Cure or Cope? The Drama of Seperation Anxiety

Well my dears, I have had 3 children, and they are in bed right now. And some might say that having 3 children makes me an expert. A parenting pro. In fact, when I mention the fact that I have managed to conceive, and keep, 3 whole beings(and one darling never-to-be-forgotten-'blip'-on-the-screen), I have received many random comments, including those who would flatter me for my apparent parenting skills. So it can be somewhat humbling to realise, every-single-freaking-day, that I am still learning. In fact, some days it can feel like I am totally new to this whole 'having-children' thing. So I do not, for a second, want you to think that I think that I am better at this than you. Because I am so so so not. But we parents and caregivers are a team, are we not? And I think that sharing our newly honed skills can be a good thing. SO.
Separation Anxiety. 
Dum dum DUUUUUMM!
You've heard of it, yes? In fact, you've HEARD IT. The crying, the whining, the gently escalating hum of anxious baby noises as they pick up the clues of a departure. The roar down the corridor as you flee the scene, slam the door, drop the keys, pick up the keys, rev the engine...
 At times it can be flattering, a sideways glance and two fat-ringed hands reaching for you. Yes you. You're their favourite. And you know you should feel grateful that they love you. Gratified that they need you. But the crescendo of cries twists your gut, filling you with guilt, resentment, more guilt, anger, frustration, concern, a sense of feeling trapped... Oh man, I know it well.
So, separation anxiety. You've probably read a bunch about it. It's generally a good sign. They, our progeny, are strongly emotionally attached to us, their caregiver. If they didn't roar, flap their hands, toddle desperately after you, this would be a warning sign. You, Me, We, are their safe place. So first of all, give yourself a HIGH FIVE!

Now, how do we stop this craziness from ruining our lives?
I've had 3 different children, with 3 totally different styles of dealing with things. My eldest, M, who is now 8, would cry and cry, heartbroken sobs. Her kindy teacher, grandmother, sunday-school teacher, and whoever else was doing the awful deed would gentle peel her shuddering wiry frame off me, and would then be, in turn, in her death grip. It was utterly heart-wrenching. But M had a helper, a small white soft-toy puppy named, well, Puppy. And when I turned to leave, I would see Puppy clenched in her fist as she reached for me from beyond the bead curtain. And Puppy was there for her. In fact, at one enterprising child-care centre, a special home was made for Puppy, a much-painted and glue-spattered cardboard house, and thus M would leave me for Puppy, and then eventually, as her breathing steadied and the sobs lessened, she would leave Puppy in his lovely box, and venture forth into the sunlight. Thank goodness for Puppy!

I did not cope very well with M's neediness. I felt trapped, isolated and completely alone in the task of caring for her, despite my husbands desperate attempts to reach out to us, and my depression and her depression seemed to entwine into one mass of sad girl-dom. So I would leave. I had to! I would sneak out during nap-time, leaving hubby in charge and go to the beach and sit, watching the waves for hours. Or I would point at a bird, something shiny over there, or turn on her favourite show, all to distract from the fact that I was running away. I think all of us have probably distracted, or run, or hid... and at times it is entirely necessary. I still mis-direct small people daily, just so that I can run off and speed-pee. But I don't think it's a way to cure or even to cope with Separation Anxiety.

My second child, L, who is turning 6 in a couple of months, was a different kettle of fish. He attached himself to everyone as a baby, merrily swinging from arm to arm like a hairy little chimp. I mean, yes, he wanted me more than anyone else, but if I wasn't available, he'd just make do. He went through the usual clingy stage, and then eventually progressed onto the separation anxiety. But instead of weeping for hours, he chose to instead roar angrily and tearfully when clawed from my arms, and then, as soon as I was out of the room, he was fine. Like, annoyingly, cheerfully fine. And I would be left with the memory of his tear-stained face, his red open mouth, his flailing hands.... and feel like shit for the rest of the day. And L? He would dig in sandpits, paint anything and everything, swing on tires and generally enjoy an awesome day at kindy. Him I did not distract as much, nor run from. His kindy teacher, firmly clasping his twisting roaring little body, would carry him to the kitchen window where he could see me walking away, and I would always turn at the letterbox, and wave at him, blow kisses, and walk steadfastly away. Did it make it less awful for me? No, not really. But it felt more, I don't know, honest. I wasn't tricking him. I was showing him that I, his mama, was confident that he'd be ok, and I was gifting him my final wave to show: I love you, I'm going, I'll be back.

My third child, FR, is, again, a different person. Seriously, you'd think by now I'd have this sussed, right? FR was not clingy until about 12 months, a little bit late, and to tell the truth, when she did start needing ME more than HIM, I felt a bit relieved. What was this, an emotional zombie? But then she hit the big SA with a bang. I mean, big bada boom. This child can SMELL my presence, or lack of, even while sleeping... it's the hand-to-heart truth, ANY time I leave the house while she is napping during the day, no matter at what point in her sleep cycle, she lifts her head abruptly, sniffs the air like a hungry lion-cub, and then that's it. Snap. Caught out. Which means that if I leave while she's sleeping peacefully, she will always wake up and spend the next hour or so pacing around the house shouting at her darling daddy, demanding my swift return. Which in turn means that I should NOT try and run errands while she naps, because then her nap is ruined for the day. But you know what? I'm ok with not slipping out secretly. If I have to leave her, I try to make it a time when she is happy, well-fed and generally busy... but I don't hope that her play will keep her distracted. I usually walk up to her, or call her name out, and when she looks up at me, her head cocked to one side sparrow-like, I say to her: "hey FR, mama's just going to go out and do some jobs, nana's here now and she's the boss, ok? I'll be right back in a little while, I love you lots!" And if she starts to whimper or hold out her arms, then I go to her and pick her up and hug her really hard. And then I pass her to nana, or whoever is amazing enough to look after my children for me, or put her gently down at her game, wave goodbye, and leave.

Does this technique cure Separation Anxiety? Nope. Does Separation Anxiety need curing? I don't think so. It's a perfectly normal part of our children's development, another notch on the chart as their little lines soar upwards, and it WILL NOT LAST FOREVER. I can say that as a fact, because I know it, because I've seen it. There WILL be a time, with all honesty I'm telling you, that you will feel slightly miffed at the surly 'bye', the lack of any head-movement from a book or screen, and you will feel ever so slightly disappointed that your absence causes no pain. And when my big girl was little, I could not see the future, I could not see hope, I could not see that there would ever be a time when she would not need me with every fibre in her strange little self, and I was completely overwhelmed.
But I've seen the future. It's a future where your children, my children, wave merrily out of car windows or at doors, confident in your steadfastness, your promised return. It's a future where they trust you, an ordinary person, so much that they can leave you and step forward, knowing that you will not let them down. You will ALWAYS be there.
So let's do away with curing Separation Anxiety shall we? Let's put the tricks, the magic-disappearing-acts away in a bag for now. They can be used now and then, when absolutely necessary. Let's learn how to bolster up our own confidence as caregivers, how to trust our own decisions of child-care and day-to-day work, so that we believe in what we are doing. So that we believe that leaving our children is necessary sometimes, and we believe it's for a good reason.
 Don't hide from your baby, or run out the door in bare-feet, heels in hand, no, turn around, go back and say

BYE my darling precious one! I'm going OUT now, and I WILL be back. I know it is sad my darling, but I promise you I WILL be back.

