motherhood

Mother’s Day 2025

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

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.

Old Me/New Me

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

When C was a baby – not a little tiny baby but rather, hurtling toward her first birthday – I was chatting with one of my best friends, Michelle. Michelle has 3 kids – a boy, and twin girls – who were (doing some mental calculations here) um 7 and 5 at this time. I think. They were all in early primary school, anyway. The point is, Michelle asked me, “Do you feel like you’re not a real person anymore? You’re no longer Anna. You’re a mum. You’re C’s Mum, and that’s who you are and how you’re seen now?” And even now I remember this gasping realisation of oh my goodness me that’s it! That’s a perfect encapsulation of how I feel I am now. 

I mean, there are a few things to explain here. The early weeks of motherhood were a wild ride but  I didn’t experience that exhaustion that I was told to expect (ha – like sooooo many other things) because I was so happy doing these things for this little bub. But then as the newborn phase waned and it became clear that I had a baby who didn’t sleep, things changed. And then she turned out to be an enthusiastic but small eater. But because she was such a poor sleeper and my advice from everywhere was that if she has more solids then she will sleep better – well. I felt like I spent most of her baby time trying to get her to sleep and trying to get her to eat. 

And I know it is perfectly natural for other children – and parents (me included here; I’m not judging this AT ALL) – to refer to other parents by reference to a child’s name. I am C’s mum, or E’s mum, or S’s mum, or sometimes the mum with the three girls, depending on who I’m talking to. And there is all of the mental work that goes into caring for children. Like thinking ahead for the basics like clean clothes, and change of season clothing, and next size up shoes, and swimming lessons and daycare and school and homework and play dates and lunches and snacks and how to go grocery shopping with young children.

But eventually there is the realisation that all that is not enough. “You can’t pour from an empty cup” is a phrase that is thrown around a lot in parenting forums, but I don’t feel it’s apt for what I am trying to describe. It doesn’t describe the feeling of being scraped out with just the shell remaining. I need to do all that, be all that, and more. I needed to be Anna again. Still Anna with the three girls, but also Anna who does… things to be Anna.

Before kids, when I was still a violin teacher, a mother of three girls asked me what I DO with my time? I remember wondering, How do YOU fit everything in? She had three girls. They all did violin, with lessons and practice and ensembles. They each did either ballet or gymnastics. They all went to a private school. The mum worked a full-time job but also managed to ferry the girls to violin and ballet and gymnastics. Like, was there some secret pocket of bonus time that opened up for some people? I’m still wondering that, actually, but in the meantime I have started to work it out. 

If something is important enough, work out how to make it happen.

My health is important to me. Admittedly, partly for vanity. I don’t want to cringe when I look at photos of myself, and I don’t want to avoid being in photos. I know they are important. So I worked out actually when I could exercise, committed to it, and now it happens every morning. Writing this blog is important to me. I know if I abandon it and don’t make any record other than photos of our family life, then in five years I will be very sad with Now Me. Writing happens when I can get up earlier than exercise. Yes, it feels like I hardly sleep. In fact, my watch confirms that I hardly sleep, but I’m working on going to bed earlier. Promise.

There are other things that I used to do that I didn’t even think about as being Anna Things. Wearing jewellery. Making jewellery. Well, that was very much an Anna Thing but I didn’t anticipate how hard that would be with kids. Beading is therapeutic and so relaxing until a small child accidentally tips your box of beads or findings and then you don’t quite know how many small swallowing hazards you are suddenly looking for on the ground in amongst all the other detritus that comes with Living With Small Children. 

