I love him so.

I could share and tell so much about Christmas, and our beach holiday.... but for now, can we please discuss something terribly important?

In a very few days, my baby boy will be one, and I am devastated! I don't even know how this is possible. This year has been one of the longest of my life. But my time with Charlie has gone by so fast. I adore that boy with every fibre of my being. I am fiercely passionate and protective of my son in a way I never imagined possible. I think it's been a bit unexpected because I wasn't too sure about having a boy child. But I am in love with him and I never imagined it would be like this.

I cling to him, in a way I never did with Georgie. Partly I think, because with Georgie I didn't realise just how quickly it would go. But I look at my amazing, capable, independent, two and a half year old... and she grew so darn fast. I think I was probably a bit preoccupied with pregnancy when Georgie was this age as well.

Also, if I am being completely honest here. I think for me, there is a knowledge that my boy will not be mine for very long. All too soon, he is going to be chasing his Daddy around, and then after that it will be girls, until eventually one day it will be one girl, and then he won't be mine anymore. I want it to happen. I know it must, and I would hate it if it didn't. But I understand that our relationship will change, and he will never need me as much he does right now. (This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I am contemplating weaning him right now too!)

With Georgie, it is different. I think a girl's relationship with her mother is a bit more unchanging, and constant. I feel like Georgie will always be mine, she will always need her mama. But with Charlie I get a bit scared that I will become obsolete. I am friends with my mother and am confident of being friends with my daughter. I am much less confident with Charlie. I guess I have seen and experienced really great examples of girls being friends with their mums. It is much less common to see a man having a good relationship with his Mother.... but I am going to work so hard to try and be Charlie's friend. For always.

He, more than anyone else, has kept me going this year. He has been the easiest baby. He is the baby mothers pray that they will have. I have been able to enjoy him in a way I never managed to enjoy Georgie. (No new-parent terror.) I cannot stop adoring him. This is also my absolute favorite age. From 9 months to about 14 months, I think children are amazingly fun. It was my favorite age group at work.

His gurgling chuckle. The way he crawls when he has something in both hands, or the way he crawls, stiff-legged, when he is naked on the grass. His beautiful pout. The way he sucks his thumb. The way he stands up, and claps for himself. The way he could walk if he wanted to, but chooses not to, because he is cautious. His cheeky grabbing hands.The way he and his sister play. The way he absolutely idolizes his Daddy. He is open and affectionate and everything he should be.

It is amazing and wonderful and terrifying and heart-wrenching and heart-warming and intense and awe-inspring and gratifying and exhausting and beautiful and complete, being this boy's mother.

I love him so.

Happy birthday my Charlie bug.

Love, Mama.

Time out

I know I have been a very neglectful blogger lately. For a variety of reasons. I've been busy, and I've been tired. So tired. Weary deep down to my bones and drained in a way I didn't know existed. I've basically been running on fumes for a while now.

I wouldn't say it's just physical. Yes, the kids exhaust me. That thing about children siphoning the energy out of their parents while they sleep? I believe it. But mentally and emotionally too. This year has tested Shane and I to the limit. He has had more responsibility and pressure from his work than I think he would have imagined possible this time last year. A lot of that has, naturally flowed on to me. So I have had to pick up more slack than ever, plus I've had a fair bit of my own stuff with my post-natal depression. I've felt like a single parent and a punching bag a lot this year.

But I can see the good. God has seen us through so much this year. And I think we have learned how to rely on him more than we ever had before. I have watched Shane be challenged and I've watched him grow, and learn how to face his problems with courage and integrity. He is not the same boy I married. I really admire the man he has become.

I have found a strength, wisdom and courage, a perseverance and forbearance inside myself that I didn't know existed. God has held me so closely this year and I am more grateful for my relationship with him than I can say. He really is good.

For now however, I am weary. I am looking forward to a bit of a rest and some time out. We will be spending some time at the beach before going to visit Shane's family for Christmas, and I don't anticipate writing another blog post until the New Year. I hope to get back into my writing much more next year. So, Thank you for following along with me this year, and I hope you have a Merry Christmas!

Robyn

Our God Reigns

Sometimes I have trouble understanding... anything. I look at what I know is in me, and the world, and I just have trouble liking any of it, you know?

I have trouble relating God to everything that happens in this world. Why there is so much pain, and hurt and confusion. I don't understand so much of it. It all seems too big, too much, too hard. And it just hurts.

But He.... is so much bigger, so much holier, so much greater, than we can imagine. He sees... he knows. And in spite of it all, or maybe even because of it, He is God.

40 million babies lost to Gods great orphanage,
It's a modern day genocide and a modern day disgrace
If this is a human right then why aren't we free?
The only freedom we have is in a man nailed to a tree.

100 million faces, staring at the sky,
Wondering if this HIV will ever pass us by.
The devil stole the rain and hope trickles down the plug,
But still my Chinese take away could pay for someone's drugs.

Our God reigns, Our God reigns,
Forever your kingdom reigns.

The west has found a gun and it's loaded with 'unsure'
Nip and tuck if you have the bucks in a race to find a cure.
Psalm one hundred and thirty nine is the conscience to our selfish crime,
God didn't screw up when he made you,
He's a father who loves to parade you.

Our God reigns, Our God reigns,
Forever your kingdom reigns.

29 and 11

I realised the other day that I haven't written too much lately about the kids. Which is a shame, because they are pretty great. So I thought I'd do an update on where my two cheeky monkey's are at lately.

Georgie. Where do I start? She is almost 2 and a half. She is bright and clever and independent. She is always a couple of steps ahead of me, and I swear some days I can just see the wheels turning in her little head. She is such a little mama. She 'mothers' poor Charlie to death at times, but she is also so incredibly helpful, and such a little mimic, and is terribly funny!

