The business of living.

I know I am writing a lot of sappy lovely posts about my husband lately. But there is a reason.

Last year, I was just coping. With Shane, with my babies, with my thoughts, with life. It was a nervous, unstable, unsustainable energy. Just keep moving.

But now.... I am happy. Shane. Being married to him, is more wonderful than it has been in a long time. Last year, it was all about surviving. Shane's stress was at phenomenal levels. I just didn't know what to do, but keep going, and trust God with my marriage and my husband. I had to put my game face on when he got home from work, because I had no idea which version of him was going to come home.

This year, he is one of my favourite parts of my life. Things are just... good. I am praying that they can stay that way. I am praying that his work will not overwhelm and exhaust him like it did last year. It sucked out every single bit of him last year. Even the marrow. By Christmas, he was down to bare bones.

I am praying madly that we will be able to do what we can this year so that doesn't happen again.

I am much better, but I am still struggling a bit with the day to day stuff. Looking after the kids, when they push every darn button they can find. Charlie is currently doing a lot of a destruct o-baby routine, and I have decided I am really not a fan of wailing toddlers.

The days, they are long.

But as soon as Shane gets home, generally, the world just gets... good.

I love that things are like this. It's been a long time coming. But it did come.

I need to figure out how better to manage my days with my babies. I want to make every aspect of life good. But I am so grateful that my husband is my friend again.

Just not cut out to be a crafty mummy...

Before I had kids, I imagined that I was going to be a 'fun Mum'. You know the ones? They are super organised, and are happy to do painting and play-dough and drawing and paper-mache. I thought with all my experience as a childcare worker, it would be easy. I painted, crafted and did numerous activities with 16 children every day, how hard would it be with a couple of my own?

Turns out, for me, it's very hard.

In childcare, it was easy. The supplies were all readily available, the environment was safe and kid-friendly, we had routine, I had another person working with me (so clean up was SO much easier), and most importantly, I had to.

You know how many times Charlie has done paint, or playdough, or anything messy? Once. Today. And honestly, it may be the last time until he goes to kindy.

Watching Georgie splatter paint all over the deck, and rushing around trying to wipe it all off.... racing over to stop Charlie gobbling big globs of (toxic-bad mummy) paint and having him wail at me like I've stolen his favorite toy  (but I love to eat the paint Mummy!) while I wrestle him to wipe his mouth..... trying to stop Georgie from wiping her hands all over the chairs.... trying to wipe paint off the dog, who was stupid enough to be sitting under Georgie's chair and got a paintbrush dropped on her head.... trying to stop paint covered paper blowing all over the deck.....

It is not my idea of a good time, and it leaves me with an eye twitch, and a strong desire for a glass of wine or a block of chocolate.

I am just not naturally a crafty creative person. I don't like paint on my clothes, or on my kids clothes. I don't like paint on my furniture. I don't like having to clean up more than usual. I don't like dried play-dough smooshed into couches. I don't enjoy finding random bits of feathers and pipe cleaners everywhere. I. Just. Don't. Like. It.

Maybe I am just out of practice. Maybe I need to take a bit of a chill pill about the whole paint-and-other-crafty-substances-all-over-my-house thing (and slip one of those pills into Shane's coffee while I'm at it). Maybe it will get easier. Maybe I will buy some non-toxic paint and a few more art supplies. And maybe I will try to do something crafty again sometime in the future.

But not for a very, very long time.

Flogging with Grace today :)

Me, again

Things are better. All of a sudden, I just feel... good again. I'm fine, and I can't quite believe it.

I went to my GP, and we discussed what might help. I told her that I really was not a fan of anti-depressants, (mostly because I don't trust myself to come off them!) and fortunately, it looks like I won't need them. Instead, we decided to try switching my birth control. And in a matter of weeks, the... bleakness that was enveloping every single aspect of my life, is gone. Sure, I still have bad days. But the difference is, they're bad. Not terrifyingly awful.

I am just stunned.

Part of me doesn't want to talk about it yet, in case I accidentally jinx it. But I'm pretty sure that things are just... better.

I was really starting to think that the problem was me, or my life. That something was seriously wrong and I was never every going to be happy again. That the struggle would always be there. But now, I just don't feel unhappy about everything.

It was like I was trapped. The part of me that was alive and happy and joyous, was just restrained and bound. It took so much effort, to do anything. Making my bed or doing my dishes was a mammoth task. But now, my house is cleaner, I want to spend time with people, I want to do again. I have more energy, I can laugh and play and smile and be happy and it doesn't feel wrong.

