Archive for mums
Keep Calm? And Carry On?
Posted by: | CommentsWe’ve all seen the avatars and images and what not of the cutesy little poster, which also did the rounds during the most recent world war that depict the profound Keep Calm and Carry On message.
The aim of the message was to remind people to … well, keep calm and just get on with what needed to be got on with.
A lovely sentiment really. And makes fabulous sense. In theory.
In reality however … well ….
I had a session with my psych this morning. Lots of tears and lots and lots of hating myself. Essentially, my brain kind of broke. It’s not working as intended, nor is it doing what I’d like it to do.
It’s not very helpful.
And in all of it I’m attempting to Keep Calm and Carry On.
Therein lies the problem.
Me being me, I can be incredibly reasonable at the best of times, take things in my stride, accept things are the way they are, taking responsibility for my actions and the role I played in shit happening, and the old “it’s not what happens to you, it’s how you deal with it” adage … etc …
There is nothing wrong with all of this, per se. It’s WAY more effective than trying to fight something you have no way of changing, or blaming everyone and everything else for your life, and … I could go on , but it is boring and far too profound and could be easily misconstrued as wanky and philosophical.
Anyhoo, what I’ve been doing is Keeping Calm and Carrying On. Like being totally fucked over by someone who completely screwed up a job, knows it, is refusing to take responsibility for it and is passing the buck to me (am far too trusting and nice ), the process and subsequent diagnosis of ASD, a rogue teacher (whom I’m sure would have some sort of clinical, psychological diagnosis), considerable business issues, Grumpy’s work (which reached an even higher level of stress) and now the process in selling the house … and each time I’ve said “it is what it is” and accepted what’s happening and put whatever needs to be put in place to deal with it, manage it and/or work with it.
Again, not terribly bad traits in themselves.
Except, at times, I really believe it is essential to not Keep being so frigging Calm and have a full on, screaming tanty.
THAT is what I’ve been depriving myself of.
I’ve been reasonable, accepting and “oh well” and NOT said what it is that I’ve wanted to; to get it off my chest, free up some brain space and release some stress.
It also has the effect – the benefit – of letting me in on what the real issue might be, or opening up some other, alternative options for dealing with it. Or just letting off some steam.
Keeping Calm is a farce. It causes you to repress a heap of shit that’s really bothering you, and clutters up the brain, disabling its thought processes and causing inability to think straight and make decisions.
It can also lead to depression.
Sure, a tantrum is not going to solve the problem, or get you what you want or make someone buy your house, or behave like the responsible adult they are supposed to be when managing a classroom full of children, etc.
Man, I tell my kids that all the time, when they’re lying on the floor kicking and screaming, or yelling “you hate me, you never get me what I want” … “So,” I enquire of them. “Are you getting what you want while you’re carrying on like that?”
A tantrum won’t make any of that happen. But it will – for me anyway – clear the mind and provide a source of relief.
After your screaming, kicking and crying, you are then free to Carry On.
Personally, I think the adage needs to read:
Keep Calm and … fuck that, Carry On like a pork chop until you feel better.
And after 12 months of being cool, calm and collected, being accepting of others, being completely and totally responsible for my actions and my part in all that has gone on, being reasonable, understanding and forgiving (and, sadly, sometimes letting people get away with being arseheads) I’m off to carry on for a bit.
In fact, I think I will Carry On (in the kicking, screaming, tantrum, like-a-pork-chop sense) and then I shall be in the best position to Keep Calm.
You?
The definition of insanity is Mother Guilt
Posted by: | CommentsSitting quietly in the sunshine, minding my own business and watching the kids skipping in Phys Ed (which was pretty funny in itself) yesterday afternoon at school, when another mum approached me and asked if I could help out with the school excursion tomorrow.
It’s to the Melbourne show.
“Sure,” I replied, then immediately brought out my “Get Out Of Jail Free” card. “But, oh, I have the baby, he’d have to come. Sorry.”
Then at school this morning, just to prove I’m one of those mothers that really is making an effort – it’s all a show – I mentioned the conversation to the teacher. She’ll let me know.
Which she did, at school pickup. “Thanks so much for doing this. It’s going to be such a help, thank you. Oh, it won’t be too hard for you.”
What? Harder than my ‘normal’ day?
I smile sweetly and say no, it’ll be fine. And off we rush to the dentist.
Which I know is going to cut into my time for making a cake for Godzilla to take for his “show day”, because his class isn’t going so they’re having one at school. Complete with pet competitions – bring in a photo of you and your pet, which I’d do, but I’m still down two cameras, so can’t do that – and baking comps. Which I promised I would do.
