Archive for parent advice
Motherfail
Posted by: | CommentsSome days, you just can’t get it right.
This week has been one of those days for me.
I ended up eating toast I didn’t want for breakfast earlier this week (yesterday? It’s been so busy with such long days, I have no idea what’s going on) because Chippie asked for toast. When I say “asked” I mean he yelled the word at me.
Then he asked.
I can be stubborn, too.
Then he seemed to realise he didn’t want toast and demanded porridge. So I put porridge in a bowl. Then he did the Running On The Spot thing and cried and said “NO, I want porridge” until I said “What the fuck is that? A block of flats?”
This is a common question in our household.
It was soon determined that the “porridge” he wanted is, in fact, not porridge at all, but NutriGrain. My analness sees all our cereal varieties transferred into Tuppeware cereal containers and lined up in the one cupboard. Therefore all the cereals in said containers are “porridge”.
I failed to recognise this, then determine which particular “porridge” he specifically wanted.
That sorted, I made school lunches and ate toast.
Chippie sat at the table and ate his porridge-NutriGrain.
Chippie then came over, did his Screaming Dancing On The Spot Thingy in front of me, because I’d eaten his toast.
“I need my toast!” he yelled at me.
I threw my hands up in exasperation and mumbled, “and I need you to shut the fuck up”.
Still, that wasn’t the worst I did this week.
Today was far worse and caused much more trauma.
He found the balloon he’d been given yesterday when we were up the street. Helium. Deflating.
He was most upset with me that I was unable to perform some sort of miracle that saw the balloon fully inflated and bobbing around merrily in the air, pulling taut the festive ribbon it was attached to.
Yep. Apparenlty, I suck.
I fessed up
Posted by: | CommentsThe time had come.
After I screwed up last week with the Disappearing Chips and the No Electronics At All Until Someone Tells The Truth Because I Hate Lies debacle, I fessed up.
The kids were annoying Grumpy, whom suggested they play Skylanders or something and Monkey Boy, being completely honest says “We’re not allowed to. Remember? Someone at the chips and Mum won’t let us.”
I did pretend not to hear and let Grumpy deal with it. Grumpy dealt with it by looking at me and saying, pointedly “Yeah! I wonder who ate them?”
Smartarse.
“I think it was me,” I said. Really, I know it was me. Not who ate them, but who dished them out to everyone.
“I had planned to put them aside, but decided to just serve them all up. As I was distracted,” and I was interrupted by a chorus of “It wasn’t me distracting you” because it never is! …
“I forgot,” I continued, “that I had emptied the pack.”
I cringed, waiting for the fallout, the accusations and never, ever being believed again.
Thankfully, a thought entered my head. A fabulous one. One that would redeem me forever! Hurrah!
“HA!” I said. “That means you ALL ate the chips, so you are ALL liars!”
And I ran away before they could say anything else.
Not that they did. They quickly set Skylanders up and that was the end of that.
Taking real mumming one step further
Posted by: | CommentsI came across a quote in the course of one of my days last week.
It read:
Don’t worry, you’re not the first mom who’s every thrown a towel on the peed-on sheets and gone back to bed.
I like quotes like that. They help back me and my message up and reinforce that there are others out there who feel we mums are getting too much guilt forced upon us.
It made me smile.
Which is good. I need a smile. The last couple of nights have been back to being woken several times a night by the Littlest One. Last night was no different.
Three times, I think it was, possibly four, he came into our bed. Each time, I lay next to him, not sleeping, but grasping at the tiniest amounts of energy I could summon from nooks and crannies around my body, until I had enough to haul myself up, gather him in my arms and put him back into his bed.
Stagger back to bed, collapse, fall asleep, only to be dragged from that state an hour or so later.
It wasn’t until just before 6an that some of my faculties came back to me. Kind of.
“Did you wee?” I asked the 3 year old. Who completely ignored me, because he was happily sleeping.
“You smell like wee,” I continued. Although have no idea why. No one else was awake. Just me. I was talking to myself. Again.
Once I’d had coffee it transpired that I had been repeatedly covering the peed-on sheets with the pre-schooler and going back to bed.
Nice one.
Good Planning
Posted by: | CommentsToday was scattered. To say the least.
