A post in which I am learning to get over myself....

Well. After posting a couple of weeks ago about how good I was feeling and how rich we are... I think the universe must have looked at me in all my smugness and decided I needed taking down a peg or two.

Because last week, was awful. Just awful.

It sort of ended up being a perfect storm for crapness. Shane and I have been floating along, kind of forgetting that our marriage actually requires effort and neglecting each other, he had a supremely bad week at work, and then our kids had a big week of sickness. It was nothing drastic, but it was a week of conjunctivitis, high temps, a few vomits, and just an endless amount of whinging and unhappiness.

And you know how it goes sometimes, when you are sick, or your kids are sick, and a very small, tiny part of you really and truly starts to believe that this is the way things are always going to be? I knew, I knew, my children would be healthy again. I knew that eventually they would not be disgusting balls of germs who spent every waking moment making me want to tear my hair out. But still, a part of me was sure that things would always be bad.

So it all ended up culminating into a lot of stress and tension, until Shane and I were both simmering balls of badly concealed rage, who could barely even say a civil word to one another.

You know what? I understand why it is people get divorced. Even Christians. I really do. I can see how easy it would be. To be unhappy, and then allow yourself to hold on to a tiny little bit of bitterness, and nurture that bitterness, and feed it, until all of a sudden it has grown, and it's not a tiny bit of bitterness you're holding onto anymore, it's a mountain. Then, suddenly, the mountain has grown and it has Everest-like proportions. You can't see any way to climb that mountain, and worse still, you can't find any point. The person you love seems like a horrible stranger, and you start believing the lie that the whole relationship was a mistake. It becomes a truth, that you never should have married that person. And so suddenly, even though separation and divorce seem like terrifying, terrible prospects, they become so much more attractive than spending a single moment more of your life with that wrong person who makes you so unhappy. Everything else, your children's needs, your beliefs, they all pale into insignificance. And all you can see is the world of pain and bitterness and anguish that you are trapped in.

I don't want to hold onto the bitterness. It would be easy, and I would be right. But still, I would be wrong. It is hard, and it is crappy, to swallow pride, and unhappiness and see past the negativity.It is hard, finding the difference between righteousness, and self-righteousness. But it is necessary. And as soon as you try to let go of your bitterness? Things can slowly, start to get just a little bit better.

I had a bit of an epiphany the other day. (It was an epiphany to me, anyway). Because Shane and I, we have been together many years now. We fell in love when we were in high school. And the epiphany was this. The man I am married to now, is not the man I married. But that doesn't matter. I need to love Shane now, as he is. Not as he was, or as he could be. I need to get to know this version of my husband, and love and appreciate, and take care of, and respect him.

Rich

I have been struggling with figuring out what, or how, to write lately. I open up an empty page to fill with words, and sit, staring at the screen for a while, before closing it again. I've lost my rhythm, or inspiration, or something,

It seems to be a human condition that we are so much better at communicating when things are bad, than when they are good. 

Maybe that's my problem? Because honestly, I am just grateful. Really really grateful. I am incredibly, abundantly, amazingly blessed. Sure, I have my problems, we always do. But for the most part, my life is rich.

I creep into the dimly lit bedroom to stand in awe at the blessings God has given me. Two precious lives, breathing deeply, in and out. Two sets of lungs working perfectly, two hearts beating, two perfectly healthy tiny people who bring me so much joy. I lie in bed and listen to the even, peaceful breathing of the man I love, who loves me.

My tummy is full, I am safe, and protected, I do not live in fear. I live in abundance. I am surrounded by so many wonderful people who love me and help me, and I try to never take it for granted. I have friends, people who like me, and people who I like, and the happiness and joy that gives  me never ceases to amaze.

I am blessed, extravagantly. I honour The One who provides me with this abundance. I worship Him and praise His name, because of all that He is, and I thank Him, for all that He has given me.

I live a rich life, and I am grateful.

On a boy and his 'blankie'

My kids are awesome at the moment. Don't get me wrong, they are hard and crazy and annoying. This morning at ladies bible study at one point I wanted to pack up all my gear, shove my kids in the car and go home and cry, because Georgie was having an epic tantrum over biscuits, and I was only just keeping myself together. But still, I'm finding that something has shifted in them, or maybe in me? Either way, I just seem to be noticing so much what cool little people I have been blessed with.

There is so much that has been going on lately that I could share about, but first I will tell you, Charlie has a blankie. And, although I am stressing about what kind of crazed, obsessed, grotty, and what-ON-EARTH-is-that-THING-you-are-holding??? creature we are creating (you know what I mean!) it is still just so darn cute!

I always thought that Charlie was the type of kid that could very easily attach himself to a blanket, or a rug, or a toy or a something. But I was never too keen to help create an attachment. He has always been a bit of a touchy-feely kid, and when he is tired or sad his thumb finds it's way to his mouth, but fortunately he is not that kid with his thumb permanently glued inside his mouth.

When he goes to sleep he always pulls ALL the sheets out from under himself and ends up wrapped inside a little cocoon, fast asleep on his bare mattress. This last few weeks, he has gotten in the habit of going into his room and pulling his sheet off his cot, and then going to sit on the couch and have a bit of a cuddle with it when he is sad or tired. I knew that it was the start of something, but it was really cute, so I decided that it was okay.

 

Besides, what was I going to do about it anyway? On the weekend I was talking with Mum about it, and wondering what the manky sheet would be called. I had accidentally started calling it his sooky-rug, but talking to Mum I decided to stop that quick, because I really didn't want that to be 'the name'.

Then a couple of nights ago, Charlie finished his dinner and went into his bed, and when he came out he was holding the sheet and triumphantly crowing "MY Ankie, MY Ankie!" When I asked him, "Is that your blankie?" He nodded emphatically "My Ankie, My Ankie!" And so, Blankie (or Ankie, depending on who you ask) has joined the family.

