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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!
Categories
#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 ┬ápreviously 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