I'd love to hear what your take on Separation Anxiety and Clingy Chimps is... how do you say goodbye to your little ones? Any advice, questions, or sob stories?

Hugs and kisses.

PS I am intending to add some links to articles I've found really helpful, but I'm also intending on folding the washing sometime and putting it away, soooo.... yeah....

Homeschooling Thus Far.... Baby Steps!

When I started homeschooling, I had a vision in my mind. I'd read so many different blogs, and they had fully prepared me, I knew, for what was to come. I would rise early, no longer dreading each morning, and get up before the kids, have a shower, perhaps lay out some activities, perhaps a few interesting pieces of wood, leaves, and a pine cone arranged in a basket to pique their curiosity, and fire up their imaginations.They would get up to the sight of me smiling, with my hands wrapped around a coffee, wearing my soft dressing gown, welcoming them to the table for breakfast.

We would sit around that same table, talking and laughing about the day before, excitedly planning the day ahead. Then each and every person would dress themselves, because they have the time! No more hastily tugging at pajama buttons, no more wrenching of hated uniform t-shirts over heads... no no, my children would carefully choose clothes that they loved, assembling outfits that expressed their individuality and cute quirks, yet reflected an innate sense of style and aesthetics...

Etcetera etcetera. Well as we all know, the best laid plans of mice and men... something something... never work out. I think that's how it goes.

Umpteen times already, in the last two months, I have decided to admit defeat, own up to my terrible mistake, and made plans to enrol the children in the closest school asap. Just last week I actually emailed the principal of our new local primary school to let him know we were interested in enrolling our kids and could we come and have a look? And yet, here we are, still sitting around in our pjs, doing nothing of the sort.

So what do we do instead of school? Not much, to tell the truth. I'm often embarrassed when people ask me what we do, because it really feels like nothing. Certainly compared to the infinite tales online about raising livestock, learning scientific facts through amazing experiments and hands-on experience, children who can count to a million and play musical instruments and contribute to their community... well nothing! And yet I know it is important to look back, to reflect and take stock, and see that slowly, quietly, something is unfolding.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing to write home about.
Nothing mind-blowingly inspiring.

Just little tiny steps... the pitter patter of potential as it were...

Like my 5 yr old seeming to know how to write letters, out of nowhere. He has longer periods of concentration(very remarkable for an ADHD/ASD diagnosis) at the table, whether it be an activity book or intricate drawing. He's so careful. So focused. He keeps on trying new things. He plays computer games - and he plays them WELL; what seems like 'mindless' repetition of a difficult level, upon reflection, turns out to be careful practice and perfection - a dogged determination to learn this new trick, to not give up. He's not afraid to fail as much any more. He doesn't get as impatient or angry with himself... still sometimes, yes, his frustration bubbles over, but oh boy is he trying!
He puts his on shoes on, he makes his own breakfast(with some help when the milk bottle is full), he makes up his own games and draws new, bizarre creatures. He is more accepting of real life; of the fact that you can only take one toy with you when you go out, and not only that, but it should be a toy of a certain size, not too small that it could be misplaced or too big that it might become difficult to carry. He accepts that we play computer games after lunch, never before, and that we take breaks when we're asked to, and that when we're told our time's up, it's really going to be OK.
Could he have achieved some of this at school? Probably! But at home, we have the time(endless infinite hours it can feel like) to do this at his pace, without fear, with as little stress as possible. At home you can learn something new, or 2 things new, and then you can decide your brain is full and you can go and jump on the trampoline until your cheeks are flushed red and your fingers are stained black and your mind feels clear again.
And if you're suddenly overwhelmed with emotion or exhaustion or excitement, you can tell someone, and you can work out how to make it better. Both the kids at times will say they 'just need to be alone', and they'll wander off and have some quiet time. For my big girl, she's got a favourite tree stump that she calls her thinking spot, and she plods off like Pooh Bear to think about ... who knows? I don't! Sometimes I wish I did but mostly I'm just glad that she knows when to take a little time out, and be in her own company.
Other things my 7 yr old is doing? Asking to do pages in her exercise book. Trying things that are hard, even things classed as Too Hard... she tries them anyway, because, like her brother, she's not afraid of failing as much as she used to be.
We don't fail here.
We don't do much, it is true. But we learn in little, quiet steps, sometimes so light that they don't make a sound. And we think we're going nowhere, until we look back through the trees and see the path along which we have come.
And I've written this to remind myself more than anyone else, that this is a journey. And we are gently ambling along. Later we might run, but at the moment, slow as it may seem, we ARE learning. We ARE growing. We ARE changing.
And that's quite a lot, wouldn't you say?

Unschooling, Formula and Faith: 10 Things I Wish You Knew

It's so much easier to put things up on a blogpost that is available for anyone all over the world to read, and yet I cannot say these things out loud, even to near and dear friends. Here are some slices of truth that I am always too afraid to just tell people, but wish they knew anyway.

1 - I have and may always have, a mental illness, but I genuinely believe that I am still entitled to a full and amazing life, with children and goals and a career and anything I want!

2 - I am a committed Christian who struggles to belong to a Church, because I believe in evolution and because I believe the way the Church treats the LGBT community and other minorities is unethical and un-Christ-like.

3 - I am an advocate of unschooling. If you ask me how 'homeschooling' is going, don't be surprised to see me blush, stammer and try to change the subject. I don't know anyone else who is unschooling, so it is at times lonely and frightening. Please don't arrest me, or take away my children.

4 - I am a staunch feminist, and yet I am sometimes so ashamed of how hairy I am that I struggle to leave the house.

5 - My kids play on the computer or XBox for HOURS at a time, and yes, I permit it and yes, they are learning stuff from it.

6 - I have tattoos and piercings, and I plan to get more. I love them. Deal with it.

7 - I am a hippie and I parent my children gently and I am a homebirth advocate and yet I am also a proud and Fearless Formula Feeder, and were I to have more, I would feed them formula too.

8 - I love blogging, and writing, but I also feel like it's just one more arena in life in which to feel isolated, alone or left out.

9 - I say rude or inappropriate things at times, because I am trying SO hard to hide the fact that I am hurting.

10 - I may love you dearly, but I have zero energy to spend time with you.

Do you find it easier to write things down than to say them? What do you wish I knew about you? Thanks so much for stopping by! Love and hugs

(the) Magic (of) Mushrooms

We went for a walk. We hardly go for walks, which is a crying shame because we live in the perfect area for walks. But it's so cold, and dark so early, and blah blah blah, there are lots of excuses. But one day, we went for a walk. Just me and the two biggies, Daddy was home sick so we left bubs with him.

