I have spent the last year trying to sort out my finances, redefine my life, reconnect with family and friends and find some stability and security in my living and parenting arrangements. They were my goals for this year, and I think I have done pretty well. I am happy with the choices that I have made and the place were I am in my life. I talk more frequently with my sister and my parents, and although it is probably not often enough, I think that we are all okay with where we are at the moment. I have wonderful friends that are friends with me, and not just because I am a part of a couple, and I tied up some loose ends as well, and said goodbye to some old friends as well. I have a loving and healthy relationship, built on an understanding that we are two individuals that have chosen to share our journey together, and that we enrich our lives by supporting and loving the other, but not necessarily living in each others pockets. I am comfortable in my co-parenting relationship with Ava's Dad, and confident that I am doing the best for her. I am growing in my role as a step-parent, and I actively try to be bigger, kinder, wiser and stronger for all my family members.
But all these goals related to people around me. My family, my friends, Ava, and whilst that is all sorted out now and in a place where I am happy with the connections I have, in 2011 I will be focusing, and in a very selfish way, on me.
I have always been a Mummy. I was the one at parties, looking after people and holding their hair. I have always been house and garden proud, always enjoying babysitting, looking after people, helping out, nurturing, loving....you get the picture. And I am not in the habit of putting other people first. However, next year I have to.
My health has declined this year, and I have managed to find a couple of problems and an extra 15 kilos along the way. This has affected my work and also how I feel about myself. Yes, I don't look overweight. Yes, I carry myself and dress very well. BUT, I need to regain my health, I need to reach a healthy body weight and I need to put myself first.
So, I am doing a few things. I have rejoined the Biggest Loser Club online, to use the food diary and nutritionist advice and all the other amazing tools they have on the site. I am not going to yo-yo around with shakes and pills any more, I am going to eat real food and lose weight slowly.
I am going to make exercise a part of my daily routine....well, with more dance classes than ever next year, I really don't have a choice!!! In order to keep teaching dance, I really do need to not put on anymore weight.
I am seeing a nutritionist, to have my everyday diet evaluated and to see where I can make some healthy changes and ensure I am getting all my vitamins and minerals and maintaining a correct calorie in to calorie out ratio.
The biggest change next year, however, is that I am not doing any shows. Acting and Musical Theatre have been a big part of my life for the past 4 years, and I have made some amazing memories and grown so much as a performer, but the time commitment is too great, and while it brings me a great deal of joy, it also steals time away from my daughter and myself. Independent theatre in Perth is an amazing, vibrant and very professional community, who will still be there when I have myself in order. I will miss it, but I think I will have so much fun redefining who I am that I will survive one year without it.
I am so excited for this new adventure, and I love the person that I am, and that I now have the freedom to continually grow and reinvent myself.
Watch this space in 2011!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Christmas Day
Christmas! What a whirlwind of excitement, stress and spending! It's the spending that has me down at the moment; I think we spent more than last year again, and last year wasn't cheap.... hmmmm.
This year was the first year that I said no to the crazy antics and whims of my family, and announced that I was staying at home. I am sick of house hopping, eating too much and then moving onto yet another venue where you give more pressies (at which time you are usually over it!) and then proceed to eat more. So, after much stress I (tearfully and very forcefully) announced that my priority was my family, and that we were staying at home.
It was more difficult to do than I had imagined, because everyone has different ideas in their head about what the perfect Christmas entails. Some people want a big cooked lunch, with roast chicken, gravy, warm sides, pudding and ice cream, followed by eggnog and carols. Some people want to drink themselves into a stupor and lay about in the pool all day with friends. Some people want to give gifts to every single person they know, from the postman to the guy that serves them in the tool shop. And some people just want a quiet, intimate day, uninterrupted by normal routines to reconnect and celebrate the bonds they share. You don't get three guesses to guess which one was mine.
People have such vivid and emotional connections to their own memories of Christmas that when things get in the way of the realisation of that vision, things can get ugly. People can become so wrapped up in what think should happen that they can forget the true spirit of the Christmas season.
Whatever your religious or spiritual convictions, Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, the embodiment of the Christian God. Whilst it doesn't always seem like it, especially when you are down to your last $50 and you still have 3 pressies and bonbons to buy, the holiday period is a celebration of hope. Hope that we can live in a better world. Hope that people can put aside their differences and love one another. Hope that the simple act of giving can remind someone that they are special, and loved and needed. Hope that this life doesn't amount to nothing when we are gone. Hope that one day we can agree to be different, and be okay with that.
At least that is what I believe, and what I celebrate every year.
So we had breakfast and lunch at our house. The girls woke up on Christmas morning and crawled into our bed, still not really understanding how this day was different to any other. Nanny and Granddad slept over, as well as Uncle Pear, and we were joined by Poppy to open presents. Breakfast was a full cooked English breakfast, lunch was cold meat and salad. After lunch, Ava headed off to her other home to enjoy the second half of Christmas with her Daddy, Auntie Toad who flew all the way from Los Angeles to be with her family and see her niece, Nanny and Pop. In hindsight, there couldn't have been a sweeter day; It was perfect.
Oh....and I got a really nifty camera from His Majesty...... expect photos! :)
This year was the first year that I said no to the crazy antics and whims of my family, and announced that I was staying at home. I am sick of house hopping, eating too much and then moving onto yet another venue where you give more pressies (at which time you are usually over it!) and then proceed to eat more. So, after much stress I (tearfully and very forcefully) announced that my priority was my family, and that we were staying at home.
It was more difficult to do than I had imagined, because everyone has different ideas in their head about what the perfect Christmas entails. Some people want a big cooked lunch, with roast chicken, gravy, warm sides, pudding and ice cream, followed by eggnog and carols. Some people want to drink themselves into a stupor and lay about in the pool all day with friends. Some people want to give gifts to every single person they know, from the postman to the guy that serves them in the tool shop. And some people just want a quiet, intimate day, uninterrupted by normal routines to reconnect and celebrate the bonds they share. You don't get three guesses to guess which one was mine.
People have such vivid and emotional connections to their own memories of Christmas that when things get in the way of the realisation of that vision, things can get ugly. People can become so wrapped up in what think should happen that they can forget the true spirit of the Christmas season.
Whatever your religious or spiritual convictions, Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, the embodiment of the Christian God. Whilst it doesn't always seem like it, especially when you are down to your last $50 and you still have 3 pressies and bonbons to buy, the holiday period is a celebration of hope. Hope that we can live in a better world. Hope that people can put aside their differences and love one another. Hope that the simple act of giving can remind someone that they are special, and loved and needed. Hope that this life doesn't amount to nothing when we are gone. Hope that one day we can agree to be different, and be okay with that.
At least that is what I believe, and what I celebrate every year.
So we had breakfast and lunch at our house. The girls woke up on Christmas morning and crawled into our bed, still not really understanding how this day was different to any other. Nanny and Granddad slept over, as well as Uncle Pear, and we were joined by Poppy to open presents. Breakfast was a full cooked English breakfast, lunch was cold meat and salad. After lunch, Ava headed off to her other home to enjoy the second half of Christmas with her Daddy, Auntie Toad who flew all the way from Los Angeles to be with her family and see her niece, Nanny and Pop. In hindsight, there couldn't have been a sweeter day; It was perfect.
 |
| Ava and Poppy on Christmas Day |
Thursday, December 23, 2010
A festival of the effluent.....errrrr, I mean affluent.
I am so glad my Christmas shopping is done! I do not have to brave any more shops, tomorrow I can just prepare all the food and ensure my house is clean and tidy for our guests....PHEW!
I was doing the food shop today, so that I could still get nice, fresh produce and so that I didn't have to go anywhere near the shops tomorrow, and I had gotten everything on my list. Eggs for salads and breakfast? Check. Rocket, zucchini, pasta, coleslaw? Check. Drinks? Check.
As I was going towards the checkout, I was plagued with doubts about the contents of my trolley; it looked very small and filled with fresh things, compared to other shoppers trolleys. Where were my lollies? Shortbread? Rumballs? Nibbles? Entree? Sweets? Second Sweets? After dinner mints? Well, you get the picture.
I had everything on my list to make 10 people a full cooked breakfast and 7 people lunch. Why am I doubting myself? Because Christmas is a festival of the affluent.....which today felt a little on the effluent side. People expect to gorge themselves on rich, indulgent foods. Not just for one meal, but two or three. (Or more, depending on how many family parties you are attending!) Having a feast is a time honoured symbol of wealth, and that translates into the modern Christmas tradition of eating and drinking until we feel sick. Or be sick.
The thing is, we have evolved since then. We don't believe that the earth is flat, or that Mercury is a cure for constipation (or anything for that matter!), or that blood letting does anything more than relieve you of some much needed blood and probably give you a nasty headache. So why do we have to buy every Christmas food and table decoration and confection?
Well, I don't. I don't need a weeks worth of leftovers, and I certainly don't need to gorge myself. I am going to make a beautiful big green salad and a pasta salad, and have coleslaw, ham, turkey and some nice, fresh bread rolls. For sweets we will have some homemade pud, icecream and cream, and that will be more than enough, thank you very much.
Happy and healthy eating everyone!
I was doing the food shop today, so that I could still get nice, fresh produce and so that I didn't have to go anywhere near the shops tomorrow, and I had gotten everything on my list. Eggs for salads and breakfast? Check. Rocket, zucchini, pasta, coleslaw? Check. Drinks? Check.
As I was going towards the checkout, I was plagued with doubts about the contents of my trolley; it looked very small and filled with fresh things, compared to other shoppers trolleys. Where were my lollies? Shortbread? Rumballs? Nibbles? Entree? Sweets? Second Sweets? After dinner mints? Well, you get the picture.
I had everything on my list to make 10 people a full cooked breakfast and 7 people lunch. Why am I doubting myself? Because Christmas is a festival of the affluent.....which today felt a little on the effluent side. People expect to gorge themselves on rich, indulgent foods. Not just for one meal, but two or three. (Or more, depending on how many family parties you are attending!) Having a feast is a time honoured symbol of wealth, and that translates into the modern Christmas tradition of eating and drinking until we feel sick. Or be sick.
The thing is, we have evolved since then. We don't believe that the earth is flat, or that Mercury is a cure for constipation (or anything for that matter!), or that blood letting does anything more than relieve you of some much needed blood and probably give you a nasty headache. So why do we have to buy every Christmas food and table decoration and confection?
Well, I don't. I don't need a weeks worth of leftovers, and I certainly don't need to gorge myself. I am going to make a beautiful big green salad and a pasta salad, and have coleslaw, ham, turkey and some nice, fresh bread rolls. For sweets we will have some homemade pud, icecream and cream, and that will be more than enough, thank you very much.
Happy and healthy eating everyone!
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Best Ever Christmas Presents
There are three Christmas presents that stand out for me as being all round awesome presents for a couple of reasons. Here they are:
3. My guitar
Given to me by Ava's Dad, when I was sure I wanted to learn the guitar and even though I gave up lessons when I was heavily pregnant and haven't touched it again, I still treasure it. The gift of music and the chance to learn something new is a special gift indeed.
2. My lawn mower
Two years ago, I had just bought my first house, and spent hours maintaining the gardens. I was completely floored when my Dad bought me a lawn mower... a practical and long lasting present, one that I would use over and over again.
1. My Sewing Machine
When I was 15 or so, my Dad bought me a sewing machine for Christmas. This amazing present I still use to this day, and it has helped my grow into a competant seamstress. I love making and creating new things, and recently I have used my skills to do costumes. Although I haven't used it for myself in a while, I treasure it so very much. My Dad is a doer, a very practical man who both works hard and takes time to enjoy life. And he buys nifty Christmas presents.
Comment and tell me the best present you ever recieved and why.
3. My guitar
Given to me by Ava's Dad, when I was sure I wanted to learn the guitar and even though I gave up lessons when I was heavily pregnant and haven't touched it again, I still treasure it. The gift of music and the chance to learn something new is a special gift indeed.
2. My lawn mower
Two years ago, I had just bought my first house, and spent hours maintaining the gardens. I was completely floored when my Dad bought me a lawn mower... a practical and long lasting present, one that I would use over and over again.
1. My Sewing Machine
When I was 15 or so, my Dad bought me a sewing machine for Christmas. This amazing present I still use to this day, and it has helped my grow into a competant seamstress. I love making and creating new things, and recently I have used my skills to do costumes. Although I haven't used it for myself in a while, I treasure it so very much. My Dad is a doer, a very practical man who both works hard and takes time to enjoy life. And he buys nifty Christmas presents.
Comment and tell me the best present you ever recieved and why.
Christmas Cheer
I stumbled upon a blog entry that kinda tickled my fancy on http://www.farbeyondthestars.com/ The link to the facebook article (where I first saw it) is here: http://www.farbeyondthestars.com/1-simple-strategy-to-save-2000-this-holiday-and-make-everyone-love-you-forever/
I was very daunted this morning, as I logged onto my early morning facebook, about getting the last five christmas presents. Actually, I was actually anxious beyond belief, and when I read this, my world seemed to shrink even more and my anxiety grow with every heartbeat. Why was I even going to the shops? What if someone beeps me in the car park? What if I can't find anything? What will I eat for lunch? (and other similar things) His Majesty got a panicked and rather rude text message (sorry my love.......) that everyone was getting wine. That's it. Even Ava's Daddy from Ava and Ava's Nanny and Pop. Wine from a 2 year old.What? She's precocious!
Then I started to calm down a bit.
My family buy gifts. That's what they do. I am a bit of a hippy and a minimalist, and I would be very okay with just a meal together and a hug, but I am 100% certain that my family members wouldn't be. I think they would be hurt, and a little pissed off. I also think that anything homemade would get sneered at as being cheap and worthless. Hey! I didn't say my family was perfect! (Personally, I love homemade Christmas foods. Fudge, Rumballs, Shortbread....all of it. This year I got a beautiful parcel of homemade White Christmas, Rumballs, Apricot Balls an other christmassy goodness from my friends mum, and I so appreciate the time and effort that went into the making of the sweets and the presentation. Thank you Ruth!)
So, I do agree very heartily with giving freedom. I would love for someone to give the gift of a massage or a facial, or offer to come and mop my floors, or even better, take me out for lunch. I would love someone to give me a coles myer voucher, so I didn't have to stress as much about food shopping the next week. A lot of my stresses are money worries, so cash is great! If someone came to me and asked me if I wanted to start highland dancing with them, and they would pay the first 5 weeks for me, NO WORRIES!
There is one thing that I think the author of this blog has missed. I love memories, and I want them documented, so I can reflect on the past. I love people sending me photos of their family, and of me and my family too. I love new opportunities to make memories. I love photo frames, photos on mugs, written recollections; anything that celebrates the year that has been.