 

 She is on her way to being toilet trained, and wears undies almost all of the time now, and is only still in nappies when she sleeps. And oh, how she loves to swim! Every time we step foot in a pool I get comments about how good at swimming she is, how much she loves it, or how enthusiastic she is. I swear she is part dolphin. We have just started swimming lessons this term and she loves it! She is one of the very youngest in her class, but she holds her own with the bigger kids. She is getting very capable in the water now, and my only trouble is making sure she is not too capable. She does have a tendency to just jump in, whether someone is ready to help her or not! But she is a good little swimmer.

 

 She loves routine. She loves to dance, and is turning into a little chatterbox. She is also turning into a real little girl, loves to dress in 'pretty dresses' and is getting so beautiful. She is my girl, and she is lovely.

And Charlie. How I adore my boy! He is the most awesome little baby boy in the world!

He is so sweet, and cuddly. But he can also be a little ball of mischief as well. He is 11 months old now, (almost 1!) outgrowing a lot of his soft baby chubbiness and he is starting to get a lot more muscular. He is standing up on everything and his favourite thing to do is push around kitchen chairs, walking behind them and making a tremendous noise. He will be walking soon. He also LOVES  food with a passion, especially big people food!

 He is a practically perfect baby and has been sleeping the night through since he was about 6 months old. He has basically ruined me for another baby, should we ever have one. He tends to be quite cheerful most of the time, and rarely gets grumpy. Mind you, when he is grumpy he will sometimes hit and pull hair and lash out a little. His philosophy seems to be "If I'm unhappy, I'm going to tell the whole world about it and make them unhappy too!" It will be interesting to see if he sticks with that one as he gets older! It's definitely a good thing he is rarely cranky! Before I had him I wasn't too sure about being a mummy of boys, but he has made me so incredibly grateful to God for a son. Because I love this kid to bits.

We have been jogging along steadily. We are hanging out for holidays, and a break. This last week has seen a bit more limping (it's been a rough week). But for the most part, we are doing okay. I am doing much better, and my bad days are not so bad. And, though we have our struggles and our difficulties, life with these guys is pretty good.

Small is okay

As I was busy tidying the house yesterday, getting exasperated at the fact that I would clean an area, only to come back two minutes later to find that tiny people had made yet another mess...  I thought about how small my life is.

My world is quite insulated at the moment. The bigger picture is kind of hazy. I find I am pouring all my time, and my energy, into so many things that feel very, very unimportant in the grand scheme of things. And it feels like so much of what I do just doesn't last. Cooking, cleaning, cuddling, washing, disciplining, entertaining, teaching... then go to bed and re-do it all again tomorrow.

My life is very small. Very insulated.

I get why that can be a bad thing. I don't think it's a good idea to get too caught up in housework, or other unimportant things. I sometimes question what exactly it is I do. Am I just wife and a mother? And why is that a problem... why the just? I think it's so easy to judge myself by society's standards. And so I continue to expect more from myself. If I am a stay at home Mum, I can't possibly just look after my family and my house. Surely I should do more! I should be working part time, or be on all sorts of committee's, or do something crafty, or be fundraising to feed the homeless, or something! Surely I am a useless drain on society unless I am doing more than being a stay-at-home-mum?

But I have this theory, that if more people in the world focused on their own little patch of the earth, making it better, taking care of the people they are closest to.... the world would be a much nicer place to live in.

And so right now, if all I can manage is to care for my family, a few chosen friends and the day-to-day running of my household.... that's okay. I'm not trying to put down the people who do lots of extra stuff. I know that I could stand to be more community minded, and I'm aware that it is possible to become too insulated and ignorant of the world and it's problems. There are people who can do more than I can. I really believe that balance is the key.

But at the same time, I'm not willing to sacrifice the needs of myself and my family for the 'greater good' (whatever that is?). I put a lot of work into my relationships, and into trying to meet the
needs of the people I love. Because I think it's important. For example I think if more spouses were more emotionally available, the divorce rate, and therefore the amount of broken families in this world, would be significantly lower. I don't subscribe to the idea that any idiot can be a mother. You only need to go have a chat to somebody working within the Department of Child Safety to see that.

I can't change the world. Really, I'm too small. I can't control other people, and make peace in the middle east. And I can't stop bad stuff from happening to good people. But I can pray, and be aware. And I can control me. My attitude, the way I respond when other people hurt me. I can work hard to make sure that people who have direct contact with me, (hopefully) will come away richer because of it. So much of the time, I can't do anything about other people's behaviour, or beliefs. But I can take care of my own. And I can do the best I can, even if it's in a very small way.

I get it now

Dear Mum,

Thank you.

Thank you for the hours spent washing dishes.

Thank you for cooking me so much good nutritious food, and making sure I never went to bed hungry (unless I deserved to!).

Thank you for the endless washing, and folding and ironing, because you wanted me to look my best.

Thank you for making my bed, and tidying my room, and vacuuming and mopping and dusting.

Thank you for making me learn how to do it for myself and for showing me why it was important. Thank you for showing me how to take care of others.

Thank you for driving me around to places I wanted to go, when you had plenty of other things you would rather have been doing.

Thank you for talking to me, and building a relationship with me, and for forgiving me when I said thoughtless, unkind things. Even when at times I wasn't sorry.

I'm sorry now.

Thank you for saying sorry when you were wrong, thank you for showing me how to apologise with grace.

Thank you for the nights you spent awake with me, when I was small, and thank you for the nights you spent awake praying for me when I was older, and was out with a boy. Those prayers are part of the reason why that boy is my husband.

Thank you that fear of your righteous anger, stopped me from doing many stupid things.

