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Archive for September 2011

1. Yesterday morning, you made your own breakfast!! I talked you through each step, and you completed it to perfection – took the weet bix out of the box, squeezed a little honey on top, took out the milk, opened the bottle, poured it in (very carefully – didn’t spill a drop), put the milk away again, grabbed a spoon, and ate it all up. Then you went back for seconds because you thought you were so special. Which, of course, you are. I can’t believe how proud I am – I’ve been waiting for this moment for such a long time. Maybe tomorrow morning I’ll teach you to make toast. Then we’ll move on to cups of tea, and you can start making my breakfast!

2. Things are looking up at preschool again. Lately, you’ve been asking if you can go to preschool today, and you seem disappointed when I tell you that it’s not a preschool day. You’ve also been saying that you’d like Molly to start coming to preschool with you, which hopefully will be happening next year – probably not at the start (because it depends on finances), but at least part-way though. I had an interview with your teacher last week, and she loves you to bits. I loved hearing all of the wonderful things she had to say about you – how clever you are, how sensitive you are, who your friends are, and how you’re finally settling in. She really seems to ‘get’ you, and I’m so glad she’ll still be your teacher next year because you two seem to be developing a nice relationship. I’m so proud of you.

3. We recently moved your bed into Molly’s room, and you didn’t take it very well at first. I felt so guilty. I never realised how attached to your room you were. We made a deal with you that you would try it for five sleeps, and if you still didn’t like it then you could move back into your own room. However, after the first sleep we never heard another word about it. I think you enjoy having Molly for company in there. Since moving in, you’ve been coming into our room a bit less. So maybe two nights a week instead of three or four. I love how mature you’ve been about the whole thing.

4. Some Tiernan-isms that I’ve been meaning to write down for a while, before I forget them: attay (today); amorrow (tomorrow); asploded (exploded); bloon (balloon); scusting (disgusting); marlo (milo); ankoo (thank you); gurk (burp); elect (collect).

5. Taking you to playgroup, on the odd occasion that we actually make it, is becoming less of a chore, because you are a bit more familiar with the routine. For example, you know that the morning tea table is off-limits, so you don’t even bother trying to steal the food anymore. You’re also very good at involving yourself in whatever activity that takes your fancy. I’ve seen you playing alongside lots of different kids, with no troubles at all. Whether you’re playing with them, or just next to them, I’m not sure. Your preschool teacher says you have started to play with your preschool friends for short periods, before drifting away again to play on your own. At playgroup, I think you seem much more comfortable and able to engage with your peers without prompting. Maybe this is because you know I’m still there… not that you really need me much, only for food!

6. It’s kind of amusing, and kind of embarrassing when you walk up to people we don’t know (usually adults), and just have a chat. Amusing because you’re so cute and friendly, but embarrassing because sometimes you just won’t leave people alone, even when they clearly don’t want to talk to you.

7. As you get older, you’re getting a bit better at accepting the rules and boundaries we have in place. That doesn’t mean you don’t question them, or test them out, but you seem to have decided it’s better to just do as we say, at least 70% of the time. For example, your Dad and grandparents brought you, Molly and Neave to the river last weekend to watch me in the regatta. It was very busy, and also quite dangerous, with people carrying very long boats in and out of the water. We told you to stay on the grassed area, and keep out of people’s way, but apart from that, you were free to come and go from where we were standing. I watched you flit about for about 10 minutes, doing exactly as we had asked. Mostly, you went around chatting to people, which was funny to watch. Then you would come back to touch bases with us before running off down the hill again. It was nice to let you have some freedom, even though we were in such a busy environment. It’s something that we couldn’t have done a year ago. Also, because you were setting such a good example, Molly also decided to stay within the boundaries and romp around with you, rather than run away and get into mischief (which she generally does less often than you at the same age, but often enough to make things difficult!)

8. I know I say this every time, but kisses and cuddles with you. Often with, “I love you”s thrown in. Last night when I was tucking you in to bed, you said, “Mum, you’re beautiful!” Aww.