So, the things I have given people this year are all precious, but not neccessarily expensive, items. I can't quite talk about them yet (!) because then that would ruin the surprise, but they are all things that people have wanted.
Yes, this year I am giving "things". There are no stupid, gadgety items, no socks and jocks. Things that people want, like cameras, pictures of grandchildren, tools for making things and books. Useful and wanted things, but things, none the less. In the new year, I am going to try and give more "experiences". Buy someone a helicopter flight. Offer to organise piano lessons. I am also going to let people know that I have enough things. I really do! There are a couple of things that I want, that I think would enrich my life:
A camera (I actually don't have one. But I have an iphone, so really, I can live without it)
A new computer. (This one is dying....But still working. I can also live without it)
A Bike. (I would really like to be able to ride to work and the shops when I don't have Ava, and it would help me stay fit and reduce my carbon footprint)
A bedroom suite (we don't have one. I would just like my clothes to be neat and tidy. But really not urgent at all)
And I can't really think of anything else I want! I have a big backyard full of healthy vegetables that I am very proud of, a lovely, clean roof over my head, clothes, furniture, a supportive and loving partner, and a beautiful young family that I share with some amazing people. What more could I want!!!
In an ideal world, I would really like to give away all my earthly posessions and become a vagrant, with a nuetral carbon footprint, dreadlocks, bare feet and no fixed address. The reality is that I have a young family, who need stability and security. So for now, I do what I can, live and give with my minimal (but meaningful) things and dream of the day where the saying "It's the thought that counts" is true.
I was very daunted this morning, as I logged onto my early morning facebook, about getting the last five christmas presents. Actually, I was actually anxious beyond belief, and when I read this, my world seemed to shrink even more and my anxiety grow with every heartbeat. Why was I even going to the shops? What if someone beeps me in the car park? What if I can't find anything? What will I eat for lunch? (and other similar things) His Majesty got a panicked and rather rude text message (sorry my love.......) that everyone was getting wine. That's it. Even Ava's Daddy from Ava and Ava's Nanny and Pop. Wine from a 2 year old.What? She's precocious!
Then I started to calm down a bit.
My family buy gifts. That's what they do. I am a bit of a hippy and a minimalist, and I would be very okay with just a meal together and a hug, but I am 100% certain that my family members wouldn't be. I think they would be hurt, and a little pissed off. I also think that anything homemade would get sneered at as being cheap and worthless. Hey! I didn't say my family was perfect! (Personally, I love homemade Christmas foods. Fudge, Rumballs, Shortbread....all of it. This year I got a beautiful parcel of homemade White Christmas, Rumballs, Apricot Balls an other christmassy goodness from my friends mum, and I so appreciate the time and effort that went into the making of the sweets and the presentation. Thank you Ruth!)
So, I do agree very heartily with giving freedom. I would love for someone to give the gift of a massage or a facial, or offer to come and mop my floors, or even better, take me out for lunch. I would love someone to give me a coles myer voucher, so I didn't have to stress as much about food shopping the next week. A lot of my stresses are money worries, so cash is great! If someone came to me and asked me if I wanted to start highland dancing with them, and they would pay the first 5 weeks for me, NO WORRIES!
There is one thing that I think the author of this blog has missed. I love memories, and I want them documented, so I can reflect on the past. I love people sending me photos of their family, and of me and my family too. I love new opportunities to make memories. I love photo frames, photos on mugs, written recollections; anything that celebrates the year that has been.
So, the things I have given people this year are all precious, but not neccessarily expensive, items. I can't quite talk about them yet (!) because then that would ruin the surprise, but they are all things that people have wanted.
Yes, this year I am giving "things". There are no stupid, gadgety items, no socks and jocks. Things that people want, like cameras, pictures of grandchildren, tools for making things and books. Useful and wanted things, but things, none the less. In the new year, I am going to try and give more "experiences". Buy someone a helicopter flight. Offer to organise piano lessons. I am also going to let people know that I have enough things. I really do! There are a couple of things that I want, that I think would enrich my life:
A camera (I actually don't have one. But I have an iphone, so really, I can live without it)
A new computer. (This one is dying....But still working. I can also live without it)
A Bike. (I would really like to be able to ride to work and the shops when I don't have Ava, and it would help me stay fit and reduce my carbon footprint)
A bedroom suite (we don't have one. I would just like my clothes to be neat and tidy. But really not urgent at all)
And I can't really think of anything else I want! I have a big backyard full of healthy vegetables that I am very proud of, a lovely, clean roof over my head, clothes, furniture, a supportive and loving partner, and a beautiful young family that I share with some amazing people. What more could I want!!!
In an ideal world, I would really like to give away all my earthly posessions and become a vagrant, with a nuetral carbon footprint, dreadlocks, bare feet and no fixed address. The reality is that I have a young family, who need stability and security. So for now, I do what I can, live and give with my minimal (but meaningful) things and dream of the day where the saying "It's the thought that counts" is true.
Escaping.
"Mummy, I feel.....," Blergh! (Or barf. Or blah. What sound do you think vomit makes? Well, insert it there. Make sense? She spewed.) Ava looked down and inspected a relatively small chuck, but vomit none the less and looked up again. Quite matter of factly and with a smile on her face she says, " Mummy. I'm not sick anymore." Meanwhile, I was dry reaching and trying not to lose control of a car doing 110 on the Brand Highway.
Ava and I have been up to Geraldton for fourish days. Bliss! After losing my Grandpa two weeks ago, and writing and reading the eulogy at the funeral, I was in need of a little bit less city and a little bit more 'Aaaaaahhhhhhh.' My vision was that we would alternate between chilling at home, chilling at the shops and chilling, gorgeously, on the beach. It didn't really go like that, but when does it with a toddler?
Instead we played with my friends animals, had numerous babycinos, shopped, visited family, played cleaning fairies and walked around trying not to spend a whole lot of money, but I still came back recharged and refreshed. I feel like I can actually deal with getting ready for Christmas now. Aaaaaahhhhhhhh.
Ava and I have been up to Geraldton for fourish days. Bliss! After losing my Grandpa two weeks ago, and writing and reading the eulogy at the funeral, I was in need of a little bit less city and a little bit more 'Aaaaaahhhhhhh.' My vision was that we would alternate between chilling at home, chilling at the shops and chilling, gorgeously, on the beach. It didn't really go like that, but when does it with a toddler?
Instead we played with my friends animals, had numerous babycinos, shopped, visited family, played cleaning fairies and walked around trying not to spend a whole lot of money, but I still came back recharged and refreshed. I feel like I can actually deal with getting ready for Christmas now. Aaaaaahhhhhhhh.
My Grandpa's Eulogy.
Charlie Tuffley was my Grandpa, and today I have the honour to deliver his eulogy. It is an honour, because although it has been difficult to put into words the man he was and the amazing ammount he accomplished in his life, I am happy and proud that Charlie is my Grandpa. His love, hard work and example has shaped and moulded our family to what it is today. Charlie was a man of few words, but obviously I didn't inherit this quality, and today I have a lot to say about him.
Charles Tuffley was the middle son of Arthur Edwin Tuffley and Agnus Daisy Reilly, and was born in Katanning on the 15th of June, 1931. His parents were farmers and middle aged by the time they had the three boys. They were devout Catholics, instilling in the boys a deep sense of faith and love of God, a well as a strong work ethic. His mother was a very kind ad giving woman, dedicating 20 years of her life to looking after her brother's children.
Charlie was raised on a farm called Bonnie-Donne in Nyabing, located east of Katanning. He went to school at Bungardoon Hall. There were many small halls like this, scattered all over Western Australia for locals to gather for school, church and social events. Charlie and his brothers attended school with 10 other students in mixed grades. with one teacher. Charlie was like any other young boy, and whilst he was visiting his Auntie Vi in Kojonup they came to her house to find two fresh loaves joined in the middle. Hungry, they split the loaves in half and ate the middle, leaving the crust. Feeling quite guilty, they joined the loaves together again with Tarzan grip and took off.
His first job was at the age of 15, was at the Nyabing General Store. Charlie was sports minded and he joined all the local clubs; football, tennis, shooting and cricket. You name it, he was in it. Whilst still living at home they attended church in Dumbleyung on their motorbikes. Sometimes, on the way home, they would secretly acquire a couple of bottles of beer. It was against their parents wishes to drink any alcohol, so to keep the peace (and the beer cold) the beer was stored in the dam, tied to an retrived by a piece of binder twine. Often the sheep would trample the string and they would lose the beer. Charlie and Leo both developed as exceptional swimmers; it's amazing what a little motivation can achieve.
Charlie, like his parents, was a keen traveller. He visited man towns, including Busselton, Carnarvon, Albany and Perth. On one of the trips Charlie went with Tom Lawless, a good Irish shearing mate, and they went to the Irish Club, in Highgate, Perth. As they walked through the door, Pat asked her sister, "Who are the two good looking guys that have just come in?" Towards the end of the night, after a few beers, Charlie asked Patricia Shore for the last dance and then asked if he could escort her home. She said no, obviously! As he had had too much to drink and needing a lift for her sisters, Pat said she would drive them all to her place. They managed to get eleven - six in the back and five in the front - in an FX Holden.
Pat was sure she would never lay eyes on that man again however, Charlie remembered where Pat lived and visited her the next afternoon. On knocking at the front door, Charlie had to meet the entire family; ten daughters and two sons! Robert Shore, Pat's Dad immediately said, "Where do you come from, sonny?"
Charlie answered, "A place called Nyabing."
"And, what do you do?"
"We are wheat and sheep farmers."
"Are you Catholic, son?"
"Yes."
All the important questions it seems.
With a long distance relationship, a lot of letters were sent back and forth and Charlie came to Perth as often as he could. In 1956, after courting for two years, Charlie and Pat were married in St Kieran's Church, now the hall next door. They went to the farmto star their married life. After a short while, Pat's father decided the young couple needed a cow. So he bought Strawberry, and she was taken down to th farm.She was a strange cow; every time she came into season, she would jump the fence in search of a mate. However, she always managed to come home. This happened year after year; a new calf would arrive, and amazingly at the same time Pat was usually having a baby. Since that year, 1957, Charlie and Pat now have a grand total of 50 descendants. Obviously, Charlie and Pat had no television, but a loving marriage.
Charlie and Pat had seven children, two daughters and five sons. In 1969, they decided to move to Perth for te sake of the children's education. As it was imposible to purchase enough land for five sons they share cropped with Leo and Charlie kept sheep. Leaving,and then selling the farm, in Charlie's own words, was the worst thing that he ever did, and his love for farming and the bush always remained with him. They purchased their first real house in Innaloo. This has been the Tuffley family home ever since.
Charlie embraced life and never shied away from a challenge or hard work. In 1977, they bought the Palace Hotel in Ravensthorpe. The business had a lot of promise and Charlie took it in his stride, becoming a publican and boss in a thriving business. He always had a happy and welcoming smile for patrons and although he was a man of few words, he enjoyed a laugh and a drink. In 1987,Charlie and the boys went into partnership in the Belair Gardens Caravans Park, in Geraldton. They worked hard, making improvements including building the campers kitchen, onsite chalets and the playground, as well as undertaking many renovations and improvements. Charlie and the boys spent many hours together, maintaining and improving up until 1994, when Charlie and Pat retired to Innaloo.
Charles Tuffley was a husband, father, grandfather and friend to all of us. As we stand here to honour his life, it is natural to be a little bit sad, but we have so much more to celebrate. I am happy that I have Charlie as my grandfather. I am happy that he is a part of my life and my memories. Who we are and the family we see today is a product of his love and hard work. We should all endevour in our lives to live as he did, working hard without complaining, and with complete and utter devotion to our families. If we could pass on even half of the qualities to our children that he demonstrated in his life, I know we wouldbe better for it.
Charles Tuffley was the middle son of Arthur Edwin Tuffley and Agnus Daisy Reilly, and was born in Katanning on the 15th of June, 1931. His parents were farmers and middle aged by the time they had the three boys. They were devout Catholics, instilling in the boys a deep sense of faith and love of God, a well as a strong work ethic. His mother was a very kind ad giving woman, dedicating 20 years of her life to looking after her brother's children.
Charlie was raised on a farm called Bonnie-Donne in Nyabing, located east of Katanning. He went to school at Bungardoon Hall. There were many small halls like this, scattered all over Western Australia for locals to gather for school, church and social events. Charlie and his brothers attended school with 10 other students in mixed grades. with one teacher. Charlie was like any other young boy, and whilst he was visiting his Auntie Vi in Kojonup they came to her house to find two fresh loaves joined in the middle. Hungry, they split the loaves in half and ate the middle, leaving the crust. Feeling quite guilty, they joined the loaves together again with Tarzan grip and took off.
His first job was at the age of 15, was at the Nyabing General Store. Charlie was sports minded and he joined all the local clubs; football, tennis, shooting and cricket. You name it, he was in it. Whilst still living at home they attended church in Dumbleyung on their motorbikes. Sometimes, on the way home, they would secretly acquire a couple of bottles of beer. It was against their parents wishes to drink any alcohol, so to keep the peace (and the beer cold) the beer was stored in the dam, tied to an retrived by a piece of binder twine. Often the sheep would trample the string and they would lose the beer. Charlie and Leo both developed as exceptional swimmers; it's amazing what a little motivation can achieve.
Charlie, like his parents, was a keen traveller. He visited man towns, including Busselton, Carnarvon, Albany and Perth. On one of the trips Charlie went with Tom Lawless, a good Irish shearing mate, and they went to the Irish Club, in Highgate, Perth. As they walked through the door, Pat asked her sister, "Who are the two good looking guys that have just come in?" Towards the end of the night, after a few beers, Charlie asked Patricia Shore for the last dance and then asked if he could escort her home. She said no, obviously! As he had had too much to drink and needing a lift for her sisters, Pat said she would drive them all to her place. They managed to get eleven - six in the back and five in the front - in an FX Holden.
Pat was sure she would never lay eyes on that man again however, Charlie remembered where Pat lived and visited her the next afternoon. On knocking at the front door, Charlie had to meet the entire family; ten daughters and two sons! Robert Shore, Pat's Dad immediately said, "Where do you come from, sonny?"
Charlie answered, "A place called Nyabing."
"And, what do you do?"
"We are wheat and sheep farmers."
"Are you Catholic, son?"
"Yes."
All the important questions it seems.
