night when the old peg-legged sea capt'n slipped the blood soaked party invitation 'neath the door. We huddled in fear as, dastardly job done, he shuffled away into the night, muttering under his breath about sunken treasure and the curse of the Black Spot...

The kids are three now and so I suppose it was only a matter of time till the Pirate Party invitation arrived. On some level I guess I've been expecting it. The problem though - the real problem - was that the kids had no idea what the hell a pirate was. Up till now they'd had no experience of eye patches and wooden legs and hook hands and pieces of eight and - thankfully - swords and pistols; and I feared that throwing that little lot at them all at once without any sort of explanation was likely to result in the sort of chaos that would make a real pirate kiss his parrot with joy. But how to introduce the concept of blood-thirsty, murderous, scurvy buccaneers in a non-threatening PC kind of way.

And so enter Peter Pan.

Now I loved this film as a kid; Peter Pan being my first real role model (and to be fair I reckon I gave the 'never grow up' bit a damn good try...). I was delighted therefore when the kids also took to the film, to the extent of singing all the songs and acting out the scenes in time to the film. Jonty in particular was enamoured with the whole thing and only last week rode on my shoulders through town singing 'You Can Fly' at the top of his lungs (of course nobody else would have know what the hell he was saying but, bah, philistines anyway).

Of course like all right thinking children, Peter Pan was all very well and good but the real heroes were - naturally - the Pirates. And so come the day of the party we, job done, dressed our extremely excited offspring in fancy clothes, equipped them with lethal weaponry and threw them, willingly, into the fray that is a three-year-old's birthday party.

'Lonan the Legless'* and 'Awful Ava' prepare for battle.

*Also possibly his teenage nickname...

Jonty the, er, Jealous (?) joins the crew

(help me out here, it's harder than it seems)

First stop is to stock up on enough sugar for a full day's pillaging.
(Is it just my children who eat the sweets off the top of the cakes and put them back? Or, in Jonty's case, simply lick each one?)

Then a session on the war drums to get the blood pumping, followed by dancing and stories and treasure hunts for golden coins (I'd elbowed a dozen kids out of the way and grabbed a handful of these before someone pointed out they were only chocolate...bugger it)

Then out came the traditional Ye Olde Pirate Parachute for the kids to dance under while we mature adults sang sea shanties and danced the hornpipe.

The kids loved it...

...and we adults manfully pretended we were having fun as well...

...after all it's understandable that young, impressionable children...

...may be fascinated with mundane things like the pretty colours of a simple silk circle...

...for they are lacking our worldly experience...

...which makes us way to mature for such childish delight.

But enough of this idle chatter. I am sure you are all agog to know who amongst our very own crew was the pirate of all pirates. Who else could it be...

Capt'n Jonty Sparrow.
A man who insisted on wearing the patch and the moustache pretty much the whole day...

A man who could climb the rigging like a monkey...

But despite it all, a man who still loves his Mum.

One day, of course, I'll have to tell my kids about how their Dad was a real pirate...

I do miss it so...

...but would rather watch my children play pirates than play at it again myself.

Odd isn't it, how kids change you?

Silencing the critics

2009-08-07T02:01:00.006+01:00

A common thread of criticism of this blog is that I don't publish enough pictures of Breda. This is true, I don't. In my defense, I would be happy to pepper all manner of webpages with photos of my lovely wife but am seldom allowed to...

However, ever once in a while permission is granted - an so I give you...

Breda with creepy smile boy, aka Jonty.

Breda with cheeky face boy, aka Lonan.

Breda with giggly girl, aka Ava.

That's it - that's your lot.

Oh wait, I've also managed to find one of the whole lot of us (now these are rarer than hen's teeth at a buffalo convention).

I also include a quick couple of Lonan to keep Val off my back.

All dressed up for a trip to 'big dada's bike shop'

Just hanging with - thank god he's back - Gitta.

And finally; a quick thank you to all for the nice comments - particularly those lurkers who sign up with offers of help or just to say something nice like 'your children are beautiful' or 'Trevor you are all man to me and I worship the very ground you walk upon - command me oh great one' (you never know, it could happen...)

Every time I read a comment I think, oh I must reply to that - but you know; life gets in the way. Sorry.

The unthinkable.

2009-07-29T05:36:00.005+01:00

Disasters are a natural part of life. The sinking of the Titanic, the eruption of Krakatoa, the re-forming of Take That. Pain, suffering and despair dog mankind like a dog dogs another dog when that dog is on heat. Sometimes though a disaster of such magnitude occurs that its repercussions are felt around the world (think Posh Spice not being born a mute). Such an event happened last weekend when Lonan lost his faithful companion Gitta Gitta.

It was a day like any other; the sun shone, the kids had brought us breakfast in bed and tidied the house and we’d decided to spend the day splurging our recent multimillion Lottery win on a trip to the supermarket. We shopped. The kids helped by each carrying a basket which they insisted must be filled to the absolute top with groceries so they could then leave it hidden down some aisle for me to fetch later. Lonan quite definitely had Gitta then as he was clearly in his basket sandwiched between the sliced bread and the condiments (sandwiched, get it?) Replete with the deep calm and joy which can only come from a good hour spent in the tranquil setting of a supermarket on a Saturday morning we decided to round out the perfect family excursion with a stop at the local dollar store to see if we could gain a few pirate-like articles for an upcoming fancy dress birthday party. Where better to take three-year-old triplets than a store crammed with interesting looking things which they can pick up and pull out and drop on the floor? (Of course, even if they’d broken every single thing in the shop we’d still only be up for a bill of about $2.50, so it’s all good). Whether Lonan was in possession of Gitta at this juncture was unknown.

Home again. Kids and shopping removed from car and bundled unceremoniously into the kitchen. Lunch started amongst the chaos. And then the fateful cry from Lonan ‘Where Gitta Gitta gone?’ Where Gitta Gitta gone, indeed? A quick search revealed no Gitta. A, more frantic, detailed search was similarly rendered Gittaless. The only thing for it was for me to drive back to the shopping centre and, with an ever increasing sense of foreboding, retrace our footsteps and scour the empty aisles for all things Gittaish.

Alas, although I poked and prodded each place we had been, checked with customer services, spoke to the cleaners and pressed my business card upon the shop managers, I was forced to return home an abject failure to my son. I confessed my lack of success to Breda and iterated how I had looked everywhere for some trace of poor Gitta. Seeing my obvious distress, Breda commiserated by asking ‘Did you look, look or look like a man, look?’ Without deigning to wait for the obvious answer she took the car keys from my slack hand and went off to search herself. (Now some husbands may have taken satisfaction from the fact that she too returned defeated shortly later. Some husbands may even use such a tragic event to try and score a cheap point of the ‘Did you look, look’ type. Some husbands may even go so far as to publicly labour the point in a web-based log of some sort. I, fortunately, am above such things).

Up till now Lonan had been upset but calm; naively confident that his parents would come through for him. Now however he had to face the harsh truth that Gitta was gone forever and that he would never, never see him again. We steeled ourselves to tell him the truth. After all, perhaps it was time he moved on from Gitta. We steeled ourselves some more. After all, he can’t carry a bath puppet around with him for ever, can he? We steeled ourselves still further.

We lied. Obviously.

Gitta, it was explained, had gone to the shops to buy Lonan a special present and would not be back for a few days. Lonan accepted this manfully and was happily convinced that Gitta was bringing him a ‘big dada bike’ present. Meanwhile we began Operation Find Another Gitta. The internet was searched, friends and family all over the world were contacted and forced from their warm homes to traipse around the shops saying things like ‘Do you sell any Gitta Gitta’s? I don’t know, some sort of green puppety thing, oh wait, I think it’s used in the bath, maybe? Oh, and do you have one in stock which looks like it’s been dropped in the dirt, puked on and carried around in the mouth of a small child for three years?’

I finally found an Aussie provider online and placed an order (express mail of course). Meanwhile we continued to pacify Lonan with the fable that Gitta Gitta had gone to the shops to buy him a present and would be back in a few days. Bedtime came and Lonan had to go down without his little friend for the first time ever. We showered him with kisses and pictures of motorbikes to help fill the gap and he remained stoic in his loneliness. However, in the night he awoke crying and asking ‘Where Gitta Gitta gone?’ forlornly. Breda and I also passed a troubled night, admitting to each other that we felt sick at the thought of poor Gitta all alone out in the cold night somewhere. When we slept we even shared dreams in which we hunted for Gitta who remained just out of our reach. Come morning the house was in mourning.