Thank you for making your house a home, and for making friends with that boy, and making him comfortable in your home. The time and energy you spent will be repaid with time spent with your grandchildren.

Thank you for living out your faith, and helping me to make it my own.

Thank you for being the kind of wife I want to be.

Thank you for your wisdom, your kindness, your gracefulness, your discernment, and your love.

Thank you for being my friend.

I get it now.

Her children arise and call her blessed;
    her husband also, and he praises her:

Many women do noble things,
    but you surpass them all.

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

Proverbs 31:28-30

This just sums it all up

Just a thought

I had a mole removed a couple of days ago. It wasn't anything drastic. I have a family history of minor skin cancers, and very fair skin, so I have started getting my skin checked early. This mole wasn't even that worrying, it was just a little dark, and my GP is very thorough and cautions, so we decided to just get it removed.

It was on the top of my hand, just near the thumb. The removal was an easy, very straightforward process. But the waterproof dressing that I was supposed to keep on for 48 hours wouldn't stay on, since it was such an awkward spot. So, not long after it was removed, the dressing came off, and I just started using band-aids. And then not long after that, I didn't even worry about the band-aid.

Because the scar is in such a visible spot, I've looked at it a lot. A wound, which was open and visible in between the stitches, has slowly closed. The skin has quietly just been knitting itself back together, healing. It has hurt a little, but the pain hasn't been that bad.  In a few more days I can have the stitches taken out, and then before you know it, the whole thing will have healed, and unless you look closely at the scar, you'd never even know there was a wound there.




If my God, is so amazingly gracious, that he can make a tiny little cut on my hand heal so well like that, how much more care will he take with all of the big things that hurt me? He created our bodies to regenerate and restore themselves so cleverly. He truly is an omnipresent, awe-inspiring, being. Why do we concern ourselves so much with things that we have no control over? He is God. Just as he heals our bodies, so will be fix our troubles. It's not always a pleasant process. But it is for our good. He is always faithful, he always does what is best. He is God. And I need to let him be.

on sharing, and oversharing

There are times when I question, "Why on earth am I sharing so much, some of my most innermost thoughts and feelings, with the whole world, on the internet?"

And honestly, I have no idea.

If you think about it logically, it really doesn't sound like the smartest idea. Why lay your heart stripped bare for all to see?

At times, it feels stupid. Like I say too much self-centered introspective rubbish. Like I say things that should be left unsaid. But I don't sometimes. For every words written, for every post, there are a thousand more that could be shared, and I choose not to. It's icebergs all over again. However, the things I do share, I share because of the connection. I love writing and knowing that somebody gets what I am trying to say. I love finding out that other people think and feel and act the same way I do. I love finding out that I'm not crazy. I write to know that this is normal. Or not normal... but it doesn't make me the most despicable person in the world either. And I write to make memories for my babies, and for me.

I write because I love it. I write because so often I don't have the words. Especially when it comes to the bad times, it can feel like there's a gag over my mouth. The words won't come out. Sometimes I don't want to share because I am terrified of being anyone's burden. But communication is one of the keys to breaking free of these chains. When I write, and the people I love read it, they can help. Be it by starting conversations, offering assistance in practical ways, or even just praying. I believe that evil prospers through silence. When I share (and overshare) I am trying not to give the darkness a foothold.

But I have also been made aware that much of the time I can make things seem worse than they are. When I write about the bad times, I ought to make it clear that they are far and few between. For the majority of the time, everything is okay. So okay in fact, that I sometimes feel guilty asking for (and receiving) help. I know that there are many different types of depression, and I know that what I am suffering from is not as bad as it gets.

I also want to make it clear that my children are safe. They have always been safe. They always will be safe. If I ever got to the point where I could not adequately care for them, there are many people who would step in and see to it that they were okay. But I am a long way from that ever happening. And (God willing) I don't foresee that ever happening

So. The reason I write isn't really to draw attention to myself. I'm not trying to over-dramatize how things are, and I never intend to make people feel sorry for me. I am just trying to get better, and communicate, the best way I can. And I hope that by writing about the bleak times, maybe this can help another Christian Mum with Post-natal-depression. That she can know that it is possible to feel this way, and still hold onto God, and be held by him.

A good mum

I am learning.

Always I try. To be that elusive, ethereal, mystical being.

A good mum.

But I am discovering, that actually, she is different than I thought. She is not who she appears to be. I am learning, many, many things about the good mum.

That she doesn't have to do painting, or craft, or drawing.

That her children measure her by the depth of her love, not the depth of her folding pile.

It it doesn't matter how many mistakes she makes. 

That she needs to take better care of herself.

That she is allowed to not love every minute of her life.

It doesn't matter what her children eat sometimes. It just matters that they have food in their tummies.

That it's okay to have bad days... and not every day is a bad one... sometimes she can have some pretty great days too!

That a good mother is someone who makes sure that her children are cared for... even if occasionally, that means it is better if she is not the one doing the caring.

Her children need to see her smile.

That regardless of whether or not she feels like a good mother- by simply continuing to try to keep her head up, and get on with the job- she is one. And He who made her a mother and blessed her with these children will always help her. He qualifies the called.

 

[image]

Today is not forever

Crouching, in the shower, as your chest heaves and waves of shame and anger and desperation crash over you. Hating yourself, hating everything about you. Praying, pleading to God for help, as sobs shake your body and stringy, gluey globs of snot and tears drain down the plughole. A little girl opens the shower curtain, "You okay, Mummy?" Please God, let this be over soon.


Before I got this way I never really understood. I made all the right noises, and said a lot of the right things.... but in the back of my mind I was silently judging. How can people feel that bad? I just couldn't get it. Why did they let it get so bad? Why couldn't they get themselves back up? I kind of thought depression was just pure selfishness.

