Time is of the essence...

Anyone who has a child that still needs a nap during the day will know that that sleep is important.  Most other Mums I know who are in the same situation, don’t even need to say anything about timing.  It’s a given that we have a window between 9am and 12pm for playdates, shopping, or catching up with our friends.  And then at midday – boom!  We’re all hermits.  The parks and shopping centres of Brisbane all become bereft of toddlers and babies.  Off we scurry home, secretly hoping that bub will fall asleep in the car so we can just transfer straight to bed (if you’re one of the lucky ones).  For about two hours we are housebound, and then re-emerge between 2pm and 3pm.  Those of us who have older ones in school, this means that we spend the two hours preparing for whatever after school activities that have been planned.  Ballet, gymnastics, swimming lessons, playdates and the list goes on.

When I was pregnant I remember someone saying to me “please don’t turn into one of those Mums who can only do one thing a day”.  I scoffed and swore that I wouldn’t be.  And yet here I am.  My ‘one thing’ a day, HAS to occur between 9am and 12pm in order for Little Warrior to be a nice Little Warrior in the afternoons.  And if we have a nice Little Warrior, then we generally have a happy Mummy.  And if we have a happy Mummy, then as we all know, everybody’s happy.

If by some chance, I’m still stuck out at midday, I can feel the anxiety rising inside me.  I’m watching my little man for signs of complete meltdown and may as well be looking in a mirror when I see him start to yawn and rub his eyes.  We are both so conditioned to his midday sleep that whenever something happens to change it, we don’t function very well.  As with anything, you get through it.  It doesn’t happen often when we’ve had to drop his sleep, but I keep reminding myself that it’s only every now and again and it won’t kill us.

Nobody gets it less than people who have never had, or don’t have toddler children anymore.  It’s funny.  I assumed because my friends had had toddlers before, that they would remember the days of getting bub home for a sleep.  But recent experience tells me otherwise.

I have a friend who is from India.  She's the loveliest person and also happens to make the most delicious food.  I always enjoy eating there, so whenever she invites us over, I say yes.  She has a daughter the same age as the Polynesian Princess, so for her it’s been about four years since there’s been a toddler in the house.  She invited Little Warrior and me over for lunch and we arrived at about 10am.  It was going to be an awesome morning.  Gorgeous Indian food, then home in time for the little one’s sleep.  Not so.  The universe had different plans for the Diva and the Little Warrior that day.  By 1pm my friend was still cooking and I saw the window of opportunity for Little Warrior’s sleep ticking by.  Surrounded by delicious aromas coming from her numerous pots and pans bubbling away, my anxiety levels were rising.  I was mentally calculating how long Little Warrior would get to sleep if we left in 30 minutes, in one hour.  Such was my worry that he wasn't going to get a decent sleep.  As it was, he got an hour’s sleep and didn't wake up when it was time to pick up his sister.  I carried him like a rag doll up the steps of the school and he stayed that way until I put him back in the car for the return trip.  The poor little thing was just shattered.

Another friend was recently trying to organise a lunch BBQ for a group of us.  The other three families coming all have toddlers, and so I suggested a 10am start.  Most of my friends with children would understand that a 10am start means lunch at about 11/11:30 and then home by midday or thereabouts.  Just in time for a sleep, albeit a late one.  But for this friend, it’s been a long, long time since she’s even had to think about, let alone remember babies who need a sleep.  She was mortified at a 10am start!  It’s now been pushed to 2pm, which sits on the other side of our nap-time and hence helps all us Mums a little more.  I know.  It’s complicated – but for those of us who like our kids to sleep, it’s innate.

I can’t tell you how much I long for the day when we are not ruled by his midday sleep.  Some people would tell me to just drop it.  To forget about it.  And believe me, I have tried.  But he continues to fall sleep during the day.  Lately, if we’re at home, he’ll take himself to bed and sleep for two hours.  So this tells me he still needs/wants it.  So for now, we work around it. 

One day in the not-too-distant future, the midday sleep will be dropped and we will emerge, blinking into the midday sun.  That will be a joyous day!  And no doubt, worries about sleep will be replaced with something else.  But until then - time is of the essence.

Is this a date?

So the Polynesian Princess had a friend over yesterday afternoon.  This friend is a boy.  This fact in and of itself doesn’t really mean anything and shouldn’t even be relevant.  But let’s take into consideration the following points:

• Polynesian Princess announces to me weeks ago that “H is my boyfriend, Mum – he’s a good boy”.
• Yesterday morning she said  “Mum, my heart was beating real fast because H is coming over today”
• They emerged from the classroom holding hands.

When I look at all of this, then I think we’re dealing with a little crush.  But she’s only five.  Is this normal at this age?  And does it even matter?

There is a part of me that does worry that she's taking an interest in boys a little early.  And there's the other part of me that tells me to chill out and relax.  She's only five and so what if her friend happens to be a boy - this is all very innocent!  Right?

When I picked them both up from school yesterday the first thing I noticed was the hand-holding.  They looked so ridiculously happy - it was just the cutest thing. They held hands all the way to the car, and they just chatted away happily.  It was only once we were in the car and there was lots of whispering and giggling going on (and a very dramatic "don't tell my MUM!" from my daughter) that I allowed a stray thought float through my mind: “is this a date?” -  “am I on my daughter’s first date?!”

