I have been busy. Things I have wanted to maintain have slipped a little. I have five or six posts begun but not continued. Sometimes they are begun and then I don’t get to the checking it stage before it really is too late to post it. Sometimes they are begun and I just don’t get to continue.
There has been a lot more work. This is good. This is also maybe slightly less good. Good because it reduces the financial stress considerably. Pay for me is dependent on how many words I type, so this work is not necessarily necessary but it definitely helps a lot. Pay rate for me is also assessed and reevaluated every four months, and word count is a part of that. As I only work four days, the extra work I’m getting kind of equates to an almost extra day and so bumps up my ranking.
Extra work is maybe slightly less good, though, because I am now working a lot. C taking foorrrreeevvvvvveerrrrr to go to bed at night makes it harder, and I don’t want to keep saying “I have work to do” for her to be convinced to go to bed. Not that what I want or need makes any difference to her willingness to go to bed, of course, but language is important, and I don’t want the soundtrack of her childhood to be “I have to work”. I’m not keen for “We can’t afford that”, either, but I’ll work on phrases. More work also means less time to think and to write for this blog and to sew and to crochet. Right now the balance is in favour of work in order to relieve the financial stress but it is on the cusp.
Another big factor in reduction of my writing is children. Yes. Children. I wake at 5 for this (or work). S has been waking often just after 4 and insisting I sleep on the floor in their room which is fine but then I wake just before 5 and want to be in my bed for a bit and then I sleep right through the 5am alarm and then there’s the 5.30 alarm and E is then wanting me to hold her hand and then we’re kind of at 6am and I might have made my cup of tea by then but now E is up and wanting to either be on me and help or wanting to watch something which is lovely but distracting and often S is needing something around this time too so I am left with a full cold cup of tea and needing to go on a walk but it now has to be a short walk and should I even bother or should I try for a kettlebell workout later on. If work is due or if I have a lot of it to do, then that will win over any writing or exercise.
Still, there is always hope. The last two weeks I have not really done any work Thursday night or Friday or Saturday and then Sunday night has been the first for some extra work and then I have slogged it out until Thursday morning. This week will be different. Small portions creates more balance. I plan on having some time not working – Thursday night was free, and Friday morning and most likely Friday night. The weekend, though, will have just a little bit in the mornings and evenings in order to keep this as a bit instead of taking over my life for four days. That’s the hope.
[Trumpet fanfare]Dooo doo doo DOOOO! As mentioned in the Mother’s Day post, the cloth tablecloth has been reinstated, and placemats introduced.
Thank you.
You may be perceptive enough to realise that this is a big deal for me. For a few years, we have used plastic tablecloths and only an occasional placemat. Plastic tablecloths are fantastic. Spray and wipe clean. Ready craft area. Ready craft material, too, apparently. Girls drawing on the tablecloth? Cool, look at that pattern – and did you just draw a letter? Wow! Girls practising their scissor skills on the tablecloth? Meh, it’s fine. Gee, this tablecloth is looking a bit terrible – that’s okay, let’s chuck it out and buy a new one.
The environmental impact of us using plastic tablecloths was outweighed by the reduction in my stress levels. It was on the same level as using silicone plates and bowls for small children, and having my hot drink in a metal insulated cup instead of a grownup lovely ceramic cup. Things change when you have kids around. They can change back, but there is a time of life when you want to be surrounded by non-breakable, wipe-clean stuff.
Given the amount of craft and colouring and especially cutting that happens at our table on any given day, it didn’t seem to be such a good idea to move away from the plastic. But. Plastic can only be cleaned so much. It starts to wear out. Cleaning the area near where S sits was getting – well, impossible to clean. And it feels like she is nearly always at least a little bit unwell. Plus, plastic tablecloths are not circular, so the tablecloth would often be pushed around as C would try to get the dangling corner to stop tickling her legs (which I totally understand).
About a month ago, I made the decision. No more. It was time for us to progress – or regress? To ditch the plastic and go back to cloth. Ahhhhh. And I wanted placemats for everyone, to have at least a little protection for the tablecloth. I could have bought some. I could have made boring rectangular ones. But I have this pattern for leaf blankets which comes in different northern European leaf shapes and different sizes. I have made a leaf blanket for each girl, and I thought doing tiny sizes would be a fun placemat idea.
I was right.
Now we have English Ivy leaves adorning our table. I have used fabric from the extensive stash, including using shorts that Glenn has worn that didn’t last. I am annoyed the shorts didn’t last but I’m so glad I can sew and save the material. Because my plan is to definitely definitely on Sunday evening clear the table and bundle up the tablecloth and the placemats, I knew I needed a second tablecloth and placemat set. Another set of stash-busting ivy leaves were made (slightly differently this time because they’re placemats not actual blankets). A little detail that makes me smile (and C absolutely loves) is that for the first set, I machine-embroidered EAT on the leaf stalks, and on the second set I put MANGE, as C and I are learning French. For the second tablecloth, though, I chose not to get out our lovely linen handprinted wedding present tablecloth. Instead, I bought a checked rectangular tablecloth from Kmart for $10, measured the diameter of our round table, added a bit for overhang and a bit more for hemming, and cut a circle out of the cloth. Bonus: I will be able to cut another circle to fit our table out of this cloth.