The next day Breda was getting a pot from the Welsh dresser and lo! shoved in the back (along with a few other missing toys...) was Gitta Gitta! We were delighted, however Lonan was a bit nonplused and was more interested in where his ‘big dada bike’ present had gone. At least, we thought smugly, we’ll have a spare Gitta when it arrives from the East Coast. The next day the company in NSW contacted me and said they’d discontinued the ‘Gitta’ dragon and would refund my money. Just like that! Like it was just a casual purchase and not the most important thing in the world!

So you may now think - undoubtedly breathing a huge sigh of relief - ‘Whew. At least that had a happy ending’. Well, yes it is true that we got Gitta back, but his loss was felt by Lonan far deeper than he let on at the time and he will now not let Gitta out of his sight for even a moment. The least separation gives rise to an anguished and frantic cry of ‘Where Gitta Gitta gone?’ Oddly though, he has now taken to throwing him up into the air a lot - which is fairly likely to ensure Gitta does disappear for good; particularly when he does it by the edge of the local wharf...

And the postscript to this tale? The other night I was tucking Lonan in when he held up Gitta to me and said in the most worried and beseeching whisper ‘Dada, Gitta Gitta no go to the shops. Gitta Gitta no go to the shops...’ No my son, Gitta Gitta no go to the shops. Not if I can humanly help it.

Happy Birthday to Me (or, oh bugger I'm really getting old)

2009-07-16T02:01:00.008+01:00

Some people - myself included - are sometimes at a loss of where to begin when faced with the tyranny of a blank (web) page. Happily tonight I suffer no such hesitation as News The Important has occurred today. Ava and Lonan were in daycare while Breda spent the day one-on-one with Jonty. During the day she got a call from a very excited day-carer (is that a word?) to say that Lonan had asked to be taken to the toilet and had - to his apparent surprise - proceeded to do a wee-wee. For us this is a real breakthrough as he has shown no interest at all up to now. Apparent the day-caring type person reckoned that it was being away from Jonty which motivated Lonan to go. That and a running tap...

So huzzah for little Lonan. It's hard to know who is more proud. Him with himself or me of him.

In less dramatic news it was my birthday on the weekend.

All of a sudden I'm overcome by a feeling of brief mortality
'Cause I'm getting on in the world
Comin' up on 41 years
41 stony grey steps towards the grave
You know, the box
Awaits its grizzly load
Now I'm gonna be food for worms

Well now Alabama 3, I reckon you nailed that one...

A couple of photos of me with some stunningly good looking boys (well, until they make those 'blowing out candles' faces) and a half eaten cake (we'd snacked earlier)

You may note that Ava is conspicuous by her absence...

...this would be because she had announced she was tired and put herself to bed. Honestly, if we only had her we wouldn't even know we had a child...

...so thank god we've got the boys as well.

For the whole day the boys (particularly Lonan) had been singing 'It's raining, it's pouring' in the sweetest, cutest way. After hours of this delightful treat we finally got organised enough to get the camera out.

This is what their soft beautiful singing turned into the moment they got on film. I give up, really I do...

The elves and the shoemaker.

2009-07-07T01:40:00.007+01:00

In the famous fairy tale the shoemaker is visited by elves at night who do all his work for him.

In a similar vein, Breda has magical aid from her 'little people' when doing chores.

What a pleasant and easy life she must lead with so many keen helpers.

Update the latest.

2009-07-06T05:21:00.016+01:00

Whew, this moving house stuff doesn't half take up your time...

After an absolute weekend from hell last week, we approached this weekend with some trepidation. Turns out we needn't have bothered as the kids were the vastly improved models as promised by baby books everywhere.

Ava comfortably at ease.

Oh no! Earthquake!
(Funny enough she really does look like she's falling. Weird child..)

Ava in one of her random moments of kindness, spontaneously hugging Jonty who, to be honest, has more important things on his mind. She really is such a mothering little thing and we're lucky to have her to help out around the place.

Jonty at the summit of the slide.

Unfortunately from the summit it's all downhill and Jonty has certainly had a bit of a fall from grace over the last couple of weeks. It's my fault really as I recently posted about what a wonderful, delightful child he was - which is a sure fire way to ensure a Linda Blair style personality change.

Seemingly overnight Jonty has become an intolerable bully complete with teasing, snatching and surreptitious kicking and punching. He has also discovered that parental commands can be answered by a simple 'no' and running away. Oh joy.

We're at a bit of a loss about how to tackle this from him and are hoping that it's a short lived phase, soon to be replaced by our old Jonty. One positive of his behaviour is that I got to spend a couple of hours alone with him on Sunday in an attempt to do some male bonding. We had a great time together - as did the other two kids without him for a bit.

Come back Jonty, we miss you.

Lonan remains Cheeky Monkey. His love of Big Dadda's Bike is now equalled by his love of all things 'Big Rocket Ship', although where this has come from we're at a loss to know.

Lonan's happiest moments are sitting at the compter watching You Tube videos of bike racing. Oh bugger it, since I'm here admitting to mediocre parenting I might as well tell the whole truth - Lonan's happiest moments are sitting at the computer watching You Tube videos of bikes crashing. Closely followed by watching monster trucks crashing.

How's that for parenting, eh.

It is slightly disconcerting to be waved off on my bike in the morning by Lonan yelling excitedly 'Big Dadda Bike crash! Crash Big Dadda Bike!'

I very much fear he is going to grow up into the stereotypical Aussie rev-head. Complete with bad mullet.

Lonan, Gitta...and some old and very tired git.

We're back...

2009-06-28T10:20:00.003+01:00

We're here, all safe and sound in our new home. We have power, lighting, HEATING, water, internet connection - all the mod cons, really.

The house is smaller than the last one but much more user-friendly and cosy. The last house was all open spaces and echoes; here it's proper rooms with privacy but still with a feeling of interconnectedness. The heating is a boon but not needed as much as the house is warmer anyway. We have a bigger garden and a nicer alfresco area. In all, it's pretty good here. Except, of course, that it's been chucking it down with rain and blowing a gale since we got here. To be fair, it is winter and it is still around 16-18 degrees, so can't complain really...

Took the kids out for a walk along the beach this afternoon; ducking the rain squalls and battling the strong winds while watching the slate-grey waves smash against the beach was an effective way to blow away a weekend spent unpacking boxes worth of cobwebs. The boys loved it and ran about with great gusto. Ava, it seems, is not the wet and wild outdoors type, perferring to stay huddled up in the buggy with her hat pulled over her eyes in the hopes that it would all go away if she ignored it hard enough. She didn't really perk up till Breda suggested returning home for a hot cocolate, then suddenly it was all smiles and 'faster daddy faster' to the poor engine on the back.

Looking around there are still a depressing amount of things-without-a-home covering every surface and I'm forever tripping over stuff lying around, but the kids are playing happily and the air is filled with the delicious smell of the roast Breda is cooking and the wind can blow and the rain fall 'cause we're snug and warm and that puts us ahead of most people in the world.

I expect to see you all at the housewarming...bring drink.

Home Sweet Home

We're moving house tomorrow...

2009-06-18T14:53:00.002+01:00

A severe storm warning is current for the south west of Western Australia.

A cold front approaching the coast is expected to pack damaging winds.

Rain and strong winds in Perth has already cut electricity supplies to more than 11,000 homes.

The Bureau of Meteorology's Duty Forecaster Noel Puzy says damaging winds could bring significant damage to property.

"We're looking at pretty widespread gusts of up to 110 kilometres an hour, but could see some isolated gusts of up to 120 kilometres an hour," he said.

Mr Puzy says there's been significant rain overnight and there could be flooding in some areas.

Ya gotta laugh, don't ya...

Thank god for other people.

2009-06-18T06:07:00.003+01:00

Whenever I worry that we're rubbish parents I thank god for other people. Not nice, intelligent people like you who read this blog (and especially not you fantastically gifted people who actually comment), no, I thank god for the kind of people who apparently think this is good parenting...

http://failblog.org/

It's all about timing.