 Ridiculous to think, and I know that it’s not.  But seriously.  If you added 20 years to both of them, they were acting EXACTLY like I would have on a date!

They had such a great time together yesterday afternoon.  The hysterical laughing coming from the trampoline was such a delight to hear.  They both screamed and shouted “yeah!” when I announced that H would be staying for dinner.  I love it.  I love the enthusiasm and happiness children exude.  And I was so happy to watch them on their first playdate.

The following was what I wrote to finish off my post - because I actually wrote this yesterday, while H was over:

I’m not going to look too hard into this.  I’m going to let Polynesian Princess enjoy this time and not push my interpretation of things onto her.  So breathe Mama…all will be well.

And the following is actually the end of my post because there were developments after I hit "save":

During dinner, they both announced that they wanted to have a sleepover sometime soon.  Before I could answer, H started listing off his pending calendar appointments, ticking them off on his fingers.  “Well, I’m going away this week, and then we’re doing something that week, buuuut you could just talk to my Mum”.  Polynesian Princess in her excitement started yelling out "you could sleep in MY bed!".

Right.  Uh Huh.

And now I’m back to “breathe Mama…all will be well”….

To pay or not to pay...

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

A flyer was included in Polynesian Princess’s newsletter today.  It was about pocket money, and it got me thinking.  When do people start paying pocket money, if at all?

As a child I didn’t get pocket money, but I had chores.  I had to help clean the house, I made the lunches (for my Dad and myself, and when the time came, my baby brother) and I washed the dishes after dinner.  But I never felt like I was missing out, not getting pocket money.  If I ever needed money, I just got it.

But now that I’m a parent, I’m wondering whether it has some merit.  This flyer goes on to say that giving children pocket money from a young age can help them to learn about managing money.  This is a drawcard for me, because I used to be terrible with money.  Horrible.  Infact, when I first moved in with The Architect, he caught me throwing envelopes in the bin that clearly had red lettering on it.  He asked me what they were and I gave some kind of vague answer.  After fishing the envelopes out of the bin (oh yes he did), I finally confessed that I had an overdraft in Scotland, a credit card bill in New Zealand and two (count ‘em, TWO) huge credit card bills right here in Australia.  Just looking back at that sentence makes me cringe.  He was incredulous.  “I don’t understand”, he said “what do you use your credit card for?”  I was totally dumbfounded by his question.  Speaking to him like he was the village idiot, I said “I. Use. It. To. Buy. Things. I. Can’t. Afford”.  I mean d’uh….isn’t that what they’re for???  To say we had opposite views on this topic was a total understatement.

That night changed my financial life.  The Architect helped me manage and pay off all my debts.  It took me months to do, but that feeling of freedom when I was down to only one credit card with no money owing on it, is definitely up there on my “proud moments” list.  It changed the way I spent money.  I now have no credit card debt.  None.  Ever.

When we went on an around the world trip in 2005, I spent thousands upon thousands, and when we returned to Australia I owed nothing.  Why?  Because I was busy jumping online every few days to pay off whatever amount I had used in that period.  I actually became quite manic about having a zero balance.

But I digress.  This is about children and pocket money.  And I’m genuinely curious.  Do you give your child/ren pocket money?  How old were they when you started?  How much do you give? And is it directly related to chores?

Packhorse

I have just unpacked the last bag from our weekend trip to Sydney.  We went down to visit The Architect who is down there for work at the moment.  It was such a nice, whirlwind visit but I am tired.  We packed Taronga Zoo, breakfast with friends, Surry Hills Markets, Luna Park, Darling Harbour and a catch-up with my cousin into the weekend.   I’m so tired I almost feel dizzy.  And!  This is my first time traveling on my own with the two chilluns.

I know girlfriends who do long-haul trips with two or more children on their own.  I know they do it with the aplomb of a veteran.  This is mainly assisted by them residing overseas, meaning regular visits back home to Oz (and these visits are often on their own with the kids).  I always applaud their efforts, which they shrug off with the ‘it’s no big deal’ attitude that only somebody who does this regularly can possess.

I used to sit in awe of them, secretly assuming that I will never, ever be in that position.  With my myopic vision, I thought there wouldn’t ever be a time that I would travel with the children sans The Architect.  So imagine my surprise when I found myself in just such a position.   The Architect is currently down in Sydney working, so we flew down this weekend to visit him.

I worried about Little Warrior.  I worried about his current stage of screaming and throwing things.  I worried about how I would discipline him and keep him quiet on a plane surrounded by strangers.  And most of all, I worried about how I was going to carry all the in-flight entertainment we would be BYO’ing.  The ticket was for hand luggage only, so you can see my dilemma.  DVD players, iPads, bento boxes full of snacks, asthma medication, drink bottles, toys, surprise presents (in anticipation of breakdowns), Chupa Chups, jelly beans.

The. Works.