I must admit, I am still a bit wary of creating too much of a crutch with the Blankie. Partly because when I was a little girl, I had a 'sheepie' which was a sheepskin rug, that I was very attached to. So much so, that when numerous sheepskins died, and my Mum refused to spend any more money buying new sheepskins, I took to carrying around old, dead ugh-boots. (You see why I have issues with the whole blankie thing now, right?)

But mostly, I don't mind too much. I am trying to create 'rules' with blankie though, for example:

1. Blankie never goes outside the house, this is partly to make sure it never goes anywhere but home, and to make sure he doesn't get too attached to it, and also to keep it clean(er).
2. If Charlie is eating, blankie goes up and out of the way. We do not eat with blankie. This rule provides Shane and I with endless entertainment, as Charlie is often forced into a Sophie's choice type of situation, when he must choose between his two great loves.
3. Blankies are changed and washed regularly. This is to stop Charlie getting attached to one particular sheet, and also, Blankie gets really gross, really quickly.

I must admit, though, my worries aside, It is really really cute, when my little boy is feeling a bit sad, and he comes up to my lap for a cuddle with his blankie.

Home again

We've just come back from a week at the beach. And it was really hard to come home. I love the people in my town, and there are plenty of worse places in the world to live.... but sometimes the fact that our town is so hot! and so dry! and so far away from the beach or the city or nice places just gets to me a bit.

It was nice to slow down a little bit. It was also very nice to have some proper time together as a family. It's been a while since Shane has had a decent chunk of time to spend with us, and I kind of forgot how good it is to have him around. It was nice to watch the kids really relax into having Daddy around. I've been struggling a lot this week with being 'it' again. Mind you, it wasn't all fun and games. There was a fair bit tenseness in the car at times, and my poor girl managed to dive face first into a concrete path one afternoon and ended up looking very damaged, plus Charlie was a bit out of sorts on the weekend at my sister's house. But mostly it was good.

She really did a number on herself, huh? Today I am finding my feet again, I have been grocery shopping, and am a bit less of a grumpy pants. Plus, even though 'our beach house' as Georgie liked to call it, (even though it is actually my Uncle's beach house) is really comfortable and clean and lovely, and it was so nice to stop off and see family for a couple of days... there is still no place like home.

One good thing about coming back was seeing our lounge room again, because we got new carpet laid in there while we were away. Considering the fact that we ripped up that old carpet over 5 years ago and have had floorboards ever since... it's a bit exciting for me! And, while Charlie has been a bit of a post-trip pill, Georgie has been simply delightful. I think she did a bit of growing up whole we were away, and she is getting to be really good company.

Mostly it's nice to be home. I'm looking forward to catching up with some lovely friends again, going back to the gym and getting back into my groove. I'm going to try really hard to keep up some of my good holiday habits, like waking up early, and having good routines, and being less of a stress head.


I am going to miss this view though.

Head up, love

Birthday memories and blessings

I have a lovely friend who is learning how to take beautiful photographs, and she took photos at the little birthday party we had for Georgie a few months ago. So even though it's been a while now since she turned 3, I thought I would still share some here. Because they really are the most lovely photographs. 

We had a nice little party with our playgroup friends in the backyard. It was nothing particularly fancy. But somehow, when you look at it through beautiful pictures, the morning is transformed into something magical.

I was a little bit proud of my cake making efforts. It was a three layer pink ombre cake, with pale pink icing, and a fresh strawberry and cream and jam filling. It tasted awesome! It's lovely when food tastes as good as it looks.

 

 

My funny girl got very self-conscious when everyone sang happy birthday. I know I am a bit biased, but goodness she is beautiful.

 

How I love her!

That same clever friend who took the photographs is the same person who made Georgie's beautiful birthday princess dress. I am abundantly blessed with good people.

 

Even though these pictures are only a few months old, my girl already seems so much more grown up than she was here. It's really hard to believe it at times, but they do grow up so quickly. I am so glad I get to be her Mummy.

Just a silly little love letter

The other day, Shane and I did some math, and we realized that we have been together for a long time. We started dating when we were teenagers at school 10 years ago.

I do like him. We drive each other crazy. But I do like him.

These past 2 years or so have tested us. They have been rough. There has been much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Last Friday, we got to go out on our own for the first time in a very long time. We went out and had dinner, and spent the night alone, together in a motel while my Mum looked after my babies (she is worth her weight in gold, I know). It was delightful.

Strangely, I have realised that I don't need Shane as much as I used to. But I think that's a really good thing. I think for a very long time, I used to rely too heavily on him. My security was in him, when it should have been in God. My love for him was very much that of a passionate, needy, desperate teenager.

That silly teenager, she still exists. Her neurosis still comes out every now and then. But mostly she has been replaced by a woman, who I've decided I actually like a lot.

Now, my security, my everything, lies solely in the hands of God. Which is much, much better for all of us. I don't need Shane the way I used to. But I sure do like having him around.

What we have, really, is in no way remarkable. It is what millions of people all over the world have. Love, commitment, support, family, children. And sure there is also stress, and work, sleepless nights.

But what we have, it's worth protecting, it's worth fighting for. What we have, is the thing that keeps men alive during war, it's a thing dying people wish they had, when they are alone on their death bed.

I am grateful for it. I am grateful for him.

Women get it

You know what I have found to be the hardest part of Motherhood? The culmination of it all.

It's not the fact that I have to clean the house. Yes, sometimes I loathe cleaning, there are days when I would rather throw the dirty washing in the bin than have to wash the clothes, hang them on the line, get them off the line, fold them, put them away, and then repeat the whole process two minutes later.  But it's not the cleaning.

It's not the fact that my children are tiny masters of destruction, who seem to spend their days on a search and destroy mission. It's not the constant squabbling, or fighting, and the fact that their behaviour needs consistent correction. It's not the fact that their safety and well-being is a heavy weight in my mind. It's not the whining or the poopy nappies. All that stuff is incredibly draining. But it's not my children.

It's not even all the extra stuff, the dog needing to go to the vet, the grocery shopping, and the bill paying and the tradesmen calling. It's not the wifely duties, and working to be a loving, attractive, supportive mate.  It's not the friendships, or the commitments or the life stuff.

