Tag: Child

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family anecdotes More about me Random thoughts

Waking

I love waking up. It’s something that happens very rarely, maybe once or twice a year. Okay, maybe three. Or four. But not more than half-a-dozen, I’m sure of it.
Right now you’re thinking “This chic is crazy”. And yes, I probably am a little, but not over this. So I guess I’d better explain myself.
I rarely ‘wake up’ because I’m always being ‘woken up’. Yes, there is a distinction. No, I never understood the distinction until I became a parent.
I absolutely LOOOOOOOOOVE waking up. The sensation of realising that you’re awake, and that you’ve slept, and that now that you’re awake you can tell that you’ve achieved this state of wakefulness all by yourself, and that you don’t have to immediately rush out of bed to attend a child, a pet, or other miscellaneous disturbance, but that you have the leisure to lie there for a minute, or two, or three, (or even maybe to go back to sleep again!) with noone demanding your time, your attention, your energy… Yes, I love waking up.
I have never owned an alarm clock. I have always been a ‘morning person’. I have always woken at 6, or before if I was anxious about anything. Those days are gone now. A pity, in a way, but I’d NEVER give up my kids just to get a few hours more sleep. The benefits far outweigh, and all that sort of stuff.
Take my mornings, now.
Most of them, say around 17 or 18 out of 20, I wake up when the door to my bedroom opens. It’s generally around 5.45am, and the house is dark and quiet. Mr 2 walks quietly past Hubby and around to my side of the bed. He then stands there with his hand on my shoulder or arm, until I put an arm around him. Or he climbs up next to me and lies down. He doesn’t make a sound. He’ll stay quiet, not moving. He won’t fall asleep. He’s just happy being hugged. And he stays with me ’til I take him out of the room.
My daughters never did that. Sure, they came in on the odd occasion, or they tried to, but it was always a ‘middle of the night’ thing, not a ‘I’ve woken up now and I know it’s morning but instead of playing with my toys in my room (which is what he used to do) I want to give you a hug until you’re ready to get up and play with me’.
I love that about my mornings. I know it’s a phase, and he’ll grow out of it quicker than I want him too, but right at the moment, his early morning cuddle trumps even ‘my waking up’.
And I love that.

Photo: Mr 2. Taken by the exceptional Greg Parsons.

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family anecdotes More about me Random thoughts

Hand in hand

Miss 4 is my ‘Wha?Huh?’ child. Not because she asks questions constantly, but because that’s what everyone always says when they see us together.
I’m Eurasian. My hair is thick, straight, and very dark brown. I also have dark brown eyes, and olive skin that can get VERY olive when I’ve been in the sun. Miss 4, on the other hand, has wispy thin blonde hair, very blue eyes, and fair skin.
Exactly. My ‘Wha?Huh?!’ child.
Yes, she’s mine. Yes, she’s my husband’s. (It’s both amusing and disconcerting, just how many people – from strangers through to close friends – have insinuated that I’m a tramp, since she’s been born. The strangers, I admit, wouldn’t know me from a bar of soap. But acquaintances, friends, and close friends? Surely they’d know that Hubby and I’ve been happily married for over 16 years now…?!!) I don’t remember such insinuations ever happening beforehand. Plus, when you think about it, even alleged promiscuity doesn’t make sense. I gave birth to her but it’s ME that she DOESN’T look like!!?)
She also doesn’t have an ounce of my ‘perfectionist, cranky, must be done my way’ nature. She’s a cruisy kid who loves to laugh. She’s a beautiful dancer, but hopeless at singing in tune. A big fruit eater, she’s the healthiest of all my kids, and will probably be the largest, if the first few years of her life are anything to go by.
The other day, I was sitting in *my* chair (topic for another blog post, dear readers) and she was standing next to me, hand in my hand, while I was trimming her fingernails. I finished, then, as she does at least a dozen times a day, she said, “Hug and kiss, Mummy?” then proceeded to give me one of each.
I looked at her, looking up at me and smiling her gorgeous smile, those big blue eyes wide open and full of trust and innocence, and counted myself blessed. So blessed to have such a loving child. So blessed to have three loving children, who are happy and healthy and who enrich my life so completely.
How lucky am I to be hand in hand with such treasures. Thank you, Lord!