With a long distance relationship, a lot of letters were sent back and forth and Charlie came to Perth as often as he could. In 1956, after courting for two years, Charlie and Pat were married in St Kieran's Church, now the hall next door. They went to the farmto star their married life. After a short while, Pat's father decided the young couple needed a cow. So he bought Strawberry, and she was taken down to th farm.She was a strange cow; every time she came into season, she would jump the fence in search of a mate. However, she always managed to come home. This happened year after year; a new calf would arrive, and amazingly at the same time Pat was usually having a baby. Since that year, 1957, Charlie and Pat now have a grand total of 50 descendants. Obviously, Charlie and Pat had no television, but a loving marriage.
Charlie and Pat had seven children, two daughters and five sons. In 1969, they decided to move to Perth for te sake of the children's education. As it was imposible to purchase enough land for five sons they share cropped with Leo and Charlie kept sheep. Leaving,and then selling the farm, in Charlie's own words, was the worst thing that he ever did, and his love for farming and the bush always remained with him. They purchased their first real house in Innaloo. This has been the Tuffley family home ever since.
Charlie embraced life and never shied away from a challenge or hard work. In 1977, they bought the Palace Hotel in Ravensthorpe. The business had a lot of promise and Charlie took it in his stride, becoming a publican and boss in a thriving business. He always had a happy and welcoming smile for patrons and although he was a man of few words, he enjoyed a laugh and a drink. In 1987,Charlie and the boys went into partnership in the Belair Gardens Caravans Park, in Geraldton. They worked hard, making improvements including building the campers kitchen, onsite chalets and the playground, as well as undertaking many renovations and improvements. Charlie and the boys spent many hours together, maintaining and improving up until 1994, when Charlie and Pat retired to Innaloo.
Charles Tuffley was a husband, father, grandfather and friend to all of us. As we stand here to honour his life, it is natural to be a little bit sad, but we have so much more to celebrate. I am happy that I have Charlie as my grandfather. I am happy that he is a part of my life and my memories. Who we are and the family we see today is a product of his love and hard work. We should all endevour in our lives to live as he did, working hard without complaining, and with complete and utter devotion to our families. If we could pass on even half of the qualities to our children that he demonstrated in his life, I know we wouldbe better for it.
Friday, December 10, 2010
TOO BUSY!
I am too busy.....Tonight is my first night off in GOD KNOWS HOW LONG and what I am doing? Why, all the things I have neglected for the past month!
1. Bought a Christmas Tree.
Our old tree was a borrowed one from His Majesty's brother-from-another-mother. It held together (just) last Christmas, on top of the TV cabinet, anchored by about 4 bricks. Well, this year, we set everything. Beautiful carols were playing through our tinny computer speakers. Little girls were screaming, but not yet quite at the hitting each other stage. Tinsel decked every inch of the one room designated for Christmas. His Majesty's chest swelled as he picked up the star, the manliest of decorating jobs, and placed it, beaming proudly, upon a rather bedraggled little tree.
10 minutes later, the scene was quite different. Me: Holding tree. His Majesty: under the tree, trying to fix the base, swearing enough to make this high school teacher slightly afraid. Little girls: fighting and crying.
3. Come home and generally collapse in a big heap.
1. Bought a Christmas Tree.
Our old tree was a borrowed one from His Majesty's brother-from-another-mother. It held together (just) last Christmas, on top of the TV cabinet, anchored by about 4 bricks. Well, this year, we set everything. Beautiful carols were playing through our tinny computer speakers. Little girls were screaming, but not yet quite at the hitting each other stage. Tinsel decked every inch of the one room designated for Christmas. His Majesty's chest swelled as he picked up the star, the manliest of decorating jobs, and placed it, beaming proudly, upon a rather bedraggled little tree.
10 minutes later, the scene was quite different. Me: Holding tree. His Majesty: under the tree, trying to fix the base, swearing enough to make this high school teacher slightly afraid. Little girls: fighting and crying.
The tree was left on the floor where it lay, until, this afternoon, I chucked it in the bin. This is what replaced it.
2. Put up tree and pay attention to pets.
This included popping a blanket on the couch and transporting my beautiful rats onto the couch so they could frolic and run around. Hah! They curled up on the fluffy blanket and went to sleep, all except Silvius, who climbed under the blanket and fell asleep. Well, I talked to them, chat chat chat, whilst I put up the tree, and then sat down to give them a poke awake and generally annoy them under the guise of playing with them. Until I noticed that Lyander was limping and had a very swollen, red, angry foot....PANIC STATIONS! I rushed down to the vet, demanded to see someone, announced that, Yes, it was an emergency, and then got told it may be broken, it may be an infection or it may be cancer. Can you be more specific Mr. Vet? Nope. Oh. Sad rattie Mummy. (Luckily it was Dr. Piper, whom I really like, and who actually knows a fair deal about rats)
 |
| See how swollen it is? Othello is there, being very protective. |
 |
| Lysander about 2 months ago, a picture of health, in the backyard |
3. Come home and generally collapse in a big heap.
Well, that was the plan, but since then I have medicated a rat, pulled up all the potatoes, watered the veggies, weeded the back yard, de-headed the basil, put on a load of washing, done the dishes, eaten tea, fed the cat and generally not stopped.
I have to work all day tomorrow (stupid over committed, dedicated drama teacher person I am!) and then I AM STOPPING! I AM ACTUALLY HAVING A HOLIDAY!
(Ha ha, yeah right!) (Shut up, voice in my head!) (I'm right and you know it) (...)
Mummies are far too busy.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
My little garden.
Okay, here's the confession: I am blogging at half past ten at night because I just found His Majesty's baseball whites laying in a stinky pile on the laundry floor, and they need to be pristine again (not rancid and orange dust stained) by the morning. So, forgetting that tomorrow is 'Hell Sunday' for Nine (a show I am appearing in) and that I will probably go crazy with exhaustion, I am waiting up to finish the washing. His Majesty is, of course, off being a social butterfly somewhere, while I am in my strawberry pyjamas, bleaching the whites.
No, I complain again! Honestly, I chose to stay in tonight. We went out to a show with friends last night baby-free. Going out for me these days includes trying to eat my body weight in cheese, drinking way too much, enjoying insulting someone's girlfriend (she was being "not-very-nice"), and falling asleep in the car on the way home to crawl into bed like the living dead before 12 midnight. Had my fill of young and single this week? Hell yes I have!
Today the weather in the afternoon was particularly fine. Ava and I were putting in some beautiful heirloom tomatoes that we had luckily found at the shop, and weeding the various parts of the garden, when I was amazed at my own brilliance. Modest, I know. My garden is particularly wonderful. When we moved in, 6 months ago, it was mulch and weeds, and the owners were really happy for it to stay that way, and over the moon that I asked if I could put some veggies in.
6 months on and I have:
Parsley, Mint, Oregano, Thyme, Basil, Chives, Garlic Chives.
Oranges and Lemons (pre-existing, but still very useful!)
Silverbeet and Kale
Beetroot
Capsicum
Corn
Butternut Pumpkins
Onions
Tomatoes
Carrots
Strawberries and
Potatoes growing nice, big fat vegetables for my little family.
At the moment we are harvesting big, fat, juicy beets, BIG, waxy, royal blue potatoes and every couple of days another strawberry turns red and the girls ask if they can eat it. It makes me so proud I could almost burst.
The biggest things that has surprised me is that it has taken very little effort for so much from my back garden. Of course, my back garden is extreme, in the fact that it is all veggies. There were very few plants when we moved in, just garden beds full of mulch. The soil was fairly virgin, as the previous owners had not cared too much for the gardening. (Although, word is, that the hydroponics inside were amazing!) So, for the first month, we used roundup to kill the remaining weeds, and then let the soil rest, added veggies, loads of seasol and that was it!
For dinner we had a massive kale and facon quiche, and it tasted beautiful. (Yes, facon = fake bacon. It's not a typo.) Thank you, garden! After the watering the veggies, Ava and I ate some strawberries off the bush and pulled up some sweet baby carrots to nibble on. We cleaned up the lemons that had fallen off the tree and thought about going hunting for more potatoes (too dirty...) before we headed inside for our bath.
Growing your own vegetables saves money, is healthier, is cheap, easy, relaxing and a great learning experience for kids. Honestly, I am so impressed with myself, I could just pop. I don't know why more people don't do it.
No, I complain again! Honestly, I chose to stay in tonight. We went out to a show with friends last night baby-free. Going out for me these days includes trying to eat my body weight in cheese, drinking way too much, enjoying insulting someone's girlfriend (she was being "not-very-nice"), and falling asleep in the car on the way home to crawl into bed like the living dead before 12 midnight. Had my fill of young and single this week? Hell yes I have!
Today the weather in the afternoon was particularly fine. Ava and I were putting in some beautiful heirloom tomatoes that we had luckily found at the shop, and weeding the various parts of the garden, when I was amazed at my own brilliance. Modest, I know. My garden is particularly wonderful. When we moved in, 6 months ago, it was mulch and weeds, and the owners were really happy for it to stay that way, and over the moon that I asked if I could put some veggies in.
6 months on and I have:
Parsley, Mint, Oregano, Thyme, Basil, Chives, Garlic Chives.
Oranges and Lemons (pre-existing, but still very useful!)
Silverbeet and Kale
Beetroot
Capsicum
Corn
Butternut Pumpkins
Onions
Tomatoes
Carrots
Strawberries and
Potatoes growing nice, big fat vegetables for my little family.
At the moment we are harvesting big, fat, juicy beets, BIG, waxy, royal blue potatoes and every couple of days another strawberry turns red and the girls ask if they can eat it. It makes me so proud I could almost burst.
The biggest things that has surprised me is that it has taken very little effort for so much from my back garden. Of course, my back garden is extreme, in the fact that it is all veggies. There were very few plants when we moved in, just garden beds full of mulch. The soil was fairly virgin, as the previous owners had not cared too much for the gardening. (Although, word is, that the hydroponics inside were amazing!) So, for the first month, we used roundup to kill the remaining weeds, and then let the soil rest, added veggies, loads of seasol and that was it!
For dinner we had a massive kale and facon quiche, and it tasted beautiful. (Yes, facon = fake bacon. It's not a typo.) Thank you, garden! After the watering the veggies, Ava and I ate some strawberries off the bush and pulled up some sweet baby carrots to nibble on. We cleaned up the lemons that had fallen off the tree and thought about going hunting for more potatoes (too dirty...) before we headed inside for our bath.
Growing your own vegetables saves money, is healthier, is cheap, easy, relaxing and a great learning experience for kids. Honestly, I am so impressed with myself, I could just pop. I don't know why more people don't do it.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Not winge.blog.com
Okay, I have to blog about something light and fluffy today, because I don't like moaning away all the time.
Here are 10 things that are very unique to me:
1. I can't touch peaches or any other furry fruit without visibly shuddering and my blood turning to ice. It's something about the texture that I just can't stand. I also can't walk barefoot on cheap, synthetic carpet.
2. I have almost no little toe nail. My toes are so little. (Wish my body was as small!)
3. I prefer my hair very, very short. Think Halle Berry's pixie cut. Unfortunately, men don't seem to share the same appreciation for elven looks as I do. *Sigh* one day, hair, you and I will be re-united!
4. I love Twilight. (There, I said it) It's like vampiric emotional porn. Sooooo good.
5. I only blog on days I have Ava. Seems silly right? Why not blog when she is at her Daddy's house and you have peace and quiet. Truth is, I am not inspired to write when she is not around. I just kind of exist in a daze until she comes back every Saturday morning.
6. I think Muzz Buzz Armadale have had to put on more staff, just because of me. Oooops.
7. I have quite nice teeth.
8. Spelling and grammatical errors bug me. A lot. I don't think I could teach English because the dribble that erupts from some student's pens would have me going cuckoo faster than you can say "Uuuuhhhhh, Dunno."
9. Being late stresses me out to the point of panic attacks. I get very anxious if we are going to run late.
10. I don't want to die with any regrets or any unfinished business. I tend to attack problems (relationship and otherwise) like a rhinoceros, beating my head against it until it is all finished and threshed out. Sometimes this causes problems.
11. Hey, you get a bonus one!
I have been through some fairly shitty things in my life. I have had amazing highs and terrible lows. I have loved ferociously, hated passionately, fought, cried, damaged myself, hurt others, compromised my values, been too self righteous and beyond reproach, embraced new adventures with tenacity bordering on lunacy and spent whole days achieving nothing.
All of these things, every singular moment in my life with equal importance to both good and bad, has led to his moment, sitting here, and right now, I am supremely, blissfully, wonderfully happy with my life.
So, I can't have done too badly.
Here are 10 things that are very unique to me:
1. I can't touch peaches or any other furry fruit without visibly shuddering and my blood turning to ice. It's something about the texture that I just can't stand. I also can't walk barefoot on cheap, synthetic carpet.
2. I have almost no little toe nail. My toes are so little. (Wish my body was as small!)
3. I prefer my hair very, very short. Think Halle Berry's pixie cut. Unfortunately, men don't seem to share the same appreciation for elven looks as I do. *Sigh* one day, hair, you and I will be re-united!
4. I love Twilight. (There, I said it) It's like vampiric emotional porn. Sooooo good.
5. I only blog on days I have Ava. Seems silly right? Why not blog when she is at her Daddy's house and you have peace and quiet. Truth is, I am not inspired to write when she is not around. I just kind of exist in a daze until she comes back every Saturday morning.
6. I think Muzz Buzz Armadale have had to put on more staff, just because of me. Oooops.
7. I have quite nice teeth.
8. Spelling and grammatical errors bug me. A lot. I don't think I could teach English because the dribble that erupts from some student's pens would have me going cuckoo faster than you can say "Uuuuhhhhh, Dunno."
9. Being late stresses me out to the point of panic attacks. I get very anxious if we are going to run late.
10. I don't want to die with any regrets or any unfinished business. I tend to attack problems (relationship and otherwise) like a rhinoceros, beating my head against it until it is all finished and threshed out. Sometimes this causes problems.
11. Hey, you get a bonus one!
I have been through some fairly shitty things in my life. I have had amazing highs and terrible lows. I have loved ferociously, hated passionately, fought, cried, damaged myself, hurt others, compromised my values, been too self righteous and beyond reproach, embraced new adventures with tenacity bordering on lunacy and spent whole days achieving nothing.
All of these things, every singular moment in my life with equal importance to both good and bad, has led to his moment, sitting here, and right now, I am supremely, blissfully, wonderfully happy with my life.
So, I can't have done too badly.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Co-parenting and my parents divorce.
As a teacher I parent a lot of children with separated parents, or students who are going through their parents separation. It is heartbreaking to watch but more so when the parents are warring as the poor children are stuck in the middle.