When there’s two adults to share the carrying duties, it doesn’t feel like much.  But with just me, I ended up sharing the love with the two children.  I loaded their hand-luggage up with their entertainment, food and drink.  And despite doing this – my handbag still looked like it was nine months pregnant with triplets.  But I did it, and it all went (relatively) well.  The only downside I would say, was boarding from the tarmac.  With two little ones, three pieces of luggage and schlepping all this down stairs, across the tarmac and then back up again, success hinged on whether Little Warrior would walk on his own.  The first time he did it.  The second time he refused, which resulted in my walking like Quasimodo carrying/dragging two pieces of luggage in one hand and my bulging handbag and a 13kg child on the other arm.  Polynesian Princess, God love her, dutifully pulled her luggage and carried her little handbag.  She’s a good one…

And so tonight I will pour myself a congratulatory drink and then, this packhorse is packing it in and calling it a night.

Until next time peeps...

xx

Mirror, Mirror

So today’s Photo a Day challenge word is “Mirror”.  And I chose the photo above of me and the Polynesian Princess.  Let me explain.

Growing up I never thought I would have kids.  Ever.  I had my reasons, all of them supremely personal and some to do with feeling insecure and lacking confidence in successfully raising another human being.  Like everybody, I’m not perfect and I tended to focus on my shortcomings.

But have kids we did, and the day came when the hospital let us take this precious bundle home to raise, love and nurture.  Eeek!!

The first couple of years passed in a blur and she was (mostly) a delight.  Such a gorgeous, happy baby who was so good that we figured, what the hell, let’s do this again!

The ‘mirroring’ probably started happening around the time she was two (possibly even a little earlier).  She was at daycare one day, bossing some of the little kids around.  She pointed her finger in their faces whilst issuing directives in a stern tone.  I sat, wondering where she got that behaviour from, when I saw her throw sand at someone.  I called out to her, pointed my finger in her face and sternly said “we don’t throw sand, that’s not nice”.  And Boom!  There it was.  She was me.  And I didn’t like it.

Three years later, the ‘mirroring’ is at times hilariously funny and embarrassingly uncomfortable.  Recently, she started frantically tidying up the living room and declaring “we need to clean up all of this CRAP!” and I winced.  Not only am I passing on my language, but I’m also passing on my OCD of tidying up.

It’s one thing knowing what you don’t like about yourself.  It’s another thing having it mirrored back to you, and knowing that this is what your children see.  The part of you that you wish you could bury or change, is the part that seems to stand out to them!

It’s not all bad though.  She does tend to copy a lot of my good points, and those are the times when I think good things about myself.   But even when I hear or see the bad ‘mirroring’, I try to cut myself a break.  We're all just doing the best we can, and if bossing people around and a slight OCD is as bad as it's going to get, then I think I'm doing okay.

xx

Sew what?

There are a lot of things that I don’t know or understand.  Some of these things I just thought I would “get” as I got older.   Cricket (the rules, the whole point of it),  gardening (can’t you just stick it in the ground and watch it grow? Do you HAVE to water it all the time? And what do you mean you have to re-plant?!), cooking without a recipe (can’t do it but then I never claimed to be a Masterchef), and sewing.

In Grade Eight Home Economics we had to sew a pair of shorts, and a library bag.  I got a fail for both of them.  Both.  When I told my Home Ec teacher I didn’t choose Home Ec for the following year, she said “that’s probably a good thing”.  Ouch!  Bitch.

I don’t sew.  I can’t sew and I don’t know if I ever will sew.  My Mother sewed.  She made me lots of cute outfits as a child, and as I went through school, she would make my costumes for school plays and the like.  She could also knit which is something else I don’t know how to do.  I once made a macramé keyring.  Does that count for something?

As I grew older, I only needed sewing skills when my hems would fall.  My ‘sewing’ consisted of a stapler.  No needle and thread required!  And this has happily been my way of fixing all things in the clothing department.  If it gets too hard, I send it off to the local thrift shop.

But now I have a child in school.  And that involves uniforms.  And she, you know, grows!  So the hems on her uniform are quickly getting higher and higher. Not even considering to attempt it myself, I took it to our local dry-cleaning service which also provides alterations.  I asked for a quote, and she quoted me $30.  Thirty dollars!  To HEM a kids uniform?  I marched straight across the road to Woolworths and bought a needle and thread.  And tonight I will attempt to hem for the first time.  I guess I should have bought a quick unpick (that’s what it’s called, isn’t it?), as I foresee a lot of effing and blinding in my future.

Who knows - this might ignite a hidden talent within!  And perhaps I will become one of those parents that can 'run up' (that's the right term isn't it?) a costume in the blink of an eye.  Instead of being one of those parents rummaging through the dress-up box wondering how I can come up with something to match the specific criteria.  Sigh.  Never mind - I imagine my latent creative skills will be put to the test many, many times in the future.

And sew what?  Bring it - I'm ready.

Over half-way

I am now on Day 17 of the 28 day scream-free parenting challenge.  So far, so good I guess.  I mean, in the past two days I have officially lost my shit at least four times with the kids, but I’m not counting them as failures.  In fact, lately when I lose my temper, I’m faster to let go of it.   Prior to the challenge, if I lost my temper, I would tend to ruminate about it, think about how other people I know would probably have handled it a lot better, and brand myself as a hopeless Mum.  But not anymore.  Now I just remind myself that I’m only human, and that at the very least I’m aware of it, and I’m trying.