But when you add it all together, it becomes too much.

You know, the other morning I very nearly punched my husband in the nose. (It was a near miss, I'm telling you) On Sunday mornings he leaves for church at 8am for music practice, and sometimes I go too (and the kids go to my Mum's) but more often than not, I stay at home with the kids to get us ready, and we see him at church at 9:30am (-ish). This past Sunday he ducked home at 9am to quickly pick something up. He found me vacuuming the kids bedroom, and I was treated to a lovely little 'talk' about time management and priorities. I kept my mouth firmly shut.

Sure, to Shane, it probably did look like I was faffing about on unimportant chores. I will freely admit that organization and time management is not my strong suit.  But what he didn't see, was the fact that in the hour he had been gone I had; fed the small children, made the bed, put a load of washing on, laid out the clothes for church and had a discussion with my daughter about the merits of the pink dress verses the blue spotty one, done the dishes, changed a nappy, put a small boy in the shower because said nappy was so disgusting, dressed two children, and I was just vaccuming before I got myself showered dressed so that when we got home it could be a nice day of rest with NO CLEANING!!!

( By the way, you can be damn sure I was not late for church that particular Sunday morning)

The thing that gets to me the most, and the thing that is nearly impossible to explain to men, is that it's the day-to-day stuff that drags you down. It's trying to get the heavy pram in and out and in and out of the car. It's trying to have any kind of meaningful conversation while you are distracted by the small people. It's the fact that everything is such a production. The fact that you are always busy, yet you seem to achieve nothing, and there are so many annoying little impediments in your way.

It's like you're running the race of life, and suddenly you become a Mother, and the track that you used to go on without too much fuss and bother, is suddenly littered with obstacles and minefields, and as you go along, you are supposed to carry these small humans around with you, plus, the course has been transformed so that it is ten times longer and harder and you have no clue how you are supposed to navigate it. It's a marathon that appears to be endless, and even the pit-stops are filled with obstacles, and the tiny humans never leave you.

It's when the idea of something so simple as a trip down to the store for milk can fill you with dread. Because once upon a time, you used to get in the car, drive downtown, go to the store, purchase the milk, and come home. But now, you have to corral the tiny humans, change a nappy, make them presentable, find shoes/underwear/hair clips/sanity, shepherd them to the car, and "No Charlie, don't eat that rock!" "Yes Georgie, that is a big puppy." "Please don't hit your sister!" "Sit down, in your own seat". Then you drive to the store listening to 'The Wiggles Greatest hits', and you have to get the tiny humans out of the car, and stop them from running on the road, and get them inside, and put them in a trolley so they don't run away from you in the store.

Then you've got to locate the milk, and keep it intact until you can make it to the checkout, all the while stopping a little boy from 'helping' you put other items in the trolley. You get to the checkout, and you need to pay for your milk, while you are simultaneously encouraging your children to be polite to the checkout lady, and convincing your daughter that you will not be taking a lollipop home. After that you need to safely navigate a course back to the car, strap them in their car-seats while listening to a refrain of "But I don't want to go home Mummy, I want to go to the park!" Then you drive home again, and have to get the small children out of the car and herd them back to the house. Hopefully you remembered to bring the bottle of milk inside too.

It makes me tired just thinking about it.

Don't get me wrong, I love my children, I would die for them. But living with them is sometimes very, very taxing. I chose this, and I would choose it again in a heartbeat. But that doesn't mean that I have to find it easy, or love every moment of it. It is long, and it is hard. It is filled with joy, and sunshine and rainbows and lollipops and happiness. It will fulfill you in a way nothing else can. But it will also be unrelenting, and never-ending, and you will often feel like you are running on a treadmill where the speed is set just a little bit too fast for you.

I love my husband, with all my heart. I would not trade places with him. I am glad for all that he does, and I am so, so grateful for the burden he has taken upon himself so that I can have the opportunity to be a stay-at-home Mum. He is my fortress, my rock, and my anchor. But the thing about anchors is that they are often flipping immovable. And they are frequently far too busy being all anchor-like to give much thought or understanding to what's going on in the rest of the boat.

 Sometimes it's just really nice to know that other women get it.

Life, lately

I use this blog as a brain dump. It's the place where I talk about all the stuff in my head, and sometimes (especially lately) I know some of that stuff has been a bit angsty (that is SO a word).  I'm finding it hard to strike a balance between writing things I need to write, verses writing things nobody needs to read, so I have been a bit quiet lately. But today I am here to tell you that things in Robyn's brain are not all dark and sad, I promise!


So I thought I'd share a little bit of what's been going on lately. I have been

• Making so many salads. So many versions of this.

Though my version is not quite so pretty. [Image]

•  Spending a lot of time on this website. It is so much more awesome than words can say.

•  Sitting, waiting, wishing for holidays. 12 more days!

•  Going to the gym regularly, and I am really proud of myself. I can feel myself getting stronger and faster and fitter. My progress is slow (it would be a lot quicker if I could get my eating habits in line too) but there is progress and it is good. It is also so good for my head.

• Listening to a lot of Bastille. I do like them. If you are familiar with Miley Cyrus and her recent stuff, you will appreciate just how clever this is:

•   Listening to a lot of wailing and squealing. Georgie has been the biggest drama queen lately. It's getting to the stage where Charlie just has to come near her, and raise his arm in a threatening manner (with a huge cheeky grin on his face) and she will run away screaming like he has stabbed her. I am trying to teach her that she has some responsibility for the way he treats her, and we are chanting "Stop Charlie! I don't like it!" often.
• Spending a lot of time in water. We have been at the swimming pool a fair few times this week, and we have also done a lot of this:

•   Making more time for friends. Getting to know new people who I really like.
• Cleaning out toy-boxes and cupboards. Getting on top of the extra jobs. This weeks big task is to sort out the winter/summer clothes changeover.

•  Trying to find the fun more. One very fun moment this week was watching my poor husband practice his diving at the pool. (He cannot dive. It is so funny to watch him try.) One particularly hilarious diving attempt has been giving me the giggles all weekend every time I remember it. Also, this:

Parrot boy.

