reflection

Easter Holidays 2026

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Easter holidays. Pretty much done and they have had their moments (like nearly the entirety of Thursday and Friday) but also loads of good. This was the first school holiday with two girls at home. If I just put here that C likes quiet and E likes loud and very physical, that may go some way to enlightening anyone interested as to how time at home can go for us. Especially when S is home, too. Loud, and also can be very focused on something, which is amazing from my adult perspective, but infuriating for siblings who think that even though she can play with something for hours on end and not break it or bust it or eat it or bin it or ruin it in any conceivable way, the fact that she might have done that two years ago is still apparently a strong factor in their brains or may it’s just the infuriating THAT’S MINE that maybe I’ll have on my gravestone. 

Here’s some of what happened for us over these holidays.

We recovered. Good Friday I realised was the first morning in weeks and weeks that we didn’t have to be somewhere and we were all well. Girls needed a rest. I needed a rest. I made hot cross buns for the first time in years only I didn’t do great crosses so I scored the raised eight-year-old eyebrows of doubt as to their validity. Fair. I was really frustrated that, being a very crafty person who really likes making things and who has a whole heap of Easter crafts saved on Instagram and Pinterest, nothing of the sort happened. As I said, girls were wrecked. The place was an utter disaster as I’d been working so much (I did NO work over the Easter weekend though) so I did what I could to make that less … you know. The closest we got to craft was the girls playing with rainbow clay for a bit. I was sad, but also mindful for next year. I have plans.

Thanks to Bluey, the Easter Bunny did a bit of a hunt with clues for the girls. The most talked about bit was that he left socks in their Easter baskets!!! So the next clue was where their socks go!! And it was a fridge magnet and he had hidden some Easter eggs in magnet houses on the fridge!!! And so on. Unfortunately, there were not enough clues for E so she was moaning about that all morning. We actually made it to church on Easter Sunday, also for the first time in a long time. This was huge for me, and it made such a difference to my inner being. There were so many kids in the children’s area I didn’t even count but at least 30. 

This was a holiday of park visits. We went to parks, as many parks as possible. On Easter Monday, we went to one which is a bit of a walk away but has a bus just outside to take us home. This park is big and lovely and the big open spaces and tall trees always do my soul some good. At one point, C asked me to pretend to be a fox and she was a rabbit, and it ended up with me chasing all my three girls plus another who looked she could have been my child. It turned into me being Mr Todd and they were all little bunnies and that was then the game for the holidays. Throughout the holidays, we also kept running into E’s best friend. Both girls have younger siblings still at the same daycare and we would all either collide at drop-off and then sometimes go to a park together, or pass each other on the way home… and go to the same park together. Sometimes they would have their dogs which would have C over the moon. 

E’s big request for the holidays was to go to the hose park with this friend, so we actually coordinated a double family trip (although Glenn was working. Sigh). Ferries were caught. The hose park – a play area outside GoMA with a giant hose sprawled around it on which my kids will play for hours and hours and hours – was played in and new friends were made and ice creams were screamed about and consumed and then we went to the pink park – the playground in South Bank with pink slides – for more playing there before coming home in the middle of a stupidly hot day. Girls slept well that night.

This was the holiday of the flu stab. I mean flu shot. My plan had been to take E and C on the Wednesday in the first week, slather C in the numbing gel, get them both their stabs and then on Friday, S and I would get ours done and Glenn would get his as and when he could. Great plan, except C has been working up to this for two years. Two years of anxiety over the pain that the previous two flu shots caused her. She is, shall I say, rather sensitive, but also super interested so every nurse and pharmacist and phlebotomist trying all the tricks just fails as she will pay enough attention to answer their distracting questions but still keep a very close eye on the stab site. She screamed so much while E was having hers done that the pharmacist and I bailed. C tried again later with Glenn and closer but still no, so I forked out for the new nasal spray for her and four of us had our shots on the Friday. Yay for free flu vaccines!

This was the first holiday of a holiday activity. The dance school where ballet and acro happen holds holiday workshops and C and E both wanted to do the Disney princess one. Drop off 8.30-9, pickup about 3.15, and I could actually get to do some work without E suddenly at my side to tell me, “Mummy it’s ten dot dot four six. It’s ten dot dot forty-six!” Or being asked on repeat for colouring in pages or to take photos of drawings or loom bands or whose turn it is on the iPad and can we play a game on the iPad. Goodness. I love it when they do acro in the hallway – C can climb up to the ceiling – but the screaming when someone walks underneath without announcing it, and the arguing over whether a move should be classed as a bunny hop or an L-stand or a handstand, not to mention all the thuds of young people landing nearby – it gets a bit much. We all really appreciated that dance workshop.

Since then, though, it’s just been four days of frustration and fighting. Mostly. We have a rental inspection on Tuesday and so I am busy chucking stuff and getting frustrated that, not having done well in being a good example for keeping the place nice nor installing any form of respect for our home or just don’t just drop your used bandaid on the floor, girls are trying to run and hide at most mentions of making the place look nice. Or even just less bad. I am anticipating two days of intense stress followed by about the same of ooh isn’t this nice and clear and … ahhhhh. Wish me luck.

Linguistic Quirks

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The main reason I started this blog was to document the now for our family. The big things like dropping naps and sleeping through and starting school, but also the little things, like the differences in how my children go to sleep or the way they like their food.

