The week that was…

Lately (like for the last three years) they boys have really been fighting sleep, especially during the day.  On Tuesday day, Paddy fell asleep on the couch but snoozing was definitely not on Bede’s agenda and before I knew it, he was waking Paddy up.

Me: “oh Bede, please don’t wake him up”.

Bede: “Oh sorry mum, Paddy said to wake him up”.

Paddy: “Thanks for waking me up Bede.  Can I please have a cheese sandwich?”

Me: Oh well, I guess we don’t even try to do this day time sleep thing anymore.

The other thing they’ve started doing is saying, more like screaming ‘I want Nanny.  I want to go to Nanny’s’ as soon as they get upset, tired or something doesn’t go their way.  Which, as threeangers, is fairly often.  But I quite like that they have this association with Nanny, because at least they’ll always have someone in their corner when the chips are down, like when they can’t have chocolate milk at 10pm.

The other interesting things that happened at our place this week are related to our ever expanding menagerie.  On Wednesday, I’d planned to maybe clean the house but definitely catch up on the latest season of ‘House of Cards’ whilst the boys were at daycare but we all know what happens to the best laid plans…I ended up driving to Edenhope to see a man about a lamb.  And then bringing him home.  The lamb, that is.

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I had grand plans of calling the little bloke Paul Keating – to match my other sheep named Barry Jones and Philip Adams, mostly because I love the idea of those great minds out in the paddock chewing the fat and solving the problems of the world.  So, for a blissful few hours, he was named Paul Keating.  But then, the little masters came home, saw him, fell in love and immediately declared him Darth Vader.  I tried in vain to say ‘no, his name is Paul Keating.  Don’t you think that’s a good name?  You can just call him Paul or Keating.’  However, they were adamant that his name was Darth Vader.  So I now find myself calling out, ‘hey Darth Vader, come and have your milk’ and ‘oh good boy Darth Vader’ – I’m not sure what the real Darth Vader would think about this situation.  Even though he’s a merino, I got him a weatherproof jacket to keep him warm in the absence of other sheep and I thought he’d be chuffed.  He wasn’t.  And the next morning I found the state of the art jacket on the ground covered in frost and Darth happily sitting at the back door, apparently warm enough.

After a day or so, I thought that maybe he would be happy being with his own kind and so I planned a move into the big paddock which didn’t quite go to plan.  Whilst Buttercup the lovely lady goat was quite friendly to him, Barry and Philip didn’t come anywhere near him, Aly -paca was having a conniption about the fact that she may now be expected to care for not only a lamb but two excited toddlers and Jimmy was really not keen on his new roomie.  Now, Jimmy is a desexed, dehorned mini goat so on paper, he should be a pretty placid sort of a bloke.  But he’s not.  He’s a one woman kind of goat and luckily for me, I’m that woman.  He takes exception to everything and everyone else by head butting them.  Darth Vader included.  Then he head butted Paddy for trying to climb onto his (that is, Jimmy’s) trampoline.  Cue Paddy getting really upset, telling me to be cross at Jimmy and then stating loudly and repeatedly that he would really like to go to Nanny’s.  Shane claimed that the animals would sort it out, that Darth would be fine and since it was dark and cold, we should go inside and reassess in the morning.  I reluctantly agreed because I needed to lock the chooks up and cook dinner.

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Of course the chooks chose this night to decide to roost on top of their house instead of in it.  So I had to pick them up, put them in and then quickly shut the gate.  Phew.  Now to make broccoli and blue cheese soup that no one will eat.  And then, horror of horror, I saw a bloody mouse.

Friday morning and before I could hit the road back again to Yarrawonga I had a few loose ends to tie up.  Poor Darth Vader was at the gate crying and the rest of the gang were at the other end of the paddock – what bullies.  So I brought him back to the house where he was much happier.  I let the chooks out and discovered that a rogue pigeon had stowed away in their coop for the night which is probably why they were hesitant to get in there, but I eventually liberated them all.  And as I was packing, the boys were crawling along the floor saying ‘hey mum, mum, I’m a mouse stuck in a trap.  Do you like mice mum?’  Finally on the road and I forgot to restock the cds so it’s pretty safe to say that I am beyond sick of Peter Coombe and bloody Mr Clickety Cane.  But, here we are at Nanny’s and Shane has a few pages of lists of things to do to keep the menagerie ticking over until we’re back.  I wonder what the next week will bring?

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