My Sunday evening plan worked. Table cleared. Floor swept. Tablecloth and placemats bundled up and into the laundry for Monday morning washing. New tablecloth and placemats on the table. Monday morning, cereal and hot chocolates with marshmallows for girls… and of course, seeing S about to knock over her hot chocolate, my brain said, “Save the hot chocolate!” Yes. I spilt the hot chocolate all over the fresh everything. Sigh. Everything was washed and dried that day, though, so now we have slightly crumpled ivy leaves on a slightly crumpled, fraying-because-I-haven’t-hemmed-it yet-checked tablecloth.
abThis has actually been almost ready to post since the middle of the week. I really wanted to take at least one nice photo, but haven’t managed to catch any nice photos of either set. I’m going to put that in the Too Hard (for now) Basket, and promise to share them here as well as on instagram as soon as there are some ready to share. Promise.
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.
There have been a few things happening lately that do not seem at all newsworthy. By that I mean, they are not newsworthy. They are not the kind of thing to do a Facebook post about or shout from the balconies or make a note in the diary. The sort of thing, though, that I will tell my mum about. The sort of thing that I will chat about with Glenn in the microseconds of conversation we get these days. The sort of thing that makes up the stuff of our life, that we will look back on in a few months and a few years and many years and reminisce.
Recently, my girls stopped walking. Not entirely, of course, but if they are not keen on something, their feet stop and all their core muscles fail and they are suddenly slumped on my sofa like a Dali painting. This would occur for getting dressed, or being told to go to the toilet for a tactical wee before we head out to do something fun, or having a bath. Fortunately, I also discovered at this time the power of the piggyback and horsey rides and cuddle walks.
Cuddle walks had been around for a while – since C was a toddler, I guess – but she had started to request to be carried like she was a kitten or like she was a baby or like she was a baby bird or like she was a baby unicorn cuddling a mermaid and it was getting wild. And she expected me to remember what every one of these holding positions was. I would have a blank in the heat of the moment. She would get upset with me for doing the bird hold instead of the kitten hold. Bedtime would be ruined.
I can remember how to do a piggyback each time, though. Once the younger two saw me doing piggybacks for C, they wanted in too. It is much easier doing piggybacks for them. They are more like koalas on my back, warm and compact and solid, and they are not as daredevil so they hang on for dear life as I “go faster” by doing lots of little steps down our rather short hallway to the toilet. S loves having a piggyback to the bath after dinner, which means climbing onto my sofa then climbing onto my back so I can transport her down the hallway to the toilet. Pre-bath wee, bath, get dried and dressed and teeth done, then she will announce in my face “I WANT A PIGGYBACK” and screamlaugh running back down the hallway to the Piggyback Station (formerly known as my sofa arm but here we are) to climb up and onto my back so I can do little steps back along the hallway to her bedroom which is just opposite the bathroom.
I think C has realised that she is more like a leggy giraffe than a koala and so she likes to do horsey rides on my back instead. Although I much prefer her sitting on my back, often wrapping her lower legs around my midsection and also not hanging on (work that core!), to having her do a piggyback where she doesn’t really hold on with her legs but wraps her arms around my neck. That said, my knees are copping it. I have a much closer view of the carpets. Even though we vacuum daily, it’s not enough.
Speaking of C and of movement, C was given roller-skates for her birthday. I think they might be her most favourite thing ever in the history of the world. After several afternoons clomp-gliding down the hallway while I was working, punctuated by crashes that were always followed by “I’M OKAY”, on Friday afternoon she had a go outside for the first time. There have been a few more outside skating sessions since then, too, where I hold her hand for the most part and apparently twist her wrists when she is about to fall over and she is skating over my toes. She has a long way to go, but I am so, so impressed by her resilience and persistence. This is something that she is finding difficult to get going and it is not at all coming naturally to her, but her only pouts have been at me for walking too fast or too slow or (inadvertently) twisting an arm.
Moving on to monsters. I mentioned recently that S had had a scary episode one night. The next night, as well as me reading Ruby Red Shoes to her, Glenn gave S an LED tea light and showed her how to brandish it against any monsters. Very sweet voices were soon calling out, “Go away, monster!” These tea lights are perfect. S still uses a dummy – and by using the singular, I really mean she usually has only one in her mouth (sometimes two just to be funny), and preferably 1 or, better yet, 2 in each hand. The tea light is the same kind of size as a dummy and has an interesting feel thanks to the fake flame, so now S prefers one hand to be holding a tea light while she goes to sleep. C likes to have one in her new lantern. E likes to have one next to her on the floor or on the desk. We use a salt lamp in the girls’ bedroom but now we have little spots of extra warmth thanks to monster-repelling tea lights.