Each morning I wake up to my email from Jackie Hall (Self-Help for Mums) and I take the time to read it and then apply it to my day.  It’s not that hard.  Jackie has taken the big picture, stripped it down to bite-size, digestible pieces and is spoon-feeding it to us slowly each day over this 28-day period.  Some of it seems repetitious (by Jackie’s own admission), but I believe that’s because the basic premise of this whole challenge is that all of the stress and anger culminates from the conflict we have between our belief (of what should be happening) and the reality of what is happening.  Oh sister…ain’t that the truth.

The best tips I have received so far are: 

• we should recognise that stress is caused by the conflict between belief and reality;
• we need to deal with the reality of what’s happening – don’t catastrophise everything;
• to detach your self-worth from their behaviour – they’re not trying to undermine you, they’re not trying to demean you; and
• to look at the bigger picture – Jackie provided us with an ‘expansion exercise’ which truly helped me to realise how small the problems really are (it worked for me yesterday).

I feel a touch of Buddhism running through Jackie’s emails and I like it.  Buddhism for Mothers by Sarah Napthali would have to be one of my favourite books.  I discovered it in the first year of Polynesian Princess’s life and read it a couple of times over the course of that year.

So in between me writing the above paragraph and this paragraph, I have just screamed at the kids and sat back down to finish this off.  Apt.

My heart is racing, my head is pounding and I am trying, desperately to look at the bigger picture, to remain mindful and to understand they’re not trying to piss me off – they’re just being kids.

Breathing in……

And out….

Right.  Where was I?  That's right - with 11 days to go I’m looking forward to receiving more tips and advice from Jackie Hall.  I’m keeping all the emails in a folder and they’ve been great to read back on whenever I get a chance through the day.

So I'm getting there.  Baby steps, people.  Baby steps.

Are you doing the challenge?  Are you finding it helpful?

Rolling with the punches

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net


Oh what a night. Polynesian Princess came into bed with us at some stage during the night (last night). Little did we know, it was going to be one of THOSE nights with her.

You know the kind...

The kind where there is coughing followed by vomiting (that sound will always make my heart-rate spike).  The kind where the house is thundering with the sound of running to the toilet.  The kind where sheets are stripped and beds remade.   The kind where showers are had, and hair is washed.  Blech...

At two in the morning no-one can hear you scream.

I slept (or didn't sleep) with one ear and one eye open with her lying next to me.   Any movement or cough, and I was up, flicking the light on and asking "are you ok?!"  It may sound like I'm an attentive, caring mother, even when it's two in the morning.  But truth be told, the thought of changing yet another set of sheets would have sent me screaming into the night.  Soooo....not so much attentive, as lazy.

As I drifted back to nigh-nighs, I thought "well there goes her sleepover with her grandparents".   You see, the next day she was due to head down to spend a few nights with her grandparents.  Obviously this wouldn't be happening.  And the next morning it was official - she had gastro.  Okay people - Plan B!

That's the thing with having kids, isn't it? You really need to roll with the punches and understand that plans are very rarely ever set in stone. Playdates are cancelled at the last minute, sleepovers as well, and nobody ever really minds. Because we all understand. We all get the fact that when it comes to kids we realise that they get sick.  Stuff happens and plans change.  Constantly.

So here we are.  Sleepover is rescheduled, playdates have been cancelled and we are officially rolling with the punches...

Go the F*ck to Sleep

Day three of the 28 day scream-free parenting challenge.  It’s 12:50pm and I’ve failed today.  Failed yesterday too.  Both days have been because of Little Warrior’s day-time sleep.  He’s fought both of them.  And anyone out there who’s saying that he must be dropping his sleep can wash their mouths out with soap.

You see, I’m a classic case of belief versus reality.  My belief is that Little Warrior should drift quietly off to sleep at exactly midday, everyday, and sleep for two hours.  Everyday.  Without fail, if you don’t mind little man.  And any deviation (I mean ANY) sends me straight to Shitsville (do not pass Go, do not collect $200).  I understand that this is unrealistic, unfair and ridiculous.  Not to mention the fact that I'm basically setting him up for failure. Because who does the same thing, at the same time, for the same amount of time everyday?  Nobody!  And yet, this is my perception of what should be happening for Little Warrior.  Hey, I never said I liked it, I'm just being honest and telling you how it is.

I tried to do as Jackie Hall recommended.  Just like on Day one, I tried to change the way I look at the situation and simply view it as an opportunity for Little Warrior to learn that he can’t get what he wants.  Yes.  You can have some strawberries, but only when you wake up.  No.  You can’t have them in bed with you.   But today I just didn’t stick with it.  Today I just yelled at him to go to sleep (if you’re wondering, I didn’t swear at him), slammed the door and pretended to ignore the sound of him repeatedly hitting the door with both his hands.  Ace.  Way to go Mum.

It’s going to be a long 28 days.

Trying to re-learn old habits and old ways of thinking is going to be an uphill battle.  Primarily because you don’t even realise you’re doing it.  So actually catching yourself doing it, then consciously adjusting the view before reacting is going to take me a while.  But I’m working on it.

And in the meantime, I can enjoy the peace and quiet.  Now that he’s gone the f*ck to sleep ;)

Are you doing the challenge?  How are you going?

I want to be better

Mostly I can coast along quite nicely thinking I’m doing an okay job at being a Mum.  But some days, like today, I think I suck at it.