•   Leaving the kids with my Mother-in-law more lately. It has been really good (for all of us). I think it might be much easier to be a Grandma sometimes when the Mummy isn't around.
• Still struggling hugely with being a less angry, less stressed version of myself. But I have also been sneaking into my children's room to snuggle and pray for them and love them after they are asleep. I am getting there. 

Sleeping princess

I am getting there.

Right now, it is a bit tough.

I read a story today that asked the question, "what are you doing in your life to glorify God?" and really, I don't know. I don't feel like anything I do is worthy of Him. I feel constantly, that I am not enough.

The truth is, I'm struggling again. We've had a few curve-balls that seem to have come our way lately, and our family is... weary. The kids have been very, very out of sorts. Both of them have been extremely clingy. Shane has just put in notice at his work, it was necessary, and hopefully it will be a good thing, but it comes with a whole host of mixed emotions. It doesn't help that he is married to a woman who hates change. He is going to go back and work with his parents for a while, and we will just see where that leads. He has also just had a couple of wisdom teeth out this week, so he is a sad panda right now.

And me? I don't know what I am lately. I am just shuffling along. Putting one foot in front of the other. I have been very, very busy these past few months and I think I may have come to earth with a bit of a bang this week. I just know I want to be better, at everything. I feel inadequate, in all that I do.

I just can't seem to see the good at the moment. I look around my house, and even though I know it's not that bad, all I see are jobs that need doing, things that need organizing, and messes that need cleaning. I wake up, and I am tired. Just so tired. I am tired of feeling so amazingly angry all the time, these white-hot flashes of rage that consume me, where I feel like my head could just explode, over stupid little, oh-so-aggravating things.

I feel like a shitty mother who is disengaged from her children, but the sad truth is that I don't want to be engaged with them. It just feels like it requires too much of me, all the time, this parenting thing. There is just so much to do.There are so many different and important things that I need to get right. Are they eating well? (no) watching too much TV? (yes) behaving well? (no) learning how to be nice? (no) happy? (no). It is just too much. I am failing, all the time I am failing. It's really hard to believe that I am the best person for this job.

I can't seem to shake all my fears and my worries at the moment. I feel guilty that my Mum looks after the kids too much, and I feel like a failure as a wife. I worry about my parents and Shane's parents getting older, I watched my Mother kneeling in the garden the other afternoon, and the way she looked from the back reminded me of my Grandmother and fear gripped my heart. I'm not ready to be without a safety net. The world is a scary, confusing, terrifying place to live at times, and I don't know how to push away all this negativity swirling in my brain. Nothing is certain, but God. I am not in control, and oh, sometimes I just wish I was!

I was at a ladies night at our church this week (which I actually didn't love, to be honest) but I did get one nugget of goodness in it, when we were asked to think of a verse to dwell on, for ourselves, and the one that popped into my head was from John 16:33. (In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world). And I know, I know, I just need to fix my eyes on Jesus. I need to trust and believe that God is in control. But, (like always) it's the practical element of my faith that is the hardest. Knowing I need to trust in Him, and actually trusting Him, are two very different things.

I don't really expect any answers, or positive words, or anything at all really. I know where (or with Whom) my solution lies. And I know that things are really not that bad. Maybe, probably, after a good night's sleep tonight (fingers crossed!) the world will be a brighter place. But it is nice to be able stand where I am right now, and acknowledge the struggle.

If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. Psalm 139:8

A little bit of free wisdom...

So, there is this thing that I have been learning, it's kind of like the theme to my life at the moment, and I thought I'd share it, a little bit of free wisdom, from me to you, if you will. You may already know this, who knows? But in any case, here it is:

Doing what is good, and kind, and right... doing exactly what God wants you to do..... will often make you feel like a giant tool.

The kind of Mother I am.

Okay. So. It's no secret that I find motherhood much harder than I thought I would. I worry sometimes about the impression I give to the people around me, about what it is like to be a parent. I especially worry that people who witness my messy, tired, stressed, attempts at child-rearing, may choose not to have children based on what they see from me.

Shane and I, we have trouble learning how to be unselfish enough to parent well. It doesn't come easily to us, and every win is hard-fought. There are people who seem to be so much better at it. There are people who actually seem to enjoy parenting and settle into domesticity well, people who don't get cranky at the thought of another dirty nappy or tiny little hands grabbing everything they shouldn't. There are people whose kids sleep well, and people who have much, much more patience than we do.

Sometimes I do wonder if we are finished having children, and I've been asked why I think I want more. I immediately read that as: "You are so crap at parenting, are you sure you should be having more children?" (I freely admit this is my twisted mind and may have no link with reality.)

The truth is, I don't know. I don't know if I will ever be ready for another child. I would like to have another baby, because I want to be able to enjoy it again. But I know that the time is most definitely not now. I do feel like our family is unfinished. But only time will tell. I am struggling with parenting well. I want to be present, I want to be engaged, and I do find it incredibly difficult to do so.

I wish I could wax lyrical about milk spilled on floors, and crumbs all over the floor. I wish I could find the beauty in snot dribbling down tiny faces, or poop smeared on a toilet seat. Occasionally I do. But mostly? That stuff just really pisses me off.

I am not the poster child for beautiful motherhood. I am not that person. But I am the person who loves her kids. With a deep, crazy dear-god-I-wish-I-could-just-eat-you-because-you-are-mine kind of love. I am the Mum wanting to smack my kids for continuing to open and slam a door, while I  write a blog post about how much I love them. I am the Mother who is going to dance around in an insane love haze with my children one minute, and then scream at them for fighting with each other all the damn time the next minute. I am always going to try to better and I am going to love them. That's the kind of Mother I am.

 

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT for the first time in ages!

Dear Mother,

Today I am sharing a letter. I wrote it to myself, but I'm thinking I'm not the only one who needs to read this.