As a separated parent, I have a lot of things I feel guilty and worried about. Having a hunt, this is what research tells us parents need to do:
•listen to their children and nurture an independent and empathic relationship with each of them;
•fully support their children's relationships with the other parent (making them feel loved and wanted in both homes);
•develop positive strategies for setting limits and imposing appropriate discipline;
•continue to hold reasonably high expectations for their children, regardless of trying circumstances; and
•shield their children from their parental disagreements and resentments.
Paraphrased from: http://www.divorcenet.com/states/colorado/coart_11
I really worry sometimes that I have hurt my child. What will she think of marriage? What will she think of ME?
For a very long time after my mother left my father, I blamed her. I hated her for splitting up my family. I hated her for turning a seemingly perfect family into one that seemed to disintergrate in front of my eyes.
Before my parents separated, in a very naive way, life seemed perfect. My family were loving. We were well groomed, always with hair neatly up and shoes on. We went on holidays, camped, and some nights when it was really hot we used to lay on our big trampoline and look at the stars. One night we even saw a UFO. All four of us stared up at the sky, just outside the patio my father had lovingly built, staring in wonder at an object that zipped around the night sky, too fast for a plane or a satellite.
Our rabbits had baby rabbits. Our chooks laid eggs. My mother taught me how to sew, and cook and about spirituality and God. My father taught me about the importance of looking after the environment, how to grow spectacular vegetables and how to catch a fish. My darling baby sister was sweet natured and kind to everyone. She amazed everyone with her perfect peaches and cream skin and long, thick hair. Not everything was perfect, but as a child, it felt pretty damn close.
On the day before Valentines day, in 1998, when I was 15, Mum and Dad told us they were to separate. Then came the fighting, lawyers, court case, custody, maintainence fights that went on for years. I was left with Dad, because being at a private boarding school, I cost more. My babydoll sister went to live with my Mum in a different town, a rift that left scars on my soul and psyche to this day. I hardly saw my mother or my sister for months, as my mother struggled to find her feet and establish a new life for herself. When I saw my darling sister again, she was almost a stranger. I don't think I need to tell you that I am in tears writing this.
For my parents, the pain they endured was massive. My mother later confessed that she had been miserable for nearly 10 years. My father had no idea, loving my mother until the day she told him she wanted to leave. My parents both handled the other parent differently. My father told us everything they talked about, and exactly how he felt about my mother. My mother said nothing, and would not speak of my father at all. Both approaches hurt. Everything hurt. It felt like my world had crumbled.
My situation is a little different to that of my parents. We have one child, not two. She is 2, and not 15. We have equal and shared responsibilty for her. We live in the same suburb. We communicate freely and frequently.
And I don't hate him. Ava needs her father in her life. She needs the richness and love that he gives her and the difference that he is from me. I need his co-parenting to raise our daughter. He is important to her, and so he is important to me.
Is it enough to counteract the fact we are not together anymore? I hope so. More than that, I will do everything in my power to make it so. I never want my daughter to go through what I did.
As a separated parent, I have a lot of things I feel guilty and worried about. Having a hunt, this is what research tells us parents need to do:
•listen to their children and nurture an independent and empathic relationship with each of them;
•fully support their children's relationships with the other parent (making them feel loved and wanted in both homes);
•develop positive strategies for setting limits and imposing appropriate discipline;
•continue to hold reasonably high expectations for their children, regardless of trying circumstances; and
•shield their children from their parental disagreements and resentments.
Paraphrased from: http://www.divorcenet.com/states/colorado/coart_11
I really worry sometimes that I have hurt my child. What will she think of marriage? What will she think of ME?
For a very long time after my mother left my father, I blamed her. I hated her for splitting up my family. I hated her for turning a seemingly perfect family into one that seemed to disintergrate in front of my eyes.
Before my parents separated, in a very naive way, life seemed perfect. My family were loving. We were well groomed, always with hair neatly up and shoes on. We went on holidays, camped, and some nights when it was really hot we used to lay on our big trampoline and look at the stars. One night we even saw a UFO. All four of us stared up at the sky, just outside the patio my father had lovingly built, staring in wonder at an object that zipped around the night sky, too fast for a plane or a satellite.
Our rabbits had baby rabbits. Our chooks laid eggs. My mother taught me how to sew, and cook and about spirituality and God. My father taught me about the importance of looking after the environment, how to grow spectacular vegetables and how to catch a fish. My darling baby sister was sweet natured and kind to everyone. She amazed everyone with her perfect peaches and cream skin and long, thick hair. Not everything was perfect, but as a child, it felt pretty damn close.
On the day before Valentines day, in 1998, when I was 15, Mum and Dad told us they were to separate. Then came the fighting, lawyers, court case, custody, maintainence fights that went on for years. I was left with Dad, because being at a private boarding school, I cost more. My babydoll sister went to live with my Mum in a different town, a rift that left scars on my soul and psyche to this day. I hardly saw my mother or my sister for months, as my mother struggled to find her feet and establish a new life for herself. When I saw my darling sister again, she was almost a stranger. I don't think I need to tell you that I am in tears writing this.
For my parents, the pain they endured was massive. My mother later confessed that she had been miserable for nearly 10 years. My father had no idea, loving my mother until the day she told him she wanted to leave. My parents both handled the other parent differently. My father told us everything they talked about, and exactly how he felt about my mother. My mother said nothing, and would not speak of my father at all. Both approaches hurt. Everything hurt. It felt like my world had crumbled.
My situation is a little different to that of my parents. We have one child, not two. She is 2, and not 15. We have equal and shared responsibilty for her. We live in the same suburb. We communicate freely and frequently.
And I don't hate him. Ava needs her father in her life. She needs the richness and love that he gives her and the difference that he is from me. I need his co-parenting to raise our daughter. He is important to her, and so he is important to me.
Is it enough to counteract the fact we are not together anymore? I hope so. More than that, I will do everything in my power to make it so. I never want my daughter to go through what I did.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Growth
The 'stage' that I mentioned a few posts ago, the slapping, pushing, hitting, screaming stage that I was hoping she would grow out of.....well, it has gotten worse.
Funny thing, is she doesn't really have big tantrums any more. I know I have blogged about pulling my hair out about the tantrums and wanting it to pass, sitting, crumbling inside as she kicked and screamed on the shopping centre floor, trying to wrestle her into a trolley that she is trying to throw herself out of; has she grown out of that or have I grown into it as a parent?
Now, it's pushing, shoving, hitting, sitting on... well you get the picture. It's not pretty either, to see the perfectly formed baby that lay in my arms deliberately whacking other children in the head with sharp objects.
Does it keep going like this? Do I have to keep redefining boundaries as she grows and learns? Does it get harder and harder, until I am faced with real problems, and a young adult who is not quite as maleable as a 2 year old?
How do I prepare myself to dea with a teenager who wants to experiment with drugs? I have no experience with illicit drugs at all. Yes, I am telling the truth. I am one of the only people I know who has never experimented with illegal substances. How do I prepare her to resist peer pressure, be safe and not become a part of the pervasive culture that is youth today?
How do I deal with her posting provocative pictures of herself on the net? I didn't have a boyfriend until uni, didn't have sex until I was a legal adult. How do I relate to and protect her from becoming a woman until she is ready for the moral and emotional implications of sharing yourself so completely with another person?
How do I help her be a adult when I am not even really sure I get it yet?
When I was pregnant, I prepared myself for having a baby. I had nappies (cloth, thank you very much!), blankets, toys and tiny little jumpsuits. I educated myself about birth choices and breastfeeding, taking control and making decisions that were best for me and my baby. I was ready.
As Ava grew, so did I as a parent. I learned how to balance my work and home lives when I went back to work. I worked my butt off pumping breast milk in every break I got so that Ava would have the best nutrition I could provide for her. I learned how to introduce her to a world that is terrifying and big, even for me, a reasonably stable (I did say 'reasonably'...) financially stable woman in her late twenties.
I guess as she grows into a young woman, and the world she has access to continues to grow, I will grow with her. I hope I can steer her in the right direction, and catch her if she falls. She will be who she will be, with or without me, even after I'm gone, but for me, there is no world without her.
For now though, I am going to keep doing my best to guide her to the next stage.....which I am sure will be ten times as trying as this one!
Funny thing, is she doesn't really have big tantrums any more. I know I have blogged about pulling my hair out about the tantrums and wanting it to pass, sitting, crumbling inside as she kicked and screamed on the shopping centre floor, trying to wrestle her into a trolley that she is trying to throw herself out of; has she grown out of that or have I grown into it as a parent?
Now, it's pushing, shoving, hitting, sitting on... well you get the picture. It's not pretty either, to see the perfectly formed baby that lay in my arms deliberately whacking other children in the head with sharp objects.
Does it keep going like this? Do I have to keep redefining boundaries as she grows and learns? Does it get harder and harder, until I am faced with real problems, and a young adult who is not quite as maleable as a 2 year old?
How do I prepare myself to dea with a teenager who wants to experiment with drugs? I have no experience with illicit drugs at all. Yes, I am telling the truth. I am one of the only people I know who has never experimented with illegal substances. How do I prepare her to resist peer pressure, be safe and not become a part of the pervasive culture that is youth today?
How do I deal with her posting provocative pictures of herself on the net? I didn't have a boyfriend until uni, didn't have sex until I was a legal adult. How do I relate to and protect her from becoming a woman until she is ready for the moral and emotional implications of sharing yourself so completely with another person?
How do I help her be a adult when I am not even really sure I get it yet?
When I was pregnant, I prepared myself for having a baby. I had nappies (cloth, thank you very much!), blankets, toys and tiny little jumpsuits. I educated myself about birth choices and breastfeeding, taking control and making decisions that were best for me and my baby. I was ready.
As Ava grew, so did I as a parent. I learned how to balance my work and home lives when I went back to work. I worked my butt off pumping breast milk in every break I got so that Ava would have the best nutrition I could provide for her. I learned how to introduce her to a world that is terrifying and big, even for me, a reasonably stable (I did say 'reasonably'...) financially stable woman in her late twenties.
I guess as she grows into a young woman, and the world she has access to continues to grow, I will grow with her. I hope I can steer her in the right direction, and catch her if she falls. She will be who she will be, with or without me, even after I'm gone, but for me, there is no world without her.
For now though, I am going to keep doing my best to guide her to the next stage.....which I am sure will be ten times as trying as this one!
Friday, November 5, 2010
Accepting that good parents may plant bad seeds.
Okay, this article kind of worried me:
"We marvel at the resilient child who survives the most toxic parents and home environment and goes on to a life of success. Yet the converse — the notion that some children might be the bad seeds of more or less decent parents — is hard to take.
It goes against the grain not just because it seems like such a grim and pessimistic judgment, but because it violates a prevailing social belief that people have a nearly limitless potential for change and self-improvement. After all, we are the culture of Baby Einstein, the video product that promised — and spectacularly failed — to make geniuses of all our infants.
Not everyone is going to turn out to be brilliant — any more than everyone will turn out nice and loving. And that is not necessarily because of parental failure or an impoverished environment. It is because everyday character traits, like all human behavior, have hard-wired and genetic components that cannot be molded entirely by the best environment, let alone the best psychotherapists. "
(full article found here: http://www.sott.net/articles/show/212202-Accepting-That-Good-Parents-May-Plant-Bad-Seeds )
If you take the conclusions drawn from this persons argument to the furtherest possible conclusion, why do we discipline at all? Why try to mould our kids when nature will ultimately determine whether they are polite or rude, selfish or giving?
I think I sit somewhere in the middle in this continuum.
In regards to discipline, I believe I am Ava's teacher. I facilitate her experiences in this world and provide them with a little context as well as my interpretation. Every action and experience with me elicits a response from me. Boogies = Not good. Please and Thankyou = Good. Dropping your dacks at the shops = Not good (but funny.) Yes, they may be social constructs, but social graces serve one very important function; they serve as a measuring stick in relationships. Burping and farting in front of your husband? Acceptable. Burping and farting on the first date? Not so.
Social graces are important for relationships, and that brings me to my other important task as a parent. Relationships are at the core of parenting. Teaching you child how to love , how to be a friend, how to hold polite conversation, how to deal with hurt and rejection, and how to pick up and keep going when all your want to do is curl up in a ball.
Now, to smacks. Every single time I have smacked Ava, it has been because I have been overwhelmed and angry. It has also NEVER improved the situation. Not once has Ava done the right thing after a smack, it usually makes everything worse. Smacking, for Ava, does nothing but make everything worse and make me feel like the worst parent in the world. Time out, yes. Time in, yes, smacking, no. Everyone will have their own opinion on this one, but in my opinion, it does nothing.
But, back to the article; I guess, despite my best intentions, that Ava will grow up into the person she is, shaped and supported by my love and friendship, and guided by what I know of this world. If she knows who she is and what she stands for, and can love someone wih her whole heart, I will be a proud Mummy.
"We marvel at the resilient child who survives the most toxic parents and home environment and goes on to a life of success. Yet the converse — the notion that some children might be the bad seeds of more or less decent parents — is hard to take.
It goes against the grain not just because it seems like such a grim and pessimistic judgment, but because it violates a prevailing social belief that people have a nearly limitless potential for change and self-improvement. After all, we are the culture of Baby Einstein, the video product that promised — and spectacularly failed — to make geniuses of all our infants.
Not everyone is going to turn out to be brilliant — any more than everyone will turn out nice and loving. And that is not necessarily because of parental failure or an impoverished environment. It is because everyday character traits, like all human behavior, have hard-wired and genetic components that cannot be molded entirely by the best environment, let alone the best psychotherapists. "
(full article found here: http://www.sott.net/articles/show/212202-Accepting-That-Good-Parents-May-Plant-Bad-Seeds )
If you take the conclusions drawn from this persons argument to the furtherest possible conclusion, why do we discipline at all? Why try to mould our kids when nature will ultimately determine whether they are polite or rude, selfish or giving?
I think I sit somewhere in the middle in this continuum.
In regards to discipline, I believe I am Ava's teacher. I facilitate her experiences in this world and provide them with a little context as well as my interpretation. Every action and experience with me elicits a response from me. Boogies = Not good. Please and Thankyou = Good. Dropping your dacks at the shops = Not good (but funny.) Yes, they may be social constructs, but social graces serve one very important function; they serve as a measuring stick in relationships. Burping and farting in front of your husband? Acceptable. Burping and farting on the first date? Not so.
Social graces are important for relationships, and that brings me to my other important task as a parent. Relationships are at the core of parenting. Teaching you child how to love , how to be a friend, how to hold polite conversation, how to deal with hurt and rejection, and how to pick up and keep going when all your want to do is curl up in a ball.
