his children, he enjoyed interacting with Irene from the
beginning. He often held the baby in his arms and rocked her back and forth to
put her to sleep or to sooth her.
Although
Dad enjoyed tactile involvement as a proud father, Mum was definitely the
expert with babies. I found her casual competence fascinating. When the twins
were little, I was often with her when she was changing them. She needed me to
keep one occupied while she attended to the other one. She would lay the baby
out on a ‘bunny rug’, push up his little singlet and rub his tummy playfully to
distract him while she undid the large safety pins on each side of his nappy.
Then she would quickly remove the dirty nappy, fold it over and place it to one
side. I loved the way she would lift up both his chubby legs in one hand, like
a trussed chicken, and wipe his bottom with a damp cloth. If he was red and
chafed she would rub Vaseline over his skin before lowering his bottom down
onto a clean nappy.
The
next step was to sprinkle talcum powder over the lower part of his body.
Sometimes she allowed me to do this. All during this process Mum would keep the
baby distracted by occasionally kissing his stomach, tweaking his nose or
talking to him with her face close to his. The final step was the trickiest to
manoeuvre because regardless of which twin it was, he hated having the new
nappy put on. However, Mum folded up the corners of the nappy and deftly
slipped the large safety pins through the folds of fabric before his protest
had a chance to get into full swing.
I
also helped her with other household chores. I don’t remember her ever asking
me to help. Being with her was a natural part of my life and she simply
included me in what she was doing. Sometimes we would pick fruit from the trees
in the orchard. Mum reincarnated this home grown fruit in various ways. She
made fruit pies, bottled some of it, stewed some of it and made much of it into
jam. I loved her plum jam because she always left the pips in. I enjoyed
discovering them in the jam that I spread thickly over my bread, and sucking on
them.
One
job we all wanted to do for Mum was collecting the eggs from the chook house.
We would fight to be the chosen one.
“Can
I, Mum? Can I? Can I?”
“I
wanna do it, Mum.”
“It’s
my turn. You did it yesterday.”
“I
wanna do it.”
Our
chooks were good layers so what we did not need for our own use Mum exchanged
for other foodstuffs such as milk from the dairy. Wrapping up the eggs was
another job she did with casual ease. She wrapped each one individually and yet
kept them together so that she ended up with a rectangular block of six eggs
snugly enclosed in newspaper.
One
Saturday morning about six months after Irene was born a new arrival of a
different kind had my father in a state of excitement.
Saturdays
and Sundays provided us kids with hours of adventure and wide open spaces to
ramble. Apart from the thrill of visiting the rubbish tip, we had sheep to
chase, rams to ride, blackberries and mushrooms to pick. We tried to entice
rabbits out of their burrows and startled goannas out of hollow logs. Having
the disadvantage of being a girl and younger than Bobby and Maxie, I was not
always permitted to roam about the countryside.
On
the Saturday morning of the new arrival, I was helping my mother in the
vegetable garden. Mum’s vegetable garden was extensive. Pumpkins sprawled all
along a side fence, potatoes grew in profusion among the rows of peas and beans
and tomatoes. She always had a large patch of rhubarb; a favourite vegetable of
hers. The vegetable patch was actually a source of delight and discovery for us
kids. We searched for hidden potatoes and watched to see how big the pumpkins
would get. We especially loved eating fresh pea pods straight off the vine. Mum
and I were picking peas on this day when the honking of a car horn interrupted
us.
The
twins, now almost five years old, were playing together close by. The two boys
had
beginning. He often held the baby in his arms and rocked her back and forth to
put her to sleep or to sooth her.
Although
Dad enjoyed tactile involvement as a proud father, Mum was definitely the
expert with babies. I found her casual competence fascinating. When the twins
were little, I was often with her when she was changing them. She needed me to
keep one occupied while she attended to the other one. She would lay the baby
out on a ‘bunny rug’, push up his little singlet and rub his tummy playfully to
distract him while she undid the large safety pins on each side of his nappy.
Then she would quickly remove the dirty nappy, fold it over and place it to one
side. I loved the way she would lift up both his chubby legs in one hand, like
a trussed chicken, and wipe his bottom with a damp cloth. If he was red and
chafed she would rub Vaseline over his skin before lowering his bottom down
onto a clean nappy.
The
next step was to sprinkle talcum powder over the lower part of his body.
Sometimes she allowed me to do this. All during this process Mum would keep the
baby distracted by occasionally kissing his stomach, tweaking his nose or
talking to him with her face close to his. The final step was the trickiest to
manoeuvre because regardless of which twin it was, he hated having the new
nappy put on. However, Mum folded up the corners of the nappy and deftly
slipped the large safety pins through the folds of fabric before his protest
had a chance to get into full swing.
I
also helped her with other household chores. I don’t remember her ever asking
me to help. Being with her was a natural part of my life and she simply
included me in what she was doing. Sometimes we would pick fruit from the trees
in the orchard. Mum reincarnated this home grown fruit in various ways. She
made fruit pies, bottled some of it, stewed some of it and made much of it into
jam. I loved her plum jam because she always left the pips in. I enjoyed
discovering them in the jam that I spread thickly over my bread, and sucking on
them.
One
job we all wanted to do for Mum was collecting the eggs from the chook house.
We would fight to be the chosen one.
“Can
I, Mum? Can I? Can I?”
“I
wanna do it, Mum.”
“It’s
my turn. You did it yesterday.”
“I
wanna do it.”
Our
chooks were good layers so what we did not need for our own use Mum exchanged
for other foodstuffs such as milk from the dairy. Wrapping up the eggs was
another job she did with casual ease. She wrapped each one individually and yet
kept them together so that she ended up with a rectangular block of six eggs
snugly enclosed in newspaper.
One
Saturday morning about six months after Irene was born a new arrival of a
different kind had my father in a state of excitement.
Saturdays
and Sundays provided us kids with hours of adventure and wide open spaces to
ramble. Apart from the thrill of visiting the rubbish tip, we had sheep to
chase, rams to ride, blackberries and mushrooms to pick. We tried to entice
rabbits out of their burrows and startled goannas out of hollow logs. Having
the disadvantage of being a girl and younger than Bobby and Maxie, I was not
always permitted to roam about the countryside.
On
the Saturday morning of the new arrival, I was helping my mother in the
vegetable garden. Mum’s vegetable garden was extensive. Pumpkins sprawled all
along a side fence, potatoes grew in profusion among the rows of peas and beans
and tomatoes. She always had a large patch of rhubarb; a favourite vegetable of
hers. The vegetable patch was actually a source of delight and discovery for us
kids. We searched for hidden potatoes and watched to see how big the pumpkins
would get. We especially loved eating fresh pea pods straight off the vine. Mum
and I were picking peas on this day when the honking of a car horn interrupted
us.
The
twins, now almost five years old, were playing together close by. The two boys
had
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