Dear Mother,

We all dreamed of being that beautiful, well-put-together Mother. The one who is endlessly creative, and compassionate. The one whose children are happy, well-fed, clean, good, healthy and perfect. The one who doesn't get so incredibly angry so damn often. That Mother, she exists (or a version of her exists). Some women do seem to float through motherhood with ease. They do seem to do this so much better than you. But can I let you in on a secret? Even the soft and fluffy Mums feel like they're failing. Nobody gets it all perfect. But we all have our crosses to bear, and maybe parenthood is not that particular woman's cross. While you can admire her and her chilled-out capabilities, you are not, and will never be, her. And you don't have to be.

Let's face it. Before you had children, the words 'serene' and 'placid' were never going to be used to describe you. And since you now know that pregnancy (unfortunately) doesn't come with a personality transplant, you're still you. Passionate, disorganized, excitable. You have many good qualities, but you're also stuffed with bad ones. You can work to change some things about yourself, (it certainly wouldn't hurt to take a chill pill every now and then), but to some extent, you have to work with what you are. You can't shove a cat in a dog costume and make it a dog. It's still just a cat pretending to be a dog. Change can and should happen, but some things just are what they are, in many ways You are what you are, and what you have is what you've got.

But, what you've got is okay. In fact it's more than okay. It's exactly what your children need.

Let that one sink in for a second. In fact I'll say it again, because I know you really need to pay attention to this.

You are exactly what your children need.

God knit these children in your womb. He knows you. He knew what trials you were going to have to face, and he knew what he was doing when he gave them to you. He believes you are the best person to be their Mum.

You. Not a prettier, more well dressed, slimmer, more patient, more organized, less grumpy version of yourself which doesn't exist right now. The person you are, the qualities you have, are the exact qualities that your children need. Your children need You. You, to be their Mum. Not your Mother. Not your husband. Not the super-parent you read about or the one you run into downtown every week. You.

God is for you. He knew you were going to shout and scream, and want to hit them at times because you are just so incredibly frustrated. Before your husband even looked at you with that twinkle in his eye, He knew, God knew that you would sob and sob and sob. That you would hate this. That you would feel completely and utterly incapable of the task that is set before you. He sees you grief and your pain, your shame and your anguish. He understand and he wants to share it with you, and lift your burden.

But He believes, He knows, that you are the absolute best person for this job.

I know you are tired. More tired than you imagined you could be. I know you are weary, and you are lonely, and this task just seems to have no end. But it does. You are not alone. The maker of the Universe is with you, every step of the way. With Him, you can do this, and not just do it. You can do this well.

You may not be the Mother you thought you'd be, or the one you wish you were. There might be obstacles, and challenges. (scratch that, there are going to be obstacles and challenges). You will not do everything the way you should, or the way you want to. But you can do this. You can do this.
 

Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” Deuteronomy 31:6

Listening to this right now...

Baa Baa Black sheep

My testimony, in so many ways is very uninspiring. It doesn't have a lot of sparkle, or drama. There is no big showdown between darkness and light. It's just the story of a girl, who grew up with amazing Godly parents, married a boy, and grew to make her faith her own.

Sometimes, (and now this is a real 'churchy' thing here) we get the visiting preachers, with their amazing testomonies about how they were drug dealers, and alchoholics, and porn stars and criminals. How they were the lowest of the low, and God raised them to amazing heights. Those stories, those testimonies, they are astounding. I love them. I never cease to wonder at how miraculous my God can be.

But they leave me walking away, comparing myself and my own life, and feeling very, very insignificant and boring.

However, in God's eyes, the faithful man who grew up in a church, loves God with all his heart, attends church every Sunday, who prays devoutly, and does whatever he can... is of no less value than the amazing preacher who started off as a crack baby. 

The parable of the lost sheep is a powerful one. For so long, I've read it wrong. Here it is:

 Then Jesus told them this parable: ⁴ “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? ⁵ And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders ⁶ and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ ⁷ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.

 Luke 15: 4-7

I've often put myself in the 'ninety-nine person's who do not need to repent' category. But that's ridiculous. I need to repent. Of course I do. I'm not righteous. We are all lost sheep. We are all valuable.

My testimony may not illustrate the amazing power of God's goodness over evil. But maybe it's not supposed to. Maybe my testimony is supposed to demonstrate God's unfailing, unwavering love. Maybe it's supposed to show the need for Godly parents who pray. The importance of a Mother who surrenders her child to God. While it's true (so far) much of my life may not have seen fantastic peaks or low deep valleys, it has had it's moments. And maybe it's a testament to the many terrifying depths He saved me from. The ones I don't even know about.

Every testimony, is powerful. No matter what we do, or don't do, no matter what we've done or haven't done. The only thing that really matters, is making the decision to love, and follow Him. We are all a lost sheep at one point or another. He will always care about us, and come for us. No matter whether we have wandered for a very long time, and gotten very dirty and damaged, or whether we only wandered a very small way.  The shepherd will always do his best to seek his lost sheep, because they are of value to him.

Another sad woman, having a pity-party on the internet

I am always slightly envious of those people who seem to have those really tight friendships that transcend the years. When I was a little girl, I had a best friend, a little. Kind of. But she went away to boarding school in grade 8, and she changed, and I changed, and we both stopped trying. I haven't spoken to her in years. I tried really hard with other girls. I had one friend who I liked, but she was the girl who everyone wanted to be best friends with. I had a group of friends, but never really a proper friend of my own. As I got older, the group seemed to get further away from me (or maybe I got further away from them) either way, I had people to eat lunch with, but I didn't always get their jokes, and I never felt like I fit in properly.

When Shane and I got married and moved away for Uni, making friends was hard. We were an old married couple when everyone else was young and single and fun. We had trouble fitting, and finding our tribe. We moved back home, but no longer really fit back where we once had, and it took an awful long time to make new comfortable grooves. I had friends, but they were more acquaintances than real friends. We were still too young to fit in with the married people but too old to fit in with the single people. It always just didn't seem to work, you know?
 