9. We have recently re-introduced ‘time out’ for you and Molly. We tried it just before Neave was born, but I think you were too little to understand the concept, and I really didn’t have the time or patience to implement it properly. I’m easing you in – at the moment you’re only expected to sit by yourself for two minutes (and Molly gets one), but you’ve taken to it pretty well, so I’m going to have to think of a way to increase this without upsetting you too much. Maybe in steps. Really we could call it ‘time in’, as you usually just sit to the side of wherever we are, within sight but not involved. I try to not to use it too much, but the behaviours that I’m targeting are hitting/pushing, bullying and rudeness/back chat. So far, you have responded really well, and you seem to understand that the point is for you to settle down and think about what has just happened and what to do differently next time the same situation arises. I’m so happy that we now have a more peaceful strategy for dealing with conflict. Not that there isn’t still yelling (on everyone’s side), but with practice, I’m hoping we’ll all get better at sorting ourselves out more quickly and quietly!

10. You’ve become quite good at answering the phone when I’m otherwise occupied (which is most of the time!) This reduces the number of missed calls I get, and has the added bonus of scaring away telemarketers who don’t stick around through the 20 questions you pose on answering the phone: “Hello, this is Tiernan….pause…..who is it?……pause……. ah, okay. Who is it?……..pause……..Hello, who is it?…….pause…….yes, my Mummy is here……..pause……who is it?” It goes like this no matter who calls, but if it’s your Gran or Nanny, they know to stick around until I get there. Everyone else just hangs up. You’re pretty good at talking on the phone when you know who you’re talking to, but you seem to have trouble recognising their voices if I haven’t told you who it is first, and you also seem to have trouble listening to them tell you who they are! Funny stuff, but really handy for screening calls.

With Gran's puppy, Barney!

Not so great:

1. I suppose it might be time to start weaning you from your ‘barty’ soon (blanket). At preschool, they have got you used to leaving it in your bag and only taking it out when you’re upset or tired. I’ve never really tried to stop you from using it. At home you are free to snuggle with it whenever you please, but I do only allow you to bring one barty with us when we go out, and I also usually try to get you to leave it in the car these days, in case we lose it. I’m curious to know, is there a certain age when comfort items are a ‘no-no’? Or do kids naturally lose interest as they get older, or start school? My only real concern is that you also suck your thumb when you cuddle your blanket, which is obviously something we don’t want to continue for too long. The affect on your teeth and palate is already in evidence – you have a cross-bite that will need braces when you are older, although this probably would have happened without the thumb-sucking anyway, since both your Dad and I had underbites and needed braces, too. For now, I still think the barty and thumb-sucking are cute, but I wonder for how much longer?

2. Some days you are brilliant at getting dressed and ready to face the day, and some days you are…. not. I get so sick of my own voice, trying to coax you out of your PJ’s so we can just go and do something! Sometimes the only thing that works is to just get Molly and Neave ready and then walk out the door without you. Then we have the panicky tears and the heart-broken look on your face as you wail, “Mama, don’t leave without me!”, and the frantic rush to get dressed because Molly and Neave are already outside, which means we have less than 10 seconds before they erupt at the delay. But do you learn for next time? No.

3. I mentioned above that you listen to us about 70% of the time. The other 30% of the time you really don’t. In fact, rather than do what we’ve just asked, you go ahead and do the exact opposite. Sometimes I think it’s only because we asked you. You’ve still got that smart-arse attitude about you, too. Although, it’s not as bad as it was.

4. We’ve only had one car for the last six weeks, which means your Dad gets home later than usual, as he’s relying on public transport to and from the train station now. He often gets home just before, or during dinner. And you go berserk. You might have been lovely all day, behaved reasonably, had a great time, no stress. But as soon as Dad gets home, you just get so silly. Hyperactive, all wound up, won’t listen to a thing we say. Inevitably, you end up being given a two-minute ‘time out’, which usually lasts at least ten minutes because you won’t settle down long enough to do it properly. It happens every night, and it sucks. I really hope that, since our second car is now back (First World problem, I know), that you will stop reacting so strongly to your Dad’s arrival home, because it will be earlier again and you won’t be so tired.

A teeny tiny beetle

Happy 3rd Birthday, Molly! You are growing up so fast.

1. I love, love, love, that you are now toilet-trained!! I love only having to buy one set of nappies each shop, and I love only having to deal with one stinky nappy each morning!! You were pretty easy to train, too. Not too many dramas. For two weeks, we had days when I though, “Aha, she’s got it!” and other days when I wondered why on Earth we were doing this at all. But then you really did get it, and it is wonderful. Thank you, you clever thing! Hopefully your poo-smearing days are over.