And, in it's way it is. But it's also fear. Crippling fear and ugly self-loathing in a way you'd never dreamed possible. It's not coping, no matter how hard you try. If it was possible by sheer force of will, to not be depressed... nobody would be. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I know how the smallest tasks can seem like Everest. I know how easy it is to plaster a smile on when you are out, and then go home, alone and desperate.

I find it so hard, feeling this way while I have to care for these tiny people.  And there's that lingering question; would I feel this way if I wasn't a mother? They bring my stress and tension into the foreground with devastating sharpness. I wish I wasn't responsible for them, while I am like this.

But at the same time, they are my saving grace. If I didn't have to get up every day, and care for them... I don't think I would get up in the morning. They make it so hard... but they keep me trying, fighting. On the bad days they can make things so much worse, but they can also make the bad days so much better too. The fact that they need me, makes me get up, keep moving, even if some days it's barely a shuffle. Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

I'm grateful for this. Because of it I am going to be a much better, much more compassionate, understanding person. But I am looking forward (so much) to the day when I can be the person who used to feel this way, instead of the person who does.

My children are not me.

You know something that sounds a little silly, but is true nonetheless? At times, I kind of forget that my children are not me.

They start off as little tiny creatures that are inside of you, so close, that it feels like the are a part of you. That emptiness after you've given birth, and suddenly there is no being inside of you.... it's a bit bittersweet. It's exhilarating, sure, to be so light all of a sudden. Yet it's also just a bit sad too, hollow. But the baby, the baby is so close. It still is a part of you. The baby still is you. Your milk nourishes it's tiny body, keeps it alive. Your child needs your touch, your scent. You are still one.

But then over time, it changes. They start to become independent little beings. Who have their own minds, their own desires, their own needs, their own feelings, and their own thoughts.

My children are not me.

I mean, if I wanted to, I could try and raise them as little carbon copies of myself. Not allow them to question, or think. Stifle their thoughts and feelings and force them to be something they are not. But that isn't what I want for them.

And so, they do things that are completely contrary to things I would do. They make choices that are completely impossible for me to understand. They may go off and live lives for themselves that I would never have imagined.

They are my tiny people, yes. But they are people. They are not me. And it's kind of weird to remember that. They won't be my babies for long. I have to let them make mistakes. Make their own choices. I have to cherish and take care of them. And help them learn to be whoever they are.

 Heck, the world's already got me. It needs Georgina. It needs Charles.

And that's even better.

Because those two little people are awesome.

Linking this post up with Grace today! (It's been a long time since I've posted on Friday!)

It starts with me

Some days it can be very hard to get going when you are a Stay-at-home-Mum. There is no work to get to, or clock to watch. There's no cash incentive, or a boss to give you praise or criticism. You can do a great job or a dodgy job, and at times it feels like no-one cares either way.

On days like today, when I've ignored the dishes the night before, when the dirty clothes basket is overflowing and the kids are sick.... it would be easier to just escape and pretend it all doesn't exist.

But I am working on being present.

This morning, I was encouraged. I felt like I was doing the right thing. Pleasing God. And it helped.

Instead of switching the TV on and plonking the kids in front of it while I put myself into autopilot and did what absolutely had to be done... I was Mum. And I managed to be Mum while I did my chores. I let a little girl 'help' me with the dishes. I made the bed and played peek-a-boo with Charlie and the sheets. We hung out washing and played outside.

I wasn't just surviving.

It was hard. It required strength and discipline. But it was good. Maybe you don't understand what I am talking about. Maybe you are a great, engaged parent who manages to look after your children and clean at the same time with ease. But I am am coming out of a fog that as been consuming me for a while.

Today the fog lifted.

I think it's easy to think about 'important God stuff' only as it applies to the big issues in life. Big moral dilemmas. But how we act, what we do all of the time... it matters so much too. I think I  worship and honor God, when I enjoy my life.... when I don't complain..... when I work on reducing my stress levels. The way we behave with the little dictates how we will respond when the big comes.

At the moment, mothering and housework- they are my job.

God gave me these children to care for and to love. They need me to be their Mum. And right now, in our family, Shane goes to work and earns our income. It's up to me to take care of our children and our house. I know many people say 'Oh, just ignore the housework.' I understand that, and at times I do. Housework will always be there. But, ignoring the bad stuff is only a coping mechanism. It won't make it go away. Eventually someone is going to have to deal with it. And that someone is me.

Sure, Shane can help me out around the house,and sometimes he is wonderful and he does. But he already works, and this is my job. My children, and my husband... they deserve to live in a lovely clean house. I value my family and myself enough that I want us to live in a nice environment. Now we all have different versions of clean. My clean is not my mother's clean, and someone else's version of clean would not be mine. But for me, having a clean house is important. It helps me to function well.

The older my children get, the more I see that they are tiny sponges. They take in everything they see me do, they soak it all in..... and then my behaviour is reflected in theirs. I want my children to take care of themselves. I want them to learn how to be disciplined, to do things they don't want to do simply because those things need doing.

And it starts with me.

The Mummy Code

I watched What to Expect when you're Expecting last weekend. I was chatting about it with my favorite Mummy friend, and she said she was talking with her husband about the 'Dad code' that the Dads in the movie had. He asked her if there was a Mummy code.

And there totally is!

The more I think about it, the more I see it. There are so many things that are deemed acceptable and appropriate when you're a Mum. And Mum's just seem to know. Heck, I know it all too! Nobody ever told me.... there wasn't a Secret Mother's Business pamphlet that the midwives handed me when I left the hospital, and I'm pretty sure I didn't get a microchip of Mummy wisdom implanted in my brain during pregnancy. But somehow, we have 'The Code' too.

