Sometimes it just all goes pear shaped. I think I've been a better mother since I have come to realise that there are highs and lows to be expected in everyday. Even as we enjoy the moment of a loving cuddle or caring sharing chat, we are aware of the icebergs big enough to sink the titanic that we navigate around. We avoid them as much as we can but sometimes we scrape past them and end in deep cold water, or languishing in a life raft. The shit hits the fan, the wheels fall off, the yelling voices come out, the tears fly and we beat ourselves up for bring less than Mother Theresa.
The patience of a saint, or as my friend describes it, it's scraping the bottom of your boots for a sliver more patience.
Just because I never write about my shipwrecks doesn't mean they don't happen. I am so awful to them sometimes. I yell. I stamp my feet. I slam doors. And then I put them in time out for doing exactly those things. I lie to them - 'maybe Santa will get you one for Christmas!', and I stretch time - 3 mins in timeout becomes 10 when I forget them. Or 10 mins on the computer becomes 2 because I'm desperate to get them to bed. I lose my cool. I hide in the toilet reading my book. I send them on errands to distract them when I know they won't find what they're looking for. I forget to brush their teeth, then blame my husband when my son develops 4 cavities. One day recently I had man flu and couldn't bring myself to get out of bed and make school lunches so I let them stay at home and play free on-line games. Another day my son had a bleeding nose in the car and I threw him back a spare nappy to stop the flow not realising until later that it had already been used, for number 2's.
But I love them and they love me. I never hit them, because I know I am their role model and they copy my behaviour, and it's absolutely not ok. I repeat to myself 'who's the adult? - I'm the adult' over and over again. I try not to hold grudges because they never do. I let the clouds pass then pick myself up and learn more about myself and them everyday. I have a glass of wine (after 4pm if i'm alone) and find an adult to have a laugh with.
I try not to be offended when Little Brother tells me he had a dream where I was a giant green gollum. Or when Big Brother announces loudly at school swimming sports in front of the kids and parents - 'look, mum, your moustache is getting longer! Look, Gus, my mum is growing a moustache!'
I hold onto the buzz I feel when Little Miss looks me up and down across her weetbix bowl and nods approvingly 'beautiful girt (skirt), mama' and I remember that tomorrow is another chance to sail the Titanic safely, happily into shore.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
The best medicine
My dad has an amazing sense of humour. I have recently come to appreciate how much he uses it to carry on in the face of insurmountable challenges. It is the way he connects to people (and assesses how seriously they take themselves), instantly creating a bond through laughter, and quietly reminding them that he is so much more than a man with a bunch of broken ribs, pneumonia and a blocked bowel lying in a hospital bed after an accident.
He's covered in bruises and circumnavigated by tubes. "I'll know I've got the full set when they shove something up my bum," he jokes.
The nurse reaches down his shirt and attaches the ECG machine to assess why his heart is working too fast. 'Watch out what you grab down there' he warns. 'I'm not reaching that far,' she replies. He feigns shock 'I was talking about my nipples, what were you meaning?'
He laughs, and that sets off a round of hacking and coughing as his lungs work to bring together all the distant flecks of infection for the great expectoration. He's disappointed by his spitting range, as it gets lodged on either his nasal tube thats draining his stomach contents, or gets stuck in the oxygen mask. 'I can usually hit the arse of a fly at ten yards' he says by way of explanation of poor form.
The Physio helps him to sit in the chair as he explains his multiple medical problems. 'aren't you a work of art' she pronounces kindly, although he thinks she says 'arent you a right arse'. He tells her he is a spy for the medical association undercover checking out the treatment of patients by staff, and that he is going to report her. I tell him staging a motor bike accident to get into work was taking his pretend job too seriously.
We discover he coughs the most effectively after a laugh so the ICU nurses are encouraged to deliver their best line in the spirit of healing. I feel sorry for the consultant who doesn't take the time to listen to his patient, in this case to hear the joke he's got to tell. Every else who comes and looks after my Dad feels so much better afterwards.
He's covered in bruises and circumnavigated by tubes. "I'll know I've got the full set when they shove something up my bum," he jokes.
The nurse reaches down his shirt and attaches the ECG machine to assess why his heart is working too fast. 'Watch out what you grab down there' he warns. 'I'm not reaching that far,' she replies. He feigns shock 'I was talking about my nipples, what were you meaning?'