Moving on to music. Glenn and I are both violinists. He still plays and has gigs here and there. I do not. There are so many of my former colleagues who have managed to have kids and still teach and perform and do gigs but it was just not possible for us. I mean, after C was born I went back to teaching and that was fine – “fine” as in, acceptable – but two big things shifted. One was that I just didn’t have the zest for teaching anymore. I am very firmly of the belief that teachers have to really want to be a teacher. If they don’t, they don’t teach as well and students don’t learn as well and then students don’t want to learn at all and teachers might as well drink tea and crochet. I lost the zest and I knew I should stop. The other big shift, when my just-7-year-old was about to be turning 2 – so five years ago – yup. Pandemic. Parenting in a pandemic was hard. Trying to teach in a pandemic was hard. Trying to teach while having a young child at daycare during a pandemic was super ultra hard. So when E was born, I didn’t go back to teaching. Even though I absolutely loved it when I was doing it, this was clearly the right choice as I do not miss it at all.
Buuuuuut I had C start violin lessons last year, learning with my lovely sister-in-law, Alys. E soon started mini lessons, too. We went for a Saturday morning lesson time. Glenn was either working or getting ready for work or needing to cocoon himself from being at work, so violin lessons were always a mummy and three girl event. This meant that if one was sick (or two or three or three plus me), then no lessons. This was a frequent situation. Sporadic lessons meant little progress, which meant little enthusiasm, which meant no practice and a frustrated mummy. When Alys and my brother moved to the other side of town, I decided not to keep our spot and just move on.
When we did have good practice weeks though towards the end of last year, I had switched gears. I stopped being a stand-off mum, letting C do the practice as if I knew nothing about violin. I did what I had said to myself at the start that I would not do and I got back into teacher mode. Violin practices turned into lessons. When I’m in violin teacher mode, I am a different person, and I had C laughing and doing what was needed and making progress until one of her sisters dared to come in.
This year had been quite light on in terms of practice. I just wasn’t going to force it. Then, out of the blue, E said that she wanted to play her violin again after dinner. We didn’t do after dinner but after lunch on Saturday. Then S wanted a go, clearly not wanting to miss out on this thing that she could tell that she would definitely be able to have a go at, and then C was really keen to get back into it, too. Violin happened on Saturday and Sunday, with the usual mayhem of three girls and two violins and one xylophone (surprise!). I’m still not sure how to get violin in during the week, but weekends seem to be a good start.
Do you believe in ghosts? If you had asked me 10 years ago, my answer would have been a firm “No”. Absolutely not. Except, of course, for the Holy Ghost if we’re using the 1662 prayer book. Or that time when one of my older brother’s friends died suddenly in a car crash and he says she came to visit him that night. But no.
And then Glenn’s mum passed away, and even though C was not yet one, I am quite sure that all 3 of us saw Sioban that next night. C wasn’t talking yet, so this isn’t confirmed, of course. But what I saw – Sioban in her near-death skeletal body, but calmer because that battle was over, and dressed in a long swishy skirt with a colourful top – matched what Glenn described he saw.
Fast forward to a few months later, and C was now in the second bedroom to sleep. She woke up terrified one night, pointing with a look of horror at the wall next to the door. I couldn’t see anything other than what was always there, but she could clearly see something.
Fast forward even more to Monday night, and S woke up terrified. I got her out of the cot for a cuddle and she did exactly what C did about 6 years ago, but she could articulate “Scary” and “I not going in the cot”. A total of 2 hours sleep for me that night, with S falling asleep on me on the sofa while singing Skidamarink at nearly 4am.
Tuesday night, and I was really apprehensive that I may have S refusing to sleep at all. I brought out the big guns. The secret weapon. I read her Ruby Red Shoes, and then Ruby Red Shoes Goes To Paris. She fell asleep early in Paris (but I kept reading it to E who is now absolutely loving them). The other thing that helped was a little fake tea light that Glenn showed her how to hold up and say, “Go away, Monsters!” So, you know, we’re all set. This evening, though, she did say to me that she isn’t going in her cot because of the ghost so a few mysteries have some sort of – explanation? That doesn’t seem right. I’ll think on it.
So Ruby books are very much back in the favourite pile. Middle of the night wakes, and S wants me to read her “The bunny books”. Sometimes she will tell me to lie down! You need to sleep! And she takes the books from me and sits up with her soft bunny on her lap and reads them to the bunny while I dutifully and exhaustedly lie down. I am so, so glad that C would ask for these books everysinglenight for months on end, because it’s hard reading a book in the dark when all your body wants to do is lie down in your own bed and curl up with closed eyes and sleep, but when your brain gets the cue from the picture and you can just recite the words for that picture, it is easier. I confess, there are often long pauses and sometimes I
might miss a phrase
but thankfully S is not so familiar with these stories just yet so just gives me, I’m sure, a little eyebrow raise, like a teacher who is going to talk with me later about my work.
There’s been a lot of drama lately. A lot of angst, anxiety, fear, worry. A lot of preparation.
In the end, for us it turned out to be for a whole lot of rain and a bit of wind. E would call Alfred a Drama Prince.
We got lucky. Super duper ultra lucky, and there are hundreds of thousands of people who suffered and are still suffering. We did not lose power. We did not have any disruption to our water supply. We didn’t flood. We didn’t have a tree come down anywhere near us, certainly not crushing a car or roof or whole entire house.