In the meantime, I have a business coach kicking my bum and my to do list in book form and I’m trying to work through that, before it becomes a novel. I tick a few things off, whilst Chippie crawls around my feet, pulling my notes off the desk, and eating them, then pulling used tissues out of my bin, and eating them, too.
He’s clearly not going to have his morning sleep, which he has actually been having the last few days, and throws out my plans. I feed him lunch, early, check a few emails and find him asleep in his high chair. After half a cheese sandwich and an hour and a half of screaming and refusing to sleep.
Figure I’ll have a good few hours, get nearly two and an equal number of ticks off one of my lists, before he wakes.
Home from dentist and I quickly set about getting just one more thing done, as won’t really have time to do more till Friday. Slogging through the task when I think about tomorrow:
- all day at Show, with bubs, so must plan snacks for entire day. Ask Grumpy to get small cooler bag down from very high up cupboard for me;
- will have to drive to school as have swimming lessons immediatley after;
- therefore, must ensure extra extra spare clothes for Chippie, as no doubt he will get wet again;
- then remember I have a business meeting immediately after swimming lessons;
- thankfully, the person I’m going with has volunteered her (broken armed) husband to look after at least two of my kids;
- drop them off and pick her up at the same time – makes sense;
- drive to meeting – oh, wait, back to third point, will also have to take appropriate clothing for me to change into;
- not wearing business attire to Show and swimming lessons;
- also not wearing school excursion/swimming lessons clothes to business meeting;
- argh!;
- drive to meeting, and meet up with Mum who will play with Chippie whilst we’re in meeting
- broken armed husband of business colleague not confident with his kids, and mine when one involves a baby;
- fair enough;
- especially as he has a baby there, too;
- at this point, unsure as to what actions are after meeting;
- considering driving to airport and seeing if I end up in Tahiti.
After thinking all that, finishing off task and my head not exploding, I recall I am supposed to be making a carrot cake.
Continue discussion with Literal 6 year old that has been going since 3.30 this afternoon, which involves me trying to convince the non-believer that carrot cakes are actually made with carrots, and he tries to tell me they are carrot shaped.
Attempt to explain that I can’t cook them carrot shaped, and would he like a rectangle or muffins, and if I do the rectangle I can then make it carrot shaped.
Still not convinced, and cannot think of any other ways to explain situation. So I send him to bed.
Pour glass of wine – good cake preparation – and then have proper look at recipe. Have all ingreditents, which is quite remarkable really, as went to shop on way home from dentist and purchased only carrots. I knew I was out of them. And would need them for carrot cake, despite Godzilla’s assurance that I wouldn’t.
Follow recipe, leaving out walnuts due to nut allergies at school and very strict instructions to not bring anything nutty. Have no idea if walnuts are included in this, but is a moot point, as have no walnuts. Have another wine.
Mix everything together and, thankfully, just prior to pouring mix into tin discover cooking time is something like 3 days. Given it’s well past 9pm, and I don’t want to be up till Stupid O’Clock (despite good chance I will be woken then anyway) as have to spend tomorrow with far too many children that aren’t mine, I change plans and decide they’re just having carrot not-cakes. They will have cupcakey things instead.
Have not yet worked out how am going to make them look like carrots … but will worry about that after I’ve had 4.3 hours of broken sleep.
The school classroom pet and vital decision making for mums
Posted by: | CommentsLast night was Monkey Boy’s turn to bring home the school pet … a chamelion called “Rex”.
Thankfully, not a real one, as it would probably have been eaten by bubs or ended up in the washing basket, not to be found for 4 days or when I next found the time to do the washing, whichever was soonest.
Rex is based on a book of the same name, where the kids’ names are drawn out of a hat and they get to take Rex home and write about what he did at home in a special diary that also gets sent home. Last night was our turn.
Our turn also involved taking lots of photos of Rex, because Monkey Boy a) doesn’t like drawing much and b) trying to get Monkey Boy to draw is something akin to sticking hot pokers in your eyeballs, shoving bamboo skewers under your toenails, pointy bit first, and taking a 3 year old shopping. Simultaneously.
We took photos of Rex doing all sorts of things. Monkey Boy was exceptionally well behaved, to the point I considered “losing” Rex so that he would remain in our household and work his magic on Monkey Boy.
The result was getting up first thing to download the photos and print them off so Monkey Boy could stick them in the special book. Inevitably, the Universe and rest of familly conspired against me, Chippie deciding to sleep in and waking after Grumpy went off to work, so I got to deal with him and the other. Monkey Boy and Godzilla were so excited about Rex still being there they went nuts. We had little bread, and zero chance of me getting out of the house to get it.