When I had kids, I thought I would find my tribe. I was introduced into playgroup, and bible study and all manner of mum related groups and activities. Aha, I thought to myself, now I will fit. And I did fit. But my mum friends are still more like work colleagues than anything else. It took a long time, and I did end up developing a relationship with one close friend, but even that feels a little less important lately. We always seem too busy to actually make our friendship a priority. And somehow, I still feel a little bit like I did in high school. One of the crowd, but only there as a 'should' not a 'want.'

I am blessed, abundantly, richly with my family. With my sisters, and especially with my Mum. I would be lost without my mother. My relationship with her is one of the ones I hold most dear in the world, and I thank God every day for the mother he gave me. I know many girls wish to be able to have the relationship with their mothers like I do with my Mum, that they would love to have a mum as great as mine, and I try never to take it for granted.


But still, it would be really nice to have friends.

I have chased and chased, and been friendly and chatty and nice and welcoming. I have made a real effort. I really want to just have friends. To find my tribe. To have friends that can pop over for a cuppa and stay until dinner. To have a friend who I can call in tears when my jeans don't fit. I tried, and I thought maybe I had it, maybe I was close. Maybe there isn't something wrong with me and I can find people who will actually like me and find a place where I can fit.

So it sucks. It just really sucks when you have that moment, when you realize that you are part of a social circle, part of lots of committees and groups, and you have so many, many people that you are very friendly with. You have people you can have a nice cup of coffee and a chat with. But still, the relationships all have about as much depth as a teaspoon. It sucks when you have that moment of realization, that you are very friendly with people. But actually, you are not their friends.


This isn't really a commentary on other people and what they should or shouldn't do. I'm not trying to place blame or guilt. Maybe, probably, like most things, this is much more about me and my own shortcomings than anyone else. It takes two to build a friendship, I realize that, and obviously I'm doing some things wrong. But right now, I am hurt, I am lonely, and I would still so desperately like to have friends.

When life makes you slow down

You know how sometimes you are on that train called life, and things are chugging along quite slowly.... you can see the details on the leaves, and count all the pretty flowers..., and then suddenly the train speeds up, a little faster.... and you think "Oh this a nice change of pace"..... but then all of a sudden the train is going faster and faster, until you can hardly see the scenery outside, and you're a bit worried that the train is almost out of control?

Here at the Casa de slightly deep, we have been doing a bit of that lately. Not a weekend, or a day has gone by that wasn't full of stuff to be done. So this week, when a few of our number were nursing nasty colds and tonsillitis, we probably should have taken the hint that we needed to slow down. Unfortunately we're a little thick. So on Saturday night, Shane and I found ourselves taking turns rushing to the bathroom to kneel in front of the porcelain throne.

It made for a very, long night, and a couple of early morning phone calls, rearranging details for church music on Sunday, and sending an SOS to my Mum and Dad. But, in the afternoon, once the rumbling, grumbling tummies had settled, I noticed just how much we need to slow down.

Shane and I both realized this weekend, that we had forgotten how to stop. So that reminder, although pretty gross, was sorely needed. We are still waiting for the bug to hit the kids, but so far, remarkably, they remain fine. My poor, wonderful, mother has been a casualty though, and she deserves a dozen bunches of flowers for just how good she is to us.

I am going to try to put the brakes on this train a little this week, and make sure I count a few pretty flowers.

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A post in which I talk a bit about Church

So, recently I was chatting to a friend about our church, and my faith a little bit. And you know what? That stuff can be really hard. Because I love my church, and I am happy with my faith the way it is, but at the same time, I am aware that from the outside looking in, it can be a little weird. It can be a difficult thing to explain well, so I kind of stuttered and stammered and went off on silly tangents and probably said all the wrong things. But that's just the way it goes sometimes when you're in a conversation I guess.

But it got me to thinking, and in case you haven't noticed already, my mind kind of works in metaphors. The parables are probably my favorite things in the bible, they speak my language. So as I was thinking to myself, I kind of likened church to football.

The thing is, there are a lot of different churches out there. They have a lot of different beliefs and sometimes they're right and sometimes they're not. But the most important one, the one they have to get right, and the one that should be the most important to them, is the fact that Jesus is God's son, that He died on the cross to save mankind, and that we are redeemed because of His sacrifice. All you need to do to gain eternal salvation, is believe in the God of the bible, repent of your sins, and accept His son Jesus as your personal saviour. There is a lot more that we add on to it, and we all have our own ideas and interpretations of the Bible about what you need to do, and how you should act, but essentially, it all boils down to that. Essentially it needs to boil down to that. The two greatest commandments Jesus told us, were to love God with all your heart, and love your neighbour as yourself. So those two indicators are pretty crucial to whether or not a person or the church they attend is Christian.

I've never understood football. I know it exists, I have a very basic knowledge of what is involved, but it's never 'caught' me, you know? I don't know the rules of the game, or the different codes, or the players or the teams. I've got no clue about the difference between NRL and AFL... as far as I'm concerned it's all just football. I'm not familiar with the lingo, I couldn't tell you what a try is, or how many players are on a team... or anything really. It's never appealed to me. I don't understand how people can get so passionate about it, I've just never really got it. I suspect that unless you know the game, it doesn't make sense.

I attend a pentecostal church. It's what I know, it's what I'm comfortable with. I don't expect it to appeal to everyone, but for me, it works. I don't believe Pentecostals are perfect or more enlightened. We've all got our issues.

Each church has it's own rules and routines and ritual. Some sing hymns, some sing along to the guitar. Some sit on pews, others sit on plastic chairs. Some have stained glass windows, others have lights and sound equipment. Some wear robes, others wear jeans. We all tend to drink a lot of coffee.

There are an awful lot of people who are the exact same way about church that I am about football. They have a basic concept of it all, but they walk into church and we're all singing these songs, and standing up and sitting down, and waving our hands, and listening to some people talk (and talk and talk) and drinking coffee and chatting.... and it doesn't make sense. Church doesn't really make sense.

But once you get to know the creator, and realise that all those Jesus people are actually doing what they are doing because of Him, you might start to understand the game. You might get to know just Who we are serving when we do what we do, and why we do what we do.