I wish I could be better.  I wish I could be more like a friend of mine, let’s call her Serenity.  She is calm, patient, doesn’t use the word ‘no’ all the time and generally is serenity incarnate.  Today, that was not me.  In fact, on most days ‘serene’ isn’t a word I would use to describe myself.

I have been known to yell, be sarcastic, slam doors and be as childish as my two year old.  But I’m trying.  I know that’s got to count.  It has to… otherwise I am doomed to suck at this.

I have signed up for Essential Baby’s 28 day scream-free parenting challenge which begins on Monday, 18 June.  I pray with the tools I use from this challenge coupled with external reading as well as mindfulness, I will be a step closer to being the parent I want to be.  And maybe if I’m brave enough, I’ll blog about my journey.

xx

Everyday is a blessing

I thought I was having a bad day.  Nothing seemed to be going right.  The kids had been fighting from the moment they woke up and now I had just discovered that we had an ant infestation in our pantry.  They. Were. Everywhere.  I just wanted to scream.  Or run away and hide.

And then I remembered.

I remembered the fire in Qatar that had occurred only the day before and I felt shamed.  I wasn’t having a bad day.  Next to the children and the carers who died in the fire on Monday, I was fortunate.  Fortunate to be alive.  Fortunate to be able to hear my children fighting.  Fortunate to still be here to deal with these ants.  Fortunate to be hosting my own damn pity party.  It grounded me and reminded me that everyday is a blessing.

Tonight we had dinner with friends, and as I sat at that table and enjoyed a lovely meal and fun company, I found myself thinking of how fortunate we are.  Yes, life is hectic at times.  Yes, things are a little tight and yes, raising children does have its challenges, but we are all here.  We still get to be together.

There’s too many bad things that can happen.  So many bad stories in the world that make you hold your loved ones closer.  All these things make me more mindful and aware of what I have and how much it’s worth.

When we got home, Polynesian Princess begged me to let her sleep in our bed.  My knee-jerk reaction was “no”.  She came back with “why not?” and I had no answer.  I thought about the parents of the children lost in Monday’s fire; of how they would give anything to have them back.  How they would love to lie in bed and cuddle their children while they slept.  Just like PP was begging me to do tonight. 

I relented.  Of course I did.  I had no good reason to say no, and quite apart from the fact that the kids love being in bed with us, I love it too.  I don’t love it when Little Warrior kicks us in the head/back/kidneys or face, but the other stuff – the hugs, kisses, sleeping face to face – I love all of that.  I adore it.  So why not say yes while they’re still asking?  Why not, indeed?

So I urge you to embrace the day and accept it as a gift.  Everyday is a blessing.

Namaste

xx

Muuuuuuuuuuuum!

I couldn’t believe I was doing this.  And yet I still did.

Polynesian Princess and Little Warrior were in her room when the fighting started.  Then they started yelling out “Muuuuuuum!”, “Muuuuuuum!”.  I think I actually groaned.  Yet another little fight – probably the eleventy millionth one for the morning and it wasn’t even 7:30am.

The yelling continued.  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuum!”,  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuum!”

Sing-song little voices rising at the beginning and ending somewhere mid-range.  More volume at the top, less volume at the bottom.

Repeat ad nauseum.

Second verse, same as the first.

And where was I?  Well I was on the throne!  I was ‘otherwise occupied’.  I was on the toilet for crying out loud!

And I thought “I’m not going to answer, maybe they’ll sort it out themselves”.  Stop laughing, I seriously thought that.

But as time ticked by, the yelling continued, and they wandered all over the house, into different rooms “Muuuuuuuuum”,  “Muuuuum”…

Sigh.

I remember when I was young, my Mum used to threaten to change her name because she got so sick of the sound of it.  Naturally, as a child you don’t understand that sentiment, but now I do.  Now, sitting on the toilet, and not answering my children, I got it.

Eventually they found me.  Well, you would expect that right?  I mean our house isn’t that big and I was literally a sitting duck.  Eventually that toilet door swung open and the two of them stood there, facing me, in all my glory.

PP: What are you doing?

Me: I’m on the toilet

PP: Well he got into my lip gloss and he even put it all over my chair!

Me: Yep

PP: And I can smell it all over him, Mum!

Me: Yep

Neither of them knew what to make of me at the moment, so they left me.  In peace.

On my throne.

Ahhhhhh.....THAT'S better :)

Free images from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Baby, baby, baby

So I’ve had two catch-ups with girlfriends in the last week that involved baby talk.  And by baby talk I mean we talked about babies.   But both were at different ends of the scale.

My first girlfriend is at the beginning of her journey down the baby conception path.  Her toes are just over the “okay let’s do this” line and she’s excited and scared at the same time.

I remember being there.   I remember being so excited at the mere prospect of being pregnant.  The mere thought of holding our baby in my arms.  It was all so new and exciting.  And terribly, terribly terrifying.  So many “what ifs”.  What if we don’t fall pregnant soon?  What if something goes wrong? What if I suffer Post-Natal Depression?  What if I’m a crap Mum?? Clearly, all the what if’s that I had were all negative but that’s another post for another day.