Now, to smacks. Every single time I have smacked Ava, it has been because I have been overwhelmed and angry. It has also NEVER improved the situation. Not once has Ava done the right thing after a smack, it usually makes everything worse. Smacking, for Ava, does nothing but make everything worse and make me feel like the worst parent in the world. Time out, yes. Time in, yes, smacking, no. Everyone will have their own opinion on this one, but in my opinion, it does nothing.
But, back to the article; I guess, despite my best intentions, that Ava will grow up into the person she is, shaped and supported by my love and friendship, and guided by what I know of this world. If she knows who she is and what she stands for, and can love someone wih her whole heart, I will be a proud Mummy.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Do you love him?
A couple of days ago, I was driving along and a bike wizzed out in front of me as I was about to pull out onto the road. I don't know who was in the wrong, probably me, but it was never going to be an accident, my car was barely moving. He flipped me the bird and called a torrent of abuse over his shoulder. Logically, I started crying. Must have been PMS-ing.
I wondered, as I was driving home, whether this person gave any thought to the consequence of his actions. Did he think I would be upset? Or did he just say whatever he felt in order to make himself feel better with no regard to my feelings or what actually went on? Do people think about the impact that mouthing off can have on other people?
Recently, at a wedding, someone asked me, "So, how's it all going (with His Majesty)?" I didn't really know what to say. So she says, "Do you love him?" and I was really taken aback, and I got a little bit upset because in a year and a bit, nobody had asked me if I loved the man I share my life with. It took me a while to put things into place in my head after that realisation and to answer that, yes, I do. I love him.
In all the confusion surrounding the end of marriage and the beginning of my new relationship, a lot of people were very quick to talk and judge, but nobody (it felt like nobody) bothered to ask me if I was happier, nobody asked me if I loved this man. People said I should have waited longer. People said I shouldn't have left. People said he was confused. People said a lot of things, but didn't remember that I am a real person, with real feelings.
To all the people who have called me immoral, a tramp, spread rumours, whatever....Hmmmmm. I was going to write all nice things here. Come talk to me, imagine how it makes me feel, blah blah blah, but the truth is that I don't care. I am the only person who can live my life and I am doing the best I can.
Except the person who spread the rumour about me neglecting my daughter. If you (and I know who you are) ever admit that it was you, you'd better be as far away from me as you can possibly be.
Back to the first paragraph.
I was also very appreciative and quite touched. The person who asked me has been a wonderful friend to us, and has never passed judgement, never criticised, never said hurtful things. She and her husband had steadfastly been our friends, even though we don't see each other all that often, stupid busy lives we lead!
Thank you for caring about how I am. Thank you for seeing me, a real person with real feelings, and not just the fact that I am not with my husband anymore. My life is enriched because you are in it.
Thank you.
I wondered, as I was driving home, whether this person gave any thought to the consequence of his actions. Did he think I would be upset? Or did he just say whatever he felt in order to make himself feel better with no regard to my feelings or what actually went on? Do people think about the impact that mouthing off can have on other people?
Recently, at a wedding, someone asked me, "So, how's it all going (with His Majesty)?" I didn't really know what to say. So she says, "Do you love him?" and I was really taken aback, and I got a little bit upset because in a year and a bit, nobody had asked me if I loved the man I share my life with. It took me a while to put things into place in my head after that realisation and to answer that, yes, I do. I love him.
In all the confusion surrounding the end of marriage and the beginning of my new relationship, a lot of people were very quick to talk and judge, but nobody (it felt like nobody) bothered to ask me if I was happier, nobody asked me if I loved this man. People said I should have waited longer. People said I shouldn't have left. People said he was confused. People said a lot of things, but didn't remember that I am a real person, with real feelings.
To all the people who have called me immoral, a tramp, spread rumours, whatever....Hmmmmm. I was going to write all nice things here. Come talk to me, imagine how it makes me feel, blah blah blah, but the truth is that I don't care. I am the only person who can live my life and I am doing the best I can.
Except the person who spread the rumour about me neglecting my daughter. If you (and I know who you are) ever admit that it was you, you'd better be as far away from me as you can possibly be.
Back to the first paragraph.
I was also very appreciative and quite touched. The person who asked me has been a wonderful friend to us, and has never passed judgement, never criticised, never said hurtful things. She and her husband had steadfastly been our friends, even though we don't see each other all that often, stupid busy lives we lead!
Thank you for caring about how I am. Thank you for seeing me, a real person with real feelings, and not just the fact that I am not with my husband anymore. My life is enriched because you are in it.
Thank you.
Friday, October 29, 2010
FarmVille is evil... Let me rephrase that: People are evil.
http://jacksonville.com/news/crime/2010-10-27/story/jacksonville-mom-shakes-baby-interrupting-farmville-pleads-guilty-murder
Oh my God, Oh my God. This article just makes me want to cry. Nothing is more precious than my baby. Certainly not some stupid, stupid pretend farm.
All the experiences that this stupid mother missed out on: First tooth. Eating solids. Being called Mummy. Happy gurgles. Sleepless nights. Cleaning up all kinds of bodily fluids. Warm sleepy cuddles. Pretending to be mermaids. Hearing "I love you". Everything that makes up my everything. I hope her virtual corn that she virtually grew and virtually sold for some virtual money made her virtually fucking happy.
(actually, I hope that she never forgives herself and someone convinces her to get sterilised. I need to go to bed before I get any sadder)
Oh my God, Oh my God. This article just makes me want to cry. Nothing is more precious than my baby. Certainly not some stupid, stupid pretend farm.
All the experiences that this stupid mother missed out on: First tooth. Eating solids. Being called Mummy. Happy gurgles. Sleepless nights. Cleaning up all kinds of bodily fluids. Warm sleepy cuddles. Pretending to be mermaids. Hearing "I love you". Everything that makes up my everything. I hope her virtual corn that she virtually grew and virtually sold for some virtual money made her virtually fucking happy.
(actually, I hope that she never forgives herself and someone convinces her to get sterilised. I need to go to bed before I get any sadder)
Funny things they say...
Happily playing out the back, talking to her toys, Kate, Danny, Stephen and I were planning the days adventures in the kitchen. Ava was babbling away to her toys.
"Here doggy, have some dinner? You hungry? Num num num. Num nums. You sit there! Be good! (various other growls as Ava gets angry and 'tells off' her doggy....I wonder where she gets that from?) Babble, Babble, Talk, Babble....silence....Fuck you!"
Oh dear God.....why did it have to be when we had guests? Kate looked at me, I looked at her. I knew she would find it the funniest thing in the world (she did, cruel woman that she is) and even though it doesn't even matter, and it is just a word,
Lucky my darling friends have a very good sense of humour. Love you, Kate.
"Here doggy, have some dinner? You hungry? Num num num. Num nums. You sit there! Be good! (various other growls as Ava gets angry and 'tells off' her doggy....I wonder where she gets that from?) Babble, Babble, Talk, Babble....silence....Fuck you!"
Oh dear God.....why did it have to be when we had guests? Kate looked at me, I looked at her. I knew she would find it the funniest thing in the world (she did, cruel woman that she is) and even though it doesn't even matter, and it is just a word,
I was mortified.
Lucky my darling friends have a very good sense of humour. Love you, Kate.
* * * * *
Ava is intolerant to dairy, and so she can't have milo, but we can have hot chocolate. Cadbury drinking chocolate is dairy free, so in the morning we will have a hot chocolate. Unfortunately for Ava, she can't quite make the 'ch' sound yet, so most mornings I am woken up with this:
'Mummy, I want hot cocklet.'
Give me ten or so years, and I will begin to worry, but for now, funny, every single time I hear it.
* * * * *
The other morning Ava was playing animals, and I was lying in bed.
"I'm a tiger! Raaaa! Raaaa!...I'm a cat! Meow! Meow! Mummy, I'm a cat!"
Soon I was giving suggestions.
"Be a horse! Be a lion!"
His Majesty chimed in.
"Be a giraffe!"
Hmmm, he wanted quiet so he could go back to sleep. Fat chance! And who is still asleep at 5.30am....pfft! I mean really.
Just a last titbit, for your information. Turtles have very deep voices and scuttle around the bedroom floor bellowing "Tuuuuuuuuuur tttlllllllllllllllllllllllllle!" over and over. (That one kinda back fired!)
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Funnily enough, this embarrasses me far more than poo.
You know my daughter? The amazing, funny, independent 2 year old that is the colour and light of my life? The talented, precocious, stubborn, creative, loving little person that she is? Well, this is the blog where I reveal some of the not so nice habits she has picked up.
Ava is going through a little bit of a 'stage'. At least I hope it is a stage, because I will actually go mental if it doesn't abate....hmmmm....soonish. A slapping, kicking, name calling, pinching, shoving, hands on hips kinda stage.
Coming back from a trip up north the other day, after doing about 600 kilometres, and with about 200 to go:
'I don't like driving! I like.....not driving!" (Awww, cute! you say....just wait...) "I. DON'T. LIKE. YOU!'
Crack. Splinter. Shatter. Crumble, crumble, crumble. That is the sound my heart made.
Today, going to bed:
Ava: (crying) "I want my milkies!"
Me: You're a big girl now. You don't need it.
Ava: I want my milkies!
(10 minutes later)
Ava: I (gulp) want (gulp) mmm..mmmy (gulp, shudder) milkies!
Me: Fine! Here! Have it! Go to bed!
Ava: (takes a sip) I don't want milkies! (I take it) Iwantmilkies!
All this has elicted some very interesting comments, the best of which was from my sister.
" Ummmm, she's really two now isn't she." Yes, 'two' is an adjective. Look it up.
But, this is not the thing I cannot get out of my mind tonight.
Here goes: Ava picks her nose. She eats her boogies. All the time. Shameful, shameful day; I am practically wailing, writing this.
It all began about 3 weeks ago, she discovered that she had nose holes, and little fingers that fitted up there. Before this, boogies were gotten out with a tissue and by Mummies and Daddies. But then Ava discovered that she too, could access this tiny orifice. She announced it one day as I was picking her up from daycare.
"Mummy! I am picking my nose!"
I tell you, I nearly ran off the road in shame. My perfect child with that sweet smile lighting her face and with her finger buried to her knuckle bone, digging around in a nostril.
Since then it has grown worse and worse, and each time I growl, announce that it is yucky, ask her if she needs a tissue, she very definately and defiantly sticks her finger in her mouth.
Today I worked up the courage to raise it with her care givers at daycare. I picked the nicer one (not the mean one! She scares me) to broach this topic. This is kinda an editted version of how the conversation went:
Me: Ahhh, ummmm I have something that is kinda concerning me. A little. About Ava.
Nice Caregiver: Yes?
Me: Well, not something, big, something kinda....yucky. Ava (look around, nobody within earshot) Ahhh, Ava picks her nose. And eats it. (blank look from Nice Caregiver) All the time.
Nice Caregiver: Yes?
Me: Well, if you could kinda keep on top of it......(awkward silence) I mean she hasn't really picked it up from me, has she?
Nice Caregiver: (begins to potter about) No, but about 90% of the children do it in here. It's the age.
Me: (trying to be assertive) But, um, but, I don't like it.
Nice Caregiver: (potter, potter) think about me! When I get home, I lift up the collar of my shirt and find so many boogies under there, and they could be anyones!
Me: (trying not to vomit in my mouth) Mmmmmm.
Nice Caregiver: Besides, at that age, it's really any orifice they can find.
Oh my god, is it? I decided to cut my losses and just deal with it myself.
So, for dinner, we went to Sizzlers. Of course, finger went in. I have had it with this eating boogies business. Picking, I can handle. But eating? Has to stop. So, out shot my hand, and grabbed her little wrist before finger made it to mouth, and began to fish for a napkin. She screamed, ear piercing screams that echoed around the restaurant.
"Noooooo! My boogie!!!"
She fought with all her strength to throw me off, and direct finger to mouth, like she was a man dying of thirst and the boogie, the last drop of water. I swiped at her finger with the napkin, and let go, and she put pu the damned finger in her gob anyway and sucked on it for good measure.
What do I do? It is really freaking me out! Do I threaten her, smack her, try to reason with her knowing full well that none of this will work? Or do I just ride this one out?
I hope she grows out of it.
Ava is going through a little bit of a 'stage'. At least I hope it is a stage, because I will actually go mental if it doesn't abate....hmmmm....soonish. A slapping, kicking, name calling, pinching, shoving, hands on hips kinda stage.
Coming back from a trip up north the other day, after doing about 600 kilometres, and with about 200 to go:
'I don't like driving! I like.....not driving!" (Awww, cute! you say....just wait...) "I. DON'T. LIKE. YOU!'
Crack. Splinter. Shatter. Crumble, crumble, crumble. That is the sound my heart made.
Today, going to bed:
Ava: (crying) "I want my milkies!"
Me: You're a big girl now. You don't need it.
Ava: I want my milkies!
(10 minutes later)
Ava: I (gulp) want (gulp) mmm..mmmy (gulp, shudder) milkies!
Me: Fine! Here! Have it! Go to bed!
Ava: (takes a sip) I don't want milkies! (I take it) Iwantmilkies!
All this has elicted some very interesting comments, the best of which was from my sister.
" Ummmm, she's really two now isn't she." Yes, 'two' is an adjective. Look it up.
But, this is not the thing I cannot get out of my mind tonight.
Here goes: Ava picks her nose. She eats her boogies. All the time. Shameful, shameful day; I am practically wailing, writing this.
It all began about 3 weeks ago, she discovered that she had nose holes, and little fingers that fitted up there. Before this, boogies were gotten out with a tissue and by Mummies and Daddies. But then Ava discovered that she too, could access this tiny orifice. She announced it one day as I was picking her up from daycare.
"Mummy! I am picking my nose!"
I tell you, I nearly ran off the road in shame. My perfect child with that sweet smile lighting her face and with her finger buried to her knuckle bone, digging around in a nostril.
Since then it has grown worse and worse, and each time I growl, announce that it is yucky, ask her if she needs a tissue, she very definately and defiantly sticks her finger in her mouth.
Today I worked up the courage to raise it with her care givers at daycare. I picked the nicer one (not the mean one! She scares me) to broach this topic. This is kinda an editted version of how the conversation went:
Me: Ahhh, ummmm I have something that is kinda concerning me. A little. About Ava.
Nice Caregiver: Yes?
Me: Well, not something, big, something kinda....yucky. Ava (look around, nobody within earshot) Ahhh, Ava picks her nose. And eats it. (blank look from Nice Caregiver) All the time.