Did the photo thing in between feeding baby and yelling at older two to get some kind of sense (not common – I knew that was a real push and I’m not an idiot with such unreasnable expectations) and was left with a hard decision to make … have a shower or make the school lunches.
A shower was getting beyond ‘want’ and more in the realms of ‘need’ given the makeup residue on my face from several days ago. Thankf ully most of that had come off on the sheets. Also in desperate need of a wash. And I felt icky. I wasn’t sure if I was able to function without a shower.
*sigh* But didn’t want to get the phone call from school either.
Made lunches – which happened more quickly than anticipated given the bread shortage status, and was able to pop in the shower. Chippie was happily playing and I advised Monkey Boy about 892 times where I was going.
So he led Chippie into the bathroom and buggered off. I rinsed the shampoo off my head and opened my eyes to find Chippie dropping a toilet roll into the toilet, leaving just enough paper to then unravel the roll and suck on icky bits of it. He then proceeded to rip teensy tiny bits of paper off the roll and fling them as best as possible.
Ten minutes later, as I was putting shoes and sock on, I was still pulling bits of toilet paper from my feet, backs of legs and celing rose …
Leave house and return 32 seconds later to retrieve Rex and volcano for school science fair.
What fine institutions Victorian public schools are
Posted by: | CommentsWith support like this around me, I’m really quite surprised I’m not a better mother.
It all began, at swimming lessons, with a large crowd of listeners and the two school aged children saying things like “I’ve got a match, your face and my bum” very loudly to each other. The older one getting it and being more and more inventive with his “matches” and the younger one not getting it but getting louder as the older got more inventive.
My “will you please SHUT UP NOW!” went unheeded, quite possibly because the baby was gouging my face off in attempt to go for a swim, and the Grumpy one stepped into help.
“Come here!” he bellows, and I think thank fuck he’s actually doing something about it. “I’ve got a match, too. Your brain and fly poo!”
Hilarious. And most helpful.
Toss them in the pool, sit around bored out of my head, except for the really funny bits where they are learning new strokes, yell at them about getting into showers and getting dressed and walk back to the car.
“Guess what I learnt at school today?”
Hmmm. I rarely, if ever, get offered such information. “Do tell?”
(Actually, I didn’t say that. I never say that. But it sounds like I’m interested. I did think oh, fuck, do I really want to know+, because past experience has taught me well)
“OK. Say “for China” 10 times, really fast!”
There’s a catch, I know it. I work it out. I sigh a lot and ponder the fine public school system we have in Victoria.
(And if you dind’t get it, try it again – For China – really fast!)
What did I do to deserve this? I’m just a MUM, not Einstein!
Posted by: | CommentsAs if the diorama and other space bloody project wasn’t enough. The note about the science fair was eventually retreived from the school bag.
I liked the last few years better. The Science Fair was optional (according to the school) for kids below grade three. It was prohibited (according to me). Now he’s in grade 3, Monkey Boy is required to participate.
I think the last few times working with me on project has taught him that, no, he can’t suggest 14 different blooyd projects and argue with me about it. He is allowed to choose one and one only! And then it must be approved by me, and then he must continue to choose until I am ok with it.
He chose this year to make a volcano. Which is OK coz the kinder teacher made some and we have a recipe. For the volcano-y spew stuff, at least.
We opted to make the actual volcano-y bit (the mountainy stuff) out of papier mache. Which would be handy if we actually knew what the hell papier mache was. I think last time I used (made?) the stuff, I was 6. Obviously, there is a reason I haven’t worked with it since – but given the time frame, I can no longer remember what that reason is. No doubt I will find out in the next few days.
I did contemplate Googling it, but then remembered you don’t google things like that because then you’ll self diagnose yourself as having a brain tumour. Quite possibly located in your left ankle.
I asked the prep teacher this morning – I mean, she’s a prep teacher and it is her duty to know this stuff – and she said “flour and water and newspaper”. But HOW MUCH? What are the ratios? This was never in What to expect when you’re expecting?!
Apparently, the ratios are ‘until it is “gloopy”‘ – what is the definition of “gloopy”?
And is “gloopy” the bit I’m forgetting about why I haven’t made the stuff for such a very long time? When some responsible adult was in charge of supervising?
Then she asked me if I’m making a leg.
Oh dear. I hated school projects when I was in grade 3. What, oh what have I done to deserve this?
The things Mums do are just never appreciated.
Posted by: | CommentsThis morning I asked a simple, small favour of my beloved eight year old son.
Whoops. Sorry, eight and a half year old son.
Something like “Can you please move out of the way?” or “Can you open the door for me please?”
Ever the smartarse – he must have been speaking to his father earlier, coz he was in fine form this morning, also – he replied with “No. What have you ever done for me?”
