Wiggles
He used to get the Wiggles
Just once or twice a week
I saved them up for the days
Without an arvo sleep
But now he hears a single word
That associates with them
Hot potato, fruit salad
Hammer, dance and sing
It doesn't help that now he sleeps
Only every second day
I need to find activities
To keep his mind at bay
We paint, we draw, we walk outside
We even hang the clothes
We look at books, we play with cards
Trains, some cars, his nose
It doesn't matter what we do
Even if we've done his faves
He'll dance around and beg and plead
For Wiggles every day
And then when I say no
You've had them once this week
He lies upon the carpet
And his eyes, they spring a leak.
“My patience, resolutions and beliefs are tested to the limits – sometimes daily.”*
Right at this moment one of my challenges is the constant, tuneless whistling from my elder son. When my boys were babies it was getting them to sleep or trying to figure out why they were crying. On any given day now, it might be squabbling, fighting, teasing, screaming, shouting or rudeness. Who’d be a parent? We might well question ourselves after the event, but we can’t very well put them back! Just how we find those inner resources, how we constantly demand more of ourselves, how we keep marching up that hill with a smile on our face and gladness in our heart at the sight of our ‘babies’ is one of life’s mysteries.
* © from Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007