Nice Caregiver: Yes?
Me: Well, if you could kinda keep on top of it......(awkward silence) I mean she hasn't really picked it up from me, has she?
Nice Caregiver: (begins to potter about) No, but about 90% of the children do it in here. It's the age.
Me: (trying to be assertive) But, um, but, I don't like it.
Nice Caregiver: (potter, potter) think about me! When I get home, I lift up the collar of my shirt and find so many boogies under there, and they could be anyones!
Me: (trying not to vomit in my mouth) Mmmmmm.
Nice Caregiver: Besides, at that age, it's really any orifice they can find.
Oh my god, is it? I decided to cut my losses and just deal with it myself.
So, for dinner, we went to Sizzlers. Of course, finger went in. I have had it with this eating boogies business. Picking, I can handle. But eating? Has to stop. So, out shot my hand, and grabbed her little wrist before finger made it to mouth, and began to fish for a napkin. She screamed, ear piercing screams that echoed around the restaurant.
"Noooooo! My boogie!!!"
She fought with all her strength to throw me off, and direct finger to mouth, like she was a man dying of thirst and the boogie, the last drop of water. I swiped at her finger with the napkin, and let go, and she put pu the damned finger in her gob anyway and sucked on it for good measure.
What do I do? It is really freaking me out! Do I threaten her, smack her, try to reason with her knowing full well that none of this will work? Or do I just ride this one out?
I hope she grows out of it.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
On the topic of Toddlers and food...
I refuse to eat sausages and mashed potatoes every single night, and it annoys me that people do this!
Firstly, because I am a vegetarian....actually, no. That is not a reason, because sometimes we do have meaty things for dinner. I am not the only person that eats (even though it feels like it today... I am not hopping on the scales until I have starved myself for at least 24 hours.) in my house and therefore it would be unfair not to serve meat occasionally. Just don't ask me to cook it, okay? Or prepare it. Or...Okay, I will stop now.
Mainly because it's not a balanced or varied diet, eating bangers and mash every single night. I know of people (none of my friends, you are all amazing) who have given up on vegetables because they wouldn't be eaten. YOU CAN'T GIVE UP ON VEGETABLES! YOU NEED THEM! I know of people who serve chips with every meal, because otherwise their kids wouldn't eat. Okay, if your child eats chips for every single dinner and maybe one wilted carrot stick, well it would probably do your kids the world of good to go hungry for a bit. AND GROWN UPS TOO! Some people really need to head back to primary school for nutrition.
A recent report suggested that Australian kids have THE WORST DIET out of any developed countries, with only 3% of children aged 2-4 and 2% of children aged 9-13 eating the recommended 2-4 servings of vegetables per day and 1 in 5 children are overweight or obese, which is terrifying. Surely parents want what is best for their children? Have we grown so soft that the concept of tough love means nothing?
All this ranting is not to say that Ava is some wonder child who eats and loves every vegetable known to man....Ha ha ha ha ha....I WISH! She is like every child when they hit that magical age between one and two, and has gone from eating everything and vast quantities of it, to eating nothing. Or only bread. Or things dipped in things. Or things that are white. And definately not things that are green... She is a normal child (in spite of me) and most of the time flat out refuses to eat anything that isn't garlic bread or rice.
When it comes to what is served, I have one rule: What I make, a vegemite sandwich or go hungry. The way I figure it is that it is my job to teach her what is a balanced meal. What goes on the table and on her plate is my job, what goes in her mouth and down into her tummy from that plate is mostly up to her.
Tonight we had a warm pasta salad with aparagus, zucchini, pumpkin, olives and cherry tomatoes (can you tell my man is out tonight? ha ha ha...) and garlic bread. Ava pretty much picked out all the noodles and ate them, and then munched on garlic bread. BUT she was served a proper balanced meal.
(Yes, but she still only ate pasta and bread) Yes, I know! Shut up, voice in my head!
(No.) You're mean.
(Yes... That's because I'm you.)
Touche', voice, touche'.
Firstly, because I am a vegetarian....actually, no. That is not a reason, because sometimes we do have meaty things for dinner. I am not the only person that eats (even though it feels like it today... I am not hopping on the scales until I have starved myself for at least 24 hours.) in my house and therefore it would be unfair not to serve meat occasionally. Just don't ask me to cook it, okay? Or prepare it. Or...Okay, I will stop now.
Mainly because it's not a balanced or varied diet, eating bangers and mash every single night. I know of people (none of my friends, you are all amazing) who have given up on vegetables because they wouldn't be eaten. YOU CAN'T GIVE UP ON VEGETABLES! YOU NEED THEM! I know of people who serve chips with every meal, because otherwise their kids wouldn't eat. Okay, if your child eats chips for every single dinner and maybe one wilted carrot stick, well it would probably do your kids the world of good to go hungry for a bit. AND GROWN UPS TOO! Some people really need to head back to primary school for nutrition.
A recent report suggested that Australian kids have THE WORST DIET out of any developed countries, with only 3% of children aged 2-4 and 2% of children aged 9-13 eating the recommended 2-4 servings of vegetables per day and 1 in 5 children are overweight or obese, which is terrifying. Surely parents want what is best for their children? Have we grown so soft that the concept of tough love means nothing?
All this ranting is not to say that Ava is some wonder child who eats and loves every vegetable known to man....Ha ha ha ha ha....I WISH! She is like every child when they hit that magical age between one and two, and has gone from eating everything and vast quantities of it, to eating nothing. Or only bread. Or things dipped in things. Or things that are white. And definately not things that are green... She is a normal child (in spite of me) and most of the time flat out refuses to eat anything that isn't garlic bread or rice.
When it comes to what is served, I have one rule: What I make, a vegemite sandwich or go hungry. The way I figure it is that it is my job to teach her what is a balanced meal. What goes on the table and on her plate is my job, what goes in her mouth and down into her tummy from that plate is mostly up to her.
Tonight we had a warm pasta salad with aparagus, zucchini, pumpkin, olives and cherry tomatoes (can you tell my man is out tonight? ha ha ha...) and garlic bread. Ava pretty much picked out all the noodles and ate them, and then munched on garlic bread. BUT she was served a proper balanced meal.
(Yes, but she still only ate pasta and bread) Yes, I know! Shut up, voice in my head!
(No.) You're mean.
(Yes... That's because I'm you.)
Touche', voice, touche'.
* * *
Toilet training is sending me potty. Ha ha ha...NO SERIOUSLY! I have had my tolerance of wees and poos for today (one in knickers, one laid freshly on the playroom floor this evening, poo that is) and so I am counting my lucky stars that she is tucked up in bed. Why cannot it be one miraculous toilet training weekend, kinda like a marathon? Sweat, blood and tears (and wee and poo) but with a clearly defined, nay signposted, glorified, definate end point. I feel like a recording, saying the same thing over and over each day, slowing getting less patient and my tone of voice becoming sharper? Seriously. Two weeks ago I would have crowed at the moon for a wee next to the potty, today I am tired, cranky and have already snapped at Ava and made her cry once. Why? WWwwwwwhhhhhhhyyyyy? Why couldn't I have showered her with praise and support and love and told her that the next one was going in? I feel like a shit. A shit that makes 2 year olds cry when they don't make the potty. Oh dear God, writing about this isn't helping this time. Do you know what she said to me through tears? "Mummy, I love you." Oh God, it felt so bad.
So, to take the pressure off, we stripped off to our singlet and ran around the back yard in the buff. Wee on the patio? Don't care. Wee on the lemon tree? Yes, if you can. No, oh well, we will get there some day! And so this cranky, crazy Mummy and her bare-bottomed, wet, happy, loving toddler ran about the backyard screaming and laughing until it got dark and cold. A perfect end to a less than perfect day.
I try Ava. I try so very, very hard to be good and kind and sweet-tempered and strong. It's hard for me because I am a wee bit nutty sometimes, and always a lot tired and a little cranky too, but you are my earth and stars, my beginning and end. You are everything that I need and everything that I want and all the things that test me the most. You are the soul mate that I never expected to find in my child.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Complete and Utter Meltdown, otherwise titled The Day That the Mummy Was Too Hard on Herself.
Two days ago we had a complete and utter meltdown. By 'we', I don't mean the toddler in our household. I mean me.
My significant other's daughter had been away overseas for what seemed like a long time. Any time away from your child is a long time, but this had felt like an age, and so on the night of her return I wanted everything to be perfect. His Majesty had mentioned earlier in the week that my veggies were looking wonderful. (Awwwww, blush. I am rather fond of my vegetable patch!)
His Majesty mentioned that he loved a good stir fry, especially with the Kantong jar sauces. Now, I am not normally a 'jar' person. I think that they are overpriced, under favoured, overly salty almost foods, that are really only a step away from popping into the car and driving to the noodle place, BUT, I thought I would give it a go, and appease my inner 1950s house wife. Did I also mention that I don't actually like Chinese food? I know, how very un-Australian of me!
So, I went to buy noodles. Vermicelli is Chinese, right? And jars. All different flavours. And vegetables. Expensive vegetables, to compliment the perfectly good, healthy, fresh and free ones in the garden. Make sense? Can you see how I am setting myself up for disaster?
So, I start cooking. Lots of veggies. Whole packet of noodles. Cook them to long? They will be fine. Make Peanut Butter biscuits for after dinner? Why not, I am Supermum! I CAN DO ANYTHING! Started cooking to early, don't stress, I will just simmer it longer. Noodles looking a little starchy, but they will be fine. Seems like a lot of veggies? Oh well, sauce will cover it. Right. (Looks a little odd) NEVER MIND, COOKIES IN OVEN, GO AWAY SMALL CHILD, MUMMY IS COOKING, OH MY GOD, THEY'RE HOME!
Kisses, Cuddles, Happy faces, I mix the noodles with the veggies and sauce. Hmmmm, not enough sauce. Okay, ummmmm, add another jar. Chinese BBQ and Honey Soy go together right? In it goes anyway. Noodles are giving off a lot of water....ummmm, serve anyway?
And I did.
His Majesty took a bite, and looked up at me sideways. I admitted it wasn't very good, and he tried to make a joke about how truly terrible it was. Maybe it would make good compost? We would make some Asian worms happy? Something like that. Of course, I did what any rational person would do and burst into tears.
Cuddles and love, don't stress, don't stress, okay, vegemite sandwiches all round, thank you kisses, semblance of sanity returns. Feeling useless and disempowered, I go to do pull the biscuits out of the oven. Now, biscuits I CAN DO, and I know these will be awesome. I will redeem myself as domestic goddess and be in control and master of my domain once again. Kitchen mitt, grab tray, turn and trip over.
The warm, peanutty, perfectly round and golden brown biscuits crumbled into a thousand pieces as they hit the stove top and my vision of creating a perfect evening shatters.
I snapped, turning the now-empty tray over in my hand and slamming it into the useless pieces. Bang. I screamed. An ear-piercing scream that scared my girls and sent my darlng other half sprinting into the kitchen in a panic. And then, embarrassed, shamefaced and very, very upset, I ran for my bed where I cried and cried and cried. Tiny voices echoed from the playroom; 'Your Mummy's crying' 'What's wrong with Mummy?' Not, I am not alright, but I cannot actually tell you what is wrong. It's not really to do with the food at all, but all about how I feel about myself, as a person, and as a mother.
It took me a very long while to calm down and it's not really something I am very proud of. I don't like feeling stupid and useless, because I am not. Why couldn't I just not care? It was only food. I had based my idea of perfection and my own self concept as a partner and a mother around 'things'. I was using unrealistic expectations as the goal posts and allowed myself to fall apart when I fell short. And when it all boils down to it, what I already had, was perfect. As soon as my family were all together again, we were already complete, and a round of vegemite sandwiches could not ruin that.
As soon as Ava asked me 'Mummy, What's wrong?' with big, sad eyes, and hugged me hard when I answered that I was sad, I knew that I had screwed up. It wasn't the dinner, but it was where all my energy had been for the entire evening. My precious, precious jewells are my loved ones, and I had forgotten that in my own minds race to be perfect...
....and who actually has a toddler who eats silverbeet anyway?
My significant other's daughter had been away overseas for what seemed like a long time. Any time away from your child is a long time, but this had felt like an age, and so on the night of her return I wanted everything to be perfect. His Majesty had mentioned earlier in the week that my veggies were looking wonderful. (Awwwww, blush. I am rather fond of my vegetable patch!)
So, I went to buy noodles. Vermicelli is Chinese, right? And jars. All different flavours. And vegetables. Expensive vegetables, to compliment the perfectly good, healthy, fresh and free ones in the garden. Make sense? Can you see how I am setting myself up for disaster?
So, I start cooking. Lots of veggies. Whole packet of noodles. Cook them to long? They will be fine. Make Peanut Butter biscuits for after dinner? Why not, I am Supermum! I CAN DO ANYTHING! Started cooking to early, don't stress, I will just simmer it longer. Noodles looking a little starchy, but they will be fine. Seems like a lot of veggies? Oh well, sauce will cover it. Right. (Looks a little odd) NEVER MIND, COOKIES IN OVEN, GO AWAY SMALL CHILD, MUMMY IS COOKING, OH MY GOD, THEY'RE HOME!
Kisses, Cuddles, Happy faces, I mix the noodles with the veggies and sauce. Hmmmm, not enough sauce. Okay, ummmmm, add another jar. Chinese BBQ and Honey Soy go together right? In it goes anyway. Noodles are giving off a lot of water....ummmm, serve anyway?
And I did.
His Majesty took a bite, and looked up at me sideways. I admitted it wasn't very good, and he tried to make a joke about how truly terrible it was. Maybe it would make good compost? We would make some Asian worms happy? Something like that. Of course, I did what any rational person would do and burst into tears.
Cuddles and love, don't stress, don't stress, okay, vegemite sandwiches all round, thank you kisses, semblance of sanity returns. Feeling useless and disempowered, I go to do pull the biscuits out of the oven. Now, biscuits I CAN DO, and I know these will be awesome. I will redeem myself as domestic goddess and be in control and master of my domain once again. Kitchen mitt, grab tray, turn and trip over.
The warm, peanutty, perfectly round and golden brown biscuits crumbled into a thousand pieces as they hit the stove top and my vision of creating a perfect evening shatters.
I snapped, turning the now-empty tray over in my hand and slamming it into the useless pieces. Bang. I screamed. An ear-piercing scream that scared my girls and sent my darlng other half sprinting into the kitchen in a panic. And then, embarrassed, shamefaced and very, very upset, I ran for my bed where I cried and cried and cried. Tiny voices echoed from the playroom; 'Your Mummy's crying' 'What's wrong with Mummy?' Not, I am not alright, but I cannot actually tell you what is wrong. It's not really to do with the food at all, but all about how I feel about myself, as a person, and as a mother.