Hmmm, let me count the ways.
“Gee, um, I was about to go and make your lunch like I do every morning, but I can just not.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And, given I make you lunch every morning, what have you ever done for me?”
“Well. I eat the lunch you make every day.”
Fairy nuff, too, then.
That’ll make for a Happy Mummy
Posted by: | CommentsAwoke this morning to no water in the house.
Actually, I awoke much earlier than that to a crying baby, who was unceremoniously dumped on me at some stupid hour by a half asleep husband who’d stumbled out of bed and grabbed him. Then stumbled into the bathroom, loudly, and grumpily stumbled back complaining there was no water.
So he boiled the kettle and used what water there was in there to shave before he went to work. Which is kind of fair enough, but I do need a MUG of coffee after I’ve had my first MUG of coffee for the day.
Thankfully, for my sanity and the continued survival of the children, I’d sorted the automatic coffee machine out last night – we were all safe!
For about 13 seconds – the kids woke, discovered the aqua-deficit and commenced the “why is there no water?” mantra. The on that goes “Why is there no water? But why is there no water? But why is there no water?”
Repeat 9 million times a minute.
I almost made them ring the water company, but they got bored and I was left doing it. At 8 am was told it would be another 2-3 hours! Do they not care that I’ve only had one coffee and am required to care for 3 small children, two of which need to be at school within the hour?
Argh!
I’ve been invited to a friend’s house for lunch. Which means I may have to cancel. Or worse – go smelly! Relent and actually risk asking someone for help – or plan to ask if I can have a shower at her place – when the water comes back on.
Now I’m left with the option of asking for something (not something I’m terribly good at) or be late (something I’m really terrible at)
Friend preferred me late and showered, but arrived at her place decaffienated.
There’s nothing like a good friend who knows how to make a coffee!
What? Me need sleep? I don’t think so. Or is it “you” don’t think so?
Posted by: | CommentsNot able to wait unitl Grumpy got home from work, I climbed into (my) bed with Monkey Boy.
Way better than an electric blanket. Except that he wriggles a lot.
Grumpy came home, I explained the day, showed him Monkey Boy’s red cheek and asked where he wanted to sleep. The main dilemma is that Chippie’s room is directly opposite ours, the lounge room is right down the other end of the house, I can sleep on the couch really well, but can’t be arsed walking the length of the house to attend and woken baby at Stupid O’Clock, and if I sleep down there, Grumpy will have to get up to attend to hm.
Hmmm.
Tough one.
He took the couch. And it started …
Chippie woke at just past midnight. Required some minor assistance with resettling. Grumpy decided he couldnt’ sleep on couch, so climbed into bed. I was squished between the two.
Monkey Boy sat up at 2.03am and said “I feel like I’m going to vomit”. I pushed him gently and said “quick, move it, bathroom” and he said “But I feel sick. I think I’m going to vomit,”
Why do kids do that? Why waste valuable throwing up time explaining you’re going to do it, then doing it on your mother? Seriously?
Sorted. Sleep. Not me. Grumpy and Monkey Boy. One snoring one side of me, the other wriggling and being very hot and shiverring.
Lucky I was awake, because Chippie woke less than 3 hours later and needed a feed.
Not long after that, the three kids in the other room woke and started being noisy.
Monkey Boy’s temp had gone up again, so had to get up and get coffee.
Then, I was able to function somewhat vaguely and get him some panadol.
Still no idea what slap cheek is, or if he has it. But the redness has moved to the other cheek. And he’s started giving cheek. He must be getting better.
.. and the day is still not over …
Posted by: | CommentsDespite not feeling well, Monkey Boy insisted on staying up and watching the rest of the movie.
He was, technically, lying down, so it was hard to argue the point. Besides, his friend was sleeping in his bed. I wanted to minimise his contact with it as much as possible.
Another high temp, and a very, bright red cheek, so I wrestled open the new panadol and handed it over. Apparently, it tasted “yucky”.
Too fresh, perhaps?
Half the dose downed and off he race again.
All I can say is “thank goodness for floorboards”
The two younger children (Godzilla and his friend and the younger sibling) had been looking for somewhere to play, and were repeatedly moved on for finding unsuitable spots. What was wrong with the bedroom, complete with carpeted floor, I have no idea.
The bathroom, particularly at that point in time, was probably not the best spot in the world to play. Or so they quickly found out.
Argh!
Kids to bed, eventually, Monkey Boy in ours, with the intent that either Grumpy or myself would sleep on the couch, I settled down with a glass of wine.
Which tasted yuk ….
You rock, Doll.....thanks for such awe inspiring honesty and brilliant laughs.
Fuck you make me laugh (via Twitter @woogsworld)