And the holidays start......let the games begin!

This afternoon marks the beginning of six weeks of school holidays.  This means sleep ins, not having to sort out school lunches, no washing school uniforms at 11pm because the boys forgot to put yesterday's uniforms in the wash as well as today's uniform.  However....it also means six weeks of them being under each others feet and some inevitable bickering, which leads to Mum losing her mind.

Last saturday I was outside in our backyard with Carter.  For some reason, he was pretty out of sorts that day.  Early in the day, I put it down to it being the end of the school year and kids are generally pretty moody and tired, and I was quite patients (if I do say  so myself).  Fast forward a few hours and my patience was a thing of the past and I found myself outside growling at Carter through gritted teeth;

"I really want to yell right now but I don't want our neighbors to see my true colours!"

Thankfully, later that day, Carter pulled it together.  Two days later, it was Tony's turn.  I guess I can at least be thankful that they take it in turns to drive me nuts.  It always seems that whilst one is being difficult, the other is on his best behaviour.

Carter did something that frustrated Tony, and Tony lost his cool.  When I told him he needed to calm down, he rolled his eyes at me.  As many parents will tell you, eye rolling is incredibly unwise when you are already in trouble.  Realising it was best Tony was away from me at that moment, I sent him to his room.

I have a stubborn spirit.  Sometimes it works to my advantage in that is keeps me from giving up when something is challenging for me.  Other times, it stops me from letting go of things that I don't really need to fight.  As Tony has gotten older, I have realised the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.  Unfortunately, Tony has come from two stubborn trees so he never had much of a chance anyway.

Tony decided he was going to dig his heels in and kept coming out of his room.  He played at going to the toilet, coming and getting an apple to eat, and sitting in his bedroom doorway.  In my efforts to stay calm, I went outside.  After realizing his audience was gone, Tony followed me outside.

It was at this point that I sensed the opportunity to get my payback and I went back inside and locked the door behind me.  I then went through the rest of the house and locked every other door and even closed and locked every window.  I then savoured the moment and sat back and waited for Tony to realize I had won.

I waited.  And waited.   And waited some more.

Tony had indeed realised he had been locked out, but refused to show any sign that it was bothering him.  Instead, he lay on the couch, he played with a soccer ball, and rode his bike around.  We both knew we were waiting for the other to break.  BUT...it sure as hell wasn't going to be me!

I had a secret weapon.  It would require some patience, but it was bound to work.  Mosquitos!

Two hours after I first locked Tony outside,  the mosquitos came.  I could tell because I could hear Tony slapping his arms and legs.  I evil laughed to myself in a whisper.  My plan was coming to fruition and it was only a matter of time until Tony would have to swallow his pride and acknowledge his wrong doing.  I of course would be gracious and accept his apology and explain that his lack of respect was unacceptable blah blah blah, but deep down I would be mentally high-fiving myself.

After about fifteen minutes had passed with no knocking on the door from Tony seeking refuge from the mosquitos, I peeked out the blinds.  I don't know if I was more annoyed, or proud.  He had gone into our laundry (which is a room outside the back door) and had moved the dryer to block the door and was using it as his throne.  Now not only had he escaped the mosquitos, he had also made it impossible for me to get into the laundry AND he was surrounded by food and drink as the laundry has shelving I use as our pantry overflow.

I had officially been outplayed.  I would like to think he had learnt from the master.  Later that evening, when he had decided to come in and apologised and we had talked it out, I told him I was almost impressed and that I had found my match in stubbornness.  I also told him he would have plenty of time to think about how impressed I was lots over the next few days as he was going to be without his phone and laptop.

Did I mention I like to win?

Those mother-son moments!

For many years I have written about my “boys”.  They are 10 and ALMOST 13 now.  They are still my boys, but they are starting to head towards men...young men, but getting closer to men faster than I would like.  

When I think about the fact that Anthony and I never expected to only have 2 children, it doesn’t bother me at all.  I feel complete with my boys.  I didn’t expect to feel this way.  When we got the initial news, life was a bit crazy....but I thought that when things calmed down a bit that I would feel crushed, like something had been taken from me.  

That feeling has never come.  

I also thought I might feel disappointed to not get to experience raising a daughter.  Many years have passed and I have watched many parents of daughters around me and realised perhaps I’m not cut out for raising daughters.  I have 3 hairstyles....ponytail, bun, and down.  I’m rubbish at painting little nails, and do not get excited by handbags or purses etc.  That sounds totally stereotypical and I guess if I had a girl who was equally unenthusiastic about these things I would be ok, but there is never any guarantee. 