We put raincoats and gumboots on. 

I'm always aware that we are very lucky to have the money to buy clothes for our children. And although it makes me sad mad and bad that I don't have the money to buy all handmade or local/ethically made children's clothes*, I have to remember - at least I can keep my kids warm! 

(* and before you tell me that if I saved up all the money I usually spend on cheap clothes from Kmart then I could buy something well made that would last longer etc etc, it's all very well but when your children don't have warm clothes and it's cold RIGHT NOW you just have to buy their clothes RIGHT NOW with what you can afford. Trust me, I'll devote a whole NOTHER(not an actual word I'm aware) post to that topic...)

I'm super happy and grateful looking at these photos and remembering how nice it was to have a raincoat and gumboots for each of them, and how smug I feel at having got both the raincoats second-hand on Trademe. 

Our walk was not just a casual stroll; we had a clear mission: To see up close, and photograph, the mushroom forest that we had seen from the car multiple times...

There were thousands of them! They are in a pile of woodchips left over from when The Tornado whipped through our little locale, and the giant beautiful trees started toppling. It was so sad at the time to see all the destruction, not only that of the houses and buildings, but the trees that have stood for so long, ancient pines on the ridge top... all crushed and ripped up. But of course nature doesn't let things go to waste, and here is the living proof. A glorious, orange mushroom forest. I have restrained myself from looking up what type of mushroom these are, saving that one for the kiddies internet research skills... 

And then we walked home in the clouded, damp dusk.

Have I mentioned how grateful I am for the time we've had living here? We won't be here for much longer(our kick-out date is the 1st of December but hopefully we'll be moving sooner than that), but we are so lucky and blessed to have had this almost-two year period in Hobsonville Point. We agreed right at the beginning, when it was possible that we would only be here for a year, that instead of feeling gloomy about the short-term-ness of it, we would view it as a 'gap' year. A break from the monotony of the city and suburbia. As if we were house-sitting for an absent professor. And we were so lucky to have an extra year. It is the biggest house we have ever lived in, and probably will ever live in, in the foreseeable future... and at a price so far below the current rental market... So instead of feeling mounting doom, fear at the looming move, overwhelmed by all I have to do and sort through and throw away(and all while my baby naps - oh wait - she doesn't!), I am trying to live each moment in the present, with my feet firmly planted on the polished kauri floorboards, looking out at the ancient pohutakawa, feeling the history of Hobsonville seeping through.....

And going for lots of walks.

Fail

Well. Here's the truthiness of it all. I'm feeling sorry for myself, but I don't really know why. I know I should be grateful for everything, but I'm struggling. I'm frustrated that I don't have the time to do the things I want to do, when I want to do them. It's a childish emotion, but hey, I hang out with childish people all the time, I guess it rubs off on me.

Things I'm tired of:
- feeling tired every morning.
- feeling overwhelmed every morning.
- feeling cold every morning.
- constantly feeding people who don't really say thanks.
- constantly cleaning up messes.
- constantly doing dishes.
- constantly reminding people to go to the toilet.
- constantly reminding people to flush the toilet.
- having to pre-prepare, inform, pre-warn, coerce, beg, plead and yell just to get people out of the house so we can go get some bread from the supermarket.
- making sandwiches. So many sandwiches, every day.
- feeling the washing, holding the cold, damp washing all one by one up to my cheek because I can't really tell if it's just cold or still wet.
- washing my hands, turning my fingers to ice, stinging blocks of ice
- watching before my very eyes the washing pile up and the toys on the ground piling up and the dirty dishes stacking up in the kitchen and not being able to do a thing about it because I'm just holding someone, all day, holding holding holding.
- feeling the tug of discontent in my heart, knowing all the things I would LOVE to do but can't even start if I can't get the housework done because I'm just holding someone all day long.
- the disappointment of realizing I've fallen asleep while rocking someone to sleep, and wasted an hour and a half; knowing that would be the only time I would have had to do anything today.
- seeing everyone else's children reaching milestones, seeing everyone else's children eating normal food, seeing everyone else's children responding to well thought-out parental input normally.
- seeing status updates of people complaining about having to shop at a mall with regular people or complaining about not being able to get their normal organic produce or making me feel guilty about going to the mall all the time, eating crap, feeding crap to my children because it's all they'll eat, not making enough of an effort.
- feeling crabby when I know I should be feeling joyful.
- feeling behind, endlessly behind, on everything I should be doing.
- feeling sorry for myself when I should be so thankful that I live in this country, in this house, with this amazing man, with this amazing job, and these amazing children.
- watching rich people get fancy stuff for free, when poor people can't afford to get normal stuff. It drives me so crazy.
- feeling jealous all the time when I shouldn't be.
- not having enough time to devote to writing, to setting up my blog properly, to posting regularly.
- that all my friends have babies or work or really important stuff that means I can't ask them for help, I can't turn up on their doorstep, hand over my children and receive hugs and coffee.
- not being able to help my friends when they need the same help that I need.

Things I'm grateful for:
- lunch(crazy hectic noisy lunch with 3 children in tow) with lovely people who are like-minded, who I can just be myself with, who inspire me to be creative even when I don't have the time.
- that a friend took the time to send me a message this evening, quoting that passage in Luke where Martha is flustered and racing around, and angry at her sister Mary for just sitting with her friend Jesus, listening to what he has to say.
"41 “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, 42 but few things are needed—or indeed only one...”
- that I somehow managed to make dinner for me and Josh, after getting everyone into bed this evening. I don't know how.
- that Josh doesn't need me to wear fancy clothes, put make-up on, even make him dinner. He loves being with me even when I am crabby and ungrateful and feeling really sorry for myself.

Weird Creatures

I have hundreds of things to do around the house, but there's a voice in my head that's chanting 'write, write, write... you always have a more productive day when you write...' It's an annoying voice. So I'm going to write... I'm going to try and start to delve into the topics that have been swirling around in my head about homeschooling. Or unschooling. Or just homing? I haven't decided which phrase belongs to us yet. So here goes.

Why I hate(d) homeschoolers

a novel

This journey, my journey, towards homeschooling has been... surprising. Odd. Unexpected. As a child I was homeschooled for a couple of years, before being sent to boarding school(we lived overseas... that's a whole other blog post for a whole other day). When we came back to our 'homeland', my siblings and I entered into the public schooling system. It was apparent from day one that I was something of an oddity, and that sharp, prickly feeling of 'not fitting-in' would continue for the rest of my schooling. As a young adult, I was quick to place the blame at... well everyone's door... everyone but me of course!