So here are a few things that are part of the code in our own little Mum's group that meets every Tuesday. They apply especially when you are talking to new mothers who you don't know very well. You might go home afterwards and give your friend a call and say "Wasn't that weird!?" But at the time, you must remain completely non-judgmental.


1. You don't judge about religion. And you make no verbal judgment on any religious/spiritual ideas about parenting. You believe that your child doesn't have a soul until you do the naming ceremony, which has to occur on a full moon when your child is precisely 150 days old? Alrighty then.

2. When a new mother brings her baby... it is always beautiful. It doesn't matter if that is the ugliest, funniest looking kid you have ever seen, you must talk about beauty/eyes/hair/something. Cute is a good word. Cute can mean anything. And thankfully, babies are cute. You are also expected to say 'Oh what a lovely/cool/great name!' no matter what the child's name is. It doesn't matter if they named their kid The Terminator. The name must be praised.

3. When another parent completely loses it, you make no judgment whatsoever. Because lets face it, we've all been there. You act like it's perfectly normal, say kind things and hand over the wine/chocolate/coffee. It is also extremely helpful if you talk about your bad parenting. However, it is not okay to tell your tale in a story-topping way, but rather in a comisserating, comerades-in-arms way.

4. You never discuss the comparison of the SAHM vs Working mother thing. You might chat about it all- but you don't put one over the other. (No matter what your personal views are.)

5. You never, ever, ever put another person's child down. Same goes for another person's parenting.

6. You don't compare breastfeeding and bottle-feeding. You are allowed to chat about the two, but you never put one or the other down.

7. (This one relates solely to our town) You are very careful when you discuss school. You don't talk in absolutes about public vs private school. You are allowed an opinion, but you should leave yourself some wriggle room.



Where did we learn it all? I could go on, and on. But the general rule seems to be, no judging. And if you do have an opinion on something, leave yourself some wriggle room! Are there any specific things that you think are a part of The Mummy Code?

 

Housekeeping

A month or so ago, One mother hen tagged me with a Liebester Blog award, and I was going to write a post and pass it on (I was, I swear!) but life got in the way. Then, on the weekend, A Desert Rambler tagged me in another one! (Because I am just that awesome!) So, to Alica, and Emma- Thank you!! I am finally passing it on!

"Liebster" is German and means sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing, and welcome.

The rules:
* Each person must post 11 things about themselves.
* Answer the questions the person who tagged you created, then make 11 questions of your own for the people you tag.
* Choose 11 people and link them in your post.
* Go to their page and tell them.
* No tag backs.


 11 Facts about me:

1. I used to suck my thumb, and carry around a sheepskin. (I'm not telling you when I stopped)
2. I was married at 18.
3. I can't run. I've tried. But I'm just not a runner.
4. I received a Maths award in Grade 12. (Which, if you know me, and know how much mathematical skill I have, is laughable).
5. When I was in Grade 2 I took my sister's Music trophy in for Show and Tell and tried to convince everyone it was mine. (They didn't believe me).
6. I was an absolute pill of a child and used to jump on my sisters heads. My mother actually gave them permission to hit me.
7. My teacher in Grade one hit me. I've never gotten over it.
8. I can't stand having a dirty floor. I can leave my folding for weeks, and ignore my dishes. But a a dirty floor makes me stabby.
9. I had aspirations of being a criminologist for a while in high school.
10. I've never broken a bone. I did however, once slam a door in my sister Liz's face, and broke her foot. (It's okay though, she got me back when she stabbed me in the hand with a kitchen knife. We had an awesome childhood.)
11. Th first time I went in a plane was when I was 21. Both my children have already flown before.


Because I'm so cool- I get to answer 22 questions!

My Questions from Alicia:

1. What nationalities are in your ancestry?
My Dad came to Australia from England when he was 18, and my Mum's family was German originally. (I think).

2. Favourite Australian actor/actress?
Toni Collete. I like that she is so real, and I think she is just beautiful. She always reminds me a little of my sister Jenny,

3.  Which magazine do you read the most?
None. I rarely read magazines.


4.  What was your first job and how old were you?
Working in a Chinese restaurant. Two of my sister's worked there before me, and it was a great first job. The food was so good!

5. Electric Blanket or hot water bottle? 
Electric blanket.

6. Favourite joke or party trick?
I don't think I have one... I do have a double jointed shoulder and can stretch it way back- but it's not that special.

7.  Right now, what's on the top shelf of your fridge?
Lots, and lots of milk, because Georgie is part calf. And red cordial, because we've all just been sick.

8. What colour is predominant in your wardrobe?
Probably blue. Especially navy. 

9. First car you owned and what are you driving now?
My first car was a blue Mazda 626 that was as old as I was. His name was Frank and he was cool. I currently drive a black Subaru Forrester XT. (Don't ever buy a turbo car!)

10. Where was the best holiday you've had?
I don't think I can pick just one! I loved skiing in New Zealand, but I've also had so many great family holidays at Bribie Island and Rainbow beach. 

11. Who has been the biggest influence in your life?
My Mum. She is amazing. Every girl should have a mother like mine.


And now my questions from Emma:

1. Have you ever moved interstate or overseas?
Nope. The furthest I have lived from my hometown is 4 hours away. One day we would love to go live overseas with the kids for a year.

2. What is your dream job?
I don't really know. I think my family will always be my most important job. I like the idea of writing a book. (Yeah I know, me and every other blogger out there!) Today I also thought I would love to be a swimming teacher. Ask me again tomorrow? 