What we did have felt like a mini lockdown, akin to what it would have been five years ago but with an end in sight. I take my hat off to families that had to do COVID lockdowns with multiple children and no clear end.
We made it through. Life is returning to normal. Monday, daycare was still closed and school was open only for supervision of children of essential workers. By Monday lunchtime, I was turning myself into a pretzel crossing fingers and toes and whatever possible that they would be able to be back to normal on Tuesday. We were outside on Monday afternoon with girls splashing in the backyard pool and blowing bubbles when two emails came through – bam, bam – within a minute of each other. School would be open for all students. Daycare would be reopening, but please pack food as their food service is out of action this week. Can. Do.
Having made it through this Alfred Experience, I feel I have some people to thank. The usual, of course. Glenn – a rock. Unphased in the areas that matter, like shopping in a panic-ridden shopping centre and finding all that we needed and being able to plan meals and make meals and be around to give girls cuddles and have Siri play Kiss and have mini rock concerts with whoever (E, mostly) needed them.
Auntie J, who shopped for us when I had planned to pick up essentials for our emergency kit but then had 3 girls home sick so we weren’t going anywhere. She offered. I sent her a list. She delivered. I transferred her money. I breathed a little easier.
Prime Video. The girls watched about 39 hours a day… okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. But really, doing some quick calculations here, 8-9 hours a day. Up to 9 hours a day of watching mostly Prime Video. I’ll move on. It was a lot.
Bubbles. Bubbles are the best, aren’t they? Thank goodness I had restocked our big bubble mix the Friday before this all started. Thank goodness I had splurged and gone for the big 2 litre bottle. Bubbles for years. Well, months. That said, with twice-daily usage for 7 days, we used about a fifth of the bottle. A couple of Christmases ago, E was given a bubble set which has a little dish and 4 different blowers. This was the best thing ever during this time. I didn’t have to keep a hold on the massive store of bubble mix to prevent the inevitable major spill. Each girl could blow and chase and spin and pop and come back for more. On the very windy days, we could just hold the blower out and let the wind take the bubbles. And one of my favourite videos is of all girls doing “cyclone bubbles”, holding a blower out and twirling in a midst of circling bubbles. Beautiful.
Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler. Thank you. What a duo. Not a day went by that I didn’t read a Donaldson/Scheffler book. That’s such an understatement. Multiple times a day. And having S and E reciting parts of a book while turning the pages… well. That makes my heart sing. And having such interesting illustrations that girls can get lost in them, spotting connections and little details, was enormously important. There were some other books read, too, but this duo was at the forefront.
AirPods. Oh my. I only cottoned on to this in the last little while but they help so much. Anyone else tried it? Sensory overwhelm in the form of too much noise is starting to take place. AirPods in on noise cancelling, and it takes the edge off. I was hoping for the screaming children level to be reduced but no. It doesn’t really make a difference to that. But if you are having to listen to an annoying children’s show and don’t have the mental energy to switch, or are in the middle of a rock and roll party or Wicked playlist and just have too much doomscrolling to do, then this really helps.
Shelley Husband. Don’t know who she is? Spincushions? Australian Crochet Designer of the Year? Well, anyway, she is my crochet guru idol person. Her granny square patterns are *beautiful* and elevate crochet squares to art. Last year, I realised a shawl would be a good addition to my winter workwear, and I planned it out and bought the yarn. I don’t usually have the urge to crochet in summer, but I couldn’t wait to get started on it in January. It has accompanied me to swimming lessons and psychologist appointments and been my general go-to Me Time when it’s too late to start sewing. Even one side of a round helps my calm. And wowsers, did I ever need it during this time. Admittedly, there were a couple of rounds that were frogged and then frogged again and for one round, frogged a third time before I had it right, but it was the calmness of repetition with the satisfaction of seeing a growing square of beauty take shape in my hands that was essential for my mental health. (Today, with a server issue at work so no work, I finished this square. Two more to go, and then some border squares I think. This is, fittingly, the Hope square from Granny Square Patchwork in 4-ply Luxury in Amazon Green from Bendigo Woollen Mills.)
Emergency services. Not for us in particular, thank goodness, but their social media presence, keeping us informed. Emergency services and weather pages and news channels. I realise it’s a bit in the doomscrolling category but it’s also in the reassurance realm and the awareness and information department. I’d much rather “Well, thank goodness that wasn’t as bad as we feared” over “Why is it so windy today?!”
Parenting accounts on social media. Nurtured First has been a favourite lately, but any account – I’m not talking the ones that make me laugh with their representations of what parenting is like in the real world (although a little levity is always a good thing), but the ones that are there to help – accounts that remind me of things that stop me losing it in the face of things that make me lose it. I doubt my neighbourhood appreciates it, but I have noticed a difference in my frustration levels, and a definite rise this week in intentional calmness. I mean, I have a looooooooooooong way to go there, but there were times when I COULD have exploded but I didn’t.