Homeschoolers are Weird

On my endless quest to fit in and assimilate,  I had met a few other people were odd... even odder than me... who had been homeschooled, and I hated them! Such annoying people! Either completely submissive to their parents, enough so that they were too passive to ask for rides home on a cold evening, or stroppy, cocky and supercilious, enough to put you off entering any kind of conversation with them. Why try to talk to someone if they knew better than you - about EVERYTHING? And while I didn't blame my own brand of misfit on the fact that I was homeschooled(but instead pointed angry fingers at my parents, my years at boarding school etc), I hated to see the oddness in others, because something about their strangeness, the way they stuck out in a crowd, echoed within me, in the well hidden odd corners of my heart. I had assimilated into society(at great cost), but these strange people - they had not. They refused to fit themselves into the narrow box that I had FORCED myself to squeeze into. They reminded me that I too did not really belong, and that was not a comfortable nor pleasant feeling. 

From these scarce encounters with such weird creatures, I formed a notion of homeschooling - and it's flaws - that would carry through into adulthood. Homeschooled children were Weird. Odd. Strange. I assumed, from their oddness, that they were probably unhappy. Poor things! I was angry at their parents on their behalf. Why would you hide your child in a box, all their lives? Why crush their spirit and independence  Why did they WANT their children to be different? What cruel, overbearing, obsessive parents. Secretly however, in my heart of hearts, I had always wanted to be kept at home - protected from the cruel world - and I wanted to know why they were different? What made them so special that they got to stay at home, in a loving environment, while I slogged away at school trying to make myself invisible. 

The Turning Point: Turners and Tea

I did encounter one exception to the rule that I myself had created: the Turner family. Little did I know, when I first met a girl called Laura(lovely, bubbly, warm, confident Laura) that I had started my own journey back towards homeschooling. We were friends through other mutual friends, so I didn't really get to know her until after I was married(at the tender age of 19, desperately seeking some assurance from someone that we would always have each other and be together and live in one place forever and ever)(apart from the living in one place, yes, I'm still living that dream), and a mutual friend invited me to come to the Turners so that we could go for walks and watch ER. Genius plan, obviously. 3 or 4 of us girls would descend upon the poor Turner household, and unless it was raining, we would march off into the dusk and discuss the world and everything in it. I was wary at first, of this family of homeschoolers, but I grew to be amazed and delighted by all of them - Monday nights became the highlight of my week. I loved their house, in the country, with its rustic walls of mud and grass, its stone cobbled path, its rich tapestries and warm colours. It even had a fireplace! I have such good memories of that fireplace - we would gather around it, icy cold fingers wrapped around mugs of tea(they were constantly drinking tea, the Turners), and warm up before heading into the TV room to watch the latest episode of ER. From the Turners, I got my love of tea, of firesplaces, and of ER; all things that I had enjoyed before, but only in that year did I learn to LOVE a cup of tea and a medical drama).

What was even more amazing to me was the family itself. 7 children, 7 intelligent, independent children who were warm, friendly, socially engaging, and genuinely lovely. The youngest would offer to make me a cup of tea(he was 5 at the time) and then he would go off and make it himself!!!! I would walk in to the kitchen and find several members of the family all standing chopping vegetables, washing dishes and debating fiercely. Mrs Turner, or Cathy as I was reminded to call her, always made me feel welcome and warm, and her loving, calm spirit imbued the home around her. Steve, her husband, was funny and smart and wanted to hear what we were talking about - we were equals and made to feel as if we had something to offer. Of course there was chaos - happy friendly loud chaos as well as arguments and fights - over whose turn it was to play on the old piano in the corner or walk the dog. The Turners were my turning point. I witnessed firsthand the hubbub and joy of a family where every person was connected and tuned in, yet free to follow their own minds. Instead of pitying their oddness or hating their strangeness(they were neither), I admired their confidence and envied their lifestyle. It was a huge turning point for me; here was a family whose lifestyle I wished to emulate... and they homeschooled their children! Was it possible to have one without the other? Or were the two concepts deeply intertwined? My conclusion was that if I had been lucky enough to be born with a calm, loving, gentle and patient personality like Cathy had obviously been, then I would be able to take on the task of homeschooling my children. But I knew I was lacking.

"I just read books to them"

And there was another woman who had a big impact on shaping how I thought about parenting and schooling(I haven't been able to get in touch with her yet so no name sorry!) Their family had turned up in our church when I was about 14 or 15, all 8 of them: two parents, five boys, one girl. I didn't have much to do with the family outside of youthgroup, camps, the usual church stuff, until I got a bit older(my would-be husband was in a few of the short-lived bands that the eldest boy formed). I did the odd spot of babysitting the younger 3, and visited their home many times as a friend of the two eldest boys.. and came to admire 'this mothers' capability, her calm-flurry(yes, there is such a thing), her sharp wit, and her care and love of all things home. When I was older, married and with my own baby, I came to her house weekly with a bunch of other young mums for a bible study; we would troop in through her door, pass our babies to her, and huddle over the continuous supply of coffee and cake, while we attempted to get our minds around this crazy new life of parenting. She was always available to chat on the phone and comfort or reassure us - or give us a loving kick up the backside when we needed it! 

While all of the kids went to public school back in NZ, 'this mother' had done her fair share of homeschooling, particularly when the boys were younger. She told us that boys shouldn't go to school at 5, weren't ready until they were older. She told us of walks through the park, of sliding down hills on cardboard boxes and of endless trips to the museum and library. "But what schoolwork did you do?" I would ask, trying to get to the bottom of this seemingly haphazard style of 'school'... "what curriculum did you use?" She never seemed to answer my question as I wanted her to, simply waving her hands disparagingly and saying "Oh, I just read to them all the time", "Oh we just read books, tonnes and tonnes of books" or "We just ordered lots of books from the States and read them". She never mentioned how she taught them to read, or how she taught them to count. It was confusing and unsatisfactory. She wouldn't be pegged down. Her teaching methods didn't fit in any box I knew. Little did I know that I was actually being informally instructed in the Charlotte Mason method of schooling! I was fascinated, horrified and intrigued...

The Colour Pink

Fast forward(because Ohmigosh this is turning into a novella) 5 years: I send my daughter(who has a diagnosis of Autistic Spectrum Disorder and related anxiety issues) to school at the age of 5 and a half; leaving her at kindergarten for an extra 6 months while she began medication did a world of good for her confidence and self-esteem. The local school was small-ish and very culturally-diverse. Every child was a different colour and ate different food, which led to a relaxed atmosphere of tolerance. What I was surprised about, as I observed my daughter growing and changing, was how she was assimilating herself into certain expectations that she had observed. She came home one day and announced that pink was her favourite colour, because she was a girl... now anyone that knows me knows my staunch feminist values, and while I respect pink as a colour, and respect people's choices to like pink, that statement bothered me. She went on to tell Lewis that he could NOT like pink, because he was a boy. I asked her if this was something she had heard from her friends at school. She said she didn't know, but that it was just a thing that is true. Giant sigh from mother.This was the first of many changes that Maddy wrought upon herself, desiring so badly to fit in with the crowd, and to appear normal. Her colourful leggings and dinosaur t-shirts came out less and less, and skirts and dresses became the norm. Which again, is all fine and dandy if you happen to like skirts and dresses, but I could tell already that Maddy was learning that to fit in, you wore certain clothes, you said certain things, you played certain games. She started to play lots of marrying games, girlfriends and boyfriends etc, and more worryingly... games where she needed rescuing because something dire had happened(fire, flood, famine) and she was only a girl. 