Having a food box delivered. This had started with an organic fruit and veg box, then extended to milk and meat and dairy, but when I moved in with Glenn that felt a little redundant. We live right next to a shopping centre, and Glenn likes to shop to cook, and one of the delivery companies went bust, and we just stopped. Fast forward more than 7 years, and I saw a picture of a funny strawberry on Facebook. As it turns out, there are a few companies that deliver supermarket rejects. We picked one company, and now have a medium box of wonky fruit and veg delivered every fortnight. Not surprisingly, this is very much looked forward to by everyone in the family. Glenn loves seeing what is delivered and then planning meals around that. The girls love inspecting our funky food and marvelling at the bananas as long as their arms or the 4.5 kg watermelon or the tiny pears the size of S’s fists. I love not having to shop with children, not having to plan, and working within the parameters of the delivery. Right up my alley.

One thing that is not an Old Me thing but if it had been around, it would have been. Recycling. I’m not talking your standard paper/cardboard/glass type of thing. I’m talking containers. It used to be that containers would taunt those of us not in South Australia with the label along the lines of “10c refund at participating depots in South Australia”. I legit was super excited to go to South Australia for the container refunds, but it turned out they weren’t lauding it over the rest of the country and this wasn’t obvious at all. Fast forward to that week between Christmas and New Year, and I saw a Containers for Change ad offering to come and collect if you had 100 containers. Challenge accepted. Now we have a special tub for containers, and I have a page of container labels to print. My process is getting better. The tub has a bin bag in it. Every eligible container that goes in gets a tally mark on a piece of paper on the fridge. When the bag is full (about 35 containers), it gets tied up and a label stuck on it, then taken to the garage. New bin bag in. Heavier glass bottles go in paper shopping bags, and once they have 8 bottles, same deal. Container label stuck on and then to the garage. Every few weeks, we organise collection and it’s just… easy. I love it. 

There are still some Old Anna things that I am really missing and yearning to bring back into my life. Some things I feel are the frugal Scottish side of me coming through, or maybe it’s a very strong sense of independence or getting back to making it yourself so you know what’s inside. Making yoghurt. I tried recently, and you know what stopped me? Not the lack of time or available bench space or available milk. No. I couldn’t find one of the containers and any of the lids. How could you lose them, Anna? Old Anna asks me. Pre-kids Anna asks me. If I explain to you that the containers (originally with their lids) live/d in the cupboard next to the fridge and so girls have loved to play with things in that cupboard – sanctioned, thankfully – but occasionally have major imaginative play scenarios requiring removal of said things to other play areas, does that explain it? I have since found a lid in a toy hamper and another in the craft department so there is hope. 

Baking bread is another thing I am getting the urge to do again. As my preferred bread is a spelt bread that used to take 2 hours for me to make I really should just remember to buy spelt flour, shouldn’t I. Hm.

Photography is a big part of who I used to be. Art photography, that is, not just of my girls. I have little flurries of photographic activity but I really haven’t been as inspired most of the time lately. Having scenery dotted with cranes is really not helping. Having children who are either impatient to be where they want to be or willing to be distracted and not get going when I need them to after the photo is really not helping. Only wanting to take photos of my children sleeping in funny or endearing poses doesn’t help the artier side, either.

I am also very keen to get back into playing violin. I said this last year, but when daylight savings ends and my work hours go back to starting at 10am instead of 9am, I am hoping hoping hoping that even a little bit of music making can come back into my life. These last two things – aspects of me that I haven’t gone back to after having kids – are two big things that drew Glenn and me together. I need them back. Not from anything that he has said, mind you, but I don’t want to lose ME and the person he met and married. I don’t want to look back on this time and regret things that actually are doable and regret this being the time of life when something stopped. 

If something is important enough, work out how to make it happen.

Are The Voices In My Head Bothering You?

/ annamurray / Leave a comment

There is so much. So much noise, clamouring noise in my head of what needs to be done. Do I seem quiet? Distracted? Step inside and take a peek at what’s going on. This is an example from Sunday night as I was lying on the girls’ bedroom floor while C tried to go to sleep and I tried to stay awake.