3. What's your favourite song from your teenage years?
Dare you to move. By Switchfoot. 

4. Are you a camping person or a hotel person?
Most definitely a hotel person. (As long as someone else is paying!)


5. Your favourite thing about yourself?
My brain. I'm glad I have one, and I was taught how to use it.

6. How many pairs of jeans do you own?
Too many!

7.  Have you a potty mouth or do you rarely swear?
My mouth could be much, much cleaner. I'm waiting to hear Georgie drop an F-bomb because she heard it from me!!

8.  What's your favourite accent? (Eg Irish, French etc)
Probably an Irish one. There's just something about it isn't there?

9.  Prefer Malcolm Turnbull or Tony Abbott? (As Opposition leader, not in a 'you have to shag one, and you can't choose death' kind of hypothetical.)
Hahaha! Glad you made that clear Emma! Honestly? I have no idea. I don't pay enough attention. I know I should, but my world is just quite small lately- even though I know it shouldn't be. I don't particularly like any politician, and think it's very much a case of voting for the leader you detest the least. I've been really ticked off at all the mud-slinging that has gone on in parliament recently. I've seen kids in daycare behave with more maturity.

10. What's on your kitchen sink this very moment?
Nothing! I just did the dishes- yay for me!

11.  Do you have a nickname? If so, what is it?
My name doesn't easily lend itself to a nickname. I got 'Bob' for a little while there- but mostly, it's just Robyn. 



The blogs I'm passing this on to are all pretty awesome. They are all women who I think are very cool:

Ninja Tales
Around Here
Becoming Mum
Killing a Fly with a Ukelele is probably the wrong thing to do 
Graze if you want to, but don't eat the dirt
Praying at the Clothesline, Screaming in the house
The Mother Experiment
Happy at Herbgully
Beyond the Edge of Adventure
Lohtown Life
The Imperfect Housewife

 My Questions for them are:

1.  Your house burns down in the middle of the night. Who is the first person you call?
2. If you could have anything to eat or drink right now, what would it be?
3. How do you kill a spider?
4. Would you rather be blind or deaf?
5.  What would you do with a million dollars?
6. How do you take your coffee?
7. If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, which one would you pick?
8. How did you meet your significant other?
9. What time did you go to bed last night?
10. Ginger, yes or no?
11. What is your favourite time of the day?


 

Spring

Today, as I walked outside with my shoes off, my feet felt the grass. I curled my toes up, and the ground beneath me felt vibrant and alive.

I turned the sprinkler on underneath a thirsty tree, and my nose was assaulted with the earthy scent of dirt and water and nature.

I jumped on the trampoline with my babies, hearing their delighted shrieks as I bounced them up and down.

Later, we lay on the trampoline and looked up at the blue sky. We watched the sunlight shine through the leaves of the trees. And we were happy.

Life is happening. I must live it.

Linking up with Trish for an (almost) Wordless Wednesday

Change

Today my sister is moving.

It is a little bit sad. I am one of four girls, and for the last few years we have all lived in the same town. It's nice to be so close.

Jenny, my sister, has been down the road from us, since we bought our house almost 5 years ago. When we moved to this street, we bought the house next to my Grandma, and have been just 6 houses up from Jenny.

Yes, my family does close very well.

Now, we are the last ones left on the street.

I will miss being able to go for a quick stroll when I run out of milk or sugar. I will miss having cousins just down the road (especially when they are nearing the age of being able to baby sit!). I will miss being able to dash down the street to get Jenny to check on a child's rash. (She used to be a nurse, and is our family's go-to person when it comes to health). I will miss seeing her beautiful family at church every week, and I will miss being able to just pop in for a visit whenever I like.

But she will always be my sister.

It will be different, not having her family nearby. But we still be close, and her family will always be mine. She may not be just down the road anymore, but she will only be a phone call away.

Now we just get to look forward to lots of visiting, and someone to stay with when we go away!

My Dad

My Dad had four daughters. At times it was pretty hard for him. I think sometimes he struggled to understand his daughters. He was an excellent provider, but he seemed to find it more comfortable to leave much of the parenting to my Mum.

I know there were many times, especially in my pre-teen, and teenaged years, when we had so much trouble understanding one another.

So many people have seen that I am struggling. My mum, my sisters, my lovely friends, my husband, and one particular lovely friend have all been doing things to help me. I have also been blown away by how many lovely blogging acquaintances have sent me messages of support.

But one of the people who has helped so much, has been my Dad.

Lately he has been popping around, just to have a cup of tea, or to play with the kids, or just to say hello for a few minutes. It is just comfortable. We don't always talk too much. Sometimes he just does my dishes for me, which is is so helpful. But he doesn't expect me to talk about how I'm feeling, and he doesn't expect me to feel better. I just know that he loves me, and is concerned for me.

He is just there.

If you had told me, when I was a teenager, that my Dad would be coming around, just to chat, play with my kids, and do my housework, when I was a Mum.... I wouldn't have believed you. But he is helping me. A lot.

I am thankful to my heavenly father for the earthly father he gave me.

Healing

You don't get to choose your damage. Abuse, trauma, accidents, sickness, disease, death of a loved one. You don't know what's going to happen, or how you are going to handle it until it happens.

You do have one choice though.

How you deal with it.

You can allow it to dictate your life, make decisions for you. Or you can use it to shape your future. You can choose healing. The pain of healing can be awful. But it's better than living with the pain of the damage.

Cancer has to be cut out. Bones have to be re-broken to be set properly sometimes. Burns need dressing. Damaged limbs need amputation.

After writing yesterday's post I was a bit of a mess. I just felt horrid, and was quite upset. It wasn't until later when I was doing the dishes that I started putting the pieces together.

