Begin again tomorrow

Oh, today! Today mostly kicked my butt. My little girl may have just recently turned four, but at times she is still such a threenager. I tried today, I really really did. But you know how it is, when sometimes you go to bed stuffed with good intentions, dreaming of the wonderful things you will do when you wake up.... and that is the morning when tiny little imps have siphoned out all your good intentions and left you with with a Very Bad Mood?

Well today me and my Very Bad Mood went off to Zumba class, and we tried really hard to ignore it and suck it up when a little person made me stop every flipping two minutes. Today I tried to soothe the Very Bad Mood with coffee from the drive through window after Zumba and a play in the park. But alas, by the time we got home, the Very Bad Mood collided with Impossible To Please Daughter, and together that spawned and mutated into An Epic Loss Of Temper with bonus Blinding Rage. It wasn't good.

I haven't lost my temper like that in a really long time. And I hate, hate, hate the fact that my poor small girl always seems to bear the brunt of my outbursts. We both had a good howl and I apologized, but 'sorry' doesn't magically erase all the hurt. Sometimes I get so very frightened of the emotional bruises and scars my babies will be left with. I want so badly to be the mother they deserve, but it is so, so hard. I swear, you never realise how incredibly selfish you are until you become a parent. It's not a very nice thing to find out about yourself.

Anyway, as a result, today has been a bit suckful. I have been feeling guilty and ashamed and hating on myself a fair bit. It's hardest to forgive yourself, I think. My children, they are lovely and forgive me straight away. There are lots of lessons I need to learn from them.

But husbands who come home and help pick up the pieces make things a bit better, as do mothers who provide a shoulder to cry on. Music helps too.

Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?

Grace (and poop)

So, this morning started off wonderfully when the kids didn't wake me up until 8:30am! I woke up, and got a bit scared because they hadn't woken me, and I knew Shane had left for work hours ago. So I rushed into their room, to see them happily chattering to each other, having a grand old time in their beds. It was a good start to the day.

Unfortunately, it all went downhill from there.

We had breakfast, and as I wandered past the lounge room I noticed a wet puddle on the floor in the corner (I am so glad we have wooden floors in there). I immediately called Chloe and stuck her outside, but I wasn't really that surprised, considering how late we slept.

Later, as the kids finished breakfast I disinfected the puddle and then flicked the T.V on and the kids went into the lounge room to watch Peppa Pig. I came in soon after to get them dressed and spotted a little poop on the floor. I shrieked at the kids to stay away from it and then rushed to clean it up, trying to identify if it was human poop or dog poop. (This story has a lot of poop by the way, in case the title wasn't enough to clue you in). I decided it must've been a little dog poop I had somehow missed.

After I cleaned it, I could still smell that lovely poopy aroma, but I couldn't find anything, so I opened the windows and then went to get the kids dressed, thinking one of them might have a dirty nappy. I jumped into the shower, and then when I came out I noticed what looked like a whole lot of mud near the toy basket, that Charlie was rolling his truck in.

I got closer and almost vomitted. Yep, more dog poop. At that point I kind of went into panic mode, I furiously cleaned it up, bathed the kids, soaked toys, cleaned up more poop (Charlie decided to drop one in the bath... awesome) and as I was cleaning I was getting angrier and angrier.

My inner monologue was basically going "It's not fair, I am the only one who ever deals with any messes in this house! Poor Me!" I was really ticked off, and was swearing my head off. It was really ugly and I'm not proud. I kicked the kids outside on the deck while I scrubbed at my floor, and I just basically had a big angry sorry for myself session. Blaming Shane, because you know, he was at work instead of helping me clean. Blaming the damn dog (I so wanted to kick her, but don't worry, I didn't). Afterwards I looked around my house and I just hated it all, it all just felt too hard, too much, I didn't want to wash clothes or do the dishes. Sometimes I don't mind being the designated housework fairy, and other times it angers me beyond belief, constantly cleaning up after everyone else. This time, I was angry beyond belief.  My house still smelled like poo and it was filthy.... I was just so frustrated.

I went outside with the kids, and just sat on the steps and watched them play and I cried. Big heaving sobs. Just over it. I didn't know what to do or where to start and I didn't want to be the one to have to do everything or anything, you know? I was just raging inside, until I had nothing left "It's not fair!!"

And then, that still small voice.

No. It isn't.