Photo: Greg Parsons. Great guy, brilliant photographer.

Categories
family anecdotes Random thoughts

Children, animals, and the joys (?!) of combining the two

Children love animals, I’ve noticed. Well, mine do, at any rate. I probably shouldn’t speak for others’! But my three kids ADORE animals, and would make each one that they encounter, a ‘pet’, if they could. But they can’t. Because of me.
You see, I’m a middle child. Of three. Who had always promised herself that she would never have an odd number of children. (Whoops! That one didn’t work out too well, did it?!!) and something else I had decided in my pre-kid days, was that I would try my utmost to keep things fair in my parenting. To keep it consistent.
To that end, when I was pregnant with Miss 7 all those years ago, I sat down and wrote out a list. The ‘ages and stages’ at which things would happen. How much pocket money, how often, at what age, and for what types of chores. When they would be allowed to get their ears pierced. When they would be allowed to go out with their friends, with no adult supervision. When they would start cooking a weekly meal for the family. That sort of list. And also on the list was ‘when they could get their first pet’.
As they have grown, we have often spoken about the list, and they enjoy adding to it when they want something but know that they’re still too young. Thus ‘going in the chicken pen by myself’ (a desperate ‘need’ when she was just 4) Miss 7 gave an ‘age 6’ and ‘driving a tractor’ (again – Wha? Huh?!) got 18, and so on. And because these new additions to ‘the list’ are negotiated prior to being written down, everyone’s happy, knowing that the same rule applies to everyone.
It’s the rules that I made up, so many years ago now, that appear to be a sticking point. Rules like: ‘first (individual) pet when you turn 13’. Because, as I’ve blogged before, my children all receive pocket money (well, from the age of 3, so Mr 2 won’t start getting any for a couple of months yet) and it’s really quite difficult to say ‘no’ to a pet when they can save up and buy one themselves, if they’re disciplined enough. And Miss 7 is.
When she was 5, the nagging started. “Please, Mummy, can I buy a pet? Please?! I really want a pet!” ad nauseum, with all the promises of ‘taking care of it’ thrown in. She wasn’t satisfied with the ‘we have family pets’ argument, and – let’s face it – she was determined enough to save up sufficient pocket money. So I caved, and at the grand age of five-and-a-half, she became the proud owner of ‘Snappy’, a Venus Fly Trap. Apparently Snappy was a girl, although I’m still unsure to this day whether carnivorous plants are gender-specific. She lasted a week. She drowned, literally, in too much love.
Devastated, Miss 5 wanted something hardier, so she begged until I submitted and allowed her a fish. So she started saving, and paid for tank, filter, pebbles, food, and fish out of her own pocket. Really, with such diligence, how could I not reward her!? And several months ago, she became a pet owner once again.
Whitey, the goldfish, is now a prized possession. And the lessons on responsible pet ownership were learned quickly and with good grace, on the most part. But try as I might, I couldn’t convince her that she was feeding Whitey too much.

“Why does my fish tank need cleaning more than yours does?” “Because you feed your fish too much” was met with disbelief. Perhaps too much reading of “A fish out of water” by Helen Palmer – a favourite story, with illustration at the top of this post – had convinced her that she could feed Whitey lots, and he wouldn’t grow like the fictional Otto had. Nevertheless, Miss 6 continued to feed him a large pinch of fish food, twice daily, and by the time we were decorating the house for Christmas, Whitey had grown fat and difficult to see in his often dirty tank.