We are currently in a linguistic phase that I love. I know I should be doing gentle reminders of the way it should be, but honestly, my linguistic training taught me that that will come without me interfering anyway, probably. But the double past tense is here in E and I love it. And there are a few things that have disappeared that I knew would disappear but … small sob. I miss them.

Double past tense gems, that are probably really just gems for Glenn and me, but things like “gotted”. “I gotted some more popcorn but then I spilleded it”. “I slepted all night in my own bed”.  “I forgotted what I wanted to say”. “I wented downstairs without my shoes on and I gotted a prickle”.

Farewell to little turns of phrase that still are with me, like “by my own”. “I did it by my own” will likely remain with me for years to come. “The balloon has blown down” is one that actually will probably never leave us. When C started saying it as a toddler, my natural instinct was to correct, but what do you correct it to? She was perfectly correct. I have to really think about it to work out how to say “The balloon has shrunk” as what I would have said pre-C. “Another one more” has been like a little wisp of smoke that I can’t catch, but hearing “May you please give me another one more cookie”, for example, is a phrase that just melts my heart.

And there are little things that are just little things but make me smile every time. Like hearing E or S say – not putting it on, this is just how they say it – “Aww that is so adawable” – I mean, the way they say it is so adorable. Hearing E or S announce, “That is so hilarious”, or S declaring, “That’s wild”. When they think about it or are corrected, E and S will say “hotel” (or more accurately, hotail), but left to their own brains, it’s “fairytale”. “When we stayed at the white fairytale”. I have lots of “crickles”, which is what S says for freckles despite numerous attempts at correction. Which is fine for me, but when she says with a big smile to another dance mum, “You have crickles just like my mummy” and the dance mum thinks she means wrinkles and is not smiling quite so much anymore… quick explanation and she was back to smiling but oof.

When E started dancing towards the end of last year, she had ballet (or ballaig, as S calls it) then, according to class schedules, jazz and tap. Not for E. Jasmine tap. Which she totally adored, and even picked a jasmine flower to give to her teacher the next week. It took a few goes, but she (sigh) now does jazz and tap, very carefully, after ballet.

I didn’t notice it until daycare staff mentioned it in January, but they’re right – kids don’t use words they haven’t heard. So if a kid is saying multisyllabic words, it means they’re hearing them somewhere. Hopefully from parents and not so much from screens. The conversation with the staff then had me noticing all the times E will say something like, “It’s so soopendously hot”. It sure is, kid. It sure is.

S still comes in for cuggles. E still has huggles. All girls have BFF neckerlaces. Bracerlets are precious and definitely owned by their owner and returned to their owner if ever found in a random place. The last few days we haven’t needed sun scream because of the rain. S likes the ghosters at Halloween. I tell you all of this on Valentimes Day, when growmups did smoochy kisses and dinner was love heart pasta with parsley pesto and cherries and drizzled in olib oyal … or is it oller boil? So hard to distinguish. 

I know I have missed some. I know they will disappear, at least mostly. But my goodness me, I love these elements of language and childhood, so fleeting and precious.

The Thing About Summer Holidays

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Dear parents of before,

I get it now. I’m sorry.

That is all. Except my remorseful self needs to vent and explain.

When I was a kid, I was quiet. Like, really quiet. The sort of quiet that always gets “She’s really quiet” and “When will you come out of your shell” comments. Holidays for me meant as much staying in my room and reading as possible. I remember getting all enthusiastic about violin practice, and would sometimes set a goal of learning a particular work over the holidays. I didn’t fight much with my brothers because I wasn’t interacting with them. We would usually go away somewhere for a week or so, which meant I just had a different place to read a book. There would be a day of stationery shopping and then the delight of covering books without any bubbles in the contact. In short, I don’t remember there being much happening that my parents had to be involved with and it was all pretty quiet.

Fast forward to being an adult and hearing the moaning about school holidays. Moaning about school holidays which would come hot on the heels of moaning about school terms and busyness. I was one of those child-free adults who wondered, don’t you like your kids? Isn’t it nice to have them around more and not having to worry about lunches and drop-offs and friendship struggles and homework and assignments and teachers and events and sports? Why do you complain about all those things when they’re on and then complain about the absence of all those things when they’re not? 

Fast forward some more to the summer just before C started school, where we screamed at each other I think every day in January. Only near the very end did I realise she was nervous about school, even though she was saying she was really excited. Once she’d started school, her summer holidays had a bit more sister time, as work is mostly suspended for me so I reduced the daycare days for E and S. It was stressful having them all around more because of the fighting and the bickering and the constant need to make sure they are active enough so that they don’t fight so much and so that they will sleep. Hahahahaha.

Fast forward to this summer. Deep breaths. It’s been a challenge. Thankfully, one for which I was marginally more prepared and financially better able to cope. That is a factor not at all to be underestimated. Money can’t buy you love, but it can buy craft supplies, and that’s priceless. This has been a summer that has brought me inspiration in the form of a desire to write a handbook for summer. Yes, mostly so that I can do better next time and also, crucially, have more skills for the following summer when S will be about to start school.

There were two main elements for this summer for us. One was that I felt I actually had to get ready for school. The other was all the up-in-the-air-ness and not-usual-ness and change of the situation of having E finishing daycare and starting school.