2009-06-14T12:21:00.006+01:00

I've written that phrase before 'It's all about timing'. Previously was to describe the unerring timing of the kids to simultaneously get horrendously, projectile-vomiting sick just when Breda had gone off flying and left me all alone. Why then do you think I may be using it again now?

That's right. Got it in one. I always knew this blog attracted intelligent analytical reasoners.

Or, at least, almost right. Breda hasn't gone off and left me and the kids are not all sick at the same time. Rather they are taking it in turns to succumb to the nasty bug; thereby dragging out the actual period of sickness to its maximum extent. This would, under ordinary circumstances, merely slot into the 'bit of a pain but no real drama' box, except, as alluded to in the title, the kids really know how to pick their moments. Firstly this was planned as a very busy and very important weekend as it is our only chance to pack before we move house (yes, yes, I know I haven't even mentioned moving house before now but I've been busy, okay). Then, on top of that I've been very busy at work (see previous parenthesis) and am hardly here at all next week (our last before we move) as I am away with 18 hour days up at some hole in the ground or another in the middle of 'Where the hell are we?', Western Australia.

On the home front, Ava has already done her 24hr vomit-a-thon on Thursday. We had a break for a day before Lonan started up last night (and is still power-chucking) and fully assume that Jonty will have joined in the fun by tomorrow night. As well as the house looking like a Chinese laundry with puked-on-hastily-washed-and-trying-to-dry-before-the-next-round towels hanging on every convenient surface, the kids being sick means they can't go into day care so we are losing the two days Breda had to try to do some packing before we move and both of us also feel headachy and nauseous but neither of us have the time to be ill so must soldier on in the time honored manner of parents everywhere. Given that we're out next Saturday there does appear to be a disturbing amount of things-not-in-boxes scattered around and I worry that the true scale of the problem lies hidden beneath the multitude or drying towels scattered about.

It is, indeed, all about timing - and our kids appear to have it nailed.

In other shocking news; we're moving house (see? I told you I'd find to blog about it at some point). Unable to face another winter freezing in this barn-like edifice and not yet willing to buy, we have found another house to rent - even further away from my work, natch - which not only has heating but a bigger garden and is so close to the beach that you can hear the waves crashing at night (I have to take Breda's word for this as the only time I've been there all I could hear was screaming children. I'm fairly sure she's not lying but, to be honest, she could be making it up and it'll be a dozen years yet before it's quiet enough to know for sure). Obviously this means we'll be off-line for a while so if you don't hear anything for a bit it's because my Internet provider has screwed things up again, or we've all actually got Swine Flu and have gone to the great sty in the sky. Whichever option gets the bags packed and let's us get some sleep, quite honestly.

Let's talk about work for a minute

2009-06-10T04:21:00.002+01:00

A colleague recently got a letter which stated that under XYZ legislation he had to have a hearing test. Confused he asked us whether he was actually legally required to do the test. This is the applicable sections of the legislation we found:

The Workers Compensation and Injury Management Act 1981 section 24A clearly states:

Subject to Schedule 7 and this section, a worker suffering from
noise induced hearing loss shall be entitled to compensation for
that loss under item 6 of Part 1 of the table set out in Schedule 2
if the worker so elects as provided by section 24B, but the
compensation payable for that hearing loss shall, subject to the
provisions of this Act relating to Schedule 2, be in accordance
with the percentage ratio of the prescribed amount indicated in
column 2 of Part 1 of the table set out in Schedule 2 in respect
of item 6 at the date of the audiometric test under Schedule 7
that showed that a loss or diminution of the worker’s hearing
had been incurred, irrespective of when the worker so elects.

To help clarify the situation a bit more the aforementioned schedule 7 in clause 1 and 10 of schedule 7 are detailed respectively below to assist with clarifying the nature of the workplace in question:

1. Terms used
In this Schedule —
audiometric test means an audiometric test carried out in accordance
with clause 4(1);
prescribed workplace means a workplace prescribed under clause 10;

and

10. Prescribed workplaces
Workplaces shall be prescribed for the purposes of this Schedule.

Is it any wonder I go home exhausted...

A plethora of pictures

2009-06-07T09:30:00.017+01:00

Seems to me it's been a while since I updated on how the kids are growing. This is obviously very remiss of me and I should be suitably punished - Valerie; I look to you.

In an attempt to stem the inevitable, but fully justified, beatings I humbly offer this expanse of photos and children-updating-type-comments. Enjoy and please go easy on me; I'm an old, old man...

For those of you who may have missed it the kids, somehow, stopped being babies or even toddlers and suddenly became children. This happened so suddenly that it took us a while to notice. One minute they were tiny little things, complete with the remnants of baby fat, and the next they were tall, long limbed adults piloting the space shuttle. (Okay, so not the space shuttle yet but they seem to be that grown up. Oh, and when I say tall I mean this in a relative 'Ross' way i.e. hobbit-sized).

So let's meet the cast -
Ava. This isn't a great photo but it's posted here as proof of the shocking realisation that - Ava Has Hair! Indeed, so much hair that it even requires cutting. Sure, it's thin and straight and difficult to do anything with (apparently), but it is hair nonetheless.

Now look, I know this photo is blurry, but I really like it. Ava looks like a proper girl, in fact she often reminds me of my mate Richard's oldest daughter, Ciara (although this is possibly because she was the first child who ever liked me and hence made me think that, just maybe, having children was not the end of life forever. As such she holds almost mythical status in my eyes)

Yet another not particularly great photo (aren't you glad I've gone to all the trouble of posting?). I mean, she looks okay, but this doesn't really capture the sheer stunning cuteness of her sweet darling personality which is like a burst of sunshine on a winters day. Provided of course you don't mess with two vital aspects - her sleep and her food. Upset either of these and she transforms into a writhing, spitting, snarling Medusa before you can say 'Have you met my lovely daughter...oh, uh...oh mother of god get this crazed thing away from me!'

My beautiful little girl Ava. Unless she's not fed and rested in which case she's all Breda's. I'm wrapped around her finger, not mad.

Jonty -

What a delight this child is. We never would have guessed that Jonty would turn into the most affectionate of all the kids. He loves to be held and cuddled and is always surprising us with impromptu kisses and affection. I love this from him and hate the thought that he will grow and change to suppress these emotions. We are acutely aware that our time with the kids as open and unselfconscious people is so very finite and due to pass in the blink of an eye. I already mourn and miss Jonty's open affection. I shall just have to rob him of every kiss and cuddle I can before time does the job for me.

Jonty - his genuine smile

Jonty - his 'Smile!' smile. Ever so slightly creepy...

Jonty is still subject to escalating tantrums and struggles to calm himself. Small things wind him up well beyond their true effect on him and I worry about how he will handle himself if he doesn't learn self-control before he starts school. I want to give him the right tools but don't know what these are. I'm scared I'll fail him in this.

Lonan -

Lonan is, quite simply, a cool dude. He swaggers (where did he get that from?), struts and plays the fool. Where Jonty dispenses affection openly, Lonan is much more guarded and we have embarked on a dedicated campaign to break down his barriers. This consists of lots of kisses and cuddles and - the big guns - tickling and hanging upside down. Lonan appears to be responding and lately has become a lot more open with his affection. He has the most appealing habit of asking you to do something with him and then, when you say it back to him, saying 'oakay' in a quiet voice like he's doing you a favour.

'Dadda, can we go to the beach?'
'Do you want to go to the beach?'
'...oakay...'

Lonan, chillin'

Of all the kids, Lonan is the most obsessed with 'big dadda's bike' and I fear I am going to have a huge fight on my hands dissuading him from wanting a bike of his own. I'm not saying he can't have one, just that he's going to have to wait until he's going through his own mid-life crisis before I'll let him.