Two days ago, Miss 6 turned into Miss 7 and, as Whitey’s tank needed cleaning, I asked her if she would like me to do it. (It’s normally a job we do together.) Of course, she said yes, so I cleaned the tank, remarking on Whitey’s weight, and comparing him to Max, our very old and sadly, very fat Labrador who we buried just three weeks ago. I reiterated her need to feed him less.
Yesterday, Miss 7 was looking at Whitey’s tank, when she called me into her room.”Mummy, I can see what you mean now! Whitey’s fat, isn’t he? I think I need to feed him less. Will he ever lose weight?” An answer in the affirmative had her smiling. Then she added, “And he keeps on decorating his tank with lots of poo. Look at it all!”

I had to laugh. Lesson learned, maybe?

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my novel-in-progress Random thoughts

Day 3 – in which I completely miss the mark

Yesterday morning I wrote something about aiming for ‘morning blogging’. Ha!!!!! This (7.32pm) is my first time turning on my computer today! (Well, actually, I tell a lie. I had it on between 6.30 and 7am, just to tweet and update facebook for work. And start some preliminary job-hunting for next year.)

It’s been a busy day. But Miss 6’s half of her bedroom is now clean and tidy (woohoo!) and she has a brand new fish-tank sitting empty on her desk. Sunday markets in Caboolture can be quite a motivator for cleaning, I’ve found! She’s been after a fish tank of her own for some time, so I decided I’d use whatever currency I had to help her organise her HUGE creation of completed and partially completed ‘collages’ – and all the miscellaneous crap that ‘could be used in a collage one day!!!’ (A hoarder at 6. This does not bode well! Or is it that all kids are like this at this age?!) So there went quite a number of hours. Then there was church this morning, and the Sunday drive after, and that doesn’t leave as much time as I’d hoped…

So yes. Writing time? Not so much. But I did a couple of hundred words yesterday – does that count? LOL!

Well, I guess I could try fitting some in now. It’s quiet, I’m snug and warm, and there’s a couple of hours left of laptop battery. So here goes…

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#blogjune my novel-in-progress Uncategorized

Day 2 post-#blogjune challenge – in which I sleep in until 6.15am

Day 2 since #blogjune and I think I’ll try maintaining this ‘habit’ for as long as I can. The ‘non-assignment writing’ writing that I’ve been doing recently (as I mentioned to BFF -!! – yesterday) has already resulted in more ‘metacognition’ (her word! One of the many reason’s she’s an inspiration…) and re-drafting thoughts in my head once they’ve been thunk. Pretty cool.

So anyway, I also thought I’d aim for morning blogging. Was inspired by a post or two on writing (thanks to @AlisonWnz for the link in my tweetstream!) so for today there’s not a whole heap to reflect on… unless you count the morning sleep “in” until 6.15. At which point I had to get up because Miss 3 decided to remove her nighttime nappy but miss the toilet, spoiling last night’s efforts. But that’s okay. 6.15am for me is 45 minutes later than my normal ‘sleep-ins’!

So now – off to do some writing! See you tomorrow, in which I may (or may not) report on my progress…

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#blogjune Random thoughts

The day in review

Good friends can make your day so much better, can’t they? Yesterday was pretty full on – after the (wonderful!) Morning Tea, I got to the Showgrounds only to find that the display space allocated to the Little Saints Play group had been re-allocated, and we hadn’t been told. By midday, we had been given another (small) space; by 2pm we had finished our display.

Quick grocery shop; home with Hubby and Miss 6 by 4.30. Grandma Babysitter for Miss 3 and Master 2 left, and then I noticed the runny nose. Coughing started soon after, and things went downhill from there. Have I ever mentioned how Master 2 is really whingy when he’s sick? He finally fell asleep at 1.03am. The coughing and crying started again two hours later.

