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.

F%&#ing Shoes

Okay, so I'm about to tell you something. And can you please, promise you won't judge me? Because I assure you, I know, this is really bad. Like, this is a thing I am not proud of whatsoever. It's terrible, I know it. I want to change it.

This morning, we were getting ready to go to the park to meet a friend. Things were actually going really well. We were late, we are always late, but I wasn't tearing my hair out about it. I was just getting the kids out of the door, and saying "We need to find our shoes and put on our shoes". And then, my sweet, sweet girl, said "Fucking shoes."

Yep.

She wasn't really clear. Probably I could have pretended that she hadn't said that word. If someone else was with me I would have pretended she said something different. But she did. I know she did. And what's worse, she said it matter-of-factly. Like that's just what you call them.

When I'm stressed, and angry, I swear. It's disgusting. I'm not proud. And I really don't want to. But sometimes I do. When we are leaving the house in the morning, sometimes it is a real process. It drives me mad. By the time I've gotten all of us dressed, dealt with at least one good poop explosion, and gotten everything organized... I'm tense.

Some mornings I do well. But very often, the last pitfall is the shoes. So by the time we get to put out shoes on, I will often snap "Just put on your fucking shoes!" And now Georgie thinks they are called 'fucking shoes.'

I know. I know. I'm terribly ashamed. I kind of can't believe I'm confessing this to you. But this is what I do. I'm not all lovely words, and beautiful thoughts. Sometimes I am cranky, and horrible. Ugly, and angry. All too often in fact.

So I sat down with Georgie, and I apologized. I told her that we shouldn't say that word. That it's not a good word. I told her that they are just shoes.

I am not proud of this. To be honest I don't even want a record of it. But I am putting it here, because I want to be real. I don't want my blog to be a place that is only filled with the good stuff. I don't want to present this image of myself as a perfect holier-than-thou person. Because I am not perfect. Oh no. I am not. I am lazy, and disorganised. I lose my temper far too easily. But I don't want to. And I am going to try to do better. I am going to try to organize myself better, and work on my time management, and my stress. So that we don't have 'fucking shoe' moments anymore.

Miss Georgina {3 years old}

This girl, has somehow grown up. She has very recently turned three years old.

I love her, I love her, I love her.

Three years ago Georgie, you turned me into a Mummy.

 Thank you for that.

You are sunshine, and rainbows, and thunderstorms. You are so much energy and passion and joy wrapped up in such a tiny package. You are delightful. You are particular, and fussy, and free, and beautiful.You delight me, you frustrate me, you challenge me. As I have helped you grow and change, you have helped me grow and change. Thank you for that.

 I am so grateful to be your Mummy.