Getting ready for school didn’t mean just going stationery shopping and covering books. In fact, the school made that rather easy by having a supply levy for prep-2 and by sending a booklist for year 3 for us to do online ordering and then it was delivered and I had to stick name stickers (ordered last year) on and that was it. Other things that weren’t so obvious but necessary were things like actually delivering the stationery supplies to the school last week. Buying proper school shoes. Wearing in said school shoes. Practising wearing the uniform and hat. Haircuts. Getting a lower railing for the wardrobe so that uniforms can hang there and be accessible by girls. Reminding them of drop-off and pickup routines. Packing lunches – I mean, starting weeks ago – for lunchbox practice and also what on earth will E eat at school?! Baking. Trying new products to see if they work or don’t work for lunchboxes. Paying all the dancing fees. Practising morning routines and hairstyles. Naming all E’s things and all C’s new things.

Although a lot more involved than what I remembered from being a kid, that bit was easy. It had to be done. It was done. Yes, I was sticking name labels on lunch containers after 10pm Monday, but it was all done. My To Do List was nicely filled with green ticks.

Then there was the other side. The other side that had me going ohhhhh I get it now. The side that is dealing with two personalities. It’s not so much the two people thing, but two conflicting personalities. Needs quiet. Likes loud. Can sit on her bunk and imagine things for hours on end. Will lie on her bunk and delight in annoying her sister by pushing her toes up against the upper mattress. The side that is dealing with the emotions of however many children are at home and everything that is in the moment and therefore crucially important as well as everything that is to come and all the worries and fears and insecurities that brings. The side that feels the guilt for letting girls be on screens for hours on end so that I can do some work and earn some money. 

The side that, as the home parent, means no break not at all no none. This mental image of lazy summer days just is not true for the parent at home with the kids, the one doing all the upfront parenting. This might be possible in a few years but it decidedly is not the case just yet. And this miss, that expectation of relaxation and the possibility of doing other things that is then not realised, is so incredibly frustrating. Like watching the Relaxation Train go by. I really desperately want to be on it, and yet… there it goes, chugging away while I cradle a child on my lap to calm her after a sister fight or to talk through the what-ifs of school or as I work on what do I actually need to do this year in order for our family to function and try to declutter which also I can’t do because even though I want this immensely and our family needs this immensely I can’t seem to get to do it because children either play with what I’m trying to sort through or they kick off with yet another fight.

The side that is so draining that I am a blob at the end of each day, the “end” of each day really meaning when all three girls are all finally asleep, so sometimes 8.30, sometimes 10.30. So draining that I can’t muster energy to contact the people I love, the grownups and the support network who reach out even when they get nothing back. So draining that I can’t organise playdates or catchups or anything that will probably actually help the whole situation. So draining that the end of the day becomes precious, as I am determined to do something for me every evening, even if that means staying up past 11 cutting out bits of felt or material while watching snippets of a show that doesn’t require concentration on a plot line, sacrificing sleep for some insistence that I am still me and still deserve something for me.

I get it now, parents. I get it.

Corporal Musings

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You know how babies have a presence to them? Even though their body is small, they have a weight to them that is just heavy and comforting and endearing and so, so precious. I mean, they ARE supremely precious, and because we are often holding them, there is a presence that carries through the memory, a memory of a small being that is not heavy but heavy. And this baby body carries through toddlerhood and then at some point you notice that your little baby is much more of a child now, with knees sticking out and not such chubby fingers and a chin and jawline that are that of a child.

But when does this change take place? It slips over so silently, so sneakily, so unassumingly. One day you can pick up a child and carry her to the bathroom, and the next thing you know, picking up this same child is a feat of engineering as you try to hold her upper body as well as some part of her legs and then manoeuvre her down the hallway without knocking her head off on the wall or cracking a knee on the corner.

I am here to let you know that it is sometime between age nearly-three-and-a-half and nearly five. How do I know this? We have spent a good proportion of our summer at parks and playgrounds. My arms are far more toned because I have pushed children on swings for much of the time we have spent at the park. And helping a child onto a swing or up a climbing wall, you notice things. E, at nearly five, is now long and gangly and still a little bit of a little girl but also so very much a big girl. S still has this weight to her, this strong but chubby body that still recalls contact naps and sofa cuddles and being lifted into places. She is still a little girl, barrelling towards preschool yet still … not.

That said, as I mused on this, I recalled C at that age. Well, before that age. A really standout (in the sense of being a day that I recall the day and the date and the weather) time for us was just after E was born and I had the accident with her and we ended up in the world of the Children’s Hospital for a few days which felt like months, but was also, thankfully, not the actual real life months that the other people in the ward were living through. C was not even a month past her third birthday, and she was definitely not in the holding-onto-toddler-body zone. For her, I would say she still had that at just over two and a half, and excuse me while I check photos from that Christmas when she was two and three quarters and … yes. Just. Definitely in the looking like a grown up girl zone, but still with the chin and yes. I spotted elbow dimples. 

It goes so fast. It’s still hard to believe that E is still four. Just four. When she turns five in less than a month, that’s still only five. Hardly anything. It feels like S has lived an enormous amount already at not even three and a half. C is such a grownup girl at not even eight. If you told me she was eleven, I would believe that. Of course, I will most likely be musing on how grownup they feel in a year, and five years, and in ten years I will be lamenting the little girls they are now as they will really be on the cusp of adulthood. It really is a “big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey stuff”, as Doctor Who said. For now, I am leaning into the cuddles and the swing-pushing and the lifting and the strong chubby bodies. And trying not to lose my cool with all the demands and tantrums and shouting at me for things that they want that I cannot give them. Like tights that are in the winter clothing tub, never mind that it’s 35 degrees and ridiculously humid. Or going to the art gallery NOW when it is serving dinner time. It won’t be like this for long.