I started to wish that there was a way that I could strengthen her self-esteem, wished that I had the time to teach her the value of being unique, of loving herself, how to make decisions based on what she likes and believes as opposed to what other people told her she should like and believe. My major concern was that being autistic would cause her to try even harder to fit in, that she would believe that what were general cultural norms were in fact black-and-white rules... and I could see it happening in front of my very eyes. But school came first, and by the time she came home, she was mentally and physically exhausted from her day spent 'fitting-in' with all the neurotypical children, a day spent following other people's rules, and not being able to ask WHY....

I wished(and it was a secret, because I knew it was not an acceptable grown-up feeling) that she didn't have to go to school. I wished she could just be herself, that she could grow and blossom and develop into who she was meant to be. I watched her different-ness, her unique-ness, being swallowed up as she craved same-ness. 

I wished that there was another way...

A Sparrow Falls.

Mat 10:29:

 Not even a sparrow, worth only

 half a penny, can fall to the ground without 

your Father knowing it.

On Wednesday morning, Batgirl died. We watched her take her last little gasping breaths.

Maddy said, confidently, "Maybe she's just having a little rest". I was aware that we were running well-behind on the things we needed to do that morning before going out. I told the kids that we would just put her down gently in the top of the empty set of drawers, because we didn't want the cat to get her.

But the truth of course, was that she was indeed dead. When I broke the news to the kids, they weren't that upset, but very curious - a natural response to this little event. After we had turns holding her little body(who knows if she was even a she!?!) and the children had exclaimed over how soft her feathers were, how fragile her little frame seemed, how stiff her little body, we placed her carefully back in the empty drawer. Lewis and I dug a deep hole in the back yard, right in the furthest corner. Then I wrapped the bird in some strips of paper towel; I don't know why I did that, I wasn't particularly attached to the birds, but I felt it was not quite - right - to just place her into the ground as she was. Lewis sang some little sweet song while we put her body into the hole.

Maddy ran and got her little 'Prayers for All Seasons' book that she reads out of quite a lot. She read out this slightly ill-rhythmed prayer:

Endings

When little creatures die

And it's time to say goodbye

To a bright-eyed furry friend,

We know that God above

Will remember them with love:

A love that will never end.

(I'm not 100% sure on the theology of praying for dead animals, but I was 100% blessed and amazed at my children's spiritual response to this event. But that is a whole other blog post for another day.)

We talked about how the birds body would break down, and become soft, and that it would eventually become part of the ground, feeding the grass and trees around it. 

We talked about how Aunty Kerryn had recently had her lovely cat put to sleep, and how sad they were feeling about it. 

And then we moved on, back to all the hurrying and scuffling of the day.

thoughts on Mothers Day. By a mother.

This is the kind of mother that I am.

When my children race into my room in the morning because they cannot wait to tell me something, I hiss at them through clenched teeth to GET OUT SO YOU DON'T WAKE UP THE BABY

I sleep in every morning, after turning on the telly for them, and getting them some breakfast. I tell them not to ask for seconds, because Mummy's going back to bed.

I lose my temper and yell at them. This last week? I've done that a lot.

I read parenting books, and feel inspired, but when one of them tests me, all of my knowledge flies out of my  head.

They ask to go for walks, to go to the playground, and I give them excuses. The baby's sleeping. The baby needs feeding. I need to do some housework. It's too cold. It's too wet. It's too hot. Anything, just so that I don't have to push my son on the swing.

I lie in bed on Saturday mornings, and listen to them yelling and shouting and driving my husband crazy. I don't get up to help.

That is my legacy. I want to provide you with all the examples of how nice I am(there are 'some', I'll grant you), but this Mother's Day it really just boils down to this. My children love me. They think I am the most beautiful woman in the world. I am the only mum they will ever have. And I'm not cutting it.

Tomorrow they will bounce on my bed and tell me I'm the best mummy in the world. And inside, all I will feel is disgust at myself.

Next year. Maybe next year I will do better.

Honesty Box

Ever feel like everything you read on the internet is written by someone simply far more amazing than yourself? Ever feel like all mummy blogs are written by beautiful skinny(or fat but happy and really cute) mamas who either tidy and clean all night while the kids are sleeping, or have a secret small cleaner lady who can't speak English very well, but damn, she knows how to hide in the cupboard and polish your taps!? Ever feel like that? I do - all the time.I hardly ever come across a blog with pictures of ugly people, dirty messy houses or angry children - unless they are about that specific thing, and are laughing at it. So. Honesty box(put $2 in when you take a punnet of strawberries - or don't). I have drawn you some diagrams to show you that I, a person who writes a so-called 'mummy blog' on the so-called 'internet', am just as crap as you, if not crapper(more crap). I will even pop one of these pictures on Instagram, to quiet those that shout 'foul play' at all the cute shots of puppies and rainbows. Thus:

Lounge floor; this has been like this since my 5 yr old's birthday party, two weeks ago. It may not look like it, but this is my 'important documents' pile...

This is also the lounge floor, near the nappy change pad, which I always mean to stand up behind a couch but usually just leave on the floor. The cat likes to lie on it. I used to have this all up on a table, to save my back, but that table has been commandeered... more on that below...

These are the pants I was working on for several hours yesterday. They are a mess. I am going to throw them out. I am never going to try and sew again. Yes, I do give up that easily...

OOTD: this is what sexy crafting mama bloggers wear. PJ pants: The Warehouse(POA only of course), Singlet top: Cotton On($10), Bra: not there, probably hanging on the bathroom door, Glasses: Specsavers, (free when I reviewed stuff and met Gok Wan a few years ago)(and yes that sounds pretty fancy, and yes because he recommended them for my face I will never ever ever take them off again, I shall die and be buried in them)(PS in front of a crowd he pointed out the large fabric necklace that I had made for my friend and complimented its awesomeness)(I will never forget that moment)(ever). 

And yes, I am available for styling advice, outfit ensembles and general fashion knowledge.

This is my craft table. You may have seen some of my amazing creations on the internet, or at markets, or on my children, or on my face. This is the center of that amazing creativity and talent, the eye of the storm so to speak... My method of creating is as follows: choose the equipment you will need, dig around for the parts or fabric until you are forced to swear loudly. This forces the required part or piece of fabric to rise magically to the top of the pile that your hand has been resting on. Haul said equipment and parts to the dining table. Create magic. If I am feeling super organised and tidy, I will move all the equipment and scraps back to this table in the spare room. If I am feeling normal, I will leave it all on the dining table where it shall stay until a) a friend is coming over, b) I suddenly feel guilty that I never feed my children properly at the table or c) I am inspired to make something requiring the dining table and different equipment.