“Finish prepping daycare bags. S, spare top. E, spare top and bottom. Do I take out any undies from – no. S probably needs four pairs spare. Remember that daycare teacher from long ago who scolded you for not having enough pairs of spare undies when C was toilet training. Lunchbox for C. Yes you need to do it tonight. Just because on Thursday morning you managed to pack her lunch in about 23 seconds doesn’t mean that’s a good way to go about things. Sandwich. Tomatoes for vitamin C. Cookies. Fruit break should I give her pineapple or apple I think apple. Haven’t sorted the washing. Does everyone have clothing close enough to the top of the mountain of washing? Yes I think so. Don’t worry about that tonight then. But really, you need to do it. Like, soon. Maybe in the morning before people wake up. 

“Why did E fall asleep so late. She was so tired. Hope she’s not coming down with something. What was that song she sang for me. Something about a frog that she acted out on her bunk. It was quite impressive. How can I afford to send her to ballet lessons. Dancing. C has a catchup Irish dancing lesson tomorrow. Is that a good idea. Out of routine and she will hate it. She needs new dancing shoes. Sigh. Will G be okay getting daycare girls home and having dinner OH Monday. Parent information night at the school. That’s not going to work out. Timings and exhaustion levels and cranky children levels and nope we can’t do the dancing catchup. Remember to let the teacher know. How soon can you pay the Irish dancing term fees. It’s due this week and will your pay cover it. I think it should but can there be any daycare payment then too. Maybe. Hopefully. Stupid clerical error meaning I wasn’t paid last week and check the accounts to look for the possible dishonour fee for that payment and then it would have been overdrawn too so is there another fee for that stupid stupid stupid pay thank goodness for managers stepping in.

“Money this week. Heart payment on Wednesday will be covered by pay. Irish dancing due Friday. Should be enough available for that and then Centrelink comes in so phew. We can breathe again. E’s birthday presents. What will it be. Can we manage a full Elsa costume probably not. Why did her friend get the whole Elsa hair? Ugh. How can we do that birthday party. Must email daycare about it. Preferably tonight. How do I include the friend who hasn’t moved up to preschool yet. Maybe I message her mum and we meet up elsewhere? Or can I ask daycare staff to sort that?

“Is C’s friend experience right now a start of the year thing, or because she had 3 days off school last week and everyone else got on with their lives, or is it continuing from last year but worsening? Should I talk to anyone about this. How can I make it easier for her. I just want to give her big cuddles. Please be a better week. Can the psychologist help with this. Does the psychologist believe me about her. When’s the next psychologist appointment. I don’t think it’s this week. How will I cover the gap. Dentist. Everyone needs to see a dentist. Should I start C on OT now or later. How do I start her on OT. I said I would take her to the ceramic painting class this week. Hm. If I’m working then I don’t want to be stopping working because it means I will be stopping earning. I hate this time of year from the financial viewpoint.

“How does everyone get to be supported and validated while learning to respect each other and the others’ boundaries? When is Ash Wednesday. Ah. March 5. Which means yeah that girl’s birthday party can’t be on the Sunday. She said the 3rd which is the Monday. She must mean the 2nd. Dr Seuss’ birthday. Green eggs that day for breakfast. Baked goods. Are there enough in the freezer and the cookie jar for this week. Freezer stocks are running low but I think the cookie jar will cover us for a few days. Must buy more spinach. I can’t believe I ran out of spinach. When is G working this week. Have to organise with myself when a strength workout will happen. Remember to pick up C on Monday because J is away. Ooh but G can pick her up Tuesday because he has a bonus day off. How can I remove things from our play zone without having indignant children. Washing machine just finished.”

I had heard it said before, but yeah. Mums have quite the mental load. And it’s not because the dads are useless or uninterested or unable to organise themselves out of a paper bag. (Admittedly, sometimes I think that might be the case but it’s not the case here or for many of our friends.) We didn’t really discuss it, but G and I each have our roles in the family and household. I love doing all of this. It’s just that, sometimes, the voices in my head remind me of that scene in Scrubs when Elliot has her brain opened up and it’s like the universe roars out.