The best of the parenting accounts for me – and “parenting account” is nowhere near the complete picture, but it has been my saviour and well I could go on and on and on and on – is The Occuplaytional Therapist (OPT). Without her and her posts over the years, this whole Alfred thing would have been a markedly different experience for us. Through her, I became more aware of the why of children’s behaviour. Another viewpoint. A better understanding of child development. All of the things. All of the things that meant I could grasp that C needing to have quiet and routine and an active role in preparation was the way she was coping, and that E was letting out big emotions with loud sounds, and to tell her to stop that and be quiet would help C but then stifle E and then we would likely have different problems to deal with. S needing cuddles for hours and hours was her comfort and what a relief that I kind of needed S cuddles too and wasn’t touched out. C apparently bossing E around was not really about being in charge or being in control or better than her, but needing to establish some control when things were feeling out of control. E needing loud – to be loud herself, and to have loud rock music on – was so not helping me, but coming from the understanding that it was her out, combined with those lovely AirPods, made it easier to bear, especially when followed by the amazing handsies we do at bedtime. So the OPT has opened up my sight to the why, which has helped me, you know, not lose my cool at every single thing every single time. Baby steps.
This list is not complete, of course, but these are the people and things I thanked in my head at the time and thought I should really put it out there as part of the stuff of our lives. Thank you.
What to read with young girls in the event of an impending cyclone.
What young girls will ask to be read in the event of an impending cyclone.
What to read to escape from the anxiety of an impending cyclone.
What girls want to be read after the threat of the cyclone has passed and we are stuck with rain and rain and rain and rain.
There have been new favourites. There have been old favourites. There have been books unearthed by curious hands. Comfort books. Books that have things for fingers to do, like touching textures or moving a bee around a maze (which has turned out to be surprisingly comforting for all of my girls, rather like a finger labyrinth). New-enough books that they are still “not boring” to a nearly-7-year-old.
In our emergency kit – which ended up being a chair in the main bedroom with a pile of leaf blankets, filled water bottles and a soft bunny toy and a pile of books – I put Matilda, a Dragon Girls special edition, Never Touch a Grumpy Unicorn, Tiddler, Superworm, Tabby McTat, Hammerbarn, Busy Bee, and Peaches for Monsieur Le Curé.
We did not need our emergency kit. It was quite windy on Friday night, and I started to worry about the window nearest my bed. Girls slept right through, solidly, like they were exhausted from all the waiting and then just wanted to wake up to no more cyclone. Sleep was tricky for Glenn and me. I was worrying about trees and windows. Glenn had E next to him (she comes in most nights) and it was not one of those nights where she is asleep and still but rather one of those nights where she is asleep and you cannot wake her but she is flapping around like a gasping fish. Still, it was rather comforting to have this Just In Case emergency kit an arm’s reach away.
I woke up the morning after the cyclone that wasn’t a cyclone anymore to quiet. Such quiet that I thought maybe we were, bizarrely, in the eye of the cyclone. We were not. It was still sitting over the islands and we were calm because the cyclone threat had passed. And E asked me to read her The Very Hungry Caterpillar, which she wanted so many times when she was a baby that her 1st birthday cake was inspired by it. She wanted it repeatedly Saturday morning, and often since then, and now puts her hand over my mouth for a couple of the pages so that she can say the words herself. This afternoon was also a Very Hungry Caterpillar jigsaw puzzle festival, with Sage doing one of our set of four puzzles over and over and over for at least an hour, and then the other girls joining in with the other puzzles. Milo Goes Bananas has also been a popular choice this week, as well as Goodnight Baby Moon, and Slinky Malinki.
E has started “Just going to the red bookshelf for another book. I be right back” when she can’t fall asleep, and this evening I could see she was in the indecisive muddle that comes with too many choices poorly displayed. Tomorrow daycare is closed and school is supervision only so we are all staying home again, and although the girls probably think they will spend the day jumping up and down in muddy puddles, or at least the growing swimming pool in the garden, some of tomorrow will be spent reorganising the books.
Wednesday. Early morning walk. Not nearly as busy as usual. Very few bikes. Ferry terminals with closed gates. Mentally earmarking the trees I think will come down before the weekend, and the buildings they will damage. Overcast. Quiet. The sort of quiet that I imagine happened around the first Easter.
No birds.
All the dogs on edge. Sirens cutting through at 11.10am. Taking girls outside in the morning and afternoon to run off anxiety and be in a larger space than inside. Scooters and strollers and bubbles. Every time a gust of wind made its presence felt, C would look up and say, “The cyclone’s here”.
Cyclone prep. Making a candle. A candle so bright in its pinkness I can’t look at it directly. Knowing each one we make helps C feel a bit calmer and prepared. Tidying the balcony, which turned out to be a much more massive task than anticipated. So much dirt. Noticing that the much narrower balconies of the next door townhouses are not at all cleared until we are nearly finished with ours and then magically people appear to pull their outdoor furniture inside and rearrange their plants.
Experiencing the differences in my girls, magnified. Being aware and mindful of the way each of us is coping, or trying to cope, and trying to function, and how the experience is being processed for each of us.
S is the easiest to deal with. Cuddles. Long cuddles. Mummy or daddy, doesn’t matter, but cuddles. When we are outside she is more likely to just sit and watch, not participating, not doing her own thing. Just watching.