My friend has started a blog that she has shared with only a handful of people, one of them being me.  I feel honoured.  I must admit I cried when I read her blog.  I’m crying now remembering one specific post.  I won’t go into detail but it involves being in the baby aisle at the local supermarket.

All her hopes and thoughts as she begins this baby journey are in this blog and I am humbled by her honesty.  It reminds me not to take my children for granted.  It reminds me of how much I wanted them before they arrived.

The second catch-up was with a friend who has a baby girl still only weeks old.  She’s still so new and green.  And by “she” I’m referring to both of them.  I look at my friend and I recognise myself in the early stages of when Polynesian Princess entered our lives.  The largest common denominator we have is lack of confidence.  I had none.  My friend has none.   And that’s okay.  I tell my friend that it’s okay to feel lost and totally clueless.  This is the first time she’s done this, so let’s not expect too much of ourselves.

When her baby starts to cry and she doesn’t know why, I can relate to her rising angst.  I recall being so totally lost when Polynesian Princess would cry and you would have no idea what to do.  Change your nappy?  Feed you?  Put you to down for a sleep?  The list seemed to be endless and before I knew it, we were both in tears.

I feel it’s no accident that I’ve seen these two friends in the past week.  It has helped me to be thankful for what I have and mindful of how far I’ve come.  It’s helped to ground me with the knowledge that I’m doing an okay job.  This motherhood gig is at times rewarding, exhausting, joyful and harrowing, and as I watch my friends begin both their journeys I wish them much love, strength and confidence.

xxx

Image(s): FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Hang on a minute, I'm just checking FB...

Last week I read an article entitled Are you really there for your kids, or are you on your iPhone? on the Essential Baby website and as I read, I cringed and knew that this was me.  I was guilty of this.

The article discussed a blog by Hands-Free Mama entitled “How to Miss a Childhood”.  The premise of the article centres around our obsession with technology, specifically our phones.  I am that parent.  You know the one – pushing the swing with one hand whilst reading something on my phone with the other.  And is it wildly important what I’m reading?  Am I saving lives or the planet with my phone?

Of course not.  I’m updating my status update.  I’m checking in.  I’m sending the latest photo to Instagram, Twitter & Facebook all with the click of a button.  Little Warrior could be hanging upside down by one foot for all the attention I’m showing him.

And then I read this article and it seemed to be the wake-up call I needed.   The next day dawned and I was determined to keep my technology in my pocket, look my children in their eyes and listen to them when they spoke to me.  I would be in the moment with Little Warrior when we went to the park.  I would know that he’s just run behind that structure to play because I would have been watching him and not my phone.  I would not have my nose buried in my iPad or the Mac when the children are asking for afternoon tea and I would engage.  I would be there.

And I did it.  The world kept turning, no asteroids hit the earth and when I finally DID check my Facebook, Twitter, RSS Feed and Instagram hours later, I had missed nothing.  Nothing at all.  Five days later I’m still on track.  I’m only losing myself in technology when Little Warrior is asleep and Polynesian Princess is at school.  And I don't miss the constant engagement with the phone/pad/computer.  And even if I did, I refuse to miss their childhood.

So thank-you Hands-Free Mama.  And my children thank you too.

Image(s): FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Baby Olympics

We caught up with friends of ours this morning that have a beautiful 14-month-old daughter.  My girlfriend asked me what age my kids were when they started speaking.  She asked because a friend of hers (who also has a baby around 14 months old) had enquired whether their little cherub had started speaking yet.  Her friend then proceeded to tell her how her little one was already speaking.  So talented.  You with me?

Prior to being asked this question, my friend hadn’t even given her 14 month old’s speech development a second thought.  They were sailing along happily, as you should be when you have a 14 month old.  But as can so often happen, once somebody has planted a seed, it takes hold and you become a little worried.  Should she be speaking now?  Is there something we’re meant to be doing to aide this development?

So yes.  Sometimes the question IS innocent enough and people ARE genuinely interested in knowing what your bubba’s doing.   And sometimes people are simply playing a not-so-subtle game of Baby Olympics.  Urban Dictionary defines Baby Olympics as:

“When parents constantly compete so that their children advance more quickly, have more toys, have bigger birthday parties etc. than their "friends".

Oh yes, John and Jane are playing the Baby Olympics, they've invited 125 kids to their son's birthday party.

We were first told about Baby Olympics when I was pregnant with the Polynesian Princess.  It was one of those pieces of information that went in one ear and out the other, as I smiled sweetly at everyone giving me advice and thought “Whatever.  Less talking and more passing-me-chips please”.

The term “Baby Olympics” became relevant for me right about the second I got home from the hospital with Polynesian Princess on boob.

Them: So how often is she feeding?

Me: Every two hours and every hour around 4pm’ish

Them: (sympathetic head tilt) oh you poooor thing, when are you going to start stretching that out?

Me: Ummmm….when I want to?

Them: Well, mine went straight to four hourly feeds, no problems!  She’s SUCH a good little girl (cue the baby talk to their own child) “aren’t you darling…YES you ARE!”…

Oh FFS.

Or

Them: So is he talking yet? (referring to Little Warrior)

Me: Not really – you get a “mum” or a “dad” out of him…

Them: Mine’s such a little chatterbox – she’s such a good little talker.  She already has 100 words!