2. I love how expressive you are getting as you add more and more words to your vocabulary. On the morning of your birthday, you told us you were “Soooooooooo happy!” with your new oven. “Quick, I’d better get some groceries!” you added, before running off to find the play food. At the park recently, you were on the swing and the wind blew your hat off. You laughed and said, “I’ve got flippy floppy hair now!” You’ve also picked up a lot of phrases that I use (and some of Dad’s), and you’re very good at using them in context. The other day, Neave was pointing and whingeing for a balloon, but I was trying to dress her so didn’t respond. You eventually got sick of it, so you picked it up, marched over to her and thrust it into her hands, saying, “For goodness snakes!” Some other cute sayings of yours: “Peter Butter” for peanut butter; and “Aunty Cake” for Aunty Kate (which is extra cute, because your Aunty Kate used to call herself, and everyone else, ‘Cake’ too!)

3. I love how you like to pretend to be somebody different – usually Dora, but sometimes Dorothy the Dinosaur or a Fairy – and you won’t respond to your own name when you are in character. You say, “No, I’m Dora!” You also help me to remember who you are by speaking in narrative. You’ll say, “‘I’m going shopping’, said Dora… ‘I want a biscuit’, said Dora!”

4. You love sharing your bedroom with your big brother, and both have you have been pretty good at going to sleep despite each other’s presence. Pretty good, not perfect! We sometimes have to do some juggling around, with one of you going into the spare room to play quietly while the other sleeps or just rests quietly. But the whole experience has not been as awful as I imagined.

5. You often come into bed with us at night. Sometimes Tiernan is already there, sometimes you beat him to it. I quite like waking up with your little body next to mine, even if you do take up all of the room.

6. You are getting better and better at dressing yourself, particularly underpants and trackpants or skirts. You still need help with socks and shirts, but you can put your shoes on by yourself. It lightens my workload significantly!

7. You are still very cuddly and affectionate, and I love snuggling with you on the couch, when we have time. (Tiernan took this photo, by the way!)

8. We have been discussing body parts, particularly private body parts, a lot lately – you are fascinated. You’ve got the names down pat, but you like to remind us, and yourself, over and over. It’s going to get annoying soon, but at the moment I enjoy hearing your confidence as you tell me about your ‘bulva’ and ‘gina’, and how only you can touch them.

9. Ooh, I am itching to get you into dancing classes! You can certainly bust a move, and you love it so much. A little while ago, we went to the Rowing Club for dinner, and there were some people doing line dancing. You didn’t notice at first, but Tiernan did, and he edged over to the dance floor to have a look. Every now and then he would copy a little move, just quietly to himself. He wanted to join in but wanted to make sure he had it ‘right’ before he did. Then you saw what was going on. You marched straight into the middle of the dance floor, and joined right in. When you couldn’t do the moves exactly right, you just made up your own. Then you started dancing up and down the floor, (think Will Ferrell in Blades of Glory), huge grin on your face, just getting totally into it. Your Dad and I couldn’t breathe because we were laughing so much. People watching from other tables were laughing too, because you were so cute and just having a great time. Your confidence spurred Tiernan on, too, and he also joined in, although his moves weren’t quite so bold as yours. After the dance was over, you were keen for another, but we were asked to remove you from the dance floor. It was pretty disappointing, as you were having so much fun, and weren’t getting in the way. But I suppose the dancers were worried about tripping over you. So we had to tell you no. But, I’m hoping that next year we might be able to take you, and Tiernan if he wants, to dancing. I’ve held off for this long because it’s expensive, but also because I don’t want to overload you with too many activities from too young an age. But I think you’ll have a blast, so hopefully we’ll be able to get you into a nice, fun dancing class before too long.

10. I love listening to you and Tiernan play together (when it doesn’t dissolve into a screaming match). Your imagination is blooming as well as your vocab, and you are now able to contribute as much of the content of your games as he does. I also love that you’re just as into dinosaurs as he is. You’ve finally overcome your fear of his ‘roaring’ dinosaur toys, so you can join in with the action without having to run away whenever they emerge.

Not so fun:

1. Tantrums. Still. And probably for quite some time yet. I have to remind you to breathe sometimes.

2. Screaming. We are making some progress with getting you to say “No!” and talking calmly when Tiernan or Neave do something you don’t like, but it only lasts so long. Then you resort to screaming again.

3. You are such an early riser. That wouldn’t be such an issue if you were actually happy when you woke up at 5:30am, but you seem to be an early riser who doesn’t like being up early. Because you sulk and have tantrums and insist on a particular side of the bed, or make demands for weet-bix at ungodly hours. If you don’t want to be up, don’t get up!!!