C is needing the comfort and escape of iPad time. Watching shows. Arcade games. Mathletics. Or reading real books. Needing to play with her toys like never before. Needing quiet time as sensory overwhelm is a real and big thing for her and sensitivity is high.
Which would be easier if E didn’t get her anxious out with loud and sudden sounds. Do you want cereal for breakfast? OKAY! Does anyone want to help me make a candle? ME! I WANT TO HELP YOU! And being set on what she wants, too, so that nobody can share whatever it is with her.
Glenn is coping by organising food to the max, and by almost obsessively scrolling to find all the weather information as well as the tidbits of what our local friends are posting.
I am anxiety-crocheting. At least twice a day I need some time out from being a cyclone mum or a sick kids mum and just have the comfort of the rhythm of skip ch, 3tr in next stitch, et cetera.
I also realise that it will be nice for all girls to have a comfort blanket of some sorts for when the winds are rough and loud. C and S already have a leaf blanket so now is the time to finish E’s. Once girls are asleep at night, I am sewing. It helps.
Thursday. Is it Thursday? I’m not sure. It’s even worse than that week between Christmas and New Year’s. It could be Thursday. What date is it? Brain is getting fuddled reading cyclone warning updates. Checking phone for the actual date.
Cyclone fatigue has set in. Waiting is hard.
Early morning walk is overcast but still. Very still. The hotel on the corner opposite the river that always floods has finally removed its outdoor tables and chairs and coffee cart. I note there are zero sandbags about though. Not as many people out as usual, and far fewer cyclists. Usually I see about 100, give or take (yes I count them, don’t you?), but Thursday’s number is 12.
Bubbles are the new favourite thing outside. An upstairs neighbour calls down from her balcony to see if we are ok with storm prep. She smiles at the girls and the bubbles and the twirling. C is swinging wildly from being really easy going, flexible thinking, problem solving extraordinaire to the most stuck. Please give her the ball. She clearly wants the ball. Why are you refusing to give her the ball? “Because you told me to carry it inside”. I have since changed my instructions. Give her the ball it’s just a ball.
Inside, and I need some relaxation crochet time. After a few stitches, S is on me. Settling in for a long cuddle. She falls asleep on me. When she wakes, she stays, and E joins us. E possibly has an ear infection. Is anywhere even open for help? She is in so much pain. Pain relief, then she falls asleep. I extricate S and myself and we prep some chocolate chip cookies. We won’t lose power until the winds are much stronger.
Glenn calls from the shops. What about dinner? What about dinner. My brain is stuck. I just – nope. No thinking is possible. Thankfully he understands this and can make thoughts and decisions and plans.
I try for a nap after lunch. I take my crochet into the bedroom just in case I am just needing time away from people. S insists on coming in with me, and being under the quilt, and her head on my pillow, and so I give up on any napping and sit on the chair. E wakes and needs me so out I go. For the next half hour or so, S just lies on my bed, looking out the window. Watching.
Obsessively looking for all the updates on Facebook. Groaning when the predicted landfall stretches out from what was initially late Wednesday to Thursday, to Thursday, to late Thursday early Friday, to now being late Friday early Saturday. Come on already. Waiting is hard.
Starting to see memes of waiting. The skeleton with its feet up and “Just waiting for Alf” sticks with me the most.
Starting to see the stupidity that I suspect is peculiar to Australians in wild weather. People naturally out to watch the wild seas and look at the eroding beaches but then getting into stupidly dangerous situations. Like the woman who walked her dogs on the beach and one of the dogs nearly went out to sea and she nearly went out to sea trying to save one dog and someone else nearly went out to sea trying to save the dog for her.
Starting to see destruction. Trees down. Cars flattened. Do I show these to the girls? Do I keep them from seeing this? Will it help them understand the strength of a cyclone or will it worry them even more? Part of my cyclone fatigue is trying to accomodate everyone’s personal sensory needs and trying to work out what will help them process this and understand it and what will make it worse for them. The advice of “tell your children in an age-appropriate way” doesn’t really help me work out what to tell them. And as I am learning that C is someone who copes by knowledge, I am trying to give her bits of knowledge while also trying not to worry her with bits of knowledge that won’t apply to us here.
This is tough. Waiting is tough. Navigating all of this is tough. Now excuse me while I open Facebook and check for another update.
Soooo funny story. You know how C has quite a high level of anxiety? Yeah. That. And last week, or maybe the week before that, we were talking about cyclones. Some of you will know where this is headed, but indulge me. C was really worried about cyclones and the possibility of a cyclone and us being in a cyclone.
“You know what?” I said. “Cyclones don’t actually come this far down the coast. I have never experienced a cyclone in Brisbane. We get the cyclonic effects of more wind and rain, but that’s as far as it goes. We’re safe from cyclones here”.
Ha. Ha. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
Sunday. Wow it’s windy today, isn’t it? It’s like autumn has been waiting for March to happen and then, BAM. Autumn has entered the building.
