Mummy & Daddy Tie the Knot

The Real Star of the Show

Originally published 23 December 2014

Mummy & Daddy had it all planned out. One afternoon walking along Long Bay beach, Daddy got down on one knee and proposed to Mummy. She said yes, and a wedding was imminent. Then a month later I was conceived. Then 9 months later, I appeared in the world. And the whole time the word "wedding" dropped off the radar. Obviously there was something much more important taking centre stage - me!

But in November 2014 Mummy & Daddy's big day finally arrived - more than 2 years after they'd got engaged. It would be at a vineyard called Gracehill Vineyard Estate in Auckland.

The omens weren't particularly good for the day - it rained much of the week leading up to the day, plus both Daddy and I had colds a week before. Who knew how the day would actually turn out, when even with planning everything else, there were 2 things no-one could predict the behaviour of - the weather and me!

Luckily for Mummy & Daddy everything came right on the day. Colds were gone, the clouds disappeared and the sun shone through, and I decided the day needed a real star - and that was going to be me.

My usual attire of t-shirt (generally covered with dinosaurs or pirates) and pants (generally covered with food or grass stains) were replaced with a little suit. It came with a jacket and tie, but I didn't want to look like a total prat, so just went with the waistcoat.

I was packed away in my pram and distracted with snacks and toys during the ceremony. When it was over I stole some cuddles with Mummy & Daddy. I nearly didn't recognise Mummy since she looked so different with her makeup and dress; it's lucky Daddy did though or the ceremony could have been awkward.

Later in the afternoon we all moved indoors so I could tuck into lots of food at the reception. Grandma was plying me with snacks, but I was more interested in the plates of food everyone else was bringing back from the buffet. A few longing looks and "ta"s ensured these were shared with me as well though.

I'm not normally one for staying quiet, so when the speeches were on I thought "everyone else is speaking up, so why shouldn't I?". Just after emcee Gareth had introduced the best man, and before best man Russ could start speaking, I said a loud "oh oh". Cue lots of laughing from everyone else; bet Daddy was feeling even more worried about what was in the speech then!

When all the eating and speeches were finished, I had a great time running around the room. Mummy & Daddy had worried needlessly - I was a perfect little boy, and everyone remarked on what a star I was. It was all a bit much for me though, and on the car ride home with Grandma & Grandad I couldn't help falling fast asleep.

That's How I Roll

From rolling to walking

Originally published 11 November 2014

I've always been a pretty mobile boy, although in earlier days it was more of the rolling variety. I could get quite a head of steam up rolling from one side of the lounge to the other. But now I'm a walker extraordinaire, taking paths, lawns and gentle slopes all in my stride. Literally.

So you can see how far I've come, this is me rolling towards my jolly jumper when I was about 8 months old.

Fast forward a few months and I've progressed to crawling; here I am being lured up the hall with a box of raisins.

Then in September, when I was 15 months old, I took my first faltering steps. I'd been practicing by walking around the lounge, holding onto the couch or the coffee table, but this was me doing it all by myself. Even if I did look a little bit like Mum & Dad had slipped something alcoholic into my milk.

All the way up to today, with me 17 months old walking like a big boy around our back garden on a sunny Spring afternoon. Before Mum & Dad know it, I'll be running around and causing even more mischief. And then I'll ask to borrow their car.

First Steps to Musical Effects

Adventures in daycare

Originally published 8 October 2014

Sometimes it's nice to make a mess somewhere different. Like when you've already covered the lounge at home in toys, and the bedroom floor with books, you need a new blank canvas to make your mark on. Sometimes quite literally. That's where daycare comes in.

I've been going there every weekday since Mummy went back to work. Well, Daddy's salary alone wasn't going to keep me in the manner to which I intend to become accustomed, so that's fine with me.

Initially I wasn't too sure about it, especially since it transpired that there were already lots of other little Ollie lookalikes there, and I'd therefore have to share things with them. But after the first few visits I found I actually enjoyed myself there.

There are lots of different toys to play with, including some fun musical instruments. Sometimes the daycare people bring along their own instruments from home so we can all play along together. It's a bit of a ruckus really, but no worse than some of the stuff Dad plays at home. My favourite is this colourful keyboard.

We also get to learn about lots of new things like animals. A couple of weeks ago we had a treat when our daycare was visited by some animals, including rabbits, goats and a horse. Being such a big animal-lover I loved being able to get up close to and pat some of them, especially since when I'm at daycare I miss the 3 cats we have at home (though I'm pretty sure this is a one-sided feeling).

I'm also learning lots at daycare. Many of my first steps were practiced here, holding onto the edge of chairs, and we've even started eating our lunchtime meal at little tables.

One great little scam I've got going is the double-breakfast. Mum and Dad give me brekkie at home before they drop me off at daycare, then when the daycare people bring out breakfast for some of the babies who arrive early I put on my best 'I haven't eaten for ages and would love some brekkie' expression. Hey presto - double-breakfast!

As well as learning all these new things, it turns out that daycare is also just the place for picking up other things - mainly colds. I've had about six of them since I started in July, all of which I've kindly shared with Mummy and Daddy.

Overall I'm loving it though. This is the sort of treatment I could get used to; no need to worry about school or work for a long time yet!

Call of the Wild

Crying Guide - How to Know How Bad it Really Is

Originally published 28 August 2014

Even though I'm a pretty cheerful boy most of the time, there are occasions when things don't go my way when everyone in earshot needs to know that I'm dissatisfied. It might be that I've toppled over when trying to take a few steps, or don't want to go to bed right at this moment, or my gums are sore with another tooth coming through.