He laughs, and that sets off a round of hacking and coughing as his lungs work to bring together all the distant flecks of infection for the great expectoration. He's disappointed by his spitting range, as it gets lodged on either his nasal tube thats draining his stomach contents, or gets stuck in the oxygen mask. 'I can usually hit the arse of a fly at ten yards' he says by way of explanation of poor form.
The Physio helps him to sit in the chair as he explains his multiple medical problems. 'aren't you a work of art' she pronounces kindly, although he thinks she says 'arent you a right arse'. He tells her he is a spy for the medical association undercover checking out the treatment of patients by staff, and that he is going to report her. I tell him staging a motor bike accident to get into work was taking his pretend job too seriously.
We discover he coughs the most effectively after a laugh so the ICU nurses are encouraged to deliver their best line in the spirit of healing. I feel sorry for the consultant who doesn't take the time to listen to his patient, in this case to hear the joke he's got to tell. Every else who comes and looks after my Dad feels so much better afterwards.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Back from Holidays
After 7 weeks of routine free fun in the sun, I felt especially obliged to be really rant-y tonight when putting the three kiddies to bed.
"It's a school night!' I blazed. "NO, you can't listen to that story until midnight".
You see, I needed to prove to myself that I've still got it.
After weeks of 'Sure, eat another bowl of cereal, you've only had three meals of weetbix today!', or "Sure, you don't need to wear undies", or "Yes, sleep in your clothes", or "Yes, lets go back to the beach" or "Yes, stay up and play spotlight in the dark", or "Yes, lets play cards all morning and make ray guns all afternoon", I just needed to check I can make the rules, that I'm the adult again, (rather than the leader of the gang who happens to have a visa card and a driver's liscence.)
We have had fun with these cool little people that we are so priviledged to drive around, spend money on, beat at cards, and during term time, parent.
They have all handled the long break in their own way.
Big Brother has been reading up on war. Following a christmas present of "War stories for young boys" - he has read it cover to cover a few times, and filled me in on tank warfare, aircraft firing, how to escape from prisoner of war camps, and how to get across a field littered with land mines (they started to demonstrate this by mining the front lawn of the bach, but someone was going to break an ankle, let alone be blown to bits by the hand crafted lego mines).
He also spent hours drawing. We compiled a 2cm thick book of compiled artistic creations by the end of the holidays and stapled them together for future wet weather reading on holiday.
Little Brother still inhabits the superhero Ninja world, where a beach full of pumice and sticks provides a weapons cache that would put General Gentry (aka older brother ) to shame.
"Can I get some weights, Mum?"he asked
"ah, why? " I asked
"Because I want to get muscles. When I grow up I want to be a Fat Ninja"
One day he spent hours drawing a picture and dictated to me a 7 page book describing his superhero powers (blue lightning, ice), his team of superhero warriors, and of course the enemies.
Another day I was helping him into his togs and commented on the 2 pairs of undies he was wearing (more than sum total of whole holiday that far). "Well, ' he says, " every time I lose a pair of undies I lose a life. Look, over there" - he indicated the discarded pair by the toilet - " I died over there, today".
(He's saving his pocket money to buy himself an Iphone. At the current rate he'll be 27 when he can afford it.)
Little Miss attacked her holidays with typical cheerfulness, expanding vocabulary, and multiple costume changes a day while still managing to spend most of her time naked.
"When I an adult", she confided in me one day while I was making a cup of tea, " I GOING to drink tea. " Then she lent forward and whispered ' "and, wine!"
Another day she was moaning after a walk across the long grass.
"I have scratchy ball-ies!" She said
"What's that?" I asked not quite sure I heard her correctly.
"I have scratchy balls-ies! " She yelled
"Which part exactly is scratchy? "
She pointed at her bitten ankles -
"You mean you have scratchy ankles," I corrected.
"No, they look like little balls! "
"It's a school night!' I blazed. "NO, you can't listen to that story until midnight".
You see, I needed to prove to myself that I've still got it.
