Today is one of those days I thank my lucky stars I am not working. (I tend give myself a lot of angst over this issue - so anytime I can I count the positives I do...)

Zoe is all blocked up and a bit headachy with a cold. Perhaps she is a bit of a hypochondriac, but she also loves school, so I really don't think she is bunging it on in order to have a day off. She isn't _that_ bad though.. so I suppose if I had a job to go to (and no extended family nearby to help out), I would be sending her to soldier on.

She ate breakfast, and I dosed her up on panadol and sent her back to bed. She was there maybe an hour, and has reemerged, feeling slightly better, but not fussed on going to school.

So it's TV time, and I've been paying homage to the fantastic shows that the ABC runs for kids in the mornings.

One of the biggest perks of having been able to stay home with my children is that I have been able to watch PlaySchool with them. Three kids, five years between oldest and youngest, and that's a lot of Playschool in my life, but I don't think you can ever tire of it. I've seen way older kids hover by a TV that is showing Playschool, and they can't help themselves but watch and smile, and that's what Zoe and I did this morning. You're never too old for Playschool. What a bloody brilliant Australian institution it is.

The ABC kids programming is now showing stuff geared to older kids; educational stuff that doesn't make me feel too bad about her being at home. "Being Me: Making Friends" is on at the moment, and it's reinforcing a good message.

The other positive in having Zoe home is that there are opportunities for a few more cuddles in the day. She is the SnugglePot of the family. From a baby she has been a snuggler - more so than the other two were as babies or toddlers. (The others were too busy being gung ho, whereas she did the clingy stage with much vigour.) I don't know that I did anything terribly different with her. Maybe I was more sooky with her because she came along after I had lost a baby half way through the previous pregnancy. Maybe it is because by the time she was born Marc was travelling away for work a lot, so maybe I tried to make up for his absences by being the provider of mum and dad comfort.

Or maybe it's just a fluky genetic makeup. Even as a tall 7 year old, she hasn't grown out of this amazing ability to mould her body into yours. It is almost an artform - something that the other two view with incredulity and some envy. It is something you expect her to grow out of as her body grows, but I can't help thinking she'll still be doing it when she's 21!

I shouldn't, however, use all this musing as an excuse not to do all the Mummy jobs that I should be doing. Having all day to do them in is a luxury that I tend to abuse... but that's another 'bad me' story for another time.

Labels: introspection, parenting