4. The way you refuse to take any part in your bedtime routine (milk, story, brush teeth, toilet, bed, kisses, cuddles), unless I’m the one who carries out each step with you. If your Dad tries, a huge tantrum will ensue, and it will carry on until I give in, half an hour later. Then I have to be very patient and coax you, with false gaiety, through each step, lest the tantrum return. As we stand in the bathroom, arguing over who gets to hold your toothbrush, both of us are emotional wrecks, balancing precariously on the wobbly knife-edge between holding it together, and disintegrating into a mushy, wailing puddle. You: because you’re three and you’ve only just come out of such a state, anyway; and me: because I’m really, really crabby at having to do all this stuff when it’s most definitely your father’s turn and I’ve been dealing with this crap all effing day.

5. We are about to start some expensive speech therapy with you. It’s not your fault, but that doesn’t mean it’s not so great. You have a very big underbite, and it means you mispronounce lots of words. You’re also only three, which also means you mispronounce a lot of words, but the Speech Pathologist thinks it might be worthwhile seeing how you go with some sessions every now and then. Particularly with the ‘f’ sound, which is almost impossible for you to say, with your protruding tongue and bottom jaw. Instead, you say ‘st’. You count to 10 thus: “One, two, swee, store, stive, stix, steven, eight, nine, ten!” People don’t understand you when you talk about eating your ‘stish’ with your ‘stork’. Which you find very ‘stwustwating!’

We’ve had a busy week! With Molly’s birthday being mid-week, I found myself (as usual) preparing 3 separate cakes: one for daycare, one for her actual birthday and one for her family ‘brunch’ on the weekend. I decided to make a double batch of cupcakes early in the week, some of which I prepared for daycare, and some were frozen to be decorated on her actual birthday. Here they are:

And then there was her ‘brunch’ cake. The scariest project I have ever taken on. Tiernan had Boris, from the Dinosaur Train, for his cake this year, and so Molly decided she wanted one too. I didn’t want to do the same dinosaur again, so I convinced her to let me do Buddy, who is also from the Dinosaur Train, instead. She agreed, on the condition that it be a ‘girl’ Buddy. Deal.

Then, just to make things extra challenging, I decided I would try a 3D cake, covered in fondant. I’ve never attempted a 3D cake before. I’ve also never worked with fondant before. To try both for the first time in one go was pretty silly. But that’s how I roll. No matter the situation, I set the bar really high, and either get there and do well, or fall flat on my face. There are usually tears and tantrums, whether I succeed or not. I always realise afterwards that I was probably expecting too much of myself, but I never really learn not to do it again.

I did at least have a practice before deciding to go ahead with my ‘Girl Buddy’ design. I made a head on a smaller scale, and practiced with some fondant. I made lots of mistakes, and made notes about how to do better for the real cake. I also looked up some tutorials on You Tube for more tips. The design I decided on was loosely based on Tiernan’s toy Buddy, but I altered the body and legs a bit so the cake would be stable.

It all sounded great in my head. I would use a Dolly Varden tin to get a starting body shape, which I would then carve down to the shape I wanted. I’d also bake a square cake and use some of it for the tail, and the rest for the head. Then I would cover it, in sections, with fondant, and join them all together. Tricky, but not too bad (or so I thought). I was really looking forward to the challenge.

However, as ‘cake day’ loomed closer, I started to get nervous. What if it collapsed? What if I couldn’t get the fondant on smoothly? How does one actually use a Dolly Varden tin??? It all had to work perfectly, because there wasn’t a Plan B, and I’d already spent a small fortune on the various tools and paraphernalia that go with using fondant. The pressure was building. I had to remind myself a few times that I was the one who decided to do this, and that it was supposed to be fun. Relax and have a go. It’s a bloody cake!

I say ‘cake day’, but really it was ‘cake days’. The cake was to be made in three stages, over two days. This was because it was going to take a very long time to do. I didn’t have a very long time all in one day, because in the midst of all this birthday and ‘brunch’ stuff, was a regatta that was going to take up several hours on Saturday afternoon. With the brunch scheduled for Sunday morning (to allow for Tom’s cricket in the afternoon – we’re busy people), this meant that Stage 1: Cake Baking, had to occur on Friday.