After weeks of 'Sure, eat another bowl of cereal, you've only had three meals of weetbix today!', or "Sure, you don't need to wear undies", or "Yes, sleep in your clothes", or "Yes, lets go back to the beach" or "Yes, stay up and play spotlight in the dark", or "Yes, lets play cards all morning and make ray guns all afternoon", I just needed to check I can make the rules, that I'm the adult again, (rather than the leader of the gang who happens to have a visa card and a driver's liscence.)
We have had fun with these cool little people that we are so priviledged to drive around, spend money on, beat at cards, and during term time, parent.
They have all handled the long break in their own way.
Big Brother has been reading up on war. Following a christmas present of "War stories for young boys" - he has read it cover to cover a few times, and filled me in on tank warfare, aircraft firing, how to escape from prisoner of war camps, and how to get across a field littered with land mines (they started to demonstrate this by mining the front lawn of the bach, but someone was going to break an ankle, let alone be blown to bits by the hand crafted lego mines).
He also spent hours drawing. We compiled a 2cm thick book of compiled artistic creations by the end of the holidays and stapled them together for future wet weather reading on holiday.
Little Brother still inhabits the superhero Ninja world, where a beach full of pumice and sticks provides a weapons cache that would put General Gentry (aka older brother ) to shame.
"Can I get some weights, Mum?"he asked
"ah, why? " I asked
"Because I want to get muscles. When I grow up I want to be a Fat Ninja"
One day he spent hours drawing a picture and dictated to me a 7 page book describing his superhero powers (blue lightning, ice), his team of superhero warriors, and of course the enemies.
Another day I was helping him into his togs and commented on the 2 pairs of undies he was wearing (more than sum total of whole holiday that far). "Well, ' he says, " every time I lose a pair of undies I lose a life. Look, over there" - he indicated the discarded pair by the toilet - " I died over there, today".
(He's saving his pocket money to buy himself an Iphone. At the current rate he'll be 27 when he can afford it.)
Little Miss attacked her holidays with typical cheerfulness, expanding vocabulary, and multiple costume changes a day while still managing to spend most of her time naked.
"When I an adult", she confided in me one day while I was making a cup of tea, " I GOING to drink tea. " Then she lent forward and whispered ' "and, wine!"
Another day she was moaning after a walk across the long grass.
"I have scratchy ball-ies!" She said
"What's that?" I asked not quite sure I heard her correctly.
"I have scratchy balls-ies! " She yelled
"Which part exactly is scratchy? "
She pointed at her bitten ankles -
"You mean you have scratchy ankles," I corrected.
"No, they look like little balls! "
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Let the games begin
After a week of shoe horsing tired boys into uniforms, patching up shoes with duct tape and bribing them with sugary snacks in their lunch boxes, finally the final bell came. The teachers looked as relieved as the children. The parents were slightly less excited at the prospect of 6 weeks full time childcare, but at least the lunch boxes can be retired, and food simply laid about the house in opportune piles for casual grazing.
We got home at 2pm after a celebratory pizza and chip lunch with half the school at the long suffering local pizzeria. The boys first mission was to voluntarily clean the car so buckets of soppy water, hoses, spray bottles, clothes and water guns were hastily provided. It was a good reminder of holiday lesson number 1. Go with the chaos. Especially if something might be cleaned in the process.
Next, all the toy animals and McDonald's pre-landfill plastic collection of 2012 were collected, and lined up on the bedroom floor in preparation for a epic battle. This was a good reminder of No. 2. Go with the mess. And watch where you step.
The trampoline began it's transformation into a pirate ship. 'I need a stick to put the sail on' Little Brother said. 'And tomorrow, I'm going to work on the stuff that's inside the pirate ship, like a TV. It's going to be awesomely rocket.'
He ran off to get out of his uniform and into his casual look du jour - a T-shirt for a T-shirt, a T-shirt for shorts (legs through armholes and voila - instant tail!) and undies for a beard.
Reminder No.3. Go with the increase in washing. And pick up all used undies before they are recycled into props.
We had two swims in the sea over the afternoon and evening. Big Brother and Little Brother swam out in their life jackets as hubby and I watched and enjoyed a beer and chat in the setting sun. 'He was slipping out of his life jacket and I saved his life' was the report from Big Brother when they arrived back. He's prone to exaggeration, but still, Reminder No.4. Keep up the head count. 1.2.3. Children. How many? 1.2.3. Very precious and quite independent but still needing close supervision.