Sleep ins and rushing to school, a scheduled meeting where I got a latte, but was stood up. Not all bad, as ran to the rescue of a friend in dire need before heading off to have my own head shrunk. Have enough time to stuff food in face, seated for a change, at the table, where I pick up the school newsletter and accompanying paperwork (there is always accompanying paperwork!) that was unceremoniously removed from the depths of a school bag and left on the floor, partially concealed by the couch.
Remarkably, it was handed out Wednesday, and left near couch on Wednesday evening.
I glance over its contents, take a look at the bright blue paper with black writing stuffed inside it, contemplate (again) offering my services to whichever part of the parent committee thinks sending black type on darkish blue paper is a good idea, along with my ability to structure sentences that make some vague sense, and recall why I don’t, because they know better.
Mentally file the next special lunch day, by which I mean “remember to ask kids what they want, fill out the forms and pay for it, then locate the forms and payments in bottom of school bag the week after it is due and the day before special lunch day” and alter eyes to take in the Blue Paper Imformation.
There is a thingy at school. This afternoon. Sausage sizzles and art show and presentations and stuff. Also, could I please bring some baked goods to school during the day on Friday so they may be sold at the Cake Stall that is also happening at this Thing. Can I also volunteer some time to help with stuff.
Um, no. Not on such short notice. Ok, in fairness, they did hand the notice out earlier this week. It’s my fault I didn’t read it then. But, really, for things like “helping out” and “cake stall”, I need more than two day’s notice. That’s just how I roll.
At which point, we need to leave the house to collect the kids from school (and maybe attend this Thing), so grab my phone and keys and we leave. Arrive at school to bustling activity, sausage sizzles, art shows and cake stalls.
“Oh, fuck,” I mumble to myself as I recall the real repercussions of this.
Being gossiped about because I have, yet again, not contributed in any way I can now deal with. It’s the inevitable “Did you bring money? I want a sausuage,” that will come as soon as the bell goes.
I turn to Grumpy Pants.
“Did you bring money? They’ll want a sausage,” I inform him.
He pulls his wallet out of his jeans and discovers exactly zero dollars and zero cents in there.
“Did you bring any money? I want a sausage,” says Godzilla, in way of greeting as he bounds up to us.
“Just pay on your credit card,” he suggests when we finally explain the lack of physical funds for such delicacies.
We are not without intellegent thinking however. The school is located a block from Dan Murphy’s. Although we don’t actually need to add to our wine stocks just at the moment, we know the purchase of wine will never go astray. So, like all good thinking parents, we toddle off to the bottle shop, leaving our kids to run rampant at the Thing at school, and withdraw some cash with our purchase. We can nor purchase sausages.
Monkey Boy, it appears, is equally resourceful. The Mother of one of his friends passes us and says “Oh, I gave him some money. He said you didn’t have any.” So we offloaded a bottle of wine onto her.
Really, we didn’t want to be seen as “those parents”. Walking around the school with one bottle was going to be enough to draw Those Looks.
We stuffed the bottle of wine into Godzilla’s school bag, made mental note to withdraw it when we got home, and wandered around the school, eating sausages and looking at artwork.
And avoiding the cake stall so I didn’t feel so guilty.
(Don’t get me wrong; I’m more than happy to contribute and bake stuff for cake stalls. I just need more than 43 seconds notice)
Walk home, collecting Chippie along the way. By the time we get home, the kids are hyped up, loud, annoying and obnoxious. I advised of the potential of them being locked out of the house when we arrived home if they did not settle down. And soon.
Thankfully, the house across the road had a gas leak and was in danger of being blown up. So some work was being done directly outside our house.
Leaving me with the perfect place to stash my kids until I was able to cope with them …
Things you hear from the kids bedroom # 206
Posted by: | CommentsAfter last night’s extremely long night, Godzilla still manages to wake early and bounce around the house, singing.
Cheery.
I don’ t know how he does it.
It was short lived, however, as it was only moment later I heard the Dreaded Scream, the one where I used to think he’d been impaled on LEGO set adorning the stairs in the hall, whilst simultaneously being eaten by fire ants and having his leg saw off with a blunt instrument, but I now know is nothing even like that. Usually, the Dreaded Scream is because Monkey Boy has done something to him, like, oh, I don’t know, nearly look at him, perhaps. Or accidentally walk within 2 feet of him as he leaves the room.
Something terrible, anyway.
Anyhoo, there it is, the Dreaded Scream.
Followed by “STOP IT! I don’t like people farting on me!”
Fair call, too.
That trauma dealt with by ignoring it completely, I can now set about preparing lunch for our guests arriving in approximately 4 minutes.