Having only boys, I never envisioned myself having “the period talk” with my sons, but a few years back we did, because I want them to be informed and not all weirded out about a normal process that goes on in their very house...even if it’s not happening to them.  I wanted to know that if a girl at school ever had a tampon or pad fall out of their bag, my sons would have the maturity to simply pick it up and hand it back and not behave like they are handling a grenade.  

This chat was slightly awkward for them, but overall it’s been fine.

Fast forward to Wednesday night when I decided it’s one thing to KNOW about tampons, pads etc, but I didn’t know if they even understood HOW they work.  Anthony was out at a meeting so it was just the boys and I hanging out. We were chatting and I brought up that years ago we had talked about periods etc, but did they really get how things work? I suggested that one day down the track, their wife might ask them to grab some tampons from the shop and they need to know what they are looking for.  

After showing them some and opening them up, I asked if they know how often they need to be changed.  Their answers were nothing short of scary 😂 I then grabbed a glass of water, as they were curious as to how they actually absorb anything.  

So there we are, with a glass of water bobbing a tampon into it and watching it blow up like a little hot air balloon...and in walks Anthony.  

The look of confusion on his face as to what we were doing was spectacular!  He of course added in his very fatherly advice that another use of tampons is to stop nose bleeds 🤷‍♀️ 

Next week - facials!

Who’s in your corner?

Every now and then, often whilst I’m out walking, I get to thinking about “stuff”.  I think about who and what I have in my life that I’m grateful for, the challenges I have endured or am still enduring, things I want to do better etc etc.  The track is usually a little different, but the tune is the same.  

I usually come to the same conclusion though; being a human is messy.  It’s complicated and challenging and like trying to navigate through uncharted waters with a compass that works sometimes, then sporadically spins round and round without any purpose whatsoever.   

So many challenges I have faced, I find my mind racing trying to figure out how to handle things, but deep down know I have no actual idea, because most challenges are new and uncomfortable and unfamiliar and I have zero expertise in how to navigate through them.  I rarely get through unscathed, and  even more rarely do I get through alone. 

The past week I have thought a little about the movie “Million Dollar Baby”.  It’s a text Anthony has been teaching and one I love.  It’s heartbreaking to see a woman who quite literally has no one in her corner until she finds Frankie. 

It made me think about my own life and the people I have “in my corner”.  Some of these people are in my corner on a daily basis, others just appear less frequently but I know are there when I call them in.  Some give me laughter when I need a good chuckle, a listening ear to vent to, or just company that helps me to know I’m not alone in this messy thing called ‘Life’.

Everybody needs people in their corner.  It’s the person you call when something funny happens and you are dialling their number with a big smile on your face, knowing they will find it hilarious too.  

It’s the person you message late at night, because there are no time restrictions on your friendship.

It’s the person you call just to talk about nothing while you do mundane chores around the house.  

It’s the person you don’t have to make the “fake house” for.  The one who has seen you ugly cry.  The person who you fall asleep to at night and know you will never get sick of the rhythm of their breathing.  

These are the type of people I love that I have in my corner.  I turn to them, they pat my back, help me catch my breath, wipe my brow, give me a word of encouragement and send me right on back into the world to face whatever comes.  I hope I am that person for whoever wants/needs me in their corner too, because everybody needs someone in their corner. 

History Lessons

I don’t think I have recorded this tale in my blog/journal yet, but it is one I want to have recorded for my boys so here it is.  

In 2016, we realised how big Carter’s passion for geography had become.  He had mastered approximately 80 flags at the time, and had progressed to an interest in world landmarks and facts about each.  Seeing how much Carter struggled with retention of new information , we were thrilled to see that if he had an interest in a particular subject, he was able to retain a lot of information.  

We decided it would be wise to branch out from geography and to also include some history to see if this was something else Carter might find interesting.  We decided to teach him about World War 2 and all about Nazi Germany.  I found this area particularly interesting myself so it seemed natural to share it with our boys too.  

To my delight, Carter loved learning all about WWII and had a lot of questions regarding Hitler, the treatment of the Jewish, and the concentration camps etc.  It also provided a lot of great teaching opportunities for our boys.  

All was going well.   Or so we thought.  

A couple of months down the track, our boys’ school had an open day where parents and family members could come into their classrooms to look around and observe the work they have been doing. 

I went to Tony’s class first and saw some great art work he had done, and his work in coding (which I still don’t really get).

Then, I headed down to Carter’s class.  Within moments of walking through the door I could see the room had been decorated with students work from the last term.  There was poetry, drawings, graphs, and other art work.  My attention was directed to the beautiful butterflies the class had painted that were hanging across the classroom. 

You know the kind, where children put dollops of paint on their paper, then fold the page in half and open it to create a rainbow butterfly.

As I looked at the colourful creations and searched for Carters, my eyes widened and my stomach dropped.  I spotted his within a few seconds. I didn’t even need to read the name in the corner of the page to know it was Carter’s handiwork.