Lonan's my boy. I can honestly state that I don't have a favourite amongst the kids, but Lonan appears to have adopted me as his mate. On the face of it he appears the simplest and most straight forward of the kids but this is deceptive. Lonan can easily full an entire day with a low-key whine which drives you to distraction. The natural impulse is to send him to his room or otherwise get him out of your hair but, unlike Jonty, any punishment has little effect on Lonan. Lonan's clowning hides his insecurities and upset at being in trouble. He's not being willfully disobedient, it's just how he copes with conflict. He responds much better to positive reinforcement and fairly glows when praised. He comes across as the toughest of the kids but in reality is still the baby of the group. It can just be a little hard to keep this in mind sometimes...

This is Lonan's 'I'm being told off' face. It's simultaneously maddening and hilarious. Personally, I pity his teachers...

My Mum -

A surprise guest appearance from my Mum on her recent visit.

I could perhaps also attempt to analyse my Mother's psyche while I'm here playing amateur physiologist - but she almost certainly has more dirt on me than I do on her, so we'll just leave that particular minefield alone, shall we...

Toilet training -

We first tried this about six weeks ago and it was - to be charitable - a disaster. The kids were freaked out and upset, we were exhausted and cranky and the fact that we have ever even contemplated trying again is testament to Breda's backbone of steel. Left to me, they'd be in nappies till their wedding days.

This time however things are different. Ava seized the concept immediately and, for all intents and purposes, toilet trained herself in a couple of days. Jonty is not far behind and, although he needs the odd reminder, is mostly dry as well. And Lonan? He hasn't shown the slightest interest so we're happy to let him go for a while (see? Still the baby)

A very rare photo of all three, dressed up, clean and in one place.

(Ten seconds later) And then there were two...

So, that's it then, the kids in a nutshell. The odd tantrum and sibling fight aside, they are more fun now than they have ever been. Of all the times since they were born, now is the moment I would like to stop and just hold them where they are for a while. This time with the kids will be gone soon and I will be a sadder man for it's passing but a happier one for having been so privileged as to have shared it with them.

Don't be in too much of a hurry to grow up my children. Oakay?

The simple pleasures

2009-05-30T05:41:00.000+01:00

When my older brother, Brendon, and I were around the age our kids are now our parents - apparently - bought us a huge pile of presents one year. The story - told with much rueful shaking of heads - was that they, lovely doting parents that they were, spent a small fortune on gifts which arrived in large cardboard boxes. Like horrible little ingrates we, obviously, ignored the expensive presents* and spent the whole day playing merrily with the boxes.

My parents will therefore be delighted that my children are similarly comfortable with the simple pleasures of life...

...like making a box into a million wonderful playthings, the only limitation being the endless and magical imagination of a small child. Or, in Lonan's case, making a box into one thing only and then vigorously resisting the mere suggestion of change.

*My parents have always been a little vague on exactly what these 'magical' presents were. A rocking horse and a toy car may have been alluded to at some point but over the years of hearing the story I've been left with the distinct impression that it can't have been anything less than a life-size model of a 747 and a Porsche Carrera.

Dizzy

2009-05-29T06:46:00.004+01:00

The children on their bikes go round and round

Round and round

Round and round

The children on their bikes go round and round

Till we all throw up...

Cheerful musings

2009-05-23T10:45:00.003+01:00

After a considerable pause to raise triplets*, I have written a new short story. Having done so I find I don't like it much. However I present the link in a desperate attempt to distract you from the fact that I haven't posted here for a while. Is it working?

http://www.greatwriting.co.uk/content/view/19468/77/

*Is this finished yet? It seems to be going on a long time...

Whoo-whoo tours

2009-05-17T01:21:00.000+01:00

Babes in the wood

A few weeks ago we took the kids off for a ride on an old tourist train which runs through the Western Australian 'bush' (sorry, it all looks like scrub to a kiwi boy). When we reached the end of the track we got out and went for a walk while they turned the train around. I was trying to get some nice shots of the kids but - as usual - my photography skills were not up to much and besides, every time I ran ahead to try and get photo the kids would chase me so that every photo ended up as another blurred close-up with chopped off heads. Oh, well, such is photoing triplets in the wild.

Ava's forehead - until now a vastly underexploited photo opportunity.

A self-portrait of me looking every inch the rugged outdoors man - more than capable of running down venomous snakes and wrestling crocodiles. If I must say so myself. Which, apparently, I must...

'Silly Daddy'*

A classic photo showing Breda, the boys, train, trees and, I think, Ava somewhere under that hat and behind that damn thumb.

Breda demonstrating how a video should be made. Exploit the cuteness of your child stars, feature a dashingly handsome leading man (yes, I do mean me), have a bossy director who would rather remain behind the camera than in front of it and allow a moment for honest self-examination. The woman's a Spielberg, I tells ya.

'The wheels on the train go round and round...'

*It's always 'silly daddy' for all men. Sometimes I think the only reason women have children is so they can teach them to follow their husbands around chanting this every time the poor bloke moves. Sort of an external vocalisation of the wife's true innermost thoughts.

'Oh goody, goody, goody...I can't wait to have a husband of my own to torment...'

Explaining that first 'that'

2009-05-09T04:57:00.011+01:00

Judging by the number of phone calls I got after the last post asking if we're alright I can write a good line in enigmatic drama, however I, apparently, am a failure at doing happy enigmatic. Those 'thats' were good things people (at least for the most part*).

That number one was that we have bought a boat. Although a long term daydream the actual event was brought to a head by the sudden discovery of the perfect boat for playing around with triplets, within our budget and the enthusiastic support of my Mother (hence the ability to blame her should anything go wrong...)

The boat itself is a Westerncraft Whaler, which in native Australian translates into "Strewth mate, that's an ugly lookin' vessel you've got there."

Okay, okay, so I realise it's not the most beautiful looking form of aquatic transport around but there is room for everyone to sit up the front and the kids can walk around the boat while remaining secure within the high bulwarks. It has good sun protection from the tropical conditions here (29 degrees - and it's Autumn). It is economical to run and, well, it's mine (er, ours).

Happily there are plenty of places to take even an ugly looking boat around here. While my Mum was down we puttered our way up one of the many rivers passing a multitude of pubs and cafes where we could dock and sample the local treats. We also passed a number of small beaches for the kids to play on which are only accessible by boat. On another day we took a high speed motor across the estuary to a park and let the kids play while we read the Sunday papers and had a picnic. Coming back we stopped mid-way to feed some fish and watch crabs scuttle along the bottom - crystal clear at 4 metres.

Yesterday** we took the boat out and again ran over to the park across the estuary but had the added attraction of meeting up with a pod of dolphin (twice) who played around and under the boat to the delight of the kids (and us, obviously). And do you know what? As I watched the dolphin splash and frolic around us and saw the excited smiles on my kids' faces, well, it didn't bother me at all that I had an ugly boat. Not one little bit.

*(Warning - best not to read this bit if you're eating...)
One less wonderful that is the fact that I have a large infection due to my root-canal-needing-tooth. So large is this infection that it has started to drain into my mouth. Each day I grow a large pus-filled 'pimple' in my mouth which, disturbingly, is not there in the morning. Which means that at some stage during the night it bursts and, um - yuk.

**Yesterday started at 0930 with a birthday party where the kids played on a bouncy castle and ate waaaay too much sugar. This finished at 1130 so we went out on the boat. Back from this at 1630 leaving just enough time for a quick change of clothes and then off in the car to a local beach for a full-moon party complete with drums, guitars and lots of plastic hippy types (i.e. got the clothes from Bali, the love beads from India, the children named 'Summer' and 'Rainbow' - but arrived in a 4x4 BMW).

Peace out, all.

It's not my fault...

2009-04-30T03:16:00.002+01:00

Seriously, it's not my fault.

I fully intended to post more often and then my Mum came to stay and then that thing happened and that was pretty major and then that other thing happened and that was even bigger and more scary and really, what with all those thats going on plus work and normal life not being considerate enough to go on hold for a while, not to mention my tooth kicking off again and being back on antibiotics with an ulcerated roof of my mouth and, well it's a miracle I'm here to post at all even if all I have to offer is some old photos of Jonty and Ava jumping off the coach although of course they look nothing like that now having undergone a major growth-spurt and lost the last of their babyness and I will stop being all enigmatic and update about all these things and reply to the nice people who've posted comments and find time to even read other people's blogs and, and, and...breathe.

Personally I blame my Mum (except maybe for the growth-spurts).