And my mind was flooded with the image of Jesus on the cross. Cleaning up the mess of this world. So much mess, so much pain and sorrow and wickedness that he had to deal with. It wasn't his fault, he didn't deserve it, he shouldn't have had to do it. But we couldn't do it for ourselves. And he did it because he loved us. Loves us.

I cried and I cried, so sorry for all the pain and the hurt we cause him. So much evil that is so awful I can't even begin to comprehend it.

If He can love the world so much, love people who don't even acknowledge Him, and do it with such grace "Father forgive them the know not what they do"..... surely I can clean up a bit of poop.

And so eventually I stopped crying, picked myself up off the ground, and I started cleaning up again.

When it's just not enough

Don't give up. Don't quit. Keep going.

If you have more bad days than good. If things are too hard. If you cannot cope with the demands of your family. If you find yourself so frustrated and angry that you literally have to lock yourself away from your children because you are frightened you will hurt them. If you just want to cease to exist. If you can barely get through the day.

It is not okay. It is not acceptable.  And it is not supposed to be this way.

If you were in pain, if you hurt yourself physically and had to live life with your pain consistently at an 8, or a 9, or a 10, it would not be okay. There would be surgery, and pain medication, and a plan to heal. Your emotional and spiritual pain should not be any different. Sure sometimes we do struggle and have bad days, pain is a part of life. Life is pain, highness, anyone who says otherwise is selling something. But it should not be your life.

I kind of can't believe I am writing this post. Because I have read so many things that all say the same thing. But a couple of my experiences this week lead me to believe that it needs to be written. Still we struggle. Obviously we just don't say it enough. If this helps one person, it is worth it.

 Don't give up. Don't quit. Keep going.

There is still a stigma. "Oh I didn't think you would be that type of person" (What person, the type with horns and blue skin?) "She just needs to focus on the positives" (She's trying) "He just needs to organize himself better." (No, he is not coping, and he needs help.)

It's easy to fill out the questionnaires you get at the Dr's office, and lie just well enough, so that it doesn't look too obvious, but so that you never really tell the truth. But you know who loses in the end in that scenario? You.

 Don't give up. Don't quit. Keep going.

I'm not saying you need to spill out your pain and anguish to every person that you meet. Fake it till you make it can be extremely helpful sometimes. Sometimes you don't want to let every single person who wants in, into your own personal business. And that's okay. But you need to talk to somebody. You need to let someone see you without the mask. You cannot do this alone. You were never supposed to.

People are never going to get it right all of the time. They will never be able to fix everything. But you've got to give them the chance to try. People can't help you if they don't know that you need help. God puts people into our lives for a reason. He is trying to help. But you need to let them. Let Him in.

See your doctor. See your pastor. Talk to somebody about how you are feeling. Maybe you need antidepressants, maybe you don't. Maybe it would help to talk to someone that isn't going to be hurt by the words you need to speak. Maybe they can help you develop strategies so that you can better cope with the problems you have in your life. And yes, maybe the first person you talk to will be less than helpful. But find someone else. Try again.

Don't give up. Don't quit. Keep going.

You are not supposed to feel this way. Don't buy into the lie that this is what you deserve. Don't believe that this is all there is. He has so much more for you, than you have for yourself.

We were created to feel deeply. To feel sad sometimes is normal. But it is not normal to dwell in a place of sadness forever. The story doesn't have to go this way. It is your story. You are not responsible for what happens to you, but you are responsible for the way you deal with it.



Don't give up.

Don't quit.

Keep going.





Linking up with Grace today.

What is the point of you?

A couple of months ago, we were at my Mum's house with family, and Georgie was playing with her cousin Hamish, who is four years old. Or, to put it more correctly, Georgie was following Hamish around, getting into his things and just generally annoying him as only a toddler can. Hamish eventually got so frustrated with her that he exclaimed "Georgie, what's the point of you!?" It was quite funny, and we all laughed. But lately I feel like that question is just hanging over me.

"What is the point of you?'

At times I feel like I am a less valuable member of society because I am 'just' a Mum, and I don't work. I feel like I don't contribute, don't really add anything to the world. Instead I feel that to the rest of the world, we stay at home mums are the toddlers of society. Not good for much, except for whining and complaining and getting in the way, and they have no idea how much they are looked after or how good their lives are. I don't know how much of it comes from the image of the 'stay at home mum' that is perpetuated by the media, and how much of it comes from my own feelings, but... it gets to me.

