Swine Time

Rhyme time, what a lovely idea. Take baby or toddler along to your local library once a week for half an hour of familiar songs and enthusiastic hand gestures. Sounds good, sign me up.

Little did I know that from the earliest age BUB.1 didn’t give a shit if Polly put the kettle on and would rather climb the bookshelves, mount the CD racks and menace the job seekers in the quiet computer section than sit still for even five seconds.

The library at Watson’s Bay in Sydney is delightful, perched on the sea’s edge, little tea shop next door, French doors opening out onto an outdoor area where we’d all gather, treasured infant tucked into lap, awaiting the classic rhymes of our childhood to be passed to the future generation.

Perhaps BUB.1 was embarrassed that first time by the fact that his mother was the only one to make a loud, realistic snorting noise during Old MacDonald rather than make what she now knows is the customary polite “oink oink”.

All I know is he never again stuck around long enough to hear me do it again.

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2 thoughts on “Swine Time

  1. You know what gets me about Rhyme Time – that people are actually using the library computers, it just seems so quaint. But libraries do seem a hot bed of eccentricity. The lady who runs Rhyme Time at our local is a very strange creature, lots of brightly coloured clothes deliberately mismatched, crazy hair, odd socks, etc. The funny thing is the babies aren’t old enough to notice and us mums are either too tired to care or maybe just relieved that we aren’t the most unkempt person in the room. I also had to hand over my library card as a guarantee that I wouldn’t steal their copy of the Sydney Morning Herald. It’s another world in there.

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    1. You are right, it is like walking into another world with archaic rules and customs. Customs that BUB.1 seems intent on challenging – he got told off once for getting behind the shelving and beginning to scale the window and another time while I was obtaining my lost pin number from the information desk he actually climbed the book shelf, four shelves high, peered over and shouted “mummy, look at me!”. If I’m not in the mood to get tutted at, I don’t go in the library anymore.

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