So there you go, my lovelies. Never again shall you feel inferior. I am that friend, that girl that you can always count on to be a bit messier than you, to allay your guilt at your own dirty crusty floor. We all need that person in our lives, and I am she. 

You're welcome.

PS you may have noticed that I have been blogging way more regularly recently, this is to increase the viability of my site as a place advertisers will want to dump their stuff. Unfortunately the content doesn't seemed to have improved yet. 

The Best of the Interwebs II

A while ago(ok, a good 3 or 4 months ago) I posted some of my fave things that were around on the web-o-sphere, and I was planning to make it a regular thing... but haha, here it is, almost the end of April. Oh well. Best intentions etcetera etcetera.. 

 - Here are 36 little helpful hints for parents from the good people at Buzzfeed. Golden.

- And from a good friend of Buzzfeeds, ye olde Jezebel, 11 Reasons why we all need a healthy dose of Jennifer Lawrence in our lives...

Seriously, I love this girl...

- Ok, not liking what you see in the mirror? You're not alone.

Let's all fly our freak flags ladies!

- Feeling like no one ever listens to you? Check this wee feel-good clip of a small boy hearing his mother's voice for the first time:

- Here are 27 encouraging phrases to help you adequately explain to your child how FREAKING AWESOME AND A MIRACLE OF NATURE they are... instead of the very pointless 'good girl' or 'good boy'

- And finally, I have to confess that I love Mexican Day of the Dead stylistics  and all things sugar skull... so naturally I want these:

Secretly, I'd love to get a rather large and ghoulish sugar skull tattoo somewhere on my sagging shell... but it would have to be somewhere secret squirrel, so as not to raise my darling Gran's eyebrows, or cause a disruption at church.... ;)

Night Night my lovelies.

Just a quickie....

Recent developments:

- An abandoned compost bin sits on our front lawn. It was dropped off on the weekend, still smeary with someone else's scraps. When it stops raining, we'll move it away from its Dalek-like sentry position to a more suitable spot. Our rubbish bags remain bulging at the seam, so there's lots more work to be done...

- We have used just under 1 disposable nappy per day in the last month. For the first couple of weeks those were the night nappies, but I've bit the bullet and now the bub's bum is in cloth at night too. Only a couple of leaks so far. The other disposables used have been when she was being looked after by family, while I was away. But I'm SURE I can work on them too... I bet my parents would just LOVE for me to teach them how to use a MCN.

- I want to be a writer. I want to write books and stuff. There, I said it.

- I'm thinking about joining in with the amaaaazing Miriam at Create, Hope, Inspire for 'Me-Made-May', which involves wearing something handmade every day, and making something to wear once a week... I think... the details are still sketchy, but I'm keen!

- Lastly, I was wondering if anyone would be keen for a post on how to make your own cloth nappies? I can link y'all to the websites I use for fabric and patterns, and add all my own tips and know-how(a rather short paragraph) as well as my tips for using cloth nappies effectively - NO LEAKS! (Hint: it's not them, it's you..)

That is all.

Winner announced!!

And the winner of the super cute Penny Scallan apron is...Tina!!! Whoop whoop! Congratulations Tina, send me your details and I'll pass them on to HQ. Yay! Don't forget to send us a picture of one of your cute boys all apron-ed up...

Emotional Eating: Chewy Gooey Caramel Cookies and a GIVEAWAY!!!

Following on from that SUPER depressing post(sorry!), I felt a little bit guilty about leaving my readers dripping fat salty tears into their cups of tea, so here is a quick fix. We all know that the best and most healthful way to cure a broken heart and deal with those heavy emotional issues is through your taste buds. So, behold the cookies.
And behold, alongside the cookies, some super-duper Penny Scallan products of cuteness and glory! Read through to the end to find out how you can win your very OWN kids apron... like these ones:

Win a handy-dandy wipe-clean apron from Penny Scallan... Cute Children Not Included

The recipe we used was from an old recipe book entitled 'Sugar & Spice', with Jo Seagar... we've actually been given this book twice, because it contains a family recipe for Nana Os's Sultana Jammy Puffs. World famous in New Zealand! And super scrummy. But anyway, I digress. These cookies are unfortunately called 'Graham's Sultana Biscuits', which is, I think, a TERRIBLE name for such a yummy cookie.

This clipboard is another goodie from Penny Scallan, we love the hard backing which makes it easy to write on the go... I foresee many expeditions and list writing!!

 We usually make them with sultanas, but this time exchanged the dried fruit(An actual quote from someone I know: "ooo yuck!") with chopped bits of white chocolate. Because holy heck, why haven't we ever thought of that before??! Without further ado then....
- Turn the oven on to 160 C
- In a large saucepan, melt 125 grams of butter, and then add half a cup of sugar, 2 tablespoons of milk, 1 dessertspoon of golden syrup and 1 teaspoon of baking soda. Mix until it 'fizzes'(disappointingly, it doesn't actually 'fizz' so much as gloop, bubble and froth into a large creamy mixture). DON'T leave the saucepan on the heat for so long(waiting for the fizzing noise) that it goes all dark golden. This is not the desired effect. But doesn't actually affect the taste, so, you know. Whatever.

Your fizzy mixture should NOT look this dark...

- Let the yummy frothy mixture cool a bit. It will deflate somewhat. :) Add 1 and 3/4's cup of flour, half a cup of sultanas(or white chocolate) and 1 teaspoon of vanilla essence and mix well. I usually mix in the vanilla first, because the mixture gets a bit stiff....

Practicing our handwriting and an example of someone who is NOT helping at all...

- Roll into 'golf balls'(or ping pong balls or even tennis balls!! They're your cookies!), flatten with a wet fork, and stick in the oven for 10 to 15 minutes. These are the kind of cookies that you pull out of the oven and they're still all sinky and soft, but don't be deceived, they are ready! Usually you can tell by the lovely light golden glow they get, however ours were already rather dark golden due to our over-zealous butter melting, so I just guessed. I was approximately 85%(with about 5% error either side) sure that they were ruined... they're not usually this dark!
- Once they've cooled and hardened enough, transfer them to a wire rack to cool.

 These cookies are too dark, and these children are too excited to care

- Start eating them as SOON as they are just the littlest bit cool enough to eat.
- They'll keep for about a week in a airtight container, but they won't last that long!!
Please note, this cookie dough has proven suitable for eating raw. I've heard that raw food is really good for you....

