Kookaburra, October 2008
With our neighbours away, kookaburras have started visiting us for tidbits, and we've discovered that they'll happily eat tinned sardines.

When I started blogging, it was to keep family and friends informed of our children’s scintillating accomplishments. (And I’m sure you’ve all been suitably impressed.) However, that reason has now faded into the background, and I now maintain the blog so I can remember certain things — dates, facts, visitors, milestones.

Before I had children, I had been warned that childbirth results in memory loss. I scoffed, arrogantly assuming that I was going to cope marvelously (ha!), maintain our carefree lifestyle (ha, ha!) and keep house as efficiently as I managed my career (hoo-yeah!). So I’ve learned. And one thing that I’ve learned is that I forget. Everything. My first six months with Aisha is a blur, and I can only remember what is captured in photographs.

I’ve forgotten many of her developmental milestones, and somehow they become irrelevant as she has continued to progress normally. But at the same time I want to remember that at seven months, Calista has just cut her first teeth after a night of high fever and wailing.

So now I take many pictures, and choose some to put online. They may not fascinate the average reader, but I like looking back over them.

I also want to record the beautiful things our children say, like when Aisha complimented David on his “pretty undies”.

Aisha has entered into a phase where she projects her experiences, emotions and preferences onto her doll — “Big Baby.” David can ask her questions like, “Have you been in an airplane?” (She has.) “No,” replies Aisha. “But Big Baby has.” We’re unsure if this projection is because she has forgotten those experiences or has just chosen to pretend for this instance.

Brioni has started speaking more eloquently, and you can never be certain what she’ll say. I almost died yesterday while trying to choke back my laughter. I was explaining the difference between the words “roof” and “ceiling” when the following conversation ensued:

L: We can walk on the roof, but we can’t walk on the ceiling.
A: No.
D: But flies can walk upside-down on the ceiling.
A + B: Yeah.
D: And bats hang upside down in the trees. We don’t hang upside-down in the trees.
B: Sometimes Manou do that, sometimes.

The vision of my mother, hanging upside-down by her toes from a branch, with her arms crossed over her chest, is somehow very apt — maybe Brioni knows something the rest of us don’t.

And this conversation is something I want to remember. So now I will!