Instead of a beautiful, brightly coloured butterfly, Carter had decided to just draw a giant red swastika!  

My first thought was;

“Please tell me he told his teacher we have taught him this is a form of hate flag, not a belief we support and promote at home!”

My second thought was;

“Why in the world did she actually hang this up there?? Did she think I would be offended to not see my child’s monstrosity of a piece of artwork hanging up in the classroom for all to see??”

We decided it was best to dial down the history talk for a little while. 

Butting in

Today I had to tell my boys something important. It was important, but it bothered me saying it.  I don’t know how to explain it really,  but I felt like I was telling my own children to do something that could put them in harms way, but I couldn’t not tell them to do it.  It goes against every protective instinct I have as a mother,  but every other part of me knows it’s right. 

In a matter of just a few months, I have TWICE found myself in a public shopping centre car park, surrounded by other people, witnessing a domestic dispute between a man and a woman. 

The first I was pulling into a car park entry and thought I could hear a woman’s voice calling out.  I wound down my window but heard nothing.  I found a park and as I got out I could hear the voice again.  This time I could distinctly make out the words;

“Someone, please help me!”

I looked back to the entry to the car park and could see about a hundred metres away a white car with the drivers door open and a man blocking the door so it couldn’t be shut.  I heard the woman’s voice repeat her call for help.  I looked around and saw no fewer than a dozen people looking on, several of them men who were much larger than I am.  

Before I knew it, I was walking towards the car.  I walked past everyone watching, but didn’t really think much of it because all that was in my head was the realisation I had no idea what I was going to do when I got to the car, but I knew I had to pretend not to be scared.  

When I got closer, I could see a woman sittings in the drivers seat, looking terrified and tears covering her face.  She was trying to shut the door but whoever the man was, he was yelling at her and trying to drag her from the car.  In the back seat I spotted a toddler in their car seat. 

Once close enough I called out;

“Excuse me, are you ok? Can I help you?”

The man turned and in some colourful language told me to go away and mind my own business.  I told him this is a public car park and when I hear someone call for help, of course I’m going to see what’s going on.  

He blocked me from being able to see the woman, and again told me to leave. I took a few steps closer and told him I’m not talking to him, I was asking the woman calling for help. She was shaking and said;

“I just want him to leave me alone and let me go.”

I help up my phone and said;

“Here, let me call the police for you.”

The man again told me to leave but by now any fear had left me and I was able to tell him;

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on but I have children and there is a child in the back of that car and I’m not going anywhere. If you let her drive away, we don’t have a problem, but if you don’t back off right now I will call the police immediately.”

He leant into the car and with his face just centimetres from hers, left her with some final nasty threats and then took a step back.  I asked her again if I can call the police for her, but she declined saying she just desperately wanted to get away.  I wanted to call the police anyway, but didn’t want to violate her wishes.  This man was already doing that.  

So I stood awkwardly next to this horrible man as she reversed and drove away.  I waited til she was well and truly out of sight, then gave him one final look before turning and heading into the shops, desperately hoping he didn’t follow me.

Fast forward a few months to today, I was walking to our car with my boys after taking them to get their hair cuts.  Completely different shopping centre, but as I loaded up our boot, across from our car, I hear yelling and can see a scuffle going on between another man and woman.  

The man pushed her, and she then pushed him back.  She yelled at him;

“What are you going to do?  Hit me again? Right here?”

He shoved her and she ran around to the other side of the car and opened to the back door and 2 girls got out.  They both started crying and begging the couple to stop. The woman tried to take the girls towards the entry doors of the shop, but he grabbed them before she could leave. The yelling continued so I told my boys to get in and stay in the car.  Whilst I knew this wasn’t a good situation,  the woman didn’t seem terrified, more angry and upset.  She was still standing up to him.

By now the man had noticed I was watching him and so I took 2 steps closer and folded my arms and continued to stare (whilst feeling super awkward of course).   A few more terse words were exchanged from both parties, and then whilst he got his cigarettes out his picked, the woman hurried inside the shop and he got in the car and sped off. 

When I got in the car, the boys had lots of questions. One of the first being;

“Mum, what would you do if they started getting angry at you?”

My honest answer was that I didn’t know.  In that situation my brain doesn’t seem to think that far ahead.  Maybe I’m not good under pressure. 

As we spoke on the way home, we discussed how horrible it is to see behaviour like that, and how if people behave that way in public, it’s likely even worse at home behind closed doors. 

We then got to talking about the other experience I had had months earlier and how both times there were other people who were standing by watching. How people now seem worried about butting in to other people’s business, whether it’s out of fear, not knowing what to do, or getting their head bitten off for interfering - who knows.  They are all very possible and real reactions. It’s definitely scary involving yourself in any situation where there is violence and hostility.  