For eating cookie dough on this scale, I can guarantee you'll need to win this competition. To enter, leave a comment under here, telling me what your ultimate favourite cookie is. Easy!!! You have until Thursday, yes that's only two days, to enter.
Remember kiddos, cookies are a sometimes treat...
(said no-one ever)

Orange Peels and Eggshells

Sooo this post on composting has been very delayed, and is not even really a post on composting at all! It's more of a place-holder. These are the things I have done on the composting front:
- well, used more food, and made more food scraps.... so IF I was composting, we'd be, ya know, turning the soil and stuff. Or whatever it is that composters do.
- I got out a couple of books from the library - children's books, no less, with titles like 'Where do my Food Scraps go?'. I thought that the children's section would be a better place to start, what with my complete LACK of knowledge about this subject... and when I've glanced at 'grown-up' books on this topic and other garden-related subjects, it's all claimed to be easy to do yourself, but then it explains the process in very gardener-y language... not helpful!! But unfortunately, these children's books were not much more helpful. They informed me that composting is, indeed, a thing you can do with your food scraps. Insert full-colour snapshot of someone's rubbish heap. Sooooo helpful. There was a children's book, according to the librarian, on how to make your own composting system, but it was out. So that was that(my library clumsiness, and inability to use public facilities that any child could access would make for a whole OTHER post....).
- I asked a few people I know some questions. But picked bad times for both of them! Sorry peeps! No info to be had there....
- I looked at my yard. Hard. I looked at my yard hard. Picked a good spot. Why this spot? For some reason I naturally toss dead flowers in one particular spot. However, I may need to change my location, because, as my F-I-L reminded me, rats. So yeah, apparently as FAR from where humans live as possible.
- I researched a few different composters,  online and at the garden shops. They're all pretty pricey, as far as I can see... I was going to try and review some, but really, my heart's obviously not in it.
- I was then offered a free, un-used composter from my parents-in-law, who are moving house soon. They use a worm farm now, and love it.
-  I said yes.
- RE worm farms, we had one. We made too many scraps for our measly 1000 tiger worms. And then, it blew over in a storm, and they all got away, the sods! 'Never trust an animal you can't train', as They say. Or something.
This is as far as I have got with this mission to reduce waste and reuse organic matter. The parents-in-law will deliver the composter sometime next week, and then, maybe, I can ask them how the heck I can use it/!?! Who knows.
Stay tuned for more in my mission to save the planet. Coming up(hopefully, sick bubba allowing), how I threw a party for my 5 yr old and had hardly any rubbish afterwards, and my ideas on reducing our use of packaging. Hooray! Also, this week(the posts will be flying thick and fast), a couple of exciting product reviews and the such like. Double hooray!
bye now

PS I used a cloth nappy overnight. It didn't leak, and in the morning I popped it into a bucket of cold water and ran quickly back before all the lethal gases could leak out and burn my eyeballs. I will have to go back and address it sooner or later!

Rubbish Day

    I've been thinking of writing this post for ages! Which is unusual, because usually I am somewhat of reactive blogger, something happens and I feel something, I react, and I blog about it. But this topic is quite dear to my heart, and part of a larger picture. So I guess all my ideas have been whirling around without any focus, and it's been hard to know where to start. I'm still not sure how much I can take on or commit to, and I'm wary of making any grand gestures that I can't follow through on. But it's time I share this passion of mine with you! So at least, let's make a start.
    You've all seen the quote "Save this planet, it's the only one with chocolate"... and there are many along that line. They're cute, catchy sayings, that hopefully stick in our heads... but they don't exactly propel one to action. So what does? I wish it was easy. I wish I could convince other people about the importance of our planet. It is such a wondrous place. And it really is dying.  I think the breadth of the issue, the complexity, the seemingly insurmountable task of turning back time actually stops me from trying in any small way to make a difference.
    A couple of weeks ago, we missed rubbish day. Ok, Josh missed rubbish day. It's his job. Once a week, on a Wednesday night, prepare The Rubbish Bag. On the Thursday morning, Put It Out. No biggie, right? Turns out(I'm not really mad any more, honest....) that Josh only has an alarm for rubbish set on Thursday mornings, at about 7. Which means that when he goes into work early, as he is wont to do, he leaves home at 6, and by the time the little chirpy alarm sounds, he's already far far away. Then I wake up, usually a bit too late let's be honest, get ready for the school drop off and for the rest of us to go to Mainly Music straight after, and find that the rubbish hasn't been put out. And because, on this occasion, we were running extra late, and I was grumpy, and the distance between where our rubbish bin lives and the curb is about 500 metres(slightly exaggerated), and I had my hands full already, I declined to put it out. Because, you know, it's not my job. It's his job. Haha. Aren't I petty? SO anyway, cutting a long story short(oops it's already pretty long), the following week I discovered that we had not 1, not 2 but 3, THREE rubbish bags to put on the curb. Where did it all come from?? It was a wake-up call for me.

                                                                         
    So I did the maths, and I tried to work out what was making up all of this rubbish. Because 1 and a half bags per week is UNACCEPTABLE! I figure it's about 1/3 nappies, 1/3 food scraps and 1/3 packaging etc. And I am going to beat that bloat. My goal? It's a lofty one, I'll admit, but I'd love to see our rubbish output go down to half-ish a bag per week. As in, we would only put out a bag once a fortnight. Do you think it's possible? Maybe not, but I've got to try. So today I'm going to talk about the nappies. It might even have to be a two-parter. Then(not promising it'll be tomorrow, because I'm inconsistent as hell) I'll talk about food scraps, and our options there. And then we can look at how to reduce on packaging.
Nappies:
    I've been a fan of cloth nappies for a long long time. Not because they're really cute(they are). And not because they save you money(they do). In fact, it makes me cross when people go on about how much they're saving by using their flash OSFA PUL AIOs. The cost is completely beside the point. Even if it cost MORE to use cloth nappies(and I'm not saying this lightly - we have very little spare money to spend on much at all), I would still do it. Here's a little fact for you. Disposable nappies take about 500 years to break down. 500 years. Disposables were not invented 500 years ago. Much much less. In fact, Valerie Gordon, a British housewife, finally sold her idea to a businessman in 1949. Which is just 64 years ago. What I'm getting at, with all these nappy numbers, is that every disposable nappy that has ever been used has still not even started to break down. That fact completely blew my mind!

                                                                         
 So. Cloth nappies. I have plenty. Between the ones I've made myself, and the ones I've bought second-hand on Trademe, I have enough that we should never need to use disposables. But we do, all the time. Why? We're lazy. I'm lazy. I don't like poo all that much, so if I suspect that there's one on the way, I'll sometimes stick her in a disposable! Naughty! Organic matter that goes into landfill is a MAJOR contributor to climate change, pumping out methane gas as they break-down. We have a sewage system, we should use it. Another time I use disposable nappies is at night. Not because I'm worried about leaks(which will always happen occasionally whether or not you're using cloth), but because of the smell. When you take off a heavily sodden cloth nappy in the morning there is a God-awful PONG that arises, an acidic ammonia cloud that burns your eyes and the back of your throat. It's nasty, I won't lie. It makes it hard to breathe. Blecch. Another time I use disposables is when I'm having a rough day. Not enough sleep, feeling a bit depressed or otherwise ill, and I pop on a diaper. Why? They're not easier to put on, and they're not easier to take off. In the short-term it places no less of a burden on me, and in the long term only makes for a slightly smaller load. So I'm not sure that's the brainiest move. Any other times I use disposables? Well sure, on the weekend quite a bit, when I sleep in and Josh looks after the kids... often until midday by himself! Yes, the man is a trojan, and it feels mean-spirited to ask him to also use cloth nappies while wrangling three children. And once a disposable is on, for some reason, we just keep popping them on! So there are lots of opportunities for me to cut down on our disposable nappy use.
      Reason:                                                     What to do?
      Poo              ...                                     Harden up, Rachel!