It took me a very long while to calm down and it's not really something I am very proud of. I don't like feeling stupid and useless, because I am not. Why couldn't I just not care? It was only food. I had based my idea of perfection and my own self concept as a partner and a mother around 'things'. I was using unrealistic expectations as the goal posts and allowed myself to fall apart when I fell short. And when it all boils down to it, what I already had, was perfect. As soon as my family were all together again, we were already complete, and a round of vegemite sandwiches could not ruin that.
As soon as Ava asked me 'Mummy, What's wrong?' with big, sad eyes, and hugged me hard when I answered that I was sad, I knew that I had screwed up. It wasn't the dinner, but it was where all my energy had been for the entire evening. My precious, precious jewells are my loved ones, and I had forgotten that in my own minds race to be perfect...
....and who actually has a toddler who eats silverbeet anyway?
Monday, October 4, 2010
I finally admit defeat....
House, you and the mess you produce every single day, you have defeated me. You are victorious....I have lost. In a single day, you get too messy for me to return you to your resting state, and over the last year, your resting state has become slightly organised choas.
Today, I admit defeat. I cannot keep my house perfect, although I would very much like to. So, I paid a husband and wife team to come and spring clean my house.
They arrived today and very quickly made themselves at home. Introductions, tour of home, list of what I wanted done. Then they scrubbed and polished and dusted and reorganised and all with frightening efficiency. Now it is sparkly and clean, every surface is wiped, every floor swept and mopped. I have no more guilt about my house being messy, because IT'S NOT!
Yet, I feel a but guilty and ashamed that I cannot 'keep' my own house. What is wrong with me? Why can I not keep a house clean? Am I lazy? Do I have messy habits? I also feel funny telling people about it. Some people have already given me the cats bum look and I know there must be people who think I am lazy.
BUT....I don't want to spend my holidays cleaning! I want to play with my little girl, and go on adventures and catch up with my friends! I spend my terms away from those I love, I want to absorb as much as I can during my time away from work.
Today, I admit defeat. I cannot keep my house perfect, although I would very much like to. So, I paid a husband and wife team to come and spring clean my house.
They arrived today and very quickly made themselves at home. Introductions, tour of home, list of what I wanted done. Then they scrubbed and polished and dusted and reorganised and all with frightening efficiency. Now it is sparkly and clean, every surface is wiped, every floor swept and mopped. I have no more guilt about my house being messy, because IT'S NOT!
Yet, I feel a but guilty and ashamed that I cannot 'keep' my own house. What is wrong with me? Why can I not keep a house clean? Am I lazy? Do I have messy habits? I also feel funny telling people about it. Some people have already given me the cats bum look and I know there must be people who think I am lazy.
BUT....I don't want to spend my holidays cleaning! I want to play with my little girl, and go on adventures and catch up with my friends! I spend my terms away from those I love, I want to absorb as much as I can during my time away from work.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Friday, October 1, 2010
Out of the Mouths of Babes...
Ava is mostly in knickers these days. At 2 and 3 months, I am quite impressed with myself, although my mother swears that when my sister and I were babies, we were in knickers full time at one. My mother forgets that she stayed home full time and that I spend most of my days dealing with other peoples children whilst well-meaning, educated strangers play with, toilet, put to bed and feed my child. Oopsy. Maternal guilt? I think so.
So days revolve around questions that should embarrass me.
"Do you need to do wee? No? Poo? No? Are you wet? Did you use the toilet? Are knickers for wees?" and so on and so forth.
Today we were walking though the shopping centre, on my way to my weekly weigh in at the chemist. (another story altogether!) I ask
"Do you need to do wees?"
"Ahhhhhhh, ummmmmmmm.... Yeah."
Okay, luckily there is a small public toilet just off to our left. Ava has a pink sparkly handbag at the shops today with fairies on it, so she walks down the small hallway, singing away about fairies and sparkles and other fancies of hers. She starts to run, side to side, zig zagging and singing, and I realise that a woman is trying to get past.
Awkward, understanding smile. I say sorry, she smiles again, and direct Ava in a straight line towards the door. The woman holds the door open for us. I hold the next one open for her. We smile at each other again, shaking our heads at small children in general with mock exasperation.
The toilet comprises of two tiny cubicles, one of which we go into, the lady the other. Righty-ho, off pants, off knickers, position tiny 2 year old on seat, make sure she doesn't fall in. Time for wee.
Me: " Do your wee, Ava"
Ava: " Come on wee, come one!" (she crooks her finger and keeps calling, like in the old cartoons. Who taught her that?!)
Me: You doing wees?
Ava: No. (uncomfortable silence whilst we wait.)
It's not a common thing to talk about what you hear inside public toilets, when people you don't know are using the same facilities as you. Women are mortified of it, men accept it as normal.
Ava: Mummy, she's doing poos!
Me: (Oh my God! Damage control...) You need to do poos, sweetheart?
Ava: NooOOOOoooooo! LISTEN!
At this point Ava leaned over and banged, hard, on the cubicle divider. It echoed around the tiny toilet like a gun shot in the very awkward silence.
Ava: The lady Mummy, she's doing poos. Over there.
Me: (using my "dangerous whisper") Okay. Fine. Have you done wees yet?
Ava: Can't.
OF COURSE the lady opened her door at EXACTLY THE SAME TIME as we did, washed her hands and left when we did. My face glowed red, like a beacon, the entire time, pointing me out. HERE SHE IS! HER DAUGHTER TALKED ABOUT YOUR POO! SHAMEFUL WOMAN! HOW DARE SHE UPSET THE DELICATE SOCIETAL BALANCE!
There you go, Mike. Another blog about poo.
So days revolve around questions that should embarrass me.
"Do you need to do wee? No? Poo? No? Are you wet? Did you use the toilet? Are knickers for wees?" and so on and so forth.
Today we were walking though the shopping centre, on my way to my weekly weigh in at the chemist. (another story altogether!) I ask
"Do you need to do wees?"
"Ahhhhhhh, ummmmmmmm.... Yeah."
Okay, luckily there is a small public toilet just off to our left. Ava has a pink sparkly handbag at the shops today with fairies on it, so she walks down the small hallway, singing away about fairies and sparkles and other fancies of hers. She starts to run, side to side, zig zagging and singing, and I realise that a woman is trying to get past.
Awkward, understanding smile. I say sorry, she smiles again, and direct Ava in a straight line towards the door. The woman holds the door open for us. I hold the next one open for her. We smile at each other again, shaking our heads at small children in general with mock exasperation.
The toilet comprises of two tiny cubicles, one of which we go into, the lady the other. Righty-ho, off pants, off knickers, position tiny 2 year old on seat, make sure she doesn't fall in. Time for wee.
Me: " Do your wee, Ava"
Ava: " Come on wee, come one!" (she crooks her finger and keeps calling, like in the old cartoons. Who taught her that?!)
Me: You doing wees?
Ava: No. (uncomfortable silence whilst we wait.)
It's not a common thing to talk about what you hear inside public toilets, when people you don't know are using the same facilities as you. Women are mortified of it, men accept it as normal.
Ava: Mummy, she's doing poos!
Me: (Oh my God! Damage control...) You need to do poos, sweetheart?
Ava: NooOOOOoooooo! LISTEN!
At this point Ava leaned over and banged, hard, on the cubicle divider. It echoed around the tiny toilet like a gun shot in the very awkward silence.
Ava: The lady Mummy, she's doing poos. Over there.
Me: (using my "dangerous whisper") Okay. Fine. Have you done wees yet?
Ava: Can't.
OF COURSE the lady opened her door at EXACTLY THE SAME TIME as we did, washed her hands and left when we did. My face glowed red, like a beacon, the entire time, pointing me out. HERE SHE IS! HER DAUGHTER TALKED ABOUT YOUR POO! SHAMEFUL WOMAN! HOW DARE SHE UPSET THE DELICATE SOCIETAL BALANCE!
There you go, Mike. Another blog about poo.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
I am happy...
We have a full house!
A darling friend of mine, who lives far to far away, has come down for the week, to stay in the big smoke. So, we are full, full, full with 6 kids, 3 big people, and a whole lot of noise, mess, laughter and tears.
There are several ways that parenting 5 children differs from my valiant attempts to wrangle one child....
The difference in the ammount of food....my kitchen is overflowing with veggies, bread, fruit, tiny fridge packed full, tiny pantry bursting a the seams.
Ava is beside herself. Not only does she have playfellows, but a whole team of them, baby ones and big ones, all come to stay for the week.
She ran up to me after her nap today, and whispered to me, looking up at me with eyes shining bright.
"Mummy?"
"Yes, Baby-girl?"
"I'm happy"
I thought my heart would burst with love. I am happy too baby. Good friends make for beautiful moments.
A darling friend of mine, who lives far to far away, has come down for the week, to stay in the big smoke. So, we are full, full, full with 6 kids, 3 big people, and a whole lot of noise, mess, laughter and tears.
There are several ways that parenting 5 children differs from my valiant attempts to wrangle one child....
The difference in the ammount of food....my kitchen is overflowing with veggies, bread, fruit, tiny fridge packed full, tiny pantry bursting a the seams.
Ava is beside herself. Not only does she have playfellows, but a whole team of them, baby ones and big ones, all come to stay for the week.
She ran up to me after her nap today, and whispered to me, looking up at me with eyes shining bright.
"Mummy?"
"Yes, Baby-girl?"
"I'm happy"
I thought my heart would burst with love. I am happy too baby. Good friends make for beautiful moments.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Poo
Poo. Parents and non-parents divide over this seemingly simple by product of the digestive system, and the divide is large.
To non-parents: A topic that is not brought up in polite conversation, a minorly inconvenient but thoroughly neccessary and sometimes relieving, almost mildly enjoyable dayly event. (time can change. Depends how much fibre is in your diet.)
To parents: The yard stick for measurement of infant/toddler/child health and development. A safe topic of conversation with other parents. A way of determining allergies, intolerances, worms, viral infections, too much liquorice (black) too much corn (ahhhhh, lotsa corn basically) or whether you child has chewed their food adequately. Whole raisins that look like they could be rinsed off and used again is an indication that food chewing needs to be taught again. Best not to rinse them off and use the same raisins though.
People who don't have children cannot fully understand how much can be gleaned from a single poo. It's colour, it's form, the smell, the consistancy, the watery liquid that can accompany a really nasty one...
Anyone who has had to visit a pediatric immunologist the visit will go something like this:
Dr: 'So, her stools are not formed?'
Me: 'ahhhhhh, her....?'
Dr: 'Poo. Her poo. What does it look like?'
Me: 'Oh, ummm, runny, I guess. Like satay.'
Dr: 'So, chunky as well?'
Me: 'Oh, ah, I didn't really notice. I guess there were bits in it...'
And the conversation goes on and on until you are convinced you should have studied poo much harder and that the immmunologist is going to give you a 'D' in poo, but only if he is in a good mood. And then he charges you $300 for the whole conversation.
Poo and how it relates to your child becomes the cornerstone of the parenting existence.
First it was meconium..... everyone warns you about meconium, but the reality is much worse. Thank god it doesn't smell, but it would make excellent road base. That stuff is impermeable to everything.
Then breast milk poo. It is not uncommon to hear parents say " I miss breast milk poo." I miss breast milk poo! It was so sweet smelling and yellow. IT WAS!
Then the excitement of seeing the by-products of solids, the horror of toddler poos, and the sheer exaltation of a poo in the potty.
Now, non-parents, can you see why this photo makes me divinely happy?
To non-parents: A topic that is not brought up in polite conversation, a minorly inconvenient but thoroughly neccessary and sometimes relieving, almost mildly enjoyable dayly event. (time can change. Depends how much fibre is in your diet.)
To parents: The yard stick for measurement of infant/toddler/child health and development. A safe topic of conversation with other parents. A way of determining allergies, intolerances, worms, viral infections, too much liquorice (black) too much corn (ahhhhh, lotsa corn basically) or whether you child has chewed their food adequately. Whole raisins that look like they could be rinsed off and used again is an indication that food chewing needs to be taught again. Best not to rinse them off and use the same raisins though.
People who don't have children cannot fully understand how much can be gleaned from a single poo. It's colour, it's form, the smell, the consistancy, the watery liquid that can accompany a really nasty one...
Anyone who has had to visit a pediatric immunologist the visit will go something like this:
Dr: 'So, her stools are not formed?'
Me: 'ahhhhhh, her....?'
Dr: 'Poo. Her poo. What does it look like?'
Me: 'Oh, ummm, runny, I guess. Like satay.'
Dr: 'So, chunky as well?'
Me: 'Oh, ah, I didn't really notice. I guess there were bits in it...'
And the conversation goes on and on until you are convinced you should have studied poo much harder and that the immmunologist is going to give you a 'D' in poo, but only if he is in a good mood. And then he charges you $300 for the whole conversation.
Poo and how it relates to your child becomes the cornerstone of the parenting existence.
First it was meconium..... everyone warns you about meconium, but the reality is much worse. Thank god it doesn't smell, but it would make excellent road base. That stuff is impermeable to everything.
Then breast milk poo. It is not uncommon to hear parents say " I miss breast milk poo." I miss breast milk poo! It was so sweet smelling and yellow. IT WAS!
Then the excitement of seeing the by-products of solids, the horror of toddler poos, and the sheer exaltation of a poo in the potty.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Adventures are fun! (and a tad exhausting!)
Adventures are fun! I am trying my hardest to have more 'fun' as a Mummy, and enjoy individual moments more, instead of spending whole days freaking out because my house isn't (literally) perfect all the time. If I was left to my own devices, I am sure my mind would send me insane, because if my vision doesn't match my reality, I tend to go a little crazy. (OCD? No.........I'm not that bad. Either that, or not diagnosed)
So, today, instead of heading straight home from daycare, to cook a nutritionally-sound-yet-toddler-friendly main meal (that she won't eat anyway) and furiously try to empty my laundry basket whilst performing other feats of domestic goddessery, I asked Ava where she wanted to go. She said 'the park' and off we went! (Just like that! How easy was that! Don't think about what you are not at home doing! ARGH)
Before we got to the park, Ava spotted the lake in Minnawarra Park, and said she wanted to see the ducks. I turned the car, and parked. We got out. We chased ducks. See, I'm spontaneous!
Then 'babycino'. Right off to the shopping centre! Babycino it is. 'Park', okay, off to the park. Dinner time has passed, we should be in the bath, but hey! I am a modern mummy, I am spending quality time! Random, drunk, homeless lady chatting away to us? Yes, smile, make conversation, don't judge, be polite (stay away from my daughter...)