On the upside, it was wonderful to post a very early #blogjune #day7 and get birthday wishes from @jzgarnett within an hour. It was wonderful to spend an hour or so with lovely ladies from @StPaulsLPS, all toasting me with TimTams and wishing me every happiness. It was wonderful to spend time creating a display with a lady who inspires me as a mother. It was wonderful to get texts and emails from friends and family. It was wonderful to check in on facebook late at night and read birthday well-wishes from people I hadn’t thought would send them; including from schoolmates not seen in decades. It was even wonderful to realise how much I was needed by a miserable Master 2 throughout the dark hours.

So. Not at Play group today (my boy would generously infect everyone else by the time he left!) and I’m tired… but I’m happy. Thank you, Lord, for my life. It’s wonderful.

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momentous events Random thoughts Uncategorized University studies Work

Ha!

The pummelling of Master Two’s feet against his wall awoke me this morning. He must have been listening carefully though, to hear if I would react, because (cheeky sod!) he stopped as soon as he heard me sigh and sit up in bed. It being 5.09am I lay back down again and my mind turned immediately to what I could be doing, were I to get up.

The Caboolture Show preparations hadn’t been finished yet, and the display will be set up today. Well, displays actually, because (as per usual) I’ve bitten off more than I can chew and requested an extra display space this year. Five weeks ago, I started running a Play Group attached to the school which contracts my marketing services. And silly me thought the Show a fantastic opportunity to let people know of its existence. When all is said and done, it IS a fantastic opportunity. But it wasn’t until yesterday midday that I realised quite how large the space was that needed to be covered. It is large. As in, LARGE. The ladies from the school, who have set up the display for the last few years, mentioned in passing that a display set-up takes all day. ALL DAY??!!! Wow! (And I hadn’t organised childcare!) And have we – the Play Group – got enough to fill that space? I knew that the school display would. Over 350 kids means that there’s definitely enough to cover the ‘school’ area. But the Play Group? We’ve only been running five weeks. Do we have enough? That is the question whose answer is making my stomach turn and keeping my anxiety levels at their peak. “So stop just lying there and get up and keep on going with the preprarations!” I thought.

Then my mind turned to the morning. Which car to take, what stops I would need to make on the way (newsagents for thumb tacks… but maybe I could use pins instead, as we’d be hanging shirts (unofficial Play Group uniform)… and then I remembered the Morning Tea.

As “Class Carer” for the school, I organise informal get-togethers for the families of my allocated grade. Year One, in this case. And the June get-together is a Morning Tea. And it’s today. So add in a stop, at the bakery, on the way to school… and then minus time that would be needed at the Show Grounds, setting up both displays.

And then I remembered that I also needed to take further time away from Show ‘set-up’ while on the Show Grounds, because I needed to find out where to submit Miss 6’s entry into the photo competition. She loves nicking my camera, or more recently, my iPod, and “snapping” (ha! Like they do that any more) away. And she’s quite good, too! So we talked about entering one of her photos, and (of course) she wants to, and (of course) I need to organise it. And (of course for the third time) it’s due today. Not that the photo has been printed off yet, or mounted, or named, or any of that other jazz that needs to happen before I eventually find the right place to submit it and finally hand it over.

“Submitting” an item led my brain to then think about the 5000 word report due Thursday – as in, in two days! – and try to allocate time this week when I could finish it in time. Which led to a mental run through of the rest of the week (Wednesday Play Group morning; Wednesday evening Violin teaching – oh! Hang on, no. My student’s away this week camping. Yay – more time! But will it be enough to get the assignment complete!??) and so by this stage, my anxiety levels were making me jumpy. So I left sleeping hubby all cozy and warm and quietly got up. Then I remembered. It’s June 7 today.

Happy birthday, Ceridwyn.

Ha! I don’t think it’s ever taken me that long to remember my own birthday before! So I wonder what else today will bring!

See you tomorrow, everyone! (And feel free to send me happy thoughts throughout the day – they might just keep me sane with it all!)

Miss 6's photo entry. Just cos it's so cute!
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#blogjune Random thoughts

On being a Mum…

I love my blog. I just never get the chance to write in it… well, nowhere near as much as I’d like to.