When I say I’m not ok, what will you do?
Posted by: | CommentsOk, I’m not in a great spot at the moment.
In this weird place that is one foot in a depressive state and the other in “just do it” and getting stuff done. I’m happy. And I’m really sad. I know it seems I’m getting stuff done, and I am (and still have the ability to focus on that, for the moment) but under the surface … bleargh!
I’m ok. But I’m not.
Fatigue kicks it off. It makes the “busy” turn to overwhelm and the coping … well, not so much coping as dropping balls all over the place.
It started when, being tired, I lost control of something big – and something I had no control over anyway. I don’t like being out of control. It’s my “thing”, control is. Worse, the loss was loss of my website (due to issues beyond my control) for a full day. I had no safe haven, and I lost my blog, so no writing the hilariously funny things that happen in my life. Sure, I could have gone and done the ironing (*snigger*) or housework, but I had to deal with the issue at hand. This meant relying on people to get back to me, and stuff that I had no idea about.
I’m also one of those people whom depression hits. I just am. I know it. You know it. So a couple of things at once, and it started to rear its ugly, black head.
My site being down was bad, and had time to sit and think about it’s purpose. I was changing the lives of other mums. I caught some TV on postnatal depression, and felt all my efforts where in vain as the Today Show on channel 9 loudly, proudly and quite ignorantly, referred to PND as “the baby blues”. Through the entire segment. Another presenter on another show commented on the “serious consquences” of antidepressents, which had me screaming at the TV that the consequences of NOT taking antidepressents, in some cases, were much more dire and some even involved DEATH!
I couldn’t help but feel I was swimming in a quagmire of shit about parenting and barely keeping my head above water; how do you fight and ignorant society and a media that fuels the ignorance when you are just one person?
I then did some stupid things; poured coffee in an overhead cupboard, and, subsequently, everywhere else, I forgot “Crazy Hair day” at school and a few other school related bits and pieces, and actually cried at pick up on on said Crazy Hair Day. This is when the ‘bad’ thoughts start to happen.
Sometimes “what’s the point?” and the oft mentioned “put your family first” – which I get, but when you’re so passionate and driven about something it eats at you. Constantly. For the benefit of the Mumfia and the rest of them, my family do take up a fair amount of my attention. The rest of you know this and I don’t need to say anything to convince you.
Worse thoughts come. In amongst the media and its portrayal of PND, all I could think of was checking out of this society I live in. The violence and lack of appropriate management of it, the ignorance and loudmouthed sanctimonious comments that come with it, the insanity of our every parenting move commented on, the perceived danger our kids are in … I could go on. I just wanted out.
And take whatever you will from the “I wanted out” as I can assure you I entertained every interpretation of that.
I have managed to combat, mostly, the negative self talk. But moments like these, the postitive self talk almost doens’t have a voice. All I can do is sit here and let the talk come at me and at me … and just let it. I picture my mind, huddled in a tight foetal position, its teensy arms doing all it can to protect itself, whilst a cartoonishly-large, steel capped book repeatedly kicks into it; “you’re useless, what are you doing, I don’t know why you bother ….” etc. I let it go. I let it do it. And I pick myself up, dust myself off and walk away. I don’t have the strenght to tell it to “fuck off”, as much as I’d like to.
Somedays are harder than others.
And when people ask me “are you ok?” I usually smile and say “sure, I’m fine” and just let slip little bits and pieces about things that annoy me. Sometimes I just come across as bitching about mundane and not-so-bad crap, and am making things seem worse than they really are. Focussing on the kinda annoying things and blowing them out of proportion as two parts:
1. For me, in these moments, they really are bigger than they are in reality. They’re harder to deal with, to act on and to make decisions about. Logically, I know, its ridiculous and the decision isn’t that hard. But it is.
2. It gives me something “minor” to focus on, and prevents me from dealing with the big shit, the hard stuff going on. I don’t need to look at it or contemplate it, therefore, I don’t have to do anything about it.
Just know that I do know I’m complaining about stupid shit. It’s helping me.
There are voices outside me head, too, that aren’t helping. The voices of friends and family, people who care about me, and people who don’t know me from a bar of soap. Some I tell I’m not ok, and some I do the obligatory “yep, fine thanks”, and some I complain to about stuff. Some, who know I’m not doing great, offer to help.
But does anyone really listen?