Sunday afternoon. Facebook notification the QPS is live. Huh. That usually only happens around extreme weather events. How far north is Great Keppel Island? NO IT’S E’S TURN NEXT YOU JUST HAD A TURN.
Sunday evening. Glenn trying to talk to me while dinner is on. Never a smooth conversation, but this was about the news about the weather. The storm chasing guy is having conniptions because the cyclone that’s off the coast (what?! Oh wait that makes sense now) is set to make landfall in a few days (ooh yay more cooler weather) and the eye is set to pass over Redcliffe. Wait, what?! Redcliffe? That’s, like, really really close. Like, we could be there in an hour or so and we know people and CYCLONES DON’T COME THIS FAR DOWN THE COAST but apparently now they do. Girls kept eating dinner. Oblivious.
Monday morning. On the way to daycare someone passed us, talking on the phone. Talking about taping up windows. A sudden realisation hit that C was going to be hearing a lot of talk about cyclones and emergencies and cyclones and disasters and flooding and cyclones and high winds and destruction and general excitement from others as well as, most likely and could even make a bet on it, gross exaggeration on the part of many of the boys and not a few of the girls, that would have C – who takes most things quite literally – actually thinking that whatever these kids were saying, would happen. Like that the school is going to be washed away. Or that snakes are going to be flung through bedroom windows. Or that we’d be walking in sewage. Ugh. I don’t know. But I know that there is a part of society that seems to be peculiar to boys of a certain age that will make the experience as gruesome as possible. I needed to talk to the girls.
Sure enough, the word “cyclone” made C wrap her arm around mine like a pretzel. “Remember, mummy and daddy will do everything we need to do to keep you girls safe”. I’m still really worried about the cyclone. “This is just a prediction. Often when they develop, they reduce and become just really big storms”. Oh good. That’s what’s going to happen here. “But it also might do as the professionals are predicting, and come in and be a cyclone. We have to be prepared”. I’m really really worried about the cyclone.
I think I managed to reduce her fears by enough that she could function, at least. School was fine. I suspect she is not the only kid in her class with anxiety. She came home happy and unphased. Phew. Of course, I had watched much of one of the live emergency services sessions and gone to the recommended websites and looked at what we need to get and talked with Glenn about it and found the resource on preparing children for it. Thank goodness it is just one highly anxious child. E and S seem most concerned about whether I will let them play at the park, regardless of their level of sickness or the level of wind.
Glenn went to the shops twice. The first time he was surprised by how few people there were around the shopping centre and how busy it was inside. The second time, he started sending me photos of the lines inside, and reporting on the lack of this and that. Pre-cyclone panic buying.
Tuesday. All the girls are sick. Glenn had an early start but thankfully an early finish as well. Blueberry and chocolate pancakes for Pancake Tuesday. I was not at all sad that all the girls had to be home, but girls not at school or daycare meant my plan of doing some shopping early in the day had to change. A shopping trip with well girls is hard enough, let alone a shopping trip with sick girls in a busy and slightly panicky shopping centre before a cyclone in an area not used to cyclones. Thankfully, Auntie J offered to pick things up for us and no way am I turning that one down. It was such a help. C was still worried that the cyclone will hit now. Not until Thursday, we kept telling her. Is the cyclone coming tonight? No. Tonight will be fine.
Work. Yeah, remember that thing that pays the bills? I had already had to bail on the daily work. I was very glad to be having a delayed job to do, due Thursday. Hm. I also started to worry that I would not be able to complete it on time. Deeeeeeep breaths. Okay. Power is likely to go out Wednesday afternoon. Unlikely before then. Okay. So Monday evening I had started it, a civil case involving a car hire claim following a traffic accident yawn sorry what ooh that was interesting. I still had a good chunk of it to go on Tuesday. Like, possibly three hours of my time. With sick girls. And a deadline thanks to nature a day and a half earlier than official. Deep breaths. Then amazingly, after morning tea on Tuesday, girls were watching movies and NOT fighting and building cubbies and NOT screaming and actually working out those little things like your leg is touching me or your ear is in front of the screen I can’t see. Wow. I snuck to the bedroom where I work and thought I would just get a little bit done but I finished all the typing. All. The. Typing. Emailed work to say this is the situation. Checked and submitted the job after girls were in bed Tuesday night. Satisfaction. Relief.
Random weather. Clear skies. WINDY. Clear skies. Dark clouds. Sunny and windy. RAIN. Sunny cloudy sunny cloudy sunny cloudy sunny windy.
Emergency plan sorted out. Sure, we need to do things like put all the loose bits of everything on the balcony into some storage solution, and washing needs to be done now before the power goes out and before the weather requires it be not outside and candles let’s make candles and what activities do you girls want to have available when we have no power, but mostly, which movies shall we make sure to download so that if we have no internet you can still have something to watch.
Trying to follow the advice for dealing with children. Trying to stay calm. Trying to be honest about what’s coming but reassuring them that we will get through this. Once Glenn was home in the afternoon, there was a real feeling of we have the whole family together. We are hunkering down together. We’ve got this.
There have been a few developments this week. That feels like an understatement but see for yourself.