So I’ve been anticipating this day, as the exciting commencement of #blogeverydayofJune. So when my day began at 1.30 (after crawling into bed at 11pm last night) I was already thinking about my first post. I lumbered back into bed after comforting Miss 2’s nightmare, only to be revived into Mother duties at 1.47am when Master 2 decided to vomit all over himself… and of course the doona, the sheet, his pyjamas and me.

One cleanup of him and room later, I continued the thinking towards today’s post while silently attempting to wash what looked (and smelled!) like about a litre’s worth of Macaroni cheese from his PJ’s and bedsheets. (I had miscalculated, too, when getting his bed ready again. I hadn’t anticipated that he had been able to not only get the plastic mattress-protector soaked, but it had seeped through the conveniently placed and previously unknown hole, and managed to get his mattress too. Bonus points for that one!) And do you know how difficult it is to silently wash bedsheets etc because your bathroom cum laundry shares a wall with your daughters’ bedroom?!

By 2.34 I was back in bad, post mostly composed. And I was just drifting off to sleep, pondering how to dispose the rest of the uncooked macaroni in the packet as some form of craft item, when the piercing choking scream alerted me to the second bout of vomiting cleanup fun.

Did I mention that Master 2 only has 2 pairs of pyjamas? And it’s nights like last night that make me question the wisdom of that decision. And, of course, during the ‘comforting while being vomited next to’ session (I managed to stay out of the way during bout number 2) that Miss 6 decided to wake up screaming with a nightmare. Again, I questioned my wisdom, this time regarding the idea of having three children. But, I love them all to bits, and wouldn’t change my life for the world. Vomit and all. So hubby was called in to action, and he calmed nightmares while I cleaned vomit. About one to two cups worth this time… enough to necessitate a change in clothes (thank you, Lord, that my son is still 2 so doesn’t object to wearing Miss 3’s pink jumper for the rest of the night!) and another quilt washing. Bed by 3.10. Up at 5.30 to make school lunches. Breakfasts, uniforms, pack the car for the day them head off by 7.20am.

Home with all three again by 5.50pm. Dinners, baths, then teach violin.

Collapse at 8.05pm when student walks out the door. Finally get to say ‘Hello’ to hubby. Turn on computer. Think again about my post.

Well, now it’s done. It’s not what I’d wanted to write, but it’s a start. So it’ll do. Yes, I’m a perfectionist at heart, but right now I’m an exhausted one and a hungry one, with a stack of work to complete, and an assignment or two to think about. Maybe even get some work done on! So I’d better get cracking, if I want to hit that pillow before midnight. And hopefully, not have a repeat of last night’s motherly duties!!!

Thanks, all, and here’s to making time for a post again tomorrow!

Categories
momentous events

This has been harder than I thought.

I guess it’s really up to me, isn’t it – where I should draw the ‘line in the sand’, as it were, between sharing my life and revealing too much. What, really, am I comfortable with virtual strangers knowing about me, and various thoughts along a similar vein. I hadn’t found it particularly tough until today. And, being a master-procrastinator about certain things, I managed to maintain a healthy state of denial that the day was passing and I hadn’t yet blogged my third ‘momentous event’ in my  previously mentioned ‘list of six’. But it’s edging closer to 11pm, so I’d better get typing, I guess. Deadlines have always been great motivators for me.

This one’s hard. It’s ‘personal’. Not that the last two weren’t, but more that… well… hmmm… how to explain? Where to start? And yes, I realise that all of this prevaricating is just using up words while I try to build up the courage to type what I had said I was going to.

Ok. Here goes. I’m going to start now.

This event, third most ‘momentous in my life’, was the day of my release. Well, the second big release in my life, actually. The first, I’ll blog about tomorrow. But this one had a longer-lasting impact.