Church can be weird. It can be great. It can be difficult sometimes too. It can be a good place of community, and relationship. Church can be, and is, many things to many different people. But to truly 'get' church, you need to know God.

On raising tiny humans and stained glass windows

I had no idea being a parent would be like this. I knew it would be hard, but I thought it would be easier than this. Or maybe not quite easier than this.

What I really thought, was that I would be better at it.

I knew what I was getting into. I grew up with kids, I worked in childcare. I know kids. And although dealing with children, and looking after them is so very different to being the parent of children... really, it's not my kids. They haven't necessarily given me anything I wasn't expecting. Most of what has thrown me, about parenting, has been the stuff about me. The way I have dealt with things, my reactions, my attitude, it's all my own stuff that has been the biggest stumbling block.
 

I think the reason parenting can challenge people so much, is because it challenges you, personally. It challenges the way you see yourself, your values, your beliefs, your behavior and your attitude. There is nothing quite like recognizing yourself in your offspring, and not liking what you see.

It can be a bit easy to be mindless in our society. Everything seems to be centered around making life easier for us, (smart technology- empty minds?) We are not always often called to stop and think and evaluate who we are and where we are going. We just keep going round and round like a mouse on a wheel. Parenting can force you to do that, and sometimes that is a painful confrontation.


I kind of hate the expression 'having a baby.' Because really, babies only stay babies for such a short amount of time. When you give birth, you create a person. And it is a person who requires so much of you. You are responsible for their safety, for their well being, for their development and growth, for their morals. Your children are wholly in your power. You hold another person's existence entirely in your hands. You are accountable. And when you stop to really examine that, and allow the full weight of it to rest upon your shoulders, it's terrifying.


Stay at home motherhood, it gives me too much time and opportunity for introspection at times. So many of the day to day tasks I do, don't always require a lot of brain activity. So my mind is left free to think, (and think and think). Sometimes I don't know if that's a good thing.

It has stretched me, and grown me, more than any other thing I have ever done. I have no doubt it will continue to do so. But the longer I raise these tiny humans, the more I realize how woefully unprepared I was, and the more I realize how much I need to change.

Being a parent, is teaching me discipline, self control, and love like I never ever knew. It has broken me, and now my maker and I are slowly putting the pieces back together, to create something new. It is hard, and it is slow. There are pieces constantly being shattered and glued back together. Sometimes I put them in wrong, and then they need to be re-broken to suit His purposes. It is always a work in progress.

I hope it will be beautiful.

Dog food tins, and other nonsense

Sometimes I find it rather frustrating. This whole getting better thing. Some days I feel like I am 100% fine, no PND here, thank you very much and other times I am terrified that the claws of bleakness and terror still have my mind firmly in their grasp. It is such a process. And I just want to be past it already! But it really is a journey, and it's learning about yourself. Learning your triggers, your weak points, your signals.

Lately, I've been struggling. A week or so ago I felt like I had made no progress, like I was still back, trapped in the awfulness of post-Charlie-birth, and I was never, ever going to get out. I was surviving. And I was terrified that things were getting worse, not better. I mentioned it to my Mum, who told me that she was sure I was improving. I asked her why, and apparently it was because of the dog food tins.

So last year, I was kind of just keeping it together. But I was very, very numb. My Mum was helping out a lot with the kids and just general life stuff, and she would often pop over and do my dishes, and hang out my washing and just help in that amazing indescribably awesome way that good Mums do (she still does!). Apparently, one day she came over and was hanging out washing, and she noticed empty dog food tins. Lots of them. (Chloe's dog dish is in the laundry and we keep the food up on a shelf in there.) Up on that shelf, there were about 12 empty tins of dog food that Mum chucked in the bin.

And I just did not see them.

Now, I would see them.

For me, one of the biggest signs of how well I am doing is the state of my house. I'd imagine I'm not alone there. If my house is very clean, my folding is mostly done, my floors are clean, toys are picked up and things are generally in order, that probably means my head is in a good place (or Mum's been visiting). If things are okay, the dishes are getting done, the beds are made, the floor might not be too clean, and the very large folding pile is sitting on the bed waiting (always waiting), then I am coping, but struggling a bit. If my dishes are not done every night, beds are unmade, the folding pile is not even pretending to wait to be folded, and the dog tins are piling up, things are looking a bit grim. There probably is a worse stage after that, and that's the one where the dog is not being fed at all, but fortunately we've never been there.

At the moment, my house is pretty clean, but my folding pile has gotten a little out of control. I am coping, but it's a bit hard. But that's okay. I sometimes look at all these things I want to do. I'd love to get my house properly in order, I want to get motivated about eating well and losing weight, I want to do something extra, that's just for me, and I want to be better at so many, many things. But the point is, I want.

For a while there, I didn't want anything. I didn't see anything.

And so, I may look at this mountain I am climbing and feel like I am never, ever going to reach the top. But if I just turn around and look down, I can see just how far I have come.

When my husband is away

When my husband is away, I drink a lot of cups of tea. When my husband is away I eat many, many eggs. I don't really cook proper meals too often. My kids eat beans on toast, eggs on toast, spaghetti on toast.... really they just eat a lot of toast.

When my husband is away I write a lot more often. I spend far, far too much time on facebook, and I message him lots of funny/stupid/interesting/cool links that he probably never looks at. When my husband is away I stay up far too late.

When my husband is away, there is nobody to make up the fire for me in the morning, or turn the heater on so the house is toasty when we get up. When my husband is away my dog pees on the floor in the morning because there is nobody awake to let her out at 5am.

When my husband is away, I get the whole bed to myself, and there is nobody to moan and groan at me to "Turn you're light off already!" so I get to read in bed as long as I like. When my husband is away there is nobody to bicker with about whether the heater should be on or off during the night when we are sleeping... it remains off, and I cope just fine.

When my husband is away, one of my children will always, always get sick, and I let the kids stay up far later then they do when he is home. When my husband is away I catch up on lots of TV shows online. When my husband is away I never even think about needing chocolate/dessert... I just have (another) cup of tea.