Glenn had a birthday. No matter how many you have had, I always feel a birthday is special. A celebration of life, of that already lived and that which is to come. This one felt extra special, not from being any particularly special age or any celebration that we did, but from family. The girls were all aware that daddy’s birthday was coming up. E made him a card with all the Frozen stickers she was given for her birthday. C was such a lovely helper on our shopping trip to buy daddy’s birthday presents. And S… this was the first year that she really initiated “happy birthday daddy”. Not just copying others, as she often does, but just randomly in the middle of breakfast. And while he was opening presents. And during dinner. We had these very sweet, very lovely, “happy birthday daddy”s punctuating the day.
Speaking of copying, S has upped her copying. For quite some time – I mean, at least a year, possibly 18 months or so – S has been an excellent mimic. Which has contributed to her being a much more understandable speaker, I think (one of the factors, anyway), but also has made some things extra funny. Like, one of the things of our family is Glenn will stand with his feet apart in the hallway or the kitchen entrance and say, in a Big Daddy Voice, “You’re not getting past here”. E and C will either slip to the side or, more likely, drop and go through the daddy tunnel. S, though, copies his stance and then sometimes copies his Big Daddy Voice herself. Copying does often result in screams and shouts and growls of “STOP COPYING ME” from the other girls but they all do it to each other and to me. At the park on the weekend, though, S took it to the next level. I was pushing her in the swing.
S: What’s in the … [other end of the pendulum]
Me: What’s in the what?
S: What’s in the … [other end of the pendulum; looks back at me with a smile. Maybe this is delight at being in the swing]
Me: In the what? The tree?
S: In the what? The tree?
Me: In the tree?
S: In the tree?
Me: The – are you copying me?
S: Are you copying me? [widest possible grin on her face]
Speaking of the park, E can now climb the climbing wall. We hadn’t been to this park for a while. E is cautious by nature. Suddenly, from the swings where I spend most of my park life apparently, I heard big screams. I wasn’t sure if it was the screams of “I’m frustrated” or “I’m hurt”. I got there as fast as I could to hear, “AGH I CAN’T DO IT CAN YOU HELP ME”. Now, I am a big fan of if they can do it, they can do it; if they can’t, let them work out how to do it. That’s great. But also, sometimes, there’s no way they’re going to approach something again if they don’t experience any way of how they can. So I stood behind E and told her I was right there. No good. With her hands and a foot in position, after moving one foot she again screamed, “I CAN’T DO IT”. This time, though – milestone #1 for this experience – I suggested we look at it from below. If you put your hands here and here, then a foot here and a foot here – uh huh – then you could move that foot to there and that foot to there, then— she was at it again. And nailed it. Milestone #2 for this experience. Then she repeated it a bunch of times and I did a Timelapse of her doing it which has S in the background and then she watched the video on repeat for a while and scream-laughed every time but was also SO proud of herself.
Speaking of E, there are a couple of things that switched when she turned four, as she is “A growmup girl now”. Big change #1: no more nighttime nappies. This has not been quite as successful as any of us hoped. Yet she still insists on no nappy, only undies. And she still wakes up during the night (most nights, anyway), very distressed and utterly surprised that she is wet. She must wear a nappy if she is coming into our bed so I put that on over her (fresh, dry) undies. And most mornings, she tells me she has a wee in her nappy, and – oh MAN – wet undies?!?! How did that happen?! Big change #2: no more baths. Showers. Which would be a bit easier for everyone if she wasn’t absolutely terrified of showers. But the first night that she insisted on a shower – so I drained the bath that S had just been in – and then E realised that she is scared of showers so could she have a bath please – and there was no way I was running another bath – quick thinking meant I offered to have a shower with her and now that is what happens every night. Which is, honestly, fantastic. It’s true that I no longer have that few minutes to be on my own and get clean without dodging a slippery child, but having a shower done before 7pm (or so) means that’s another thing ticked off the list of what I have to do. I’m loving it.
Still speaking of E, Glenn took her for a daddy-daughter doctor visit. As in, I wasn’t involved at all, except for booking the appointment. Previously, I’ve always taken them and Glenn has come sometimes and not other times. This worked beautifully! E is such a daddy’s girl right now so needed his comfort when she had her 4-year-old stabs.
Speaking of… Nope. No link for this one, but it is the most grey-hair-inducing. I was walking home with E and S after daycare on Tuesday. In the midst of the most dangerous section – big driveways for big buildings with impatient drivers – S was suddenly climbing out of the pram. She had been securely buckled in. She was no longer securely buckled in. I strapped her back in – which was hilarious, apparently – and tried to keep walking while watching her unbuckle herself again. I gave up. E apparently had tired legs, so she was allowed to get in the pram while S held the pram and walked with me. Wednesday I took her in the stroller (smaller, no storage areas, much harder to push) because I don’t think she has mastered unbuckling that one just yet. She was allowed out to do some walking, and to be fair, she is pretty good at holding on and staying on the side I tell her to stay on. E and C quite enjoy getting a free ride (although they have to take turns) when S is walking, but goodness me the weight difference is noticeable when I’m pushing a nearly-7-year-old up a hill.
The Stuff of Our Life 