Stage 1: Cake Baking didn’t go so well. I made a double batch of butter cake, poured it into my brand new Dolly Varden tin (which had been greased and floured first), set the oven temperature for about 150-160 degrees Celsius, and placed it on the bottom shelf so that the rim of the tin was in the centre of the oven. I knew to allow heaps of time for it to cook, so I didn’t even check it until just over an hour had passed. A skewer revealed that, while my cake had a nice crust on top, it was liquid in the middle still. Liquid. So I put it back in. When I checked it 20 minutes later, it had collapsed, it was still raw in the middle, and the outside was starting to look quite crispy. So I shoved it back in the oven and turned the heat up to 180 for ten minutes. Then I took it out and surveyed the damage. The inside (which was clearly visible through the gaping hole in the top) was at best ‘very moist’, and at worst ‘raw’. The outside was rock hard. Not burnt, but not far off it. Hmm. Now what?

While I pondered my dilemma, I put my nice, simple square cake into the oven, baked it for 35 minutes and heaved a sigh of relief when it came out perfect. We would at least have some cake that was edible, if I went ahead and used the collapsed cake anyway. But I was worried that the huge hole would mean that the body wouldn’t be able to support ‘Girl Buddy’s’ giant, heavy head. So, I decided to buy some cake mix and try again.

Two hours later, I had a cake that was worse than the first one. This time, I turned the oven temperature down a bit lower, about 140 degrees Celsius, and moved the bottom shelf up a little so that the top of the cake itself was closer to the centre of the oven. I thought the first cake must have collapsed because I checked it too early, so after an hour, I looked into the oven without taking the cake out. The first thing I noticed was another giant hole! The second thing I noticed was that the cake had barely risen, and it hadn’t even started to colour on top yet. After another half-hour, I pulled the cake out to have a look. It was tiny, shrivelled, very blonde, and soggy inside. Half an hour later there was really no change, so I gave up. When I removed it from the tin, the cake felt soft and rubbery. I think it would have bounced if I’d dropped it. Not good.

So, I was feeling pretty despondent about the whole project by Friday evening. I decided to just use the first cake, but only the head and tail would be edible. And I would have to just cross my fingers and hope that it would be strong enough to support the head. I had planned to commence Stage Two: Cake Sculpting that evening after the kids were in bed, but I knew I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Better to wait until morning.

So, Stage 2: Cake Sculpting began bright and early on Saturday morning. Using Tiernan’s little toy Buddy as a guide, I started hacking away at Dolly Varden Cake 1, and as ‘Girl Buddy’s’ body started to emerge, I felt a lot better about things. Nibbling on the offcuts, I also noticed that the cake wasn’t nearly as dry and horrible as I had first thought. But I was still sure the middle was going to be inedible. After the body was done, I went on to shape the tail and the head, and then cover all three with a thin layer of butter cream, to give the fondant something to stick to. And thus, Stage 2: Cake Sculpting, was completed in about four hours! Stage 3: Cake Covering had to wait until after the regatta (which, by the way, went rather well: I raced in a mixed double scull and came 2nd, and came third in a mixed quad scull. Both races were very tough, and left me wondering how I ever had considered myself fit! But I had fun, and can’t wait until the next regatta).

Stage 3: Cake Covering began at 9pm on Saturday. This part was the most fun, but also the most painstaking. I knew it was going to take hours. I hoped to be in bed by 1am. I didn’t get there until closer to 4am. Oh well, the end result was worth it. I managed to get the fondant on pretty well, with only a few lumps and bumps. Here are some photos I took along the way:

It was the tiny details, like painting the toenails and fingernails, and making the eyes and the diamonds down the dinosaur’s back that took the longest. But they looked pretty good when it was all over.

I was unsure what to do about the mouth, because Buddy’s mouth is open, and I couldn’t possibly have had an open-mouthed cake, it was too flimsy. In the end I just painted it on. I forgot to buy tic tacs to use as teeth, but I think they would have been too big, and probably would have made her look a bit goofy. I also thought about painting some on, but was worried that I wouldn’t be able to do it neatly enough. So I just left it.

So there she is, the completed Girl-Buddy. She took about 16 hours to create, and only minutes to demolish. But that’s how it’s meant to be.

And the inedible body that I got myself into a tizz over? Turns out it was pretty delicious! Nice and evenly cooked, perfectly moist, and only slightly underdone at the site of the hole, which wasn’t as big as I feared, and didn’t render the cake unstable at all. So maybe I’ll give the Dolly Varden tin another chance.