It got later and later in the day as Little Brother tried to find the perfect body cover that wouldn't attract bees, and Big Brother continued writing his lengthy tome that is entitled 'My Christmas list'.
Reminder no.5. What's bed time? We're having too much fun.
.
We got home at 2pm after a celebratory pizza and chip lunch with half the school at the long suffering local pizzeria. The boys first mission was to voluntarily clean the car so buckets of soppy water, hoses, spray bottles, clothes and water guns were hastily provided. It was a good reminder of holiday lesson number 1. Go with the chaos. Especially if something might be cleaned in the process.
Next, all the toy animals and McDonald's pre-landfill plastic collection of 2012 were collected, and lined up on the bedroom floor in preparation for a epic battle. This was a good reminder of No. 2. Go with the mess. And watch where you step.
The trampoline began it's transformation into a pirate ship. 'I need a stick to put the sail on' Little Brother said. 'And tomorrow, I'm going to work on the stuff that's inside the pirate ship, like a TV. It's going to be awesomely rocket.'
He ran off to get out of his uniform and into his casual look du jour - a T-shirt for a T-shirt, a T-shirt for shorts (legs through armholes and voila - instant tail!) and undies for a beard.
Reminder No.3. Go with the increase in washing. And pick up all used undies before they are recycled into props.
We had two swims in the sea over the afternoon and evening. Big Brother and Little Brother swam out in their life jackets as hubby and I watched and enjoyed a beer and chat in the setting sun. 'He was slipping out of his life jacket and I saved his life' was the report from Big Brother when they arrived back. He's prone to exaggeration, but still, Reminder No.4. Keep up the head count. 1.2.3. Children. How many? 1.2.3. Very precious and quite independent but still needing close supervision.
It got later and later in the day as Little Brother tried to find the perfect body cover that wouldn't attract bees, and Big Brother continued writing his lengthy tome that is entitled 'My Christmas list'.
Reminder no.5. What's bed time? We're having too much fun.
.
X's and Why's
As women we walk the tightrope of the double XX chromosome. Some of us balance perfectly poised dancing through life, and others of us swing side to side changing our minds like Tarzan trying to find rhe perfect vine. I can see with Little Miss 3 that she's already begun practising her acrobatics. On one side of the X's she feels the drive to be autonomous, independent, in charge of her destiny.
We're driving.
'I COLD" she yells, 'put up my window."
I put up her car window.
'But, I really cold' she yells again 'put up your window'.
'No thanks,' I said,' I want my window down because I am hot'.
And yet, on the other side of X, she really really wants to fit in, live the in crowd, keep up with the latest trend.
'But I'm Hot too" she yells straight back at me. "I want MY window down".
The other morning there was the empty packet of highly-priced-strictly-for-adults-in-the-family-cereal lying empty on the table.
'Who ate all the cereal?' I grumbled, asking nobody in particular.
'Actually, I eat it ' she said. 'I eat it p-cos, I eat it p-cos, (pause) I CAN eat it'.
While it's lovely having a like-chromosomed creature in the house, it's like running into a dear friend while travelling on Titanic. Having two of us onboard means it's going to get hairy for everyone at some stage.
A few weeks ago she was happily sitting in the car watching the world go by, when she suddenly observed "Mumma, your hair is all grimpily!"
"Thanks, I think" I replied, unsure if it was a heavily disguised compliment, or not.
A few days later, she told a friend. " You have grimpily hair, too, just like my mum!"
This was encouraging, considering the shiny stylish hair of my friend.
But last night all hopes were shattered. 'You lie down, Mummy' she said. 'I going to cut cut cut your hair. And brush it too. It's ALL grimpily, again.'
She is torn between desperately wanting to gather information, but already knowing all the answers.
' Where the sun gone?' She demanded, as we drove through the twilight home from scouts.
' The sun has gone down, so it's nighttime now'
'No. Why? She countered.
I tried my best. ' During the day the sun moves across our sky, but during the night it's moving across the sky on the other side of the world so it's daytime there'
(I feel bad about the Santa fallacy so I try to give as truthful answers as I can the rest of the year)
'No. Why?'
'Well actually, it's the earth that travels around the sun, but don't worry about that. Everyday the sun looks like it travels across the sky, then it sets and it's dark while the sun is on the other side of the planet. ' I bumbled.