I wish I had discovered this sooner. But I am glad that (hopefully) things are now so much better. I'm glad to be more me than I have been in a long time.

just so grateful

I am so glad to be married. My husband is fun, did I ever tell you that? He does the best accents, and he sings Irish tunes, he has the greatest smile, he makes the funniest faces, he has a really good laugh, he is kind, he is passionate, he is a hilarious dancer, he is a thinker, he is an awesome provider, and a hard worker, he makes me laugh almost every day.

Tonight, we celebrated our seventh wedding anniversary. We ate far too much ah-mazing food, and we talked and talked. As we drove home from the restaurant we sang and joked and laughed. I looked across at him, as he sang an Irish folk song (badly) and I thought 'there isn't anyone in the world I would rather be with than you.' And it was good.

This year it will be ten years since our first date, our first fight, our first drive, our first kiss, and it is seven years since the day we said 'I do'. I am beyond grateful for it all. We have so much history, he is my history.

And I am just so glad that I married this guy.

For him

In all the mess, and the crappy feelings, and the hard. He has been here.

He doesn't know what to say, or do. He wishes he could fix it, because he's a man. But he can't, and he knows it. But he is still here.

Last year, he was less present. Last year was a rough year. Work took so much from him that he didn't have much left over. Lately however, he has been better, and he has been helping me. So much.

There are times in marriage, when you are desperately in love with your husband. When he consumes you and you just like him. When you are so grateful for him. For the fact that you are his. There are times when that love doesn't come easy. When it is a choice. It requires much effort. There are times when you are mostly ships passing in the night. Each going their own way, with not much to bind you together.

Last year, we were ships a lot of the time. Sometimes we were warships. This past year taught me much about choice. About consciously choosing to love, and respect and take care of my husband, regardless of whether or not I wanted to.

But right now? I am so grateful for my marriage and my husband. I am grateful for the good times and the bad times that we have weathered. And I am grateful for him. For so many bits of him, that are really quite lovely. I am grateful that he loves me. I am glad that I am his and he is mine.


Linking up with Jess today :)

Uncle

I never imagined that you could be this sad, without reason. A big important reason, like the loss of a loved one, or the sickness of a child.  I am crying at the drop of a hat. And I just can't understand it. I can't explain it, I can't justify it. But I can't stop it either.

I am so tired.

Tired of feeling this way, tired of having to work so hard. Every moment that I am not sleeping just requires too much effort.

I had such plans for this year. I was going to come home refreshed from a holiday, and I didn't. Coming home, being home, has been awful. I was going to come home to a clean house, because I'd tried to be so organised before we left, but I look around at this mess and disorganization around me, and there's just too much to do. I was going to eat better, and exercise more, and that's going great (Hear the sarcasm there?) I was going to be a better wife, and mother. If only I could bring myself to care about anything. My boy is almost one, and I thought this depression would have lifted by now. Things were supposed to be better, but they're not. And I just don't understand why.

I am tired of having sick children. While we were on holidays, the kids had croup, ear infections, chest infections, and now we have come home, and the first day Shane was back at work saw me sitting in the bathtub with a sick Charlie, and with little-boy-banana-flavoured-vomit trickling down my bra.

Uncle! I'm saying it. Uncle!!!

I'm sick of all my contradictions. I just want to be left alone, but I don't want to be lonely. I want to go out, but I don't want to leave the safety of my house. I want to exercise but I just can't seem to get there. I want to eat well, but it just feels like it is too much work. I almost wish I had never had Charlie, because that seems to have been the catalyst for all of this. But I never ever want to be without him.

I feel like a complete and utter failure. At everything.

But I am choosing to try to focus on the good.
My children are always clean, and are bathed at least once a day.
My children may get sick a lot, but they are building up their little immune systems.
They wear clean clothes every day.
My family never goes hungry, and a lot of the time, we do eat well. (In fact a lot of the time, we just eat too well!)
My husband loves me.
My children are loved, extravagantly. By so many people.
They are growing up in a home with God at the centre.
They have a mother who is doing her best, and they may watch Mummy tantrum and yell and scream and cry and lose it. But they watch her pick herself back up off the floor, they hear her say sorry, and they watch her get on with it.

I'm sorry for whining, and moaning and continuing to spew out all this negativity. But it's all I've got. I don't know how to turn the tide and change. Won't somebody tell me how?

The only thing I know for sure, is that He loves me. He has not forsaken me. He is and always will be holy and good and righteous.