Change Is Afoot

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In the midst of children just not sleeping, and behaviour going all which ways, and my girls just seeming to be not themselves, I finally, after nearly eight years of parenting, remembered to think about the bigger picture. What was going on here?

Well, lots, as it turns out.

Before Christmas, Glenn had some time off his day job in order to play two shows. What was really five straight days of rehearsals and performances felt like two weeks. The girls, being young and adaptable, were quickly in the zone of “Where’s daddy?” “PLAYING A SHOW”. Even though I am the bedtime parent, he is an important part of bedtime for goodnights and cuddles and playfulness and any Doctor Daddy that arises. And, lately, Drawing Daddy. He is excellent at drawing and when I’m not around to print out endless colouring in pages, Glenn will draw a garden or a space scene or a rhino beetle for colouring in. 

Christmas is always an excitement, too, with lots of different around. Decorations. Traditions. Music. Anticipation. The weirdness of me not working over Christmas and New Year. Christmas is also school holiday time, so I haven’t been baking as much (or, as I’m telling myself, making sure we get through what’s in the freezer so we have a fresh start).

E is starting school in a few weeks (eek!) so she finished daycare/preschool on Christmas Eve. That’s a huge change for her. She started when she was 9 months old so we’re talking four years of this routine and these carers and this environment.

E stopping daycare means that C has gone from being the only one around when I’m working or just during the day (so plenty of opportunity for quiet time) to having to be around someone else. Someone else who is acting out their starting school anxiety and their change unsettledness and their different routine unsettledness. E is loud and out there. C doesn’t like loud or sudden or out there. I am finding this tricky.

C stopping daycare means that S is now the only one going to daycare. Thank goodness we had the prep transition days for E so S could also get used to being the only one going in at daycare. Yes. I am getting a bit emotional over this. How did you know? It really pulls at my heartstrings to see only one child running up to the outside door and leaning out and waving hello to her friends. Only one child to sign in. Only one child not with me during the day. It feels like I miss S now that it’s just her at daycare much more than I ever missed C or E. Is that because she’s the youngest? Is that because I’m realising it won’t feel like long before she, too, is a big girl going to big school? Is it because, even though having three girls all around is TOUGH and it feels like they just bicker and physically hurt each other the entire time, it also needs to be three of them to feel whole?

All this change has meant jangled. All this change has meant changes, especially at bedtime. It used to be dinner then a merry-go-round of girls doing toilet, bath, teeth, goodnight with daddy, into bed. Except C wouldn’t go straight to bed. She would be allowed to do Duolingo and then, if other girls were still awake (so, most nights), certain iPad games. C would get to bed and have some reading with me once E was asleep. 

But from Christmas Day onwards, C has been actually tired. Like, falling asleep at dinnertime kind of tired. So it’s been usually a three sister bath (specially requested every night by S) then all out and doing teeth and saying goodnight to daddy then their preferred method of getting to the bedroom and into bed. Preferred methods are piggy-back or horsey ride or high jumps, where I hold onto their hands and they face forward and I help them jump as high as possible while being told “Higher! HIGHER!” For nearly a week, this worked, and I would have S asleep fairly quickly and I would read a bible story to E and C then maybe another story which was usually a Ruby Red Shoes book and then it wouldn’t be long before E was asleep and also C was asleep. 

Of course, such a winning bedtime routine couldn’t last. As I said, about a week. Now we have the first elements – tired, three sister bath, teeth, goodnight… and then E goes nuts. Any time I am trying to settle S, or paying any attention to anybody who isn’t E, E is rolling around or murmuring “Ma-ma”, or deliberately rolling out of her bunk, or taking selfies on my phone, or opening her new music box, or telling me hilarious jokes. Not. Helpful.

Yes, I am losing my mind. Yes, this really really really depletes my Me Time, which is absolutely crucial to me being able to parent and not hate myself. So we are changing bedtime. Two nights in, so far, where I have let E do colouring in while S settles and so far I am not convinced. I will give it maybe two more nights then try to find a new plan. Sigh. It is such a fine balance trying to accommodate all of them, each with their own needs. Will I ever get into a good zone? Who knows. Right now I am just trying to remember that we are going through big changes, and big changes can be tough and be felt deeper than you expect, and try try try try try try to be curious first. 

2025 Review

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It’s that time of year, isn’t it? In all the haze of Christmas that follows fast on the heels of the end of school year frenzy, there is that week of limbo when most things slow down or stop and there is time to reflect and time to consider and plan and contemplate. What just happened here. Is that who I am. How do I want my life to be, or my self to be, or my family to be, or my anything. 

When I look back at a year ago, I am amazed at how far we have come, how far I have come, how my family has changed. It is so satisfying looking at what my aims were for this year and seeing what was achieved and how it made an impact. Here are a few.

On a family level, we went from one girl in school and two in daycare to about to be two girls in school and one in daycare. I also finished paying off my massive childcare debt which was immensely satisfying and empowering. There was so much pre-school for E but we managed it all and she is so prepared for big school. 