It would have been, most likely, sometime in 2002. (I’ll have to tell you about my EXTREMELY dodgy memory, sometime!) My husband and I had been attending Glasshouse Country Baptist Church for some time, and on this particular weekend, I had decided to attend the ‘retreat’ that had been planned for the Saturday. The topic was ‘Setting the Church free’, and all the attendees were focussing on different areas in our lives where we felt that we had been hampered by emotional (or spiritual) ‘baggage’. My analytical brain (as I mentioned yesterday – ever the dispassionate observer!) was having a very interesting day, having never experienced a retreat of that nature before.

Anyway, the focus shifted from topic to topic, looking at various aspects of our lives. Witchcraft, pornography, drugs, alcohol and nicotine addictions were all discussed… and then came the ‘miscarriage / abortion’ topic.

I was immediately floored, having absolutely ZERO idea that ‘miscarriage / abortion’ could even BE an area in which you could carry ‘baggage’. Looking back now, it is obvious that it would have been included, but at that time, I felt as though I had not only been hit by a train, but that the train involved was the Brisbane – Cairns express, and I was still plastered to the front of the engine.

Seven years earlier, I had miscarried my first child. I had been 12 weeks pregnant, and just starting to celebrate getting over the ‘danger period’. Whoops. And in 2002, losing that child had been my only experience of pregnancy (to that date). And, being seven years earlier, I had thought that I had ‘dealt with it’. “Heck!” I thought to myself, sitting in that hall, “I’d had my teacher interview with Ed.Queensland two days after leaving the hospital, hadn’t I?! So of course I’m over it! I don’t need to discuss it… or think about it… I’m not carrying any ‘baggage’!” But I knew that, for all my denial, there was a massive amount of pain sitting just below the surface. That my experience of miscarriage, as traumatic as it had been, needed a lot more ‘closure’ than all the trite words of friends and family at the time, and the passage of the following seven years.

So I gave in. I’d say that it was pretty obvious, from the tears gushing down my face (as they’re starting to do again now, sitting here at my computer) and the church elders, leading the session, were able to draw me aside, and talk through it. It’s funny… until that moment, I hadn’t thought to seek counselling over my miscarriage. I had just assumed that it had been a problem with me. That my body wasn’t up to the task of carrying a child. That I wasn’t worthy. And the overwhelmingly crushing guilt that accompanied those thoughts was just something I had to get used to, and live with.

Thankfully, I had attended that retreat that day. I heard someone speak to me of another who had had a similar experience. His child had died. Not as mine had, in utero, but as a child. And this person’s thoughts, and reactions, were recorded in a source I trusted implicitly – my Bible. The person was King David, and his son had died. And his response? He tells his servants, “Can I bring him (my son) back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me.” This is in the book of 2 Samuel, Chapter 12, verse 23.

Wow. God’s Word was telling me that I would see my child in heaven. “I will go to my child, but my child will not return to me.” WOW. This is GOD’S WORD telling me this. GOD! Even now, I am taken aback by the wash of emotions this creates in me. That even though I never got to see my child – my little, 12 week old baby – I never got to know whether it was a girl, as I had suspected – I never got to hold her, kiss her, or gaze into her face – that I can confidently expect to meet her (or was it a him?) in heaven when I get there. Wow. Just WOW. To have that hope again. Just… wow!

Something in me was fixed that day. Not wholly, but a pretty big part that I didn’t even realise was just so darned broken. A part of my life that I had never wanted to look at, touch or probe too deeply for fear of what was there, hiding, that I knew I couldn’t deal with. Even now… as I’ve just written… the emotions are so close to the surface it surprises me. And that’s after 15 years, and three successful pregnancies. Wow.

Anyway, I look back now and am SO glad for that release. I’m also glad because, since that day, I’ve been able to share my story – and that verse – with friends who have also miscarried. And perhaps given them some reassurance that it doesn’t really have to be ‘the end’, even though it feels just so darn final.

Phew. Okay. I’m going to stop typing now. I think that’s enough emotion for one night. Thank you, dear readers, for allowing me to share this small part of my life’s story with you.

Yours,

Ceridwyn