On Monday I was grocery shopping with the kids. As we were walking up an aisle I spotted the student midwife who was present when Charlie was born. I watched her face, a face that was etched into my memory.... but not a trace of recognition flashed into her eyes. Funny. It was one of the most important events of my life, but just another day at work for her.

Charlie is almost 9 months old. I fell pregnant with Charlie when Georgie was 9 months old.

As I was doing the dishes I had so many memories flash in my head. Of my labour with Charlie.

It was.... rough.

Not the pain, not the birth. But the labour. In my entire life I have never felt so bad. It was a completely degrading, humiliating experience. I had pushed it down, and pushed it away. And over time, I think the hurt kind of compounded a bit.

It's ironic really. Georgie's birth was filled with intervention, when she arrived Georgie was nowhere near as healthy, and whole as Charlie. She was small, jaundiced, she didn't feed well. Charlie on the other hand, was born completely intervention free. I didn't even have any pain medication. He was a great big healthy baby, he knew how to feed. He was practically perfect. Yet his is the birth that has left the largest scar.

It could have been worse. So much worse. The actual birth was really quite good. And the labour was short. But it was not good. I'm sure many women have experienced worse, and I ache for them. Maybe what happened to me wouldn't have bothered someone else.

But it hurt me.

You want to know something? Shane has found the two under two thing a bit hard at times. We both have, really. We always planned for a big-ish family. But he jokes about "No more babies!" I hate it. Hate it. But not because I'm scared that he will want to stop having children, and I will want to keep going. I'm scared because I think he will want to have more. And I might not be able to face going back.

I'm really glad that Charlie was not my first baby. He might have been an only child. I'm grateful that I had Georgie, so I know that the birthing experience can be a good one.

I'm pretty sure I will go back. Not for a good long while yet- we are busy enough right now! But it's going to be hard when we do.

I'd do it again, for Charlie, in a heartbeat. He was absolutely, positively, 100% worth it. I adore the snot out of my boy, and I am so, so glad that despite all the yuckiness that is Post Natal Depression, I have never had trouble bonding with him. Ironically, it was the midwife's rudeness that helped me forge a bond with my boy.

Worth it.

But I'm still angry, so angry about it all. As I was sobbing over the dishes I remembered hearing from a friend that that same midwife, the midwife who made me feel so low, is pregnant. In my anger I said "I hope she has an awful time! And gets hurt as much as she hurt me!"

Wow.

Where did that come from? Have I been carrying that bitterness this whole time? I've still got a long way to go to forgive her. But I'm getting there.
I'm working on healing.

I pull the pain out of it's little box every now and then. The intensity of it knocks me over a little. But each time you examine the hurt, embrace it, and own it.... it gets a little bit smaller when you put it away again. And in time, I will be able to put it away for good. The monster will be small enough to tame, and it won't be able to claw it's way up to the surface, causing pain, anymore.

Broken

Just tell me it will get better.

I just can't seem to be okay. No matter how hard I try.

I want to be better.

I'm sure that life isn't supposed to be like this. I refuse to accept that this is normal. It is not okay to feel like this.

I never had to try this hard to stay happy. To be all right.

I am angry, all of the time. I am frustrated, and unreasonable, and horrible. Or I am tired, apathetic, and disinterested. I don't know how to stop.

What do I do? How do I change?

I look at the shambles around me, and tell myself, "If I just clean the house, things will be better." Or "If I could just have some time to myself......... If I could just go get a haircut.......If I could just get a massage.....If I could just lose some weight......If I could just get the chance to go for a swim......... If I could just not be me."

I am angry at everyone around me. Because I feel like if they knew, if they really understood, they would try harder, they would be kinder. They would fix it.

But I know it's not like that.

They don't know, because I hide. I am so good at making everything okay on the outside. So superficial.

My floors are clean, and my dishes are done. But my cupboards are stuffed so full with junk and crap and disorganisation, you can't even open them without spilling out all the mess.

I don't ask for help. Because I'm scared of what people will think. And I'm scared that they will get tired of me. I don't want to be anyone's burden. Besides, what are they going to do? I don't even know how anyone could help me. Maybe if they came into my life and took over every single responsibility that I had. And just let me sleep, for a very, very long time.

But that's not an option. And deep down, I know it probably wouldn't help anyway.

I know it's not their fault. Until I felt like this, I didn't know what it was like. I know that many people I've known, and know, have felt it too.

You just have to keep on going. One foot in front of the other. One moment at a time.

I try keeping myself busy. So busy cleaning, doing, so that I can't stop to think about this. Or I try to go out. Spend time with people so that I am distracted from myself. I try to let myself rest. Ignore the housework, read a book. I try to pray, try to worship and pour out all my troubles to God.

But it doesn't work. I just get more highly strung. More tense. I compare myself unfavorably all the time. The house gets dirtier. My insincere worship hits the ceiling and falls back to the ground with a thud.

Just not good enough.

It's no good telling myself that it could be worse. I know that there are people suffering through far worse than I've even imagined. But that doesn't change how I feel.

I hate looking in the mirror and not being able to see anything that I like.

I know. I have value. I know I was fearfully and wonderfully made. I know that the creator of the universe loves me, and cares for me. I know I am so blessed to have so many wonderful people around me who love me and care for me. I know. I know. I know.

But knowing something, and believing it are two vastly different things.
 
How do you stop this?

I feel broken. Unable to be fixed. Of no use. Ineffectual. Not working. Defective.

I wish I could stop writing this rubbish. I'm sick of moaning and whining. All this introspective garbage. But I can't seem to write anything else. And I have to get this out somehow. But I am (mostly) okay. Really. I'm not going to go out and end it all or anything like that. My people need me.

But I just want to do this better. There has to be a better way to live.

Life can't stay this way forever.