We went from having three girls doing swimming lessons and one doing Irish dancing, to no girls doing swimming lessons (officially), one doing Irish dancing (and danced in her first competition), and one doing ballet and jazz and tap (and danced in her first concert). Next year, all girls will have at least one dance class a week and I am a bit gobsmacked that I must now be a Dance Mum. By the end of term 1, I anticipate we will have two pairs of Irish dancing shoes, two pairs of ballet shoes, one pair of tap shoes, and maybe some barefoot dancing going on, too. This was unexpected.

We went from two girls in nappies overnight to, quite suddenly, no girls in nappies overnight. Except when an accident happens, but they all start off without. We went from plastic tablecloths that got ratty and disgusting and cut up and spilled on and drawn on, to cloth tablecloths … that get picked at and spilled on and drawn on and washed. It’s a big improvement. 

C can now roller-skate up and down the garden path. She is learning to ride a bike. She reads well beyond her age and is still doing maths things when she can on the iPad. E can write her name and all the letters and numbers and can tell me basic addition and also tell me two numbers and what it is – like, a house number that is 4, 2, so forty-two. S can write some letters and tell me most of them. She is still so little but also comes out with sentences that amaze me from their use of vocabulary as well as the emotional intelligence behind it.

We went from mostly daily grocery shopping to the occasional in-person top-up, but mostly delivered. One Funky Food box a fortnight with gloriously wacky fruit and veg, and two grocery shop deliveries a week. My stress is greatly reduced (and I mean, by a huge amount), as is our food bill. We don’t waste as much food as we used to, either.

For me, this blog has been so, so good to get back to. And not all that I write for it gets posted. There are many, many posts just written and not shared, but they have helped me by writing it. My brain has been reminded of how useful it is to get words out. My inner child has been reminded of its dream of being a writer. Maybe this year, even more will come of this.

Speaking of this year and goals, I have a few. I’m not a big one for sharing them, but hey. Why not. These are my dreams and aspirations and ideas, and unlike my usual way of getting to about 9.30pm on 31 December and thinking, oh, I should probably think of a goal for the new year, this year I actually started putting these in my notes on Boxing Day. Waaaaay ahead of schedule. So. 

Get back to starting the day with 10 sit ups, 10 push ups, 10 something else (mix it up!). Use the kettle bell at least twice a week. Be able to do the monkey bars at the gym park (that’s a big one for me to do for my girls). Get back to eating mostly vegetarian and whole foods. Use the freezer more wisely. More consistent/regular blogging. Profitable side business. Make a small doll. Embroider more. Try to sew something – as in, finish something – each week. Write. Bake something from Baking Across America (a Christmas present that I am devouring by reading before devouring by eating) at least once a month. Remove the baby things from the household. Teach the girls to swim.

That seems like a lot. It also seems like a largely January plan, and if that’s what it turns out to be for the most part, I’m fine with that. 

Happy new year! 

Cold Turkey

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There’s been a change. A big change. My kids have been addicted – and I mean full-scale, outrageously, what have I done to my kids, addicted – to screens. It became our way of life, of coping, of persuading, of cajoling. And I hated it. I didn’t know my girls anymore, except for their tastes in shows. Our place is a mess and even more frustratingly so, is a giant mess of things that are not played with except in passing. Why bother having toys and activities for children who just stare at a screen all day? 

Behaviour, too, was becoming problematic. Some of it could be attributed to their ages and the normal developmental milestones that come with these particular ages. S, for example, is in a “First, no”, stage, where whatever you offer or ask is replied with a “NO”, even if it’s something she loves. Fun times. But behaviour which is demanding and needing something now and not being able to wait or focus or listen to real people or negotiate in play? Problematic, and causing my stress levels to escalate. 

I was doing lots of reading about the effects of screens on kids. I was seeing lots of helpful ways to ease them off screens. I was starting to work some of these things into our lives. It felt about as effective as watching grass grow. But all the advice was, ease them into it, remember they have to learn new skills and you have to learn new ways, too. Be kind to yourself and to them. 

Cool, cool.

Also, there’s the parenting advice of don’t make empty threats. Make a consequence (not punishment, we don’t use that word anymore do we) that fits the behaviour you’re wishing to change, and then make sure you follow through. Great.

Now. Let’s look at a few of weeks ago. S had napped at daycare. Groan. E and S were bouncing off the walls not going to sleep that night. I tried all sorts of things, pulling snippets from SO MANY posts I have read recently. Nothing worked. Even if something started to work with one of them, the other one would start giggling or playing and set off the one who was starting to settle. I couldn’t stay in the whole time. They were happy, for sure, and as I started to do some work I could hear “Next patient!” At nearly 8.30, I was back in their room and just lying on the floor crying while they stuffed around. Glenn came in and said very sternly, “No. More. IPad. Ever.” And walked out.

S lay down straightaway and was asleep within 3 minutes. E took a whole lot longer because she’d listened to the words. Like, just for tomorrow morning? Are we giving it away? Can we get a new one then? You mean – we can’t use the iPad??? Mostly in order to get her to sleep, I said they may be able to earn it back. I must admit, it’s been more than four weeks and I haven’t worked out an Earn Your iPad system yet…

Do my girls sleep better at night? Um, no. I haven’t been able to sew much for some time now. I feel worn out to the point of taking time off work yesterday in order to deal with the things I needed to do for E and then sleep. Do they still demand something right now? yesBUT I am pleased to report that I am more able to respond with a soon or a not now or a you’re next and that they are better able to accept it and wait. When the answer is actually no, C and E are much much better at responding with, “Oh, okay”, without pleading or whining or sulking about it.