The mystery of the brown smudge

2009-04-14T02:31:00.000+01:00

What on earth could cause a young Lonan to look so sad and grubby?

Ah yes, ice cream. Of course.

Poor lad, how traumatic...

All better now. What a relief. Bad, nasty, evil ice cream all gone. What? You want more? Tch, children.

A mixed batch

2009-04-11T02:07:00.000+01:00

The moment from Close Encounters of the Third Kind when the aliens first make contact with mankind. And get more than they bargained for...

My Mum is over from New Zealand to visit and so, although I have some time off work, I actually have less spare time than ever. Therefore I offer a quick mishmash post of photos until I get the time to post something more interesting.

Lonan - King of the Woo-Woos

Breda and Ava on our local seaside walk with the rest of the family pulling up the rear.

This (surprisingly?) is not a very exciting video, however it is posted here for two reasons. Firstly it shows the kids playing quietly. This in itself should be reason enough for us to record great swaths of such video so Breda and I can play it back on a loop and pretend that it's actually happening live and that our darling children always play so nicely together. Secondly - and more importantly - it is the only piece of film we own in which we have (finally) managed to capture Lonan talking to Gita-gita. Cute? Makes my heart melt like a pommy tourist during an Australian summer (hey, I think I'm getting the hang of this Aussie stuff, fair dinkum, ya flaming galah...er, no)

A moment of reflection. Or something.

2009-04-07T03:03:00.007+01:00

Now that the kids have just turned three, what better time to post a video of them when they were just one?

You could look upon this as a delightful moment of reflection where you can er, reflect, on how quickly they have grown up.

Alternatively you might like to consider the foibles of Blogger who, for some reason known best to himself, has prevented me posting this for over two years and now, suddenly, for no discernible reason, decided it's okay.

Of course you may prefer to take the more cynical jaded view that this is just a cheap stop-gap post on my behalf, reminiscent of the never-ending repeats on TV.

Whatever, quite honestly.

I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Happy Birthday the Third

2009-03-25T11:33:00.016Z

Er, I realise that it's been a (ahem) little while since I last posted. I am really sorry (embarrassed shuffling of feet) but must lay the blame for this solely at the - no doubt, password coded and requiring 16 different updates and access codes - door of technology. You see, our last computer was eaten by a virus* and there has been an unavoidable delay whilst a new and improved model was created in the darkest pits of computer Mordor by specky geeks. To compound this problem we also bought a new video camera which - as you can tell by the seamless editing of these video clips - I am still learning to use. Chuck into this pot of techohell the time-absorbing reloading of programs, documents, photos and music before they were lost forever and add trying to get every little enochlophobic micro-transducer to come to the party and talk to every other electrical gadget's equally shy technical bits, and you may understand why this post has taken a while. Oh and also Blogger seems to be out with me and won't let me connect via my laptop.

But anyway, we're here now and almost unnoticed in the general chaos of things the kids have managed to turn another year older. We now have three three-year olds. How - for the love of all things sane - did this happen?

We did have a small party for the kids which included another of the sets of triplets which appear to infest Mandurah (and bumped into another set the following weekend). The kids seemed to enjoy themselves and managed to hold off on the inevitable sugar-crash madness until everybody had safety gone home.

They were, of course, showered with presents and cards from many lovely people around the world to whom we offer our sincere thanks (and promise to lift our own, somewhat slack, game). Some presents - despite promises made to ourselves back in the early days when we didn't understand the true depths of sibling rivalry - were bought in identical triplicate whilst others where directed at each particular child (who, almost inevitably, wanted the one the other child got instead).

A BBQ was held and cakes of many types were enjoyed, the obvious favourite being the birthday cake with three candles for each little person. I can but apologise for both the quality of my singing and the out of timeness of my naming of said little people (people were looking at me in confusion, and a little panic, as to whether they were going to have to sing Happy Birthday three times and I was only trying to help. The quality though is all mine.)

We (I, obviously) also blew up a lot of balloons which, to the distress of the kids, promptly exploded in the heat with apologetic little doomed pops well before any actual guests arrived.

I could go on but am in fact feeling a bit crap with the onset of an early autumn cold and have only staggered to the computer to avoid the (continued) wraith of Valerie. Hopefully the videos, poorly edited though they be, will hold you for a while and I promise not to delay so long between posts again. The real problem is that the kids are changing so quickly that every time something new happens and I think 'oh, I must post that' it is gone and replaced by the next milestone. Who would have thought that children would be in such a rush to grow up?

* I have used AVG anti-virus for nearly five years and nay a viral loaded Trojan-horse riding worm has come near my computer. On having Internet connecting type problems in Australia I took the advice of one of Sauron's minions and changed to 'Kaspersky Internet Security'** whereby my computer was devoured in less than six months. Guess what company I've gone back to?

**Yes, that's right 'Kaspersky Internet Security' is crap. Sue me.

The danger that lurks beneath Pt2

2009-03-16T07:00:00.000Z

Our laundry sink cupboard is broken. Hmmm, I wonder how that happened?

Bike

2009-03-10T11:30:00.004Z

Perhaps in an effort to take our mind off Ava's deformities* we all had a play around on 'Big Dada's Bike' (so named because the bike is big, not because Dada is. Okay, Leggo?)

Ava 'bikie-chick' Ross

And can I just point out that this is as close to being a 'bikie-chick' as Ava is ever going to be allowed to get. Motorbike toting boyfriends will be given short shrift indeed....

Jonty. And in the interests of fairness and gender equality I should point out that there is no way the boys are going to be allowed to have a bike either. If they want to ride they're going to have to wait until they are middle-aged sados like me.

Lonan. It was in fact his idea to jump on the bike which resulted, naturally, in me duck-walking my way up and down the path over and over again so everyone could have turns.

Incidentally, I'm dressed like a traffic cone because I'd been out in the field doing some water quality sampling, not because this is my 'cool biker gear'.

Brrmm, brmmm - oh, what fun...(Oh, who am I kidding, it's obvious I'm throughly enjoying myself)

*Alright, look, I figure by the time she's old enough to read this Ava will have developed a sense of humour which will enable her to understand the use of light-hearted comments to help mitigate serious situations.** Ideally, of course, she will have developed my sense of humour, in which case this whole blog will be an absolute laugh riot for her. Alternatively she may - sadly - acquire a normal (i.e. mature) sense of humour and, like Breda, simply, er, humour me.

**Not that it's that serious. I feel I may have made too much of a drama over the last post. It's only dodgy ears and trouble sleeping. It's not like she's been diagnosed as French, or anything.

An Ava Update

2009-02-26T12:16:00.009Z

I'd like to take a minute to talk about Ava.

Ava has some funny ways which are uniquely all her own:

She still sucks her thumb; a habit the boys never picked up.
She seems to need sleep more than the boys, who have pretty much kissed goodbye to afternoon naps altogether, thank you very much.
She doesn't talk as well as the boys. Oh sure, she talks a lot, it's just that little of it is understandable.
She sleeps in the most uncomfortable looking position, with her head thrown right back like she's trying to break her own neck.
She snores like a solider.
She does this very annoying thing when we drive in the car of saying 'Mama! Mama! Mama!' over and over again regardless of how many times Breda answers her.

We thought these traits (except possibly the last one) were endearing.

But then Breda talked to a health-visitor. And then Breda took her to a Doctor. And then Breda took her to a Specialist.

And it turns out that things are not quite so rosy in the world of Ava:

She has sleep apnoea which is why she snores and why she is always tired.
This, apparently, can cause her developmental problems in later life (approximately 18 months behind her peers)
The Specialist wants her to go to a sleep clinic overnight so they can hook her up to monitors and evaluate her

But that's not all:

She is also, apparently, deaf
Okay, so not really deaf, but unable to hear properly. Hence the 'Mama! Mama!' in the car. Ava can't hear Breda reply unless Breda turns around to look at her (which, let's face it, is hardly likely to make her any more dangerous on the road that half the other idiots out there)
It seems that Ava has a large amount of fluid in her ears (glue ear) which the Specialist is not sure he can cure with the months supply of antibiotics he's given us
If the drugs don't work she'll probably have to have grommets fitted
In the meantime I spend time each evening reading her books and trying to get her to pronounce words properly ('S' is a problem. But then so is 'D', 'B', 'N' and 'TH' and I'm pretty sure you can get by throughout life without any of those...)