Can it?

Waiting

We've been a little busy round these parts lately. Last weekend saw us off to the city.

Shane went off to ride bikes with my brother-in-law. He has become a bit of a biking enthusiast, and on Sunday he did a 50km mountain bike race. He had never actually ridden 50km before, was getting over a cold, and wasn't quite sure if he could actually do it... but he did! I am just a little bit proud of him.

Buggered... also, hot!

The small girl did her EEG test and she was an absolute angel. She sat and read books, and we sang songs, and played with puzzles for a whole hour while she had lots of wires stuck to her head. We won't have the results for two weeks, and they still may not show anything... but in the meantime she has had no more seizures, so we'll just wait and see how we go. She has still been very unwell though, and this week has been one filled with cuddles (which is so unlike her) and she has not been sleeping very well at all, which means I am also incredibly tired. But she does seem to be acting more like herself today.

 

We spent a lot of time wandering around beautiful spring gardens while we were away, and were lucky enough to be stopped by a local newspaper photographer while we were taking some photos for ourselves, and he took a couple of beautiful shots. Georgie and Shane even ended up on the front page of Monday's paper!

I am a little bit in love with a couple of those pictures. Who knew we could look so good?

Hopefully, soon they will be able to figure out what is going on with Georgie, and we can get life back into a more comfortable rhythm.  We are happy, and everything's fine. But I know I have an awful lot of nervous tension just beneath the surface. I feel like I'm waiting for the knife to fall, or for the other shoe to drop. Or something.

This morning I found myself lying on the floor being a mummy-shaped jungle gym for my two monkeys. As Georgie bounced on my tummy, and I laughed (all the while being hyper-aware of the baby boy being who very close to biting my leg) I couldn't figure out why I wasn't happier, more content, and I couldn't quite keep the tears from forming.

I don't know what I am waiting for, what needs to happen. But I wish very much it would happen soon.

shattered

It's amazing how you can wake up one day and have a set plan, or expectation of how that day is going to go, only to reach the end of the day and feel like your world might not be the same.

This morning we had playgroup at my house. It was a nice morning. We drank coffee, and talked, and the kids played madly in the spring sunshine. Just as it was getting to lunchtime, Georgie got a bit tired and cranky and came and sat on my lap. She just wanted to cuddle.

And then all of a sudden, she was gone. She was there, but she wasn't. Her eyes were just starring blankly at me, as if she couldn't even see me. After half a minute or so, she came back. But she kept on doing it, again and again.

She's already done this before. Once, a week and a half ago, after we were swimming, and we went up to the hospital. But by the time they saw her, it was over, and they put it down to dehydration.

This time, I wanted to see my GP. So a lovely lady drove us down to the Doctor's, and came in with us, while the other ladies stayed with Charlie and the other children. This time, they took it seriously, and the nurse saw what we had seen.

By the time our Doctor came in, Georgie had stopped. But she listened too, and sent us up to the hospital in an ambulance.

Georgie and I spent a while at the hospital, she was admitted, and then by the grace of God we managed to see the pediatrician. He only comes to our regional hospital twice a month, but he was there today, and he came and saw us after his day was finished.

It looks like she may have been either having absence seizures, or maybe some kind of episode that is similar to when babies hold their breath. We will go to the city as soon as we can to get an EEG test done. She also has a UTI.

Today has been.... overwhelming.

It sucks that Shane is away in Perth this week, I know how hard it is for him that he isn't here. It sucks that we have to go away for further tests, and it sucks that my baby is not okay.

But...

God has seen us through this hard time. I am so grateful that I had such lovely friends that I could leave my boy with at the drop of the hat. I am so grateful that I have such a great extended family that helped us out any way they could. I am so grateful that the right Doctors and Nurses were on duty today. I am so grateful that my boy was such a champion while we were gone all afternoon. I am so grateful that we were allowed to go home tonight. And I am beyond grateful that my baby girl is currently lying safe and secure in her bed.

We'll just wait and see what tomorrow brings. But I know God will continue to see us through each and every tomorrow, just as he has done today. So right now I am not going to do any Dr Googling, but instead am going to try and get some sleep, and wait and see what tomorrow will bring.

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Matthew 6:34

Not done yet

I've had a funny relationship with blogging lately. Every time I sit down in front of the computer screen to type something out, the words just don't seem right. I can't express myself properly, I think too much, I feel stupid... and so I inevitably end up pressing delete and posting nothing at all.

I started getting afraid.

Of what people would think. Of me. Of my writing. Of my mothering. It felt too... personal. Or something. I got all up in my head.

It's probably no secret that I've been having a rough time lately. I'm pretty certain I've been battling a bit of PND.  It's not too bad. But it's enough to make living just really hard, you know? It takes so much effort, just to stay in control of my mind. To keep myself going. To try and be happy. It's taken so much out of me just to be. And I've been so tired, for so long.

Being, just hasn't come easily these last few months.

It's hardly surprising. Two under two is a lot of work. And Shane's job change has given both of us a pretty steep learning curve. I'm sure if you've read any of my recent posts, you could see it.

My last post in particular, came from a pretty raw place. But it hasn't all been that bad. I turned comments off for that post, because I was stuck in a moment, in a pity party, and I knew it. I just wanted to get it out, and move on. I don't really want to make people feel sorry for me, and I wasn't fishing to be told that I'm a good Mum. I know I am, most of the time. Except for when I get stuck.

But writing these things down, helps give me some kind of release.

I need to write again.

So I'm planning to post a lot more often in the future. I want to stop thinking, and over-analysing. Stop thinking 'do people really need to read this?' and rather, ask myself, 'do I need to get this out of my head?'

Thanks for sticking with me this far. I'm not done yet.