Do my girls still want to be on the iPad first thing? Sigh. Yes. But not always. They know now that they won’t get to watch it during eating time, either, and I may have that question asked of me once a weekend. Maybe twice, but the response is never argued with.

Admittedly, this has not been the cold turkey change I had thought we were doing. C, not a perpetrator in the particular bedtime battle that started this, and also being a Big Girl who has homework that requires screen time, is allowed to use the iPad in the evenings. Also if girls are at daycare and she has done everything we ask of her. A few weeks ago, S was too sick for daycare so, in order for me to be able to work at least a little bit, she was allowed on during the day. I’m now, shall we say, adept at finding Christmas Elsa, Blue Elsa, Let It Go Elsa and Ice Elsa. Sometimes when girls have been awake super early (4am is now light so days start early) and I have really needed to get work done, I have relented and let the iPad come out. Generally, though, the iPad is not a Big Thing anymore.

Which has meant that I can watch a movie with them on the weekend and really enjoy it. All of us watching together, for the most part. Snuggles happen. Fast-forwarding of scary bits happen. More snuggles and cuddles and hand holding and hair stroking and just enjoying this experience. Screens are back to where they should be, as a treat and Sometimes Thing and not a right. I still feel like I need about eight times more Me Time in the day, but I have reduced the Mum Guilt by a LOT and I am enjoying being a mum soooo much more.

How Lucky Am I

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E starts big school next year and had her ‘get to know you’ meeting earlier this month and I can’t help thinking how lucky am I. 

How lucky am I that my girls can be educated. Not just can be, but are expected to be educated. How lucky am I that there is a valid option of free (mostly free) education here. Not just the free of a school that you use as a threat while you do what you have to and scrounge to send your kid to the not-horrible private school, but a state school that you don’t want to move away from, a state school that people move countries to be able to send their kids to. That’s our local. How lucky are we?!

This school has such a smooth entry into prep that my very anxious, only did daycare and preschool 2 days a week, did I mention very anxious? – C just sailed right on in without any dramas. Phew. E had a lovely getting to know you meeting with the guidance counsellor who has known us for, you know, well over two years and who has seen E grow from being two years old and strapped in a pram to being able to say she is four and a half and her favourite story (right now) from the Ultimate Disney Princess Treasury that she made me lug in as her favourite book is Aurora and Aurora’s story is at the back and here she’s getting a smoochy kiss from the prince to wake her up and she was asleep because she didn’t know what a spinning wheel looked like and it hurt her finger and Maleficent (said very clearly and carefully) was the bad fairy and there she is. 

As lovely as this interview was, I was also calmed by knowing that this was not an interview to see if they would consider E as a student. I didn’t have to promote her or coach her beforehand or direct her. There was a box of things in front of her, and she played with the doll a bit then attached building structures together and lined up and sorted little figurines then went to play with the blocks that were set up where she joined all the blue together and kept skipping back to check in and take off her sparkly shoes and pick up the doll again. Meanwhile, the grownups talked openly about neurodiversity and support options and brains and development and stimming. I’m fairly sure at least one, maybe five, members of our family fall into the neurodiverse brain category. Being able to talk about the way E is, not knowing where her brain lies in this, and be offered support and avenues and all with the hue of the more we know, the more we can help/accommodate/support a child, was a relief. A blessing. A comfort. How lucky am I that this didn’t come with any negativity or judgment or pursed lips or we need a diagnosis before anything or sorry. Just acceptance with a view to making it work out the best for everyone. 

How lucky am I that I can look forward to the start of school for her knowing that she will have supportive teachers. Knowing that she will know a few kids – kids from daycare who are also coming, kids from the park – and her best (same age) friend will be with her. How lucky am I that she has been practising with her lunchbox since last summer and that she has a big sister who is VERY keen for her to be with her at school and is telling her all about bits of school like playgrounds and classroom expectations and assembly. 

How lucky am I that I can send her off to school every day from next year knowing that I will see her again in the afternoon. How lucky am I that I can work without fear of a news broadcast while my children are at school. How lucky am I that I will worry, yes, and probably quite a bit, too, about all sorts of things with my E starting school, about behaviour and friends and regulation and friends and following rules and friends and playground dangers but none of those things at all ends with me running to school with no shoes on in fear of what I will find. None of those things ends with me crying with relief that it wasn’t my child or with devastation and heartbreak that it was my child. None of those things ends with me breaking devastating news to anyone, or holding one or more of my children close as we grieve together. None of those things.

How lucky am I that I can hold E close at bedtime and mention that I think she might be a bit nervous about big school and find out, yes, she is, because of one boy in the playground last year who made a rude face at her. How lucky am I that all the problems I foresee – about roughhousing boys and picky girls and teacher expectations – are all things I can predict and talk about and plan around. How lucky am I that fire drills and lockdown drills are going to be “storybooked” for her first, and highly unlikely to happen for real life unless it’s a science experiment gone wrong or a bit of weather. 

There is so much for which I am thankful as we stand at the cusp of this new era. As I look at it as an outsider might, I am astonished – where did these three girls come from? Are they all – mine?! And one of them is already at school and the second one is about to start are you for real?!?! I am amazed and delighted, even though this also comes with a hefty dose of worn out, but I feel I can tell my 20- and 30-year-old selves that THIS is coming up. This chaotic joyful bubbliness that is this life. It happens. It’s here. It’s tremendously hard, yet it fills me to overflowing with happiness and gratitude and delight. 