Poor Ava.

Cross-dressing

2009-02-26T11:54:00.004Z

Ah time, why did you desert me?

Nothing to see here but some quick photos of my gender-confused children. Ava seems to have gotten the hang of the whole guitar-hero pose, though.

Meanwhile, Lonan's gone all 'Stop in the name of love...'

And Jonty, well he just makes a fine lookin' girl; handbag and all.
Forgive me my son.

(And yes, Ava's glasses are on upside down. She can't be persuaded that they really do work better the other way.)

Pretty cute, I reckon. But then I might be biased...

Tea for two

2009-02-14T11:54:00.008Z

Er, pretty much what it says in the title...

...but cuter

Big grown up beds

2009-02-14T11:27:00.007Z

Well, it had to happen eventually. Yet another fallen barrier in the kids growing up.

Yes indeed, we've moved the kids into big boy (and girl) beds. And okay, we know, we know, it was soooooo far overdue that it wasn't funny. Friends have had their kids in proper beds since they were just 1 year old, whereas ours have suffered the ignominy of sleeping in cots until they are almost three. It's our fault, we just couldn't face the whole having to chase them around the house and try to put them back into bed a hundred times each game. So, we procrastinated. And then we delayed. And waited a bit. And put it off a while. And suddenly we could hardly lift their grown up bodies over the sides of the cots without doing ourselves serious damage and had to admit, finally, that it was time to let them grow up some more.

In retrospect we seem to have worried for nothing. So accustomed to their restraining cot sides had the kids become that for several days they didn't even try to get out of their beds, rather hovering on the very edge until we came and released them. Now, of course, they've figured it out and the boys can be found rolling about together on the floor in fits of screaming laughter many hours after being 'put to bed'. However this doesn't worry us too much as, as yet, nobody seems to have figured out that they can actually leave the room as well. Institutionalised? What, our kids?

Jonty sharing his big bed with 'Big Dada Turtle' (and also often with 'Mama Turtle' and 'Baby Turtle' and 'Other Baby Turtle' and 'Other Baby Turtle' and 'Other Baby Turtle' etc, etc. Nothing, apparently, in life is worthwhile unless it contains a turtle)

Jonty and friend

Jonty

Lonan meanwhile sleeps with an array of items but the one constant remains 'Gita-Gita' (previously reported as being 'Duk-Duk' but that little mistake has been cleared up, thank you very much, by Lonan)

Lonan

And Ava's bed is 'this big'...

Ava

Of course what's the point of having a big bed if you can't have some friends over to stay?

'Best get down the cellar, Ma. There's trouble a-brewin'...'

Dadda's eye sore.

2009-02-14T11:16:00.008Z

Hmm, it would appear that I am not blind after all. In fact my vision is improving daily - it's a bit odd at the moment as I'm actually far sighted (20/35 & 20/40) as they over correct the surgery and then let your eyes settle back to normal over about six weeks. Meanwhile I can read the code number on a passing satellite but still have to squint to read close up. Odd.

The surgery itself was pretty easy. Because my corneas were a bit thin I couldn't have the normal method where they lift a flap of skin, do the lasering and put the skin back. In my case they had to remove the whole skin, do the laser thing, and then put a contact over my eye for five days while the skin grew back. This procedure is actually safer and yields better results but takes longer to heal and is more painful.

The procedure takes about 40 minutes and most of that is preparing the eyes (the actual laser takes less than a minute per eye). In my case I had a couple of drops of anesthetic (my eyes held open ala A Clockwork Orange), then rings kind of like you use to make pretty round poached eggs were put over my cornea and acid dropped in to dissolve the skin. The really weird bit came next when the doctor used a blunt instrument which felt like the rubber on the end of a pencil to scrape the skin off my eyeball. Very strange indeed but, surprisingly, not particularly unenjoyable. Once my eye was cleared of all that pesky protective skin I was rotated under the laser and told to look at the red light (or more correctly, from my point of view, the red blur). There was then a soft 'wrrrrrrrrrrr' noise as the laser did its thing and my nostrils were filled with the sickly-sweet smell of my own burning flesh (for those who are interested it smelt a lot like the odour you get when you put a cow bone through a bandsaw). A couple of moments later I was whizzed out, the other eye was prepped, the laser when 'wrrrrrrrr', I fried a bit more and, lo, I was all done.

An artist's impression of what my eyes probably looked like. Note the temptingly crispy texture of the corneas. Mmmmm, eyes...

Of course although it was all over for me it was just beginning for Breda who had to nurse me back to health. I was pretty much bedridden for two days, had very hazy sight for around a week and couldn't drive for about nine days. Breda was a great nurse and the kids were fascinated; following me everywhere chanting 'Dadda's eye sore, Dadda's eye sore, Dadda's eye sore...' with genuine and touching concern.

Lonan decided that his eye too was sore and insisted on wearing the covers I had to prevent me rubbing my eyes in my sleep.

He took the whole thing very seriously and lay completely still, refusing to smile or talk expect to say 'Lonan's eye sore' with great gravitas and sadness. He actually looked genuinely relieved when I eventually took the covers off and said 'Lonan's eye better'. I think he'd managed to convince himself that he really was ill. It was oddly sweet seeing him looking so small and vulnerable but it does beg the question of where, exactly, he inherited such a gift for melodrama?

So, in summary; eyes = good. Now, how long till I can start pushing for that skydiving thing again..?

Valentine's Day - the difficult years...

2009-02-14T10:28:00.004Z

Breda and I have never really been into the whole Valentine's Day malarkey, tending to treat it mostly as a convenient excuse to loll about on the couch of an evening and drink champagne. However we occasionally get enthused enough to swap cards and it is here that I have discovered yet another unfair fact of middle age.

When looking for a card this morning (yes, this morning, actual Valentine's Day morning. Like I say, not a real fan...), I found myself confronted with two basic choices. I could either go the thinly disguised - but oh so hilarious - sexual innuendo route or the sickly saccharine hearts and flowers route. There were cards aimed squarely at those couples for whom the first flush of lust had not been blunted and cards for those couples who had reached the age where risque jokes were better replaced by pictures of sunsets, fluffy puppies and large print.

For a couple who have known each other for 19 years, who have energetic triplet toddlers and who have managed to fall straight to sleep (missing dinner and shows) on every romantic weekend since the arrival of said toddlers; there did not appear to be a suitable card.

Therefore Valentine's Day cards are out until someone comes up with one which reads. 'To my darling wife. I love you more than the moon and the...actually do you know where my socks are...oh, hang on, I think one of the kids need changing...say, the other two are being very quiet...oh my god, what the hell happened in this room...quick get a mop, some industrial strength disinfectant and, no, actually, maybe we'll just move house...hey, what were we talking about before...no I can't remember either...is it too early to have a drink?'

Hrruah!

2009-02-11T11:50:00.002Z

Wlel, the eye srgurey is fnisiehd und now I hvae ntuaarl and pcefert eyesghit. Tentwy-tentwy. I konw tihs is ture bcesaue my dcotor tlod me so. Waht a rileef too bee albe to sea celraly aigan...

I could see but now I am blind.

2009-02-03T04:51:00.006Z

Happy 40th Birthday to me! Okay, so I realise that, in fact, my birthday was about six months ago (In July. Because I am a Cancerian. The nicest of all the star signs. Loyal, pleasant, easy-going, self-effacing and staggeringly good looking. All those who have Cancerian partners should give thanks to the deity of their choice and immediately go and apologise for being too boorish and oaf-like to understand that it's not excessive sensitivity and over emotionality but rather the twin gifts of perceptive universal awareness and exceptional intelligence which makes us so bloody awful to live with. Philistines).

The thing is, only now am I to receive my 40th Birthday present which, as you will remember, was put to you nice people for a vote. And you chose for me to undergo laser eye surgery and so, dutifully, I go under the knife tomorrow, er, laser. My dearest hope is that something goes terribly wrong with the procedure and, somehow, the laser beams become trapped in my head, ready to be shot out of my eyes at people for future minor annoyances (See? Canerians - nice people). Failing that I guess I'll just have to hope for improved vision.