That’s great.  Big ups to you guys.  And honestly, I do think it’s awesome when our babies reach any little milestone (I do – hand on my heart), but I just never got (and still don’t get) this almost obsessive need to constantly compare and critique.  I mean, who really cares?

I think you can tell when someone is enquiring out of genuine interest, and when they’re just enquiring so that they can take Gold in the Baby Olympics category you have unwittingly been entered into.  “Oh isn’t she threading yet?”, “mine has been threading for AGES – I told them at daycare that she needs to be moved up to the next room, she’s bored in this one”.  True story.  That was a real conversation.  And no.  I’m not friends with her anymore.

Have you ever competed in Baby Olympics?  Were you a willing or unwilling participant?

Image: Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Judgy Me

One Sunday whilst I was pregnant with our first child, The Architect and I were having a leisurely breakfast at Sassafrass (one of our favourite breakfast haunts).   A couple walked past pushing a pram, but they were carrying the baby.  So just to be clear - the pram was empty.  And I thought that was the stupidest thing I had ever seen.  I remember looking at The Architect and scoffing “did you see that?” “WHY have a friggin pram if you’re not going to put the bloody baby in it!”  He thought the same.  We both shook our heads at these crazy people.

And then we had the baby.  Oh God, we had the baby.  Sometimes the baby didn’t want to be in the pram.  Sometimes the baby just screamed and cried, back-arched and dry-retched until I was obliged to pick it up and... what do you know, I’m pushing a pram but carrying the baby!

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.  Where’s your self-righteousness and judgment NOW lady?  Huh?  HUH?  It was at the moment that it clicked.  I had that ‘a-ha’ moment.  That moment when you think to yourself “OK.  I get it now...”

I’ve had a lot of those moments since we entered the world of parenting.  Too many to count, and no doubt there’ll be many more similar instances.  The difference will be that I know now.  I know that those parents (read: warriors) who go before me (into battle) know more than me.  They’re doing things for a reason.  That reason is: it works.  THIS works for us.

Like so much in life, it is so easy to sit in judgment when you’re not in the situation.  I got so much free advice from well-meaning people who didn’t have children.  And I wanted to just yell at each of them “I’m doing it this way because it works for us!”  There’s a little more clarity and understanding when you’re actually in the thick of it and living it.  Suddenly you have more empathy for those weary looking parents struggling with their energetic offspring whilst going about their daily lives.

I don’t recall this, but apparently I had made a comment to my mother about not letting my children watch television.  That thought alone sounds totally preposterous to me and I can’t believe I ever said any such thing.  But she is adamant.   In which case it would appear that I have done a complete about-face in the past few years as I let the kids watch TV everyday.  Gasp!  I know, I know.  I never thought I’d use the TV as an electronic babysitter, but I do.  And I make no apologies for it.  They love it.  Our whole family kneels at the altar of ABC2.  The Architect and I can get a sleep-in on the weekend and we’re all happy.  So sue me.

Another example is grocery shopping.  I could never understand how people could continue to do their grocery shopping with a screaming child in the trolley.  I mean, how do you DO that?  Can’t you hear that? Whenever I would witness these kinds of scenes, I could almost feel any semblance of maternal feelings ooze out of my acrylic nails and drip onto the floor, full of disdain.  I was smug in the knowledge that no kid of mine would ever behave like that!  No, never.

I am cackling now with maniacal laughter and you know that tears are just a tick-tock away.  My GOD how naïve could I be!  Obviously that whole attitude has disappeared, along with my acrylic nails.  My weekly grocery shop now involves Little Warrior standing (yes, standing) in the trolley seat with his arms wrapped around my neck like an anaconda.  Do you know how difficult it is to see when someone is squashing his little face into yours?  If I so much as hint that I’m going to try to sit him down, he will squeal so loud that you would think I’ve grabbed him by his almost two-year old gonads and yanked them back into my handbag.  All the while, I’ve got my iPhone clutched in one hand, reading the shopping list, and trying to steer the trolley with my wrists.  My WRISTS people!  Seriously.  Those things are hard enough to steer with two hands!  You get one dodgy wheel and it’s all over.

Then there’s threatening them with something and giving in.  You know what I’m talking about.  I used to think I would be the stoic and strong parent that laid down the rules and so shall they be!  All too often I would see parents threatening things that would never happen.  Stop that yelling or you won’t get a lolly.  I said stop.  I mean it.  You’re still yelling but here’s a lolly.  Judgey Me would scoff.  I knew what the problem was – you’ve got to stick with it!  They won’t know you’re serious unless you stick with the threat.  My God man, it’s basic Parenting 101.  Duh!!

What I didn’t realise was there’s a myriad of issues surrounding the threat.  Firstly, don’t threaten something that you don’t actually want to happen.  If you want to have a sleep today, don’t threaten to take away the movie at lunch.   Secondly, do you have the energy for this fight, because trust me, however much energy you’ve got, they’ve got ten times that amount.  They seem to have energy to burn. I thought I had a strong resolve.  Clearly I didn’t know strong until I met my own children.   Like water dripping on a rock, you get worn down and before you know it you’re unwrapping that Chupa Chupp and smiling weakly at the young girl behind you in line with the acrylic nails who’s staring disdainfully at you.

Don’t judge me.

One day this could be you.