When my husband is away, I get things done (but never as much as I think I will). When my husband is away, the late afternoon drags on and on. Life is much quieter but much less fun.


When my husband is away... I miss him.

Bubbles

I've been trying, really trying, lately, to be more present. But it kind of just sucks. It's made me realise how far I've fallen, and how easy it is, to just not care. It is much, much easier to not really parent, and just turn on the TV, and leave them to their own devices.

I'm really struggling at the moment, with being Mum.

This afternoon I tried. I did. They woke up from a sleep, and I played and laughed tried, and then, because a little girl said please, we went outside to go and blow bubbles. Only it didn't work. I made one batch of bubble mixture, and we ran outside with our assorted paraphernalia from the second drawer in the kitchen and.... Nada. Bubbles Mummy, Bubbles. The bubble mixture wouldn't make bubbles. We ran inside for more soap, once, twice, three times, and it was just no good. I tried again, made another batch, which was just as useless as the first. Bubbles Mummy, Bubbles.

I decided to give it one more go and even googled for a recipe, although excitement levels were dwindling as quickly as my detergent supply. I made a third batch, but it didn't work, and it just sucked. Biscuits Mummy, Biscuits. I went inside in defeat, handed them biscuits, and switched the TV on, added dish-washing liquid to the shopping list, and I felt.... nothing.

Somedays it's hard to believe that Peppa Pig isn't an adequate substitute.

All of my effort, all of my doing... just feels useless at the moment. I make fancy banana pikelets for breakfast to have nobody eat them, I clean up puzzles to watch them get dumped on the floor two seconds later. I just can't seem to get this right.

It is hard work, learning to stretch a fuse that has been too short for too long. Paying attention to  every screech and cry and shout is a choice. It requires discipline, and mindfulness, and effort. Blocking things out, being numb? Is so much easier, in it's way. Being lazy was easy. And coming back, pulling myself (and my children) into line, is a choice, and sometimes it sucks.

Maybe, probably, I am just being too hard on myself. This week hasn't been an easy one so far. With Daddy away and a case of hand, foot and mouth, we are pretty well isolated. Georgie is having a fairly decent 'everything-is-yuck' phase. My good intentions just don't seem to last too long. Like bubbles, they build up big, unreasonable, unattainable and unsustainable.... and then they burst, and all that's left is a great big space.

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Tomorrow is another day.

storm's a comin

I'm having a bit of a struggle round these parts at the moment. Sick kids, stressed/busy husband, crazy Mum.

I keep on thinking, we should be doing better than this! What reason do we have for these doldrums? What reason do I have for my bad humour, and my grumpiness? I know I should be a better Mum, a better wife, a better person.

But I'm still here. And I'm just me.

The other day I was watching the sky all day, because I had washing on the line and I knew it was going to rain. I watched the clouds slowly move across the sky and saw the sky get dark. We went outside to cover the sandpit, and I pulled the washing off the line.

I felt the sky get heavy, and the air around me become more oppressive. I watched the birds flap around in a panic, as the wind started to blow, and I watched my children run around in excitement.... they felt it too. As the first few drops fell, I lifted my eyes up to feel it on my face, and the kids danced around for a few moments, then we scurried inside before the rain started to fall in earnest.

I feel like I am in a state of anticipation. I know that I need a change, of some sort. I know that I need a little something extra to carve out, just for me. I need a some goals and some plans, that are bigger and more important than getting the floor clean, or the folding done, or the bathroom scrubbed.

I don't know what it is. But I am waiting. Praying. Hoping. I need a little something more. 

Storm's a comin.

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The sads

Sometimes, when something really awful happens in the world. I don't know how to stop it poisoning me.

This week, there has been a particularly nasty case that has come to light, about a boy who was bought and raised by two men, as their child, for the sole purpose of their sexual gratification.

I hate it. I just hate it. There are no words for the evil that exists in this world sometimes.

It would be so easy to dwell on this.

My mind, it goes a million miles an hour. Sometimes I cannot stand my imagination.

When I was a little girl, I remember Mum wouldn't let me go to a funeral with her. I was only very small, and I know some people didn't understand why. But she knew that my imagination was too good. That I would imagine the dead body inside the coffin, being buried deeply into the ground. She knew that in my head, I would place my own little body inside that box, and bury myself deeply into the ground. She protected me from my brain.

I wish someone could protect me from myself now.

Because I can't stop. Thinking. I don't want to change my baby boy's nappy, and look at his perfect little genitalia, because it reminds me, and I just cannot understand what drives people to do such things. And how? How? I can't stop wondering, how they did it. How did they do that, and conceal it from people? Did he never go to childcare, school? A doctor? What kinds of things would have happened to his little body? How did nobody see?

I don't know how to be, when such pain exists. I don't want to be.

I want to be strong and brave. I want to be a person who helps keeps people safe. I want to help make sure that this doesn't happen. But I don't know how. I don't know how to do it, without letting it turn me into a deep depressed ball of pain and misery.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't want to bring this up. Shane can't stand to hear it. And I understand why. But it's eating me alive. I have to try and make sense of this and get it out somewhere. And what right do I have to these feelings? What right do I have to not cope, when I've been given so much more than some people even can dream of?

But the evil. It is just there.

It would be so easy to let it consume everything. And to just stop functioning. I try to turn away from things if I know they are going to upset me. But I don't want to live in a bubble either. And sometimes, you don't get any warning. You will just be drinking your morning cup of coffee... and Bam! There it is.

How does He stand us? How does He do this? God, I do not understand how you do this!

But He loves. He loves. He loves us so very deeply.

The children who are hurt. He loves them more than they can imagine. And He loves the people who do the hurting. He loves the abusers and the rapists and the peadophiles and the murderers. He loves those who are, and the ones who once were, hurt and abused and suffering. He loves the ones who cause it now. He Loves, He Loves, He Loves.

The only thing I can hold on to. Is how much He loves.

I still don't understand. But He Loves.