Meal Prep Monday (30/06/2025)

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Last weekend, I felt like a kitchen superstar. I baked SO much. In fact, the whole weekend was so exhausting I didn’t manage to post about it so I have photos just sitting in my phone, reminding me of the achievements if I scroll through looking for something. Sleeping girls, girls outside, random short videos of the tablecloth, work info, girls in pinafores for daycare photo day, row after row of a child’s forehead – pretty sure it’s E – closeup pics of the corner of the sofa, food, food, girls outside, food.

This weekend, I was not a superstar. At all. In any sense. For anything. If you set the bar low – really low – then yay! I did some things. I had all 3 girls dressed and respectable to go to a birthday party on Saturday morning at a not-very-close park. They were well-behaved. There was a present, wrapped in paper coloured in by my girls. We got there and back safely. Pause here while I think. Um. Nope. That was pretty much my achievement. 

But wait. I made pizza on Friday night, with dough made by me. (C asked for this a few weeks ago and it is how I used to always do it and now it is her new favourite way of pizza). This pizza – one (1) pizza – has fed us Friday night, and was added to Saturday dinner, and was lunch today for C because we had no bread and neither of us wanted to go to the shops on the holidays, and there’s still a bit more.

But wait. I made a lemony chicken and vegetable tray bake for dinner for Saturday night, which all the girls ate, and leftovers were my lunch today as well as incorporated into dinner tonight and I think there’s still a bit left for a half-lunch tomorrow. 

But wait. I made pancakes for Sunday breakfast, and because when they were mostly cooked, E came in and scrunched her face and told me she did NOT want pancakes, she wants an eggy – no, TWO eggies – she scored eggs for breakfast and not all the pancakes were eaten so C and I had morning tea pancakes today. They were my favourite recipe (using the Greek yoghurt waffle recipe here), and cooked in the love heart fry pan. A bit of a whim purchase, that pan, but my goodness me it saves mealtimes. S helped me make these, and C had a go at turning them which is rather tricky, I must say, but she did wonderfully. And because there are four hearts and four of us (Glenn had an early, early start), I could cater to all requests prior to the pancake-refusal-in-favour-of-eggs. Plain. Chocolate chip. Blueberry. Blueberry AND chocolate chip. And E ate some after she had demolished her eggs, too, actually. 

To be fair, this week and next are school holidays. We have Anzac biscuits in the jar from last weekend. Still some Everything Balls (I still don’t know what to call them), which are also stopping me delving into chocolate stores in the evening. I mean, not an actual store full of chocolate, like a chocolate shop, or a cellar of chocolate, but … mmm. Wait. Chocolate supply. That’s a better word. We still have carrot oatmeal slice. We still have carrot sultana muffins in the freezer. We still have cottage cheese brownies in the freezer. Our freezer could do with being slightly less full. Ooh, and pizza muffins in there too. So you see, for all my not at all a kitchen superstar thoughts, it was enough. I have to remember that. Enough. 

Mother’s Day 2025

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We’ve just had How Was Your Easter. How was your Mother’s Day is really the next event that has a question posed that expects a positive and glowing rundown.  And while Easter has an expectation that the whole family or friendship group has worked together to make it an amazing four days, Mother’s Day … well, it’s different. How was your Mother’s Day expects pampering; expects sweet cards and pictures; expects the whole family to make mum feel special; chocolates and flowers and fluffy slippers and breakfast in bed.

I think it must be that way only in magazines and dysfunctional families. Not the classic dysfunctional family of split parents or addiction abuse. No, the dysfunctional family of a parent being overwhelmingly controlling to the point that everyone does what they say no matter what.

What a start to a post about Mother’s Day. Sorry. What I mean is, there’s what society puts forward as what should happen, and social media presents as amazing, and then there’s the reality of Family Life. One of my new favourite Instagram accounts shared a video to this effect. Paraphrasing a small part: Breakfast in bed, made by the kids, is meant to make me relax? Thanks, but I will be on high alert as you carry hot liquids up the stairs as I have not known you to go anywhere without spilling anything.

A lot of media brings out the old trope of mums can’t relax because they have to still clean everything because the kids and husband are useless and incapable. That’s getting so old and, quite frankly, offensive. I grew up surrounded by males – a dad, two older brothers and a younger brother. Various levels of weight was pulled at different times for all sorts of reasons, but we all are capable of cooking, cleaning and washing. Modelling is important, and this is not just thanks, mum but also thanks, dad. And I married someone later in life who was so used to doing his own cooking, cleaning and washing that both of us were a bit surprised when I moved in that someone else had done the washing or the cooking or the cleaning. We soon settled into our preferred roles within that, but I knew that when I went into hospital to have babies or because of Covid or because of an explosive postpartum infection that he would be able to keep the place and the children together.

But on a deeper level, that old mum can’t relax because the dad is useless thing just – well, yes. I accept that for some or even many relationships it’s like that. Expectations are important, and mental load for each party is important and not talked about enough. I am getting so sidetracked here. The point is, good relationships are built on love. If I love someone, I will do what I can to help them. If someone loves me, they will do what they can to help me. So yes. On Mother’s Day, I may have the option of putting my feet up a bit more, but I’m not going to be happy lounging around all day while everyone else serves me. 