Of course there is the chance that things may go very wrong indeed and that tonight will be the last time I ever get to look upon the angelic smiling faces of my darling children (What? Oh yes; and Breda. Of course). If the worst happens I just want you to know that I blame each and every one of you. I was perfectly happy to jump out of airplanes.

If the next post is written in Braille you've no one to blame but yourselves.

Who has time to write?

2009-01-30T11:34:00.010Z

Life skips, leaps and bounds ahead like an over enthusiastic puppy on speed; and we, we poor mortal few, struggle to keep up - let alone update our blogs.

What a busy few days it has been. I've found a sailing club where I can race catamarans once a week after work, so that helps sate the sailing bug. Plus Breda has made friends with girls whose husbands own speed boats and boatyards and wooden sailing boats and belong to the local Yacht Club (capital letters 'cause it's posh). What a clever girl.

We still have children, but they are growing and developing so fast that it's hard to keep up.

Lonan remains the cheekiest of cheeky boys but, unfortunately, has taken on the mantle of Tantrum King from Jonty. However where Jonty would scream, destroy and move on, Lonan just keeps up a continual, never ending stream of whining and complaining. He didn't get it from my side. No, he didn't. No. He. Didn't.

As implied above, Jonty seems to have gotten over the worst of his tantrums (oh god, you fool, don't put that in writing...). Since discovering Finding Nemo he is obsessed with all things Turtle, which sounds cute, but I mean obsessed. He's also heavily into the beach and loves swimming and playing in the surf with his old man.

Ava meanwhile remains an absolute dote and is nothing but pleasant to be around - provided meals are on time and no one interferes with her sleep. We've had some concerns about her hearing and it appears she's got pretty bad glue ear and maybe a bit more. We're booked in to see a specialist so will know more anon.

So, that's our kids but what about everyone else's?

Here our three triplets enjoy an Australia Day long weekend BBQ with another set of 2 year old triplets. It's great having another couple with triplets as we have someone who can relate to the problems (er, I mean 'challenges', obviously) specific to multiples. Actually, they know even more than us as they have a 6 year old as well. I finally got the chance to 'You've got your hands full' to someone else. Hurrah!

Of course it's also great when they all sit down and shut up for a minute. Hurrah!

Someone left the chalk lying around and now I've got the trendiest lawnmower in town. Hurrah!

But that's not all. We also know another couple who have triplets. And another couple who have triplets. We also know that there is another couple with triplets but we haven't meet them yet. That's five sets of triplets in a town of 67,000. We were all alone in Southampton (pop. 217,000) but come to sleepy little Mandurah and you can't swing a screaming child without falling over another set of multiples.

I'm planning to get them all little black leather jackets with a skull and crossbones and 'Mandurah Multiples' patched on the back. Hah! Give us a week and we'll own this town!

'Man on the Edge' The official statue of Mandurah city.

And then there's work, with long days and late nights getting a complicated proposal out (complicated by other people, natch). But that is done now and just in time to enjoy the authentic Aussie BBQ experience at Friday lunch which contained such delicacies as Emu sausages, crocodile sausages and kebabs, rissoles (with authentic gristly bits) and, of course, witchetty grubs (which taste a bit like liver, only gritty)

'Mmm...invertebrates'

What's in a word?

2009-01-19T23:29:00.004Z

There is power in words.

Why else would history remember great writers alongside Kings and Statesmen if they too had not changed the world? The pen is indeed mightier than the sword, provided, of course, that you don’t plan to duel with it.

On the other side of the coin any word continually repeated loses its power. Don’t believe me? Try repeating ‘dowry’ to yourself out loud. Before long it creases to even be a word and becomes as monosyllabic as a caveman’s grunt. Now repeat the exercise but this time replace ‘dowry’ with ’no’.

Some days it seems to me that ‘no’ is the only word that comes out of our mouths.

‘No, Ava, you can’t play with that knife!’

‘No, Lonan, you can’t eat the neighbour’s cat!’

‘No, Jonty, you can’t set your sister on fire!’

And yet, as reasonable as these ‘no’s sound to us, the word doesn’t seem to have any effect at all on the kids. They’ve heard it too often.

‘No, you can’t have another story; you have to go to sleep’ sounds to them exactly the same as ‘No, you can’t open daddy’s car door by beating on it with a hammer and a screwdriver’ (true story, unfortunately). Both scenarios equal someone trying to deny them the fun which is rightfully theirs.

The obvious solution therefore is to ignore the ‘no’ word as if it doesn’t exist in their toddler vocabulary. And they could get away with this - if they didn’t keep using it on us.

‘C’mon kids, it’s time to clean our teeth before bed’
‘No, teeth!’

‘C’mon kids, it’s time to go in the car’
‘No, car!’

‘C’mon kids it’s time to buy an enormous ice cream and run around like sugar-crazed nutters’
‘No, ice cream and sugar nutters!’

How can a simple word be so equally powerless and tyrannical at the same time?

'Cause it's hot, hot, hot.

2009-01-15T23:52:00.001Z

The temperature here is back up around the 40 degree mark again.

Apparently this is hot.

I wouldn't know as I leave my air-conditioned house, get into my air-conditioned car*, get on my air-conditioned train, walk through the air-conditioned station, hop on my air-conditioned bus which takes me to my air-conditioned office.

To be honest I spend most of the day wishing I had a jumper.

*Actually there is a bike involved here but 'air-conditioned bike' didn't read properly and anyway the air-conditioning element is solely related to the speed you are doing at the time and, apparently, there are laws about this. Also looking around it seems that I'm the only bloke in Australia who doesn't ride his bike wearing shorts and t-shirt. It's not that I'm not hot in my gear, it's just that gravel-rash is so not my colour...

The danger that lurks beneath

2009-01-12T11:20:00.003Z

(Warning: Contains reference to poo)

What a very pleasant weekend.

On Saturday we just hung out for the morning. We are doing more of this 'just hanging out' stuff and all really enjoying it. Lazy weekends just hanging with the kids. Who woulda thunk it?
Late morning we took the kids for their first ride on the train I catch to work every day (Daddy's whoo-whoo). We'd only intended to go one stop but they enjoyed themselves so much we stayed on board for a bit longer.

In the afternoon we went to the beach where things degenerated slightly as Jonty decided to use the public setting to practice his tantrums (he's pretty much got these nailed by now and I reckon he could stop practicing anytime he likes...)

On Sunday we hung out some more and then went back to the beach for a very pleasant afternoon (followed by a BBQ at home. Jeez, living in Aussie sucks...)

The thing is, we've got a large kid's paddling pool in the back yard when the weather is hot (i.e. all the time at the moment). This is great except for two things. First, a few weeks ago I was having a bath with all the kids when one (who shall remain nameless) did a poo in the bath. This in itself wasn't a huge deal (despite the frenzied throwing out of the bath of small children before they could grasp and joyfully play with the new floaty toy) and was bound to happen sooner or later.

Unfortunately the kids love the paddling pool so much, and get so excited whenever they're in it, that at random moments they scream with pure joy 'Daddy! Daddy! Swimming Pool!' Unfortunately they can't pronounce the 'l'...and so what I hear is 'Daddy! Daddy! Swimming Poo!' which results in me leaping to my feet - eyes desperately scanning the suddenly treacherous waters - and rapidly throwing said small children out onto the grass. Which, let's face it, is not relaxing for any of us.

They certainly didn't warn us about this sort of thing in the parenting classes...

A long time coming...

2009-01-08T03:46:00.005Z

At last...

I've been trying to post this video for ages but it would never work so I've had to go the YouTube route.

This is an old video of the kids but probably my favourite. As well as being funny I like how it captures their personalities. Lonan and Ava are just having a whale of a time (particularly Lonan for whom this appears to be absolutely the funniest thing in the world. I also like how Ava's paper moustache grows as the video goes on). Jonty meanwhile is completely absorbed in his self-imposed task of burying the couch - this is not childish fun for Jonty, he's got a serious job to do.

Anyway, I hope it's been worth the wait...

‘But how do you know when they’re ready?’ ‘I don’t know, but when they know, you’ll know, you know?’