Then, 'chippies?'
'Are you hungry?'
'Yeah'
'Home time?'
'chippies?'... Aaaaaahhhhhhh.......I took that as a yes.
I am quite proud of myself.....right, off to bleach everything. :)
So, today, instead of heading straight home from daycare, to cook a nutritionally-sound-yet-toddler-friendly main meal (that she won't eat anyway) and furiously try to empty my laundry basket whilst performing other feats of domestic goddessery, I asked Ava where she wanted to go. She said 'the park' and off we went! (Just like that! How easy was that! Don't think about what you are not at home doing! ARGH)
Before we got to the park, Ava spotted the lake in Minnawarra Park, and said she wanted to see the ducks. I turned the car, and parked. We got out. We chased ducks. See, I'm spontaneous!
Then, 'chippies?'
'Are you hungry?'
'Yeah'
'Home time?'
'chippies?'... Aaaaaahhhhhhh.......I took that as a yes.
I am quite proud of myself.....right, off to bleach everything. :)
Sunday, September 19, 2010
I am exhausted...
Literally, I am exhausted.
Down to my bones, cannot drag myself around the house, dog tired. What I would give for a nice long holiday to a warm place, lazing in the sun (in this fantasy I am 10 kilos lighter of course) and having a nanny to deal with all the toddler attitude and I get all the kisses and hugs and cheeky giggles.
Instead, in about 5 minutes, I have to get Little Miss Muffet into pants (multiple accidents this morning), pack the daycare bag, get myself ready for work and set off. I am so exhausted that I cannot even be bothered ringing in sick for work.
Ugh.
Down to my bones, cannot drag myself around the house, dog tired. What I would give for a nice long holiday to a warm place, lazing in the sun (in this fantasy I am 10 kilos lighter of course) and having a nanny to deal with all the toddler attitude and I get all the kisses and hugs and cheeky giggles.
Instead, in about 5 minutes, I have to get Little Miss Muffet into pants (multiple accidents this morning), pack the daycare bag, get myself ready for work and set off. I am so exhausted that I cannot even be bothered ringing in sick for work.
Ugh.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Going to work and more tantrums.
"Bye, Mummy, Bye!"
Ava is going to work again. She has a travel mug, and has stuffed a baby cabbage patch doll inside it, has a cookie tin filled with all sorts of random things. Her bright little face shines as she announces that she is 'off to work' and she troupes dutifully into the lougeroom, unpacks her work things, carefully packs them up, and marches back to the kitchen.
"Hello, Mummy, I'm home! I'm home from work!"
Oh baby, if only is was that fun!
We have had a horrid couple of days, filled with willful tantrums, loads of tears and time out. I am sure that other toddlers must do it too, but Ava becomes completely irrational when she is in full blown tanty mode. There is nothing you can do but wait for her to burn herself out.
Yesterday we went to Officeworks, to get some binding done and buy a whiteboard for the kitchen. Ava hadn't slept properly and she went into full on tanty mode as soon as I plonked her in the trolley and told her she couldn't walk. It was so bad that at one point a well meaning, young staff member asked if I would like some water to calm her down. Yes, well meaning young lady, just give me a barrel, so I can dunk her in a little bit and swish her around. That will calm her down. (I politely declined)
I honestly was so frustrated and upset and overwhelmed that I wanted to slap her across the face. OF COURSE I didn't, but I can understand how a person with less patience and understanding and no support network could. So, I muttered over and over to myself 'bigger, kinder, wiser, bigger, kinder, wiser' to remind myself that I am the grown up and that it is my job to show Ava how to deal with big feelings and how to behave. I attached my well practised 'calm face' and ignored all the 'tuts' and whispers and (at one point) snide comments.Yes old lady, I heard you. Was that really neccessary? Do you not think I was feeling shit already before you chimed in. Yes, my toddler is in meltdown. Yes, she is inconvieniently noisy. Yes, she is screaming and trying to climb out of the trolley. Yes, I know that you probably want to shop in peace. No, I am not going to hit her. No, I am not going to leave. No, I don't care what you think of me, my child or my parenting. I am the person who has been blessed with her, I have to live with her everyday, so I will do what I think is right. Thank you for not really understanding.
Ava. Why are you so very, very frustrated? I hope it is just your age my Precious Princess and that your words will soon catch up with your feelings and thoughts and all these meltdowns will stop.
Ava is going to work again. She has a travel mug, and has stuffed a baby cabbage patch doll inside it, has a cookie tin filled with all sorts of random things. Her bright little face shines as she announces that she is 'off to work' and she troupes dutifully into the lougeroom, unpacks her work things, carefully packs them up, and marches back to the kitchen.
"Hello, Mummy, I'm home! I'm home from work!"
Oh baby, if only is was that fun!
We have had a horrid couple of days, filled with willful tantrums, loads of tears and time out. I am sure that other toddlers must do it too, but Ava becomes completely irrational when she is in full blown tanty mode. There is nothing you can do but wait for her to burn herself out.
Yesterday we went to Officeworks, to get some binding done and buy a whiteboard for the kitchen. Ava hadn't slept properly and she went into full on tanty mode as soon as I plonked her in the trolley and told her she couldn't walk. It was so bad that at one point a well meaning, young staff member asked if I would like some water to calm her down. Yes, well meaning young lady, just give me a barrel, so I can dunk her in a little bit and swish her around. That will calm her down. (I politely declined)
I honestly was so frustrated and upset and overwhelmed that I wanted to slap her across the face. OF COURSE I didn't, but I can understand how a person with less patience and understanding and no support network could. So, I muttered over and over to myself 'bigger, kinder, wiser, bigger, kinder, wiser' to remind myself that I am the grown up and that it is my job to show Ava how to deal with big feelings and how to behave. I attached my well practised 'calm face' and ignored all the 'tuts' and whispers and (at one point) snide comments.Yes old lady, I heard you. Was that really neccessary? Do you not think I was feeling shit already before you chimed in. Yes, my toddler is in meltdown. Yes, she is inconvieniently noisy. Yes, she is screaming and trying to climb out of the trolley. Yes, I know that you probably want to shop in peace. No, I am not going to hit her. No, I am not going to leave. No, I don't care what you think of me, my child or my parenting. I am the person who has been blessed with her, I have to live with her everyday, so I will do what I think is right. Thank you for not really understanding.
Ava. Why are you so very, very frustrated? I hope it is just your age my Precious Princess and that your words will soon catch up with your feelings and thoughts and all these meltdowns will stop.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Hayley and the 'other' place
Ava has an imaginary friend.
"Hayley" first appeared in the house we lived in before this one. At first I thought there must have been a little girl at daycare who was called Hayley....nope.We have no friends or family who are "Hayley's" that we see regularly, nor are there any "Hayley's" in any of the books we own!
WHERE DID HAYLEY COME FROM?
When you ask Ava, Hayley has 'pink' hair, but if you ask her to pick out any "Hayley's" in the shopping centre, she invariably points to women with shoulder length or a bit longer, dark brown hair. Hayley is a girl (according to Ava) and she lives 'in a house'. Well, at least Hayley isn't homeless.
She joined Ava in the bath the other night. I heard Ava playing and talking to Hayley.
Ava: Here you go Hayley, that's your cup. Go on, take it. Go on, take it. Drink it, you like it? Yes? Mmm? (and so forth and so on)
And so I popped my head around the corner.
Me: Is Hayley in the bath with you?
Ava: Yeah.
Me: Really?
Ava: Ummmmmmm (really cute, quizzical face) No. She gone.
Me: Hayley's gone? Where.
Ava: Away.
Away! Of course, why did I not think of that!
Who is this person I don't know? Hayley, you are spending an awful lot of time with my daughter, so you better be good, and kind, and sweet natured and polite, and do poos and wees on the potty and say pardon when you do fluffies and burps. And if not? Well.....see my previous post!
"Hayley" first appeared in the house we lived in before this one. At first I thought there must have been a little girl at daycare who was called Hayley....nope.We have no friends or family who are "Hayley's" that we see regularly, nor are there any "Hayley's" in any of the books we own!
WHERE DID HAYLEY COME FROM?
When you ask Ava, Hayley has 'pink' hair, but if you ask her to pick out any "Hayley's" in the shopping centre, she invariably points to women with shoulder length or a bit longer, dark brown hair. Hayley is a girl (according to Ava) and she lives 'in a house'. Well, at least Hayley isn't homeless.
She joined Ava in the bath the other night. I heard Ava playing and talking to Hayley.
Ava: Here you go Hayley, that's your cup. Go on, take it. Go on, take it. Drink it, you like it? Yes? Mmm? (and so forth and so on)
And so I popped my head around the corner.
Me: Is Hayley in the bath with you?
Ava: Yeah.
Me: Really?
Ava: Ummmmmmm (really cute, quizzical face) No. She gone.
Me: Hayley's gone? Where.
Ava: Away.
Away! Of course, why did I not think of that!
Who is this person I don't know? Hayley, you are spending an awful lot of time with my daughter, so you better be good, and kind, and sweet natured and polite, and do poos and wees on the potty and say pardon when you do fluffies and burps. And if not? Well.....see my previous post!
* * * * * * * *
My gym has an afternoon\night time creche. It really is very, very good, as it allows me to be able to exercise and know that Ava is safe and wearing herself out, playing with other kids. The only downside is that right next door is a kids activity centre, a really good, big one! And if I don't remember to park where Ava can't see it as we walk in, well....it causes dramas.
On the way in tonight, I forgot, and parked right infront of the damned thing. We were a little early, and so they still had on the lights, illuminating the bright colours and cool jungle gym and racing track.
Of course, Ava got so excited and thought we were going in, and so I said to her (to placate her so I could burn off some calories) "Later, darling, later." Happily, she trotted off into te creche, and I went and punished my body.
I got back to the creche, and Ava lit up, babbling away as she put her shoes on, said 'bye bye' and 'tank you' to the ladies, and pulled excitedly on my hand. What was she saying? Why all the fuss? I lent down to hear what she was saying:
"The other place, mummy, the other place, come one, the other place mummy...."
The other place? WHAT other place? And as we stopped in front of the activity centre, and it's big, locked roller door, my mind went 'That other place, you wally'. The other place, of course.
The fact that it was closed at 7pm on a Tuesday night displeased Ava. She staged a one toddler protest.
But was tempted home with promises of hot chocolate. It's a tough life.
Monday, September 13, 2010
My Warrior Mother
Something inside you awakens in you when you have a child. Something very primitive and instinctive and a little bit scary.
I call it my WARRIOR MOTHER.
I have always been a reasonable person; I am calm under pressure, logical, and I don't often lose my temper. I am a little but shy when it comes to new people. I think that manners and social graces are very important and I despise rudeness and arrogance. I like being around people who are geniune, warm and tolerant.
My WARRIOR MOTHER has other ideas.
SHE is not that dissimilar to me, except her motivations are not quite as diverse. SHE has one overiding motivation and that is to protect and defend the small one at all costs. Someone points out Ava's bright red hair in the street? SHE curls her lip back and growls a warning not to touch the small one's head. Someone carelessly bumps Ava in the shopping centre? SHE snaps around, snarling and shielding the small one. One of the other small children at daycare wants a toy, and hits Ava because she has it? I can barely restrain HER, because all she wants to do is go and slap that child as hard as SHE can for daring to touch HER baby.
When Ava was small, we were at the pool, swimming. It was Ava's second time in the water, and she was timidly kicking her chubby little legs, feeling her way and trusting the big people to keep her safe. Some boys of about 9 or 10 were throwing a ball to each other over the pool. A couple of throws, happy laughter,until a throw fell short, and landed on Ava's face.
WARRIOR MOTHER took over immediately, snatching the screaming and scared baby from her shocked father's arms, SHE cradled the infant tightly to her body, and started after the boys.
The poor boys took off in a blind panic. I am sure that they have never been so scared in their lives.
Well now, the obvious truth here is that the Warrior Mother is not a mythical being, nor is she a separate entity like in a fantasty RPG, but who I am, now that I am a "mother". The pure intensity of that rage in that moment will stick with me for the rest of my life. Ava had awakened in me a love so intense, and so complete that I would literally go aganst my nature to protect it. And I will, over and over. Each new challenge Ava faces brings with it an emotional reaction so visceral and so strong that I have named her. She is my WARRIOR MOTHER.
Ava, you permeate every second of my time and every part of my being. I want everything for you, and nothing more than to know that I am getting some of the 'mothering' things right. I don't understand how I thought I knew about love before you.
I call it my WARRIOR MOTHER.
I have always been a reasonable person; I am calm under pressure, logical, and I don't often lose my temper. I am a little but shy when it comes to new people. I think that manners and social graces are very important and I despise rudeness and arrogance. I like being around people who are geniune, warm and tolerant.
My WARRIOR MOTHER has other ideas.
SHE is not that dissimilar to me, except her motivations are not quite as diverse. SHE has one overiding motivation and that is to protect and defend the small one at all costs. Someone points out Ava's bright red hair in the street? SHE curls her lip back and growls a warning not to touch the small one's head. Someone carelessly bumps Ava in the shopping centre? SHE snaps around, snarling and shielding the small one. One of the other small children at daycare wants a toy, and hits Ava because she has it? I can barely restrain HER, because all she wants to do is go and slap that child as hard as SHE can for daring to touch HER baby.
When Ava was small, we were at the pool, swimming. It was Ava's second time in the water, and she was timidly kicking her chubby little legs, feeling her way and trusting the big people to keep her safe. Some boys of about 9 or 10 were throwing a ball to each other over the pool. A couple of throws, happy laughter,until a throw fell short, and landed on Ava's face.
WARRIOR MOTHER took over immediately, snatching the screaming and scared baby from her shocked father's arms, SHE cradled the infant tightly to her body, and started after the boys.
The poor boys took off in a blind panic. I am sure that they have never been so scared in their lives.
Well now, the obvious truth here is that the Warrior Mother is not a mythical being, nor is she a separate entity like in a fantasty RPG, but who I am, now that I am a "mother". The pure intensity of that rage in that moment will stick with me for the rest of my life. Ava had awakened in me a love so intense, and so complete that I would literally go aganst my nature to protect it. And I will, over and over. Each new challenge Ava faces brings with it an emotional reaction so visceral and so strong that I have named her. She is my WARRIOR MOTHER.
Ava, you permeate every second of my time and every part of my being. I want everything for you, and nothing more than to know that I am getting some of the 'mothering' things right. I don't understand how I thought I knew about love before you.
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