Also in the real world, more and more people can’t have the whole day as a big family unit. Glenn works in retail. The retail world rarely pauses, and Glenn was working on Sunday. A relaxed breakfast would have had to have started at (doing some quick mental calculations here) um maybe 6am or so, and would not have been at all relaxing for him and therefore me if he had had girls helping him. They’re each becoming quite capable and definitely enthusiastic kitchen helpers but all at once – I know from chaotic experience that that is not going to be a relaxing start to anyone’s day. And Glenn doesn’t need any extra stress in his life, and definitely not when he’s trying to make my day a nice day and definitely definitely not before he has to go to work. Instead, he bought my favourite celebration breakfast (croissants) the day before and I organised the heating up and the cups of tea and the hot chocolates while Glenn and E organised the bandanna-wrapping of my presents.

I’m not sure if everyone is aware of just how sweet young kids can be when giving a present to someone. They are bursting out of their skin with excitement, especially if they are unaware of what’s inside, and also very much so if they DO know what’s inside. Little hands holding a gift up to your nose and saying “Happy Mother’s Day”, or in the case of S, “Happy birthday, mummy” is one of life’s sweet pleasures that I know won’t be forever. Glenn had taken the girls shopping on Saturday afternoon and apparently they were not only beautifully behaved, but also very thoughtful when choosing gifts for me. The big joke was that they would give me a hairdryer. S is in a very black and white phase right now. (“Are you a cheeky chops?” “NO! I’M S!”) After they had shopped, Glenn asked her, “Did we buy mummy a hairdryer?” And she looked at him, utterly bewildered, and shook her head. What planet was he on?! “Is it a nice pink hairdryer for Mother’s Day?” Vigorous shaking of the head. No hairdryer for me, but a number of pampering items as well as crafty things and soft slippers. This is one happy mummy.

We are finally in an era where C is old enough and capable enough and thoughtful enough to pamper me. She was rather fixated in her mind about what was going to happen, and I had to steer/direct her away from having all of us doing day spas with our feet in water in the (carpeted) living room, but we could come around to agreement. She and I stuck our fingers in little dipping pots and our feet in bowls of water on towels in the girls’ room and scrubbed and brushed to our heart’s content while having mummy-daughter chats. This is going to happen more. E came in and did a bit of wild 4yo joining in, and S came in for a cuddle. Later on, S did her own personal day spa in the bedroom and was not quite so careful with the water.

C and E helped me make the red velvet mug cake which we then had for morning tea. Girls watched movies and shows and did jigsaw puzzles and water painting and craft and the day travelled along nicely. We had a FaceTime with my mum (and dad) in which girls were lovely, and didn’t get into mischief in the background, and didn’t bicker in the background, and didn’t go crazy, but engaged in conversation with my parents and were their actual delightful selves and no-one jumped on anyone else’s head this time. 

Glenn didn’t have a whole day at work, and after prepping dinner for me, he had a rest while girls played together (I know!) and, it turns out, independently, as S turned on the water filter with no cup underneath the spout and just watched the water and listened to the sound of the water hitting the tiles until the kitchen floor was mostly covered in water before E went in and I heard “S! What are you DOING!” So yay for responsible big sisters and just enough towels in the cupboard to soak up the flood. This is why you can’t go to the toilet or do ANYTHING with a toddler around. Still, once that was dealt with, I could do some quick sewing (I know!). I was going to gush about the sewing project but it is honestly enough for its own post so suffice it to say that I made a set of placemats and we are back to using a cloth tablecloth. I brought out my special chair so we could all eat together at the table for dinner. My special chair was made by my grandfather, who was a carpenter, and it is beautiful. I explained to the girls (who hadn’t really seen or noticed it before) that it was special for me, and that my grandfather made it. At least three times a day since then, S has relayed to me that my grandpa made it for me. This brings happy tears to my eyes every time, especially as she looks most like his wife, my grandma.

So. Was I brought breakfast in bed and pampered and showered in flowers and able to relax on the sofa all day with beautifully behaved children and surrounded by beautiful extended family all celebrating motherhood? No. Would I ever want that? No. My life is not a magazine photo shoot, or a cartoon, or so self-centred that I want everyone to serve me and coddle me while I have no thought to anyone else’s comfort or wellbeing or mental state or their life at all. That’s not what motherhood is about, so a day where that is what it is made to be is simply hypocrisy. I know that next year or the year after, C will most likely have formed the idea that she must make me breakfast in bed and she must have her sisters help her, but it will be a far less stressful experience for everyone then and the idea of working together will be more important than making the day like a magazine shoot. In the long run, what do we want to remember? The stress of hearing everyone fighting over making your life perfect, or running around after you while they get stressed? No. A kitchen flood brought on by a 2yo experiencing something sensory? Yes, please. A gift that “wasn’t good enough”? Absolutely not, not ever. Cards made with love, unprompted, by children for you that you can keep forever? Oh my goodness me all of the yes. 

As a side note, I am about five days late in posting this. Not that I have a deadline or a real schedule, but there is a limit on how much after Mother’s Day one can post about Mother’s Day. The last few weeks have been wild, with at least three sick people in the family on any given day. I had hardly any voice on Saturday and absolutely none on Sunday. Nights have been unsettled, and dealing with sick children at 2am, 3.40am, 4.08am, 4.26am and 4.58am usually means I don’t wake up in time to do anything before exercising, or that I don’t even wake up to exercise before girls need breakfast. I feel a little bit smashed but here’s to getting back on track, at least for a few days.