Image: digitalart / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Cry me a river

So Polynesian Princess starts prep tomorrow.  This is it.  Entering the education system.  No big deal, right?  I’ve been sailing along, totally oblivious to it.  Yes, I bought the uniforms and went to all the info days/nights.  But I was too busy chasing after Little Warrior for any of it to sink in.  I’ve been cool as a cucumber.  Lots of friends have been asking “how are you going to be on her first day?” and I shrug “don’t know”.

See?  Cool as a cucumber.  Until approximately three days ago.  All coolness has since disintegrated into near hysteria.  Think Kleenex tissue ads.  Think Halle Berry ugly cry. Oh yeah.  THAT kind of crying...

Anytime The Architect mentions the words “school” and "soon", I start weeping.  Anytime.  It’s ridiculous.  And it came out of nowhere.  I did not see this coming.  Those that know me well are no doubt rolling their eyes right now saying "blind Freddy could've seen this coming".  They know that I mourn the end of anything.  And this is the end of an era for me.  The end of my baby truly being my baby.

The past (almost) five years has flown by.  How did we get from this:

to this:

 in the blink of an eye?

It was only yesterday that I was demand feeding, co-sleeping (oh yes I did) and smiling tightly as I listened to all sorts of unrequested advice.  And here we are.  Almost five, starting school and riding without training wheels.

Soon she’ll be standing in front of me (or behind a recently slammed door) screaming “BUT I LOVE HIM MUM!!!” and I’ll be in a heap on the other side of the door.

Yay.  I can't wait.

In the meantime, good wishes are going out to all Prep-Parents out there for tomorrow!  I will be working my way through a box of tissues (after I drop her off, of course) at my "Tea & Tissues" morning tea with other first-timers.  And trust me.  If the past few days are anything to go by.  I will be crying a river.

Days like these...

I can’t lie.  There are times when I look longingly, wistfully back at the days before kids.  Those times usually find me standing in the middle of my two kids fighting, screaming or crying and the Architect and I hissing at each other, disagreeing every step of the way.   The tension is rising, the kitchen’s usually hot and I’m thinking:

“Nobody told me there’d be days like these”.

Him:  “Just give the toy to him”

Me: “She had it first and it’s not fair that he gets everything just because he’s louder!”

Repeat ad nauseum.

Freeze that shot.

That’s the exact moment I’m wishing them all away and I’m sitting beside a bubbling stream or something.  Actually, this is exactly where I picture myself:

When this photo was taken, it was a simpler time.  We were in Port Douglas with brother & sister-in-law and we only had one young child each.  Life was easier and we were still travelling relatively incident and stress-free.  When this photo was taken, I knew that I would always travel back to this place in my mind because it was just so beautiful and peaceful.

Fast forward three years later and a trip up to Far North Queensland seems like a world away and Mossman Gorge lives on only as a cover photo on my Facebook page.

The times have changed and our family has changed.  There’s more noise in the house, there’s more mess in the house and there’s more things to get done.  Whilst there’s more fighting, screaming and squealing, when it’s the opposite and there is total silence, it seems strange.  The old saying “careful what you wish for because you might get it” comes back to me.   Whenever the Polynesian Princess goes to stay with her grandparents the house feels empty.  It's too quiet.  Little Warrior wanders from room to room looking for big sister and I find myself counting the days until we’re back to full complement.  Crazy innit?

So there are definitely times when I am wishing I were back in the gorge, sitting cross-legged and ommmming myself to mindfulness and peace.  But then there are times when we’re cycling home from a fish & chip dinner at Southbank, with one child on each bike and looking at the sunset from the Go Between Bridge.   Everybody is happy and for a moment, everybody is quiet.  It is sheer bliss, and I think:

“Nobody told me there’d be days like these”.

Harden up!

So it was my DD’s last day at kindy yesterday and you could have been forgiven for thinking that it was my last day on God’s green earth.  I felt so sad for the end of such a wonderful year, but anybody who knows me, knows I tend to grieve for the end of anything.  Even a book.  I get this sense of ‘loss’ that seems to envelop me and that I can’t tend to shake.

Yesterday was yet another example.  I tried a few times to thank my daughter’s fantastic C&K teachers for doing such a wonderful job throughout the year, and yet I couldn’t get past the initial smile.  The mere thought of saying thank-you and what I wanted to say, was enough to produce a lump in my throat so big that I had to just walk away each time.  Pathetic.  I mean, REALLY?!  What the hell am I going to do when she finishes primary school?  Or high school?  Or uni?!  Let’s all hope that I get over it by then and harden up.

Change of plans!

Oh what a difference a couple of weeks makes!  Two weeks ago I was on a high.  Decision made.  I’m goin’ back to work baby!!  Only to be shattered by the news that we didn’t get a place for DS.  I hung up the phone, put my head in my hands and cried like a baby.  And I don’t mean screamed, kicking my legs while simultaneously trying to scratch whoever is holding me.  I actually mean, just cried.  Shoulders and everything.

But after a couple of days, I began to see the universe had other plans for me.  No rushing back to work for this little black duck (who you calling ‘black).  I am at peace with the fact that I will be at home for a little longer than anticipated.

Maybe we’ll get a place next month, or next week, or even tomorrow.  But whatever happens, I’m happy to roll with it…