' No. Your hair is grimpily.'
' Ok. Thanks.'
On the Y chromosome team, life seems much more practical, needs based, got-an-itch-scratch-it.
It comes in handy for random gaps in conversation, 'You should never bury your Dad in the desert sands when he's sunbathing and falls asleep ' Little Brother advised his cousin the other day, 'you might never find him again!'
And another favourite conversation starter: 'Did you know that I am allergic to poison?'
We're driving.
'I COLD" she yells, 'put up my window."
I put up her car window.
'But, I really cold' she yells again 'put up your window'.
'No thanks,' I said,' I want my window down because I am hot'.
And yet, on the other side of X, she really really wants to fit in, live the in crowd, keep up with the latest trend.
'But I'm Hot too" she yells straight back at me. "I want MY window down".
The other morning there was the empty packet of highly-priced-strictly-for-adults-in-the-family-cereal lying empty on the table.
'Who ate all the cereal?' I grumbled, asking nobody in particular.
'Actually, I eat it ' she said. 'I eat it p-cos, I eat it p-cos, (pause) I CAN eat it'.
While it's lovely having a like-chromosomed creature in the house, it's like running into a dear friend while travelling on Titanic. Having two of us onboard means it's going to get hairy for everyone at some stage.
A few weeks ago she was happily sitting in the car watching the world go by, when she suddenly observed "Mumma, your hair is all grimpily!"
"Thanks, I think" I replied, unsure if it was a heavily disguised compliment, or not.
A few days later, she told a friend. " You have grimpily hair, too, just like my mum!"
This was encouraging, considering the shiny stylish hair of my friend.
But last night all hopes were shattered. 'You lie down, Mummy' she said. 'I going to cut cut cut your hair. And brush it too. It's ALL grimpily, again.'
She is torn between desperately wanting to gather information, but already knowing all the answers.
' Where the sun gone?' She demanded, as we drove through the twilight home from scouts.
' The sun has gone down, so it's nighttime now'
'No. Why? She countered.
I tried my best. ' During the day the sun moves across our sky, but during the night it's moving across the sky on the other side of the world so it's daytime there'
(I feel bad about the Santa fallacy so I try to give as truthful answers as I can the rest of the year)
'No. Why?'
'Well actually, it's the earth that travels around the sun, but don't worry about that. Everyday the sun looks like it travels across the sky, then it sets and it's dark while the sun is on the other side of the planet. ' I bumbled.
' No. Your hair is grimpily.'
' Ok. Thanks.'
On the Y chromosome team, life seems much more practical, needs based, got-an-itch-scratch-it.
It comes in handy for random gaps in conversation, 'You should never bury your Dad in the desert sands when he's sunbathing and falls asleep ' Little Brother advised his cousin the other day, 'you might never find him again!'
And another favourite conversation starter: 'Did you know that I am allergic to poison?'
Friday, December 7, 2012
Countdown aka Dash for the finish
Christmas fever is building in our house. Oh, yeah. To be honest I'm about ready to pack in all commitments and resign myself to overeating, sorting lego into colours and pjama's as acceptable day wear. Yet, still we have a play centre christmas party, a 40th party, a community market, a tree to decorate, a 3 year old birthday party to organise and execute, white chocolate cheese cake to make, cards to post, friends to see, parcels to send, a nativity performance, a pizza night, christmas carols to practise on the ukelele.
No wonder we go about raving about peace, love and joy this time of the year cause we really need it. So much expectation to do it all in the few weeks left of this year, lets not forget there is another year around the corner.
The kids are enjoying the build up. They have started singing themselves to sleep with renditions of Silent night.
Little Brother told me the other day - 'Mum, I actually am going to make some Holy Spirit. I actually know the recipe - do you want to hear it? '
I was very keen. He said - 'I need milk and leaves and three types of food colouring - cause, you know, one for the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.' (Oh, that kind of spirit, I was hoping for a bit of holy Vodka).
They set up the Nativity scene on the fire hearth, and Big Brother pointed out the three wise men - 'That one is bringing Jesus gold.'
'ooh, treasure' said Little brother, a very keen pirate himself/.