Here are some more pictures of the Birthday/brunch fun:

Molly’s new oven. I bought it online. In the picture, it was timber with a yellow door, and it had a clear window to look through. I was pretty disappointed when this purple and pink one turned up. We’ve definitely got enough purple and pink crap in our house already. I haven’t called the online store yet to complain, but I will. Molly was pretty thrilled with it anyway.

Birthday craft. It didn’t turn out quite the same as Mr Maker’s.

Wearing Molly’s new sunnies.

Weetbix. A quick wipe, and it’s mostly gone. But sometimes, you miss some. Therein lies the danger. Because missed weetbix becomes a magnet for more weetbix to cling to. The first spot of weetbix lies there, almost invisible to the naked eye, waiting to attract more of its kind. Each day, another layer of weetbix is added to the slowly growing weetbix colony. Eventually, with enough layers, the colony becomes too large to be contained in just one spot, and so it starts to spread. Amazingly, it is still virtually undetectable. A slight stickiness may be felt underfoot occasionally, but closer inspection will not reveal its source. Another day, another layer of weetbix. Soon, the colony will have covered all of the area underneath the baby’s chair, and will start to spread beyond its boundaries, and attempt to establish a foothold beneath the dining table. At this point, the the colony is both at its strongest, and its most vulnerable. It now has the sticking power of superglue. It can attract and adhere to almost anything: chair legs, dust motes, pet fur, shoes. However, it can also now be seen – it appears as a thin layer of furry, greyish scum. Sometimes, it may even be detected by the noise it makes as it attempts to catch hold of your shoe and keep it for its own. Discovering it spread from one end of the dining room to the other can be quite devastating. Destroying the colony will be laborious and slow, as vigorous scrubbing is required to break down the strong chemical structure of the weetbix. If you have floorboards, this is achievable in an afternoon.

If you have carpet, forget about it.

Only three weeks ago, I wrote about how I was still breastfeeding Neave (here), and how lovely that was and how it didn’t look like stopping any time soon. Well, now it’s all over! She has stopped asking, and I have stopped offering. I feel a little odd about it; it seems to have ended so abruptly. But I’m okay with it. She’s okay with it. That’s how it’s meant to be.

Actually, I suspect that, with a little time, I’ll be more than just okay with it. I’ll be pretty damned thrilled. Because I’ve been either pregnant, breastfeeding, or BOTH at the same time, for the last 4.9 years!! I’m going to enjoy having my body all to myself again.

Soon. Just let me adjust for a little bit first.

I like to play poker at my local pub. Once a week, if I can. Poker is still a male-dominated pursuit, although there are a handful of women who play each week, which is nice. I do find it intimidating to be the only woman amongst a bunch of men. It makes me shy, and I worry about saying or doing something that would make me seem foolish. So I say as little as possible. I’ve been playing on and off for a few years now, so experience has taught me which men are nice to sit with, and which men I should avoid, if possible. It’s usually their conversation that puts me off, more than anything they directly say or do to me. Only once have I thought that a guy really didn’t like me, simply because I was a woman. I’d taken a lot of chips from him by being a bit sneaky, and he took offense. He seemed to think that I should have bet honestly. Because the game if poker is founded on honesty, isn’t it?
Anyway, I was sitting on a final table the other night, with some of the men I usually try to avoid. The guy next to me told a sexist joke to the guy on his other side. He said it quietly, but I still heard. The joke was related to the conversation they’d been having, so it wasn’t an attack on me. But I felt pretty uncomfortable, especially when the teller then repeated the joke for the whole table to hear. They all laughed. I kept quiet. I thought about saying something, but decided not to bother. At least one of the other men (one of my favourites, actually) did point out that it was in fact sexist.
Should I have said something? I did find the joke pretty offensive. I’m not the kind of person who is easily offended, either. I can appreciate a joke, even if it is a bit off, sometimes. This one was just plain crass and un-funny. And I can’t help wondering what the guy telling the joke was thinking. Was he trying to single me out? Testing the boundaries? Or did he think I would find it funny, too? I don’t know.

What do you think? What would you have done? Have you had any similar experiences, and how have you dealt with them?

Some moments from this beautiful day:

Playing with Daddy in the morning.

Picnicking at Euroka in the afternoon.

Sleeping it off.

Happy Father’s Day!