Regardless of the cause, the result will be the same - a good, loud wail right from the pit of the stomach. Loud enough that neighbours might think a practicing guitarist got some tortured feedback through his amp. Or people in the next suburb over might think it a tsunami warning.

But I do make it a bit easier on Mummy and Daddy by signposting just how bad the cause was, and therefore how much attention I'm going to need before I revert to cheerful again. It's not the loudness of the wailing or the volume of tears produced with it - it's the length of time between each wail.

The way I like to show my displeasure is: wail - pause to intake breath - wail. Then repeat as required. The length of that pause in the middle shows how bad things really are. If it's a short pause, then not too much has gone wrong and I'll probably be mollified relatively easily. But as the seconds of that pause pass, the more breath is being intaken and the more vehement the next wail will be.

It's a little like counting the seconds between seeing lightning and hearing thunder.

Count 1 or 2 seconds between wails - not too bad. Count 3 or 4 seconds between wails - going to require more comforting to settle me down. Count 5 seconds or more - it'll be like Ollie Armageddon.

Not Feline the Love

Enthusiasm for cats not always reciprocated

Originally published 25 July 2014

There are many things in this life that I love. Mummy and Daddy of course, pulling people's hair, being tickled... But most of all, I love cats. Which is handy, since we have 3 of them at home: Bailey, Robbie and Chocky. Ever since I was a little baby, just a couple of months old and smaller than they were, I've been drawn to them.

Whenever I see one now I squeal with delight. Unfortunately this delight isn't a two-way street, and the cats don't seem to share the same enthusiasm for seeing me, which is a shame. You could say it's a downright cat-astrophe, but I'd never use such an awful pun.

One of the potential reasons they're not keen on seeing me is my propensity for pulling their fur or tails. I haven't quite mastered the art of gently patting cats yet, so instead of this I tend to grab a big fistful of fur and skin, a little like a mother cat might do when picking up another by the scruff of the neck. Except that I do it on their back, tail or pretty much anywhere within my reach.

They do get a bit of warning though, as my squeals tend to alert them that I'm approaching. This gives them time to brace themselves appropriately or escape to somewhere a bit safer (that is, anywhere I'm not).

Even if they do make a cat-dash to another room they're not entirely safe, as now that I'm a pretty fast crawler I tend to trail not far behind them, crawling frantically to catch up.

Some things will distract me from my pursuit though, for example the cats food bowl. There's normally a few little biscuits left in there which look awfully appealing. They look a little bit like the raisans I have for afternoon tea, but they don't smell like any of my food.

Mummy is pleased that I've not actually managed to sample any of the cats food yet though. Or at least, that's what she thinks...

Turning One-derful

Oliver's first birthday

Originally published 10 July 2014

12 months old already... It seems like only yesterday I was crying through the night and flailing my arms around when being fed. Actually that was only yesterday. But still, so much has changed in the year since I came into the world. Crying then too, now I think about it.

From a tiny little baby spending half the day in his bassonette to a big boy crawling everywhere and taking his first faltering steps, it's been a big year. So it's only fair that this auspicious occasion is recognised and celebrated with pressies and a bit of a party.

For my actual birthday on June 12th, Mummy & Daddy gave me some lovely wrapping paper I really enjoyed playing with. Inside were what appeared to be a book and a toy wrapped up, but the paper was what really took my fancy.

Two days later it was time for another round of present-receiving at my first birthday party. Mummy & Daddy put up balloons everywhere and invited lots of family around. Normally I'm not too sure about big crowds of people, but this time I enjoyed myself and was very well behaved. I even deigned to share my toys with the other kids.

I got lots of cool pressies, including some new books, lots of toys, my first DVDs (Baby Einstein) and a comfy foam chair that I sit on to watch the TV or eat my afternoon tea.

Best of all though was my bright orange birthday cake in the shape of a cat. Mummy sure knows my favourite things in the world - it was like a big chocolate version of our cat Robbie!

So that was how I celebrated my first birthday. "12 months of torture" Daddy calls it, but he's just kidding.

First Family Holiday

We're all going on a summer holiday...

Originally published 5 June 2014

Well Mummy, Daddy and I did in early March when the weather was still nice and toasty. I'd never been away from home overnight before, so this would be the first family holiday for the Hartlands. Or Team Oliver as I like to think of it.

Mount Maunganui (a popular coastal town in the Bay of Plenty) was the destination, so after some packing we were ready to go. I noticed that Mummy & Daddy only had 1 bag each, yet I seemed to need 3 or 4. Must be because I'm the most important. The portacot was also packed; hmm, I wasn't so sure about that...

The apartment we stayed in was pretty nice; lots of space for me to roll from one side of the lounge to the other in, plus a little balcony area where we could sit outside and look at the sea. It's also where Mummy seemed to want to poison me with this horrible stuff one lunchtime (I'm not sure what it was actually called, so let's just call it Crap-in-a-Can).

As well as being my first holiday away from home, it was also notable for another couple of firsts for me. It was my first swim in the sea. Well, "swim" might be a slight exaggeration since the water only reached to about my ankles. Mummy never told me it was going to be that cold, so I politely refused to get in any further.

My first swim in a pool was a nicer experience though. Much warmer and I could splash around a bit, just like my baths at home.

Playing in the sand on Mt Maunganui beach was also fun; the sand was nice and warm, and I had fun trying to get particles of sand everywhere while Mummy tried to stop me. I always win these games though.

After 2 nights away it was time to head back home again. For my first family holiday I'd give it a 7/10. The sea is too cold, sand doesn't taste nice and that portacot isn't as comfy as my cot at home, but it was fun seeing somewhere new in the summer sunshine.