2009-01-06T11:13:00.003Z

Breda – ‘I think they’re ready’

Trevor – ‘It’s too soon’

B – ‘No, I’m pretty sure they’re ready now’

T – ‘Why the rush? There’s plenty of time’

B – ‘The rush is because they are ready now. C’mon, we can’t procrastinate forever’

T – ‘I just don’t think they’re ready yet’

B – ‘Yes, they are’

T – ‘No, they’re not’

B – ‘Yes, they are’

T – ‘No, they’re not’

B – ‘Yes, they are’

T – ‘No, they’re not’

A week passes…

B – ‘Yes. They. Are’

T – ‘No. They. Aren’t’

B – ‘Well, Ava is. You have to admit that’

T – ‘Weeell, okay, maybe…’

B - ‘Oh come on, she’s definitely ready’

T – ‘Maybe’

B - ‘Definitely’

T – ‘Maybe and anyway the other two aren’t’

B – ‘Yes, they are’

T – ‘No, they’re not’

B – ‘Yes, they are’

T – ‘No, they’re not’

B – ‘Yes, they are’

T – ‘No, they’re not’

Another week passes…

B – ‘Are. Are. Are.’

T – ‘Not. Not. Not’

B – ‘Are’

T – ‘Not’

B – ‘Are’

T – ‘Not’

Enter Ava who, without a word to anyone, drops her nappy, sits on one of the potties left lying around, does a poo and proudly brings it over to show us.

B – ‘Told you they’re ready’

T – ‘Umm…yeah…okay…damn’

And so we have started toilet training.

God help us.

God help us all.

The three fairies of Ross

2009-01-01T11:11:00.009Z

And lo, did Father Christmas appoint Ava Ross to the post of 'Chief Fairy and Boss of All Boys'

'Rejoice ye all, for it is me, Ava the Magnificent, defender of truth, wiper of spills and lover of all things girly'

'I must dash, my fairy-sense tells me there is trouble a-foot (or - for you more metric minded - trouble a-30cm).'

'Aha, it is I, Lord Lonan, destroyer of other's toys, particularly those things that they have spent ages making, you know, like block towers and jigsaw puzzles and drawings of fish and those little foldout flaps in pop-up books.'

'Behold my fury as I cast my spell which will see all mankind enslaved forever and...wow, isn't my wand all sparkly and pretty...now where was I, oh yeah - enslaved forever and...oh look, it's got lovely ribbons on it too....'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm here too. I'm the fairy of mellowness and all things chilled - just so long as everything goes my way...'

'Okay? Duuude...'

And the winner of most elegant and delicate fairy pose goes to...

...

...my man, Jonty. Of course.

Dreamin' of a torrid Christmas...

2008-12-30T10:56:00.024Z

Ah, Christmas. Mistletoe, roasted chestnuts, snow falling gently from the sky, a roaring fire in the heath, a steaming cup of mulled wine and a red robin singing his Christmas cheer outside the window. Yes indeed, these are just a few of the things you won't find at a Perth Christmas... What you will find instead is 35 degree heat, cold salads, swimming pools, beaches and an inbox fill of emails nagging me to get off my arse and do a blog post. Damit people, I'm supposed to be on holiday here...oh well, never mind about me getting any rest, then. I'll just spend my free 30 seconds in the day posting this, shall I? No, no, don't bother feeling guilty about it, I'm here now so let's just get on with it, shall we. Bah, humbug, indeed.

Obviously the kids are still just a bit young to really get Christmas this year but in an effort to build up some excitement we sat them down on Christmas Eve and explained what was going to happen the next day...
Loving parents - '...and then Santa comes and delivers a huge pile of presents - just for you!'
Lonan - 'Santa!'
Jonty - (thinks) 'Hmm, I'm not sure about this but I'll keep strum for the moment...'
Ava - 'Presents! Presents! Presents!'

Evil parents - 'Of course Santa might get lost on his way from the North Pole and crash in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, never to be seen again'
All - 'Noooooooo'

Lonan and Jonty - 'Sob, poor Santa all alone in the cold dark night...'
Ava - 'But we still get presents, right?'
Contrite parents - 'Yes, honey'
Ava - 'Presents! Presents! Presents!'

A tree stands, lonely and barren...

...and then the miracle of Christmas (i.e. Mastercard) occurs.

And so the chaos that is unwrapping presents begins...
...or rather it doesn't.
We got the kids out of bed and, talking up the fact that Santa had been and left lots of presents and that it was very exciting and oh goody goody goody, we led the kids into the lounge to proudly show them the magical Christmas tree. The kids reactions were...less than hoped for. Ava ran straight over to the tree, her little eyes aglow with awe and materialistic lust. Lonan threw himself to the ground and started to cry. Jonty ran screaming back to his room, slammed the door and was only persuaded to come back if he could hide on the couch instead.

Jonty being forcefully removed from his hiding place under the couch cushions by cruel Uncle Dermot.
Hmmm, perhaps we didn't get that Christmas Eve talk quite right.

Breda - 'I wonder if it's too early to fill this with G&T yet..?'

Ava's train, a huge hit (actually, all presents appeared to be Ava's, she just generously allowed the boys to play with some)

Triplets happily sharing their toys in the spirit of Christmas. Or at least doing so for as long as it takes to snap this photo.

Lonan, swag.

I didn't buy Dermot anything so instead let him take my bike for a spin, albeit with the motor off and the stand down. It's the thought that counts, right?

And so to Christmas lunch. In traditional Southern Hemisphere fashion this consisted of cold salads and a BBQ. This gave me the chance to try out my new chicken cooking toy. Basically you stick a large tube up the chickens bum, fill it with liquid of your choice (in this case, beer) and bake it in the BBQ for two hours. I can testify that this makes a most enjoyable meal. Although probably not for the chicken.

Christmas lunch in the back yard, showing the big and little people's tents.

Special little people tent and table.

What better way to digest than a walk along the cliffs at the beach?

Walking...

...and riding bikes down 'Deadman's Hill'

And finally - a chance to cool off in a friends pool.

Dermot, really missing his white Christmas.

MERRY CHRISTMAS ALL

Life on an ocean wave

2008-12-22T10:42:00.010Z

We took advantage of the sunny weather (and, incidentally, the extra pair of adult arms provided by Dermot), to take the kids out on a boat ride around the Mandurah canals and estuary. I was a bit worried that the kids would freak and we'd be back at the wharf in 10 minutes but the sailor genes kicked in and they were every inch the jolly jack tars.

The Swiss Family Ross(inson)

Er, and again - but in a slllllightly different pose. Riveting stuff, eh.

It was but the work of moments for the young powder monkeys to displace Capt'n Ross and assume command for the good ship 'SS Triple Trouble' (please God, if I ever get another boat don't let me name it something like that...)

Lonan - skipper. Dad - superfluous.

We cruised the canals, gawked at the multi-million dollar houses...

...and marvelled at the, ahem, tasteful Christmas decorations. It was all going so well and then Unca Dermot took the helm...

"Though related to a peer,

I can hand, reef, and steer,
And ship a selvagee;
I am never known to quail
At the furry of a gale,
And I'm never, never sick at sea!"

"What, never?"
"No, never"
"What, never?"
"Well, hardly ever"

"Do you think we should jump?"
"I'm keen if you are"

Who are we kidding? A ship can only have one Captain. And we all knew who that was going to be.

Hang on, there was a little girl missing from that last post...

2008-12-18T12:49:00.006Z

Ah, there she is.

Calling Granny on the phone.

Dermot

2008-12-18T12:00:00.007Z

Breda's brother, Dermot is visiting. So while I'm slaving away at work to put bread on the table they're all having a lovely time in the summer sun (which has finally arrived with a vengeance)

Uncle Dermot is an instant hit, gaining the honourable title of 'Dih-dih', which translates as 'He who can be fooled into doing anything we want' in the old language.

The boy's chillin' in the shade. But wait, where is Lonan during all this?

Oh, right, of course...

And apparently, in my absence, the house is filled with the sound of music and, er, aerobics?

Fun in the back yard

2008-12-14T23:36:00.008Z

Who needs water to enjoy a paddling pool?

Ava may be small but she's game...