'That one is bringing MURR' BB continued, himself a veteran of two Nativity plays,
'And that one is bring Frankfurters'.
No wonder we go about raving about peace, love and joy this time of the year cause we really need it. So much expectation to do it all in the few weeks left of this year, lets not forget there is another year around the corner.
The kids are enjoying the build up. They have started singing themselves to sleep with renditions of Silent night.
Little Brother told me the other day - 'Mum, I actually am going to make some Holy Spirit. I actually know the recipe - do you want to hear it? '
I was very keen. He said - 'I need milk and leaves and three types of food colouring - cause, you know, one for the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.' (Oh, that kind of spirit, I was hoping for a bit of holy Vodka).
They set up the Nativity scene on the fire hearth, and Big Brother pointed out the three wise men - 'That one is bringing Jesus gold.'
'ooh, treasure' said Little brother, a very keen pirate himself/.
'That one is bringing MURR' BB continued, himself a veteran of two Nativity plays,
'And that one is bring Frankfurters'.
NO !
She is going to be the perfect teenager. The world revolves around her and she controls the universe by saying 'NO' at every opportunity. I have to learn to state requests and never ever ask her if she wants to do something. The answer is already and will always be (until age 25) : No.
In a moment of weakness (and in desperate search for just the right type of requested undies for a christmas present) I ventured for the first time ever, into the Mall with her.
It was a doomed mission as she was already tired from a big weekend and late night. As we pulled into a park and she screeched "NO! Don't want this park, want THAT park" (pointing at the vacant space next to our car)
Oh dear. If that wasn't case for aborting mission, I dont know what further sign I needed. However, blithely, stupidly, thinking 'how bad can it be? she's two years old', I pushed on.
It was a classic case of mall-staggers crossed with christmas-toddler-grabs. I WANT IT! she yelled when she saw everything, the 10 metre tree , the sparkley baubles, the jockey undies with Dan Carter's own baubles buldging. I covered her eyes and said peacefully "Ok, lets put it on your christmas list".
The first 10 times I managed to say in peacefully, but that didn't last. I WANT IT ON MY CHRISTMAS LIST! she yelled. She's quite loud, my daughter.
I resorted to bribery and headed to buy us a juice, for (um?) good behaviour. She proceeded to have not one but two fully fledged lying on the ground, dress up round her ears, kicking, screaming tantrums as she objected to sharing the strawberry smoothie with me.
I kept up my mantra under my breath 'Who's the adult? I'm the adult'.
I carried her back to the car and went home and put her to bed. 2 hours later she emerged sweetness and delight.
I spent the time thinking of when she is a teenager and what how things will be so much better then. She'll ask 'Can I borrow the car?" Can I stay out late? Can I go to a party? He's just my friend!"
You know my answer will be?
In a moment of weakness (and in desperate search for just the right type of requested undies for a christmas present) I ventured for the first time ever, into the Mall with her.
It was a doomed mission as she was already tired from a big weekend and late night. As we pulled into a park and she screeched "NO! Don't want this park, want THAT park" (pointing at the vacant space next to our car)
Oh dear. If that wasn't case for aborting mission, I dont know what further sign I needed. However, blithely, stupidly, thinking 'how bad can it be? she's two years old', I pushed on.
It was a classic case of mall-staggers crossed with christmas-toddler-grabs. I WANT IT! she yelled when she saw everything, the 10 metre tree , the sparkley baubles, the jockey undies with Dan Carter's own baubles buldging. I covered her eyes and said peacefully "Ok, lets put it on your christmas list".
The first 10 times I managed to say in peacefully, but that didn't last. I WANT IT ON MY CHRISTMAS LIST! she yelled. She's quite loud, my daughter.
I resorted to bribery and headed to buy us a juice, for (um?) good behaviour. She proceeded to have not one but two fully fledged lying on the ground, dress up round her ears, kicking, screaming tantrums as she objected to sharing the strawberry smoothie with me.
I kept up my mantra under my breath 'Who's the adult? I'm the adult'.
I carried her back to the car and went home and put her to bed. 2 hours later she emerged sweetness and delight.
I spent the time thinking of when she is a teenager and what how things will be so much better then. She'll ask 'Can I borrow the car?" Can I stay out late? Can I go to a party? He's just my friend!"
You know my answer will be?
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