Noxious cloud of Ammonia ...                 Any ideas peeps? I guess I could change her more often at night, seeing as she's getting up anyway. I could wear goggles and a face mask. I could just HARDEN UP(see above)! But there must be some hacks I don't know about...

When I'm blue        ....                            I think I might let this one slide. As I said at the beginning of this epic novella on trash, I'm wary of making any giant statements of goodwill, when reality is often, well, reality. BUT I will be more thoughtful of my choices, and maybe I'll put up something on the wall above the change table, to remind me of how easy it really is to choose to put a cloth nappy on. Cos really, HARDEN UP!

Weekend Rest          ...                   I'm pretty sure that this also is not a viable excuse. Maybe I'll allow Josh ONE disposable, to put on bubs first thing, in the hour of chaos as he tries to feed 3 chirping mouths? But I can help by having a bunch of nappies set up and ready to go for him, so that it's almost as quick to grab a cloth one.

So there you have it, I have something of a plan to reduce our use of disposables. But there is still a giant problem...  my almost 5 yr old uses a pull-up nappy at night. Every night. And he still soaks it, every night. And I'm not quite sure how to swap that nappy for a cloth one... I'm really not sure I'm game. I mean, can you IMAGINE the toxic fumes of pulling that one off in the morning? I'd need, I don't know, a radiation suit or something! I'm totally stumped. There are cloth options, but I'd have to bulk them out a lot to absorb the amount this boy pumps out overnight. I'm just not sure. Can I allow myself those 7 nappies a week? Doesn't seem that much does it.... any ideas people?
Tata for now my lovelies, I promise the next one won't be as long... well, not really promise, but I'll try ok?

EDITOR'S NOTE:(well ok author) This post is meant only to inform and hopefully inspire. I do NOT want anyone reading this to think I am judging them or their decisions. Everyone that I know who uses disposable nappies are genuinely lovely, intelligent people raising beautiful children. I appreciate how lucky I am to have the resources both mentally and physically to make this decision at this time. I am not 'Judge Judy and executioner'. I would love to become a vegetarian, but I cannot do that presently. We all have our things. I'm just aiming to beat my personal best. xx

Captain's Log, Wednesday 13th February

Hump Daye. Yesterday's jaunt to thee Merry Isle of Kaukapakapa was slightlye marred by thee bosun's wakefulness during thee night, with only three(3!) hours sleep. Briefly contemplated making her walk thee Plank(e). This morning thee Crew and I sailed for home, with thee winde at our backs. Unfortunately, en route to thee First Mate's educational facility, thee Second Mate lost thee contents of his Stomach, which sprayed across our good Corolla. We weighed anchor and considered our options. I had a good minde to throw him body and soul overboard, but resisted thee urge. Being stranded in noe sight of civilization, I made thee decision to press on, and we hauled ass to thee School, barely in time for thee sounding of thee gongs. It was a smelly journey, and thee First Mate's unhelpful comments about odour and disgusting-ness truly raised my Hackles. Once she was safely off our ship, we continued our fateful journey home. Thee scurvy unscrupulous Second Mate was truly delighted to be relieved from his duties of thee Dreaded Kindergarten, and is now scarfing down what looks to be the remains of our rations, while I, thee captain, scrub thee poop deck. 
No souls lost. Captain out.

The Grapes of Wrath

       So I've just spent the last hour or so battling with my daughter. The 7 year old that is. It's amazing to me how often people comment to me how well-behaved she is, or how they can not believe that she has ASD... they never see what I see! I have to be honest, these comments can make me feel terrible. Perhaps everyone's child does this? Do I think I'm special, or that I have it harder than everyone? She's so perfect and delightful, what am I complaining about?
     Friends of mine, some of whom I have not caught up with in perhaps a YEAR, invited me out for a glass of wine tonight. I was so stoked. It's amazing when you can just fall back in with friends... the kind of people who you don't see for months and months on end but when you bump into them there is no awkwardness or halted conversation, instead just bubbling conversation and laughter, old jokes brought up, and it's like the universe gives you a big warm soft melt-y hug. Thanks universe! And just like that, they're going out tonight, can I come? Seriously, friendships like these are like trees planted deep down in good soil, the kind of trees that are there already when you move in to a place, not the kind you plant with high hopes and false assumptions and expectations. More on friendships and botanical metaphors another time. I was invited out, I was excited.
      But for some reason, an hour and a half of someone screaming at you, for you and then at you again can kinda wear a girl out. I send my apologies to my lovely friends. Catching up with them will have to wait. For now I have to restore the calm in my household. We're in full meltdown mode.
     I know that I shouldn't be scared of her. I know I shouldn't have this tight ball of nerves in my stomach. I know I shouldn't be wondering whether she knows we love her, or whether I've made it clear enough how precious she is. And I know I know I know! I shouldn't be questioning how I've failed as a parent for her to scream the things that she screams. It's so so hard as a parent to not let their feelings affect your own, to keep your smile in place and your voice soft as you are kicked at and accused and manipulated. It sometimes just feels like I will never be enough for her, never be able to give her enough; that no matter how much time you spend with a small person during the day, listening to their secrets and silly jokes, holding their hand, surprising them with a treat or outing that they had wanted for EVER, it's never enough. Two small grapes on a plate can ruin all of that.
    Two small grapes, with holes slightly larger than usual on the top where I pulled them off the stalk. Is it unacceptable to ask for a muesli bar? Of course not! Please dear child, eat your muesli bar! But first just finish those grapes. Pop them in your mouth. Those grapes which to me look absolutely identical to every other grape that was happily eaten. Both of those grapes? Could be gone in one mouthful. And then the muesli bar is all yours. Any of the muesli bars.They're not forbidden. They're not a naughty food. Just eat those teeny tiny little grapes with their minutely larger stalk holes, and boom! You're in muesli bar heaven!
    And now, 90 minutes later, all is quiet. Vivaldi, recomposed by Max Richter, the notes swimming on the hot air. Three children finally sleeping, two with softened, clear faces, relaxed and offered up freely to their dreams. And one, damp with sweat on her brow, her hair impossibly tangled on her pillow. Her fists are clenched, her brow frowns slightly in a troubled state of half-dozing. The tears I feel are stuck inside my face, behind my eyes, and they feel so so heavy.
    And two little grapes, grapes that have so innocently caused so much fury and anger, so much blinding hate, I tip the two little grapes down into the bin. And I wonder what, if anything, I should have done differently. And in what form will her fury take tomorrow.

 Should I have just given her the bloody muesli bar?