But it was at this point that I had to tell me boys;

“When you see someone in trouble, please don’t just stand by and watch it happen.  You might be just like me and not know what to do, and you will probably be scared like me, but please do something, anything to try and help.  I want you to grow up to be men who’s instinct is to help.  Don’t let being scared ever stop you from doing the right thing.”

An army of Cinderellas

So it’s 11:34pm and my house is quiet.  I’ve just finished some ironing and am waiting for my final load of laundry to finish so I can put it in the dryer.  

Breakfast is prepped, lunches are made for tomorrow, dishes are all washed, floors are mopped, and laundry ALMOST finished. 

I’m far from a clean freak, but I find it hard to go to bed knowing I will be waking up to chores I can see need doing straight away.  No matter how sore I am, I need to let my head hit the pillow knowing I can wake up and focus on getting ready for the day.  It’s just how I’m wired I guess.  

I remember my mum mopping floors at midnight and thinking she was a bit nuts.  As time wore on I thought she was waiting til then because the floors would dry without 7 people walking their dirty feet on them. I now realise she waited til then because she was too busy in the day.  She was holding babies, playing with toddlers, cooking meals, driving kids to after school sport, helping with homework, and reading bed time stories.  Her to-do list was long and that meant many nights of staying up past midnight just to get the house to a state to begin again the next morning.  

I get it now.  

To all the mums up getting things ready just to do it all again tomorrow....Happy Mother’s Day 😊

And to my own mum and mother-in-law, thank you for all you do for me, I love you to bits! 

No body is perfect

For perhaps two decades now, I have heard it said that for women, your thirties are a time when you become comfortable in your own skin.  A time when you embrace those quirks and imperfections and care much less about the opinions of those who have invested very little in your life.  

Part of me agrees with this.  I am certainly at a place where I am so comfortable being me, perhaps even more so than at any other point in my life.  I am also in my thirties, so I guess if I put the two together the statement does ring true.

The other part of me believes this is the case because of the people I have chosen to surround myself with, the values and support instilled in me growing up, the love I am shown constantly by my husband, sons, and family and friends, and the challenges I have been able to experience. 

I love this place in my life because I am completely aware that social media provides a very limited snapshot into people's lives where you only see what people let you see.  For this reason, I don't post a lot of photos on my Facebook page.  If I were to post photos regularly, they would include photos of my cleaning my hair off the bathroom floor, off the bath, out of the sink, and pretty much everywhere else in the house.  It would show photos of me sweeping the floor and muttering to myself.  Me washing the dishes and then stopping mid-way and forgetting about them, leaving a sink full of dishes in stone cold water.  Me lying in bed playing solitaire when I know I should get up but am feeling lazy.  This would be the honest shots of me.  True, real, photos of me.  I am all for honesty, but this would be boring for anyone who I am friends with on social media, so instead of manufacturing glamorous, but far from genuine, photos to post on a regular basis; I just live my life and forget to post photos.  And it's actually very liberating.  I still go on Facebook daily, but I appreciate the understanding that everything I see has been carefully selected for public viewing.

Along with this I have taken greater effort in surrounding myself with people who put a bounce in my step.  People who don't make me feel like I need to tidy up my house before I would be comfortable with them coming over.  If I don't have to make "the fake house" for you, I want you in my life.  I will still apologise for the mess, but I'm ok with you seeing it because you can appreciate that I have a life, and children, and this means things get messy despite my daily tidying up.  These are the people I choose to surround myself with because they make me feel like being me isn't just "good enough", it's exactly who I should be. 

I was brought up feeling like being who you are shouldn't feel like hard work.  We should always strive to try and improve in areas that we want to improve, but there was also that acceptance that no one is perfect and the acknowledgment and acceptance of flaws is realistic and perfectly ok. I was never told by my parents that I should "watch my weight" or "exercise more" or anything like that.  I was already aware of what the world deemed a "good body" by the time I was 11, but I didn't feel the pressure to try and become that.  I have never been on a diet.  

I have also found a man who tells me every single day that I am beautiful.  It doesn’t matter if I am in my pj’s or dressed in my Sunday best, he sees beauty in me and he tells me so.  

For these reasons and many more, I am l am comfortable in my own skin.  My physical body is far from perfect, but boy am I proud of what it has achieved.  It has endured great pain, it has been broken over and over and it manages to repair itself the best it can, it has grown two human beings and then was cut open to bring them into my arms, and it continues to function every day despite the pain.  Some days it functions better than others, but I am proud of my body because it works hard and has given me this life that I am so thankful for.

Enough with all the body hate and shame - I don’t have a perfect body at all, but I am proud.  I am proud to be who I am.