When you think about it really, what is the problem with Mothers? I must admit that at times I read blogs where women who are Mums speak about their struggles with depression, with motherhood, and you almost get a little desensitized to it, you know? I understand why people poke fun at Mummy bloggers. I know before I had kids I used to hear so much about how hard it is to be a mother.... and though I'd never admit it, in the back my mind I was a little like 'Really?' It's a bit of 'Oh your poor rich woman with too much food so you worry about being fat, with your beautiful home and healthy children.... it must be so hard for you to live.' (insert sarcastic tone here)

But here's the thing. It is hard. At times being a stay at home Mother is the hardest thing I have ever done. It's not like I have the stress of being in charge of a huge multi-national corporation, and sometimes I do get to hang out with my friends and drink coffee. But at the same time, often it is so incredibly mind-numbingly dull.
 
I love my children, so much it hurts sometimes. But I don't love the mess they make. I don't love washing the same dishes, cleaning the same toilet, washing and folding the same clothes, mopping the same floor, making the same beds, feeding, changing nappies, fighting the same fights.... every damn day.

And it's not necessarily the everyday tasks in themselves that get to you. After all, cleaning is a part of life. But it's the fact that it feels like the sum of those tasks, is are all you are worth. The feeling that you're not good for anything else. Plus, having children really messes with your mind. The constant worry, the responsibility, the pressure. It never stops.

Why does he throw tantrums? Is she too attached? Will this house ever be clean? Sleep (oh sleep!) Are they growing enough, eating enough, eating too much? Is she talking? Will she ever stop talking? Do my kids watch too much TV? Are we playing enough? Reading enough? Will they be ready for school?  Will they make friends? What if they don't make good friends? What if they do drugs?  Dear God, what if I don’t get my kid into a good enough school and my child ends up being a creepy forty year old man who still lives with his mother? 

I want my life to mean more. Be more. I don't want the fact that I got all my folding done, or enjoyed a really great cup of coffee to be the highlight of my day. But, this is a season. I will not always be the Mother of small children. This particular hard will not always be my hard.

So it's true. Mothers do complain and moan and go on and on about the difficulty of Motherhood. We probably do act like toddlers at times. And yes, it gets a bit much.... our constant outpouring of thoughts and feelings that all say the same thing. I get that. But, we don't do it forever. And in the meantime, we are still important members of society. Even though we live in a world that constantly devalues children and the raising of them, this, raising tiny people, is valuable. And if blogging and talking and writing and communicating about it all, helps get Mums through the day, then it matters.

Expect Less...

I read this post by Bron at Maxabella Loves this morning, and it almost made me cry. I know she wrote it for a friend, but it still is very applicable to me right now.

My expectations on myself are way too high lately. I know it. Everyone keeps telling me how well I'm doing, and how much I'm doing... but it doesn't feel like enough. I'm still expecting myself to have the house as organised as I did before Charlie was born. I'm doing way too much. Yesterday, for example, I cleaned the kitchen and made the bed and did the general house cleaning stuff. But then, when the kids napped, I also vacuumed and mopped the floor, and clipped the dog and washed her. By the time it was time to wake the kids up to drop them off at my Mum's so I could go to a hair appointment... I never even ate lunch. And that's not good.

I need to try to nap more. Because I'm still only getting at most 6 hours of (broken) sleep most nights. And when I'm tired, I'm not a very nice mother. I snap, and get irritated at Georgie much more quickly then I should. I also need to lower my expectations when it comes to Georgie and her behaviour. She is hard work yes, but it is not her fault. She is a beautiful little girl, who is also getting used to her life being very different.

I need to remind myself that I have just had a baby 6 weeks ago, and my husband is away, plus my baby has what I thought was colic, but now I think it could be silent reflux. (We are going to the Doctor today to find out). I also have a toddler who is extremely busy.

So my new Mummy mantra at the moment is 'expect less'. I know I feel better when the house is clean, but there is a difference between keeping the house as tidy as I can, to cleaning maniacally at the expense of my well-being. I don't have to be firing on all cylinders all the time... that's a sure way to burn out. I also need to stop getting so upset when things don't go to plan. Life is difficult and messy, and I cannot control it. I need to let go of my stress and enjoy things a little more. Otherwise I will end up very unhappy and I don't want that.

Not what I want to be
{image}

Today I'm going to try and take it easy. And stop pushing myself so much. I need to try and expect less from myself.... and I suspect that I'm not the only one.

Flogging with Glowless today