I don’t want to disrepsect RUOK Day, as I think this is an awesome initiative that has gone a long way to doing something about the issue of suicide (and depression). It did, however, highlight some flaws – mostly that people have no clue what to do when someone says “no, actually, I’m not ok”. The site does have some info on how to handle that, but as a society, and individuals even, we really don’t have a clue.
I have a busy couple of weeks coming up. Really busy. Which on the one hand is not helping my overwhelm and tiredness and horirble state of mind. On the other, it is helping.
Because I have thimgs to look forward to. One thing I, personally, love, is cooking. I’m not great at it, granted, and not terribly imaginative or exceptional or anything. But I’m ok, I can cook and I enjoy it.
I’m looking forward to making dessert for friends, and birthday cakes for my eldest. I’m looking forward to catching up with family and friends and people I love.
Except … some of my close friends can see I’m not doing great. My gorgeous husband tells me “we have some dessert in the freezer” (he’s been teaching patisserie and has a few awesome desserts he made and brought home) … “you can have a break and not worry about it” … and BANG! There goes a sliver of somethign I was looking forward to.
It’s not just this. It’s the well meaning who say “oh, that’s awesome! Now you dont’ have to do it” or offer ot make the birthday cakes for me, or suggest using a packet mix or purchasing a cake.
It’s people saying “oh, you’re so busy, I didn’t want to interrupt you and ask you to meet me for coffee” or not organising catch ups because “you have so much on”.
It’s delegating the “going out for a movie night” to my hubby who doesn’t do it, but doesn’t realise the profound impact him not doing it has on me. Especially when he says “oh, I thought you were doing it”.
So here we are: I’ve organised two get togethers and don’t even have the benefit of making dessert for either of them.
Logically, ratioinally, I know these offers and people are trying to help. They’re considering my wellbeing and doing what they think is right for me. They think they’re being helpful. And I respect that and understand it.
But this other side of me can’t help but think they don’t want to spend time with me. Or that my desserts are shit and they don’t want to eat them.
Or, just generally, I’m useless.
They haven’t just taken away my saving grace, they’re adding to the negative self talk.
In a loving and caring manner. Of course. All with the best of intentions.
What I really want is to be able to make dessert or bake the birthday cake, and for someone else to organise a social outing, and to stop with the “I won’t because she’s so busy” or the “I won’t invite them to dinner because he’s a chef and won’t like what I cook”.
Yep, just another one of the reasons why I’m “so lucky” to be married to a chef. It makes our social life so much fun. Also, that was sarcasm. Also, he also loves it when someone else cooks for him and he’s grateful and incredibly appreciative. And doesn’t judge.
Ironically, Beyond Blue have just released an initiative called Just Speak Up - which I just happened to receive an email about at the same time as I needed to speak up.
I can’t help but think it may go a bit the same as RUOK Day – where people don’t know what to do when you say “no” or when you do speak up. A great initiative about getting the issue out there, and reducing stigma and all the rest of it.
I don’t mean to make anyone feel bad with my speaking up. I know it is meant with the best of intentions, and, for those how don’t know me so well, as a bit of a laugh and some connection with me. I get that.
Speaking up also helps me to get stuff sorted in my head. It has helped.
And when you ask someone if they’re ok, and they say “no”, or someone finds the courage to speak up – will you listen to them?
I mean really listen and not take away their baking day?
Right now, I’m having moments of ok. And I know I will be OK, because I’ve worked hard at knowing what I need to be ok.
And right now, I’m also not ok. But I will be.
Thank you for your helpfulness
Posted by: | CommentsDear everyone at Coles,
Thank you for smiling at my toddler, with an adoring look on your face as you passed him.
Also, than you for your “he’s so cute” and “isn’t he gorgeous?” comments as you passed me.
Yes, you know that moment you passed him, a good isle-length ahead of me, and felt it appropriate to pass the “cute” comment as I’m racing up the isle after him, yelling “COME BACK!” Remember then?
Oh, yes, and at that moment where my husband and middle son where relieving the Sample Ice Cream Lady of her wares, resulting in the purchase of ice cream that I would never have purchased otherwise.
I know a toddler racing up the isle going “bip bip bip” (whatever the hell that is) is “cute” and I’m well aware of his gorgeousness, thakn you very much. The fact that you think so is really very much beyond my giving a fuck, as, quite frankly, I was wearing the wrong bra at the time and chasing him up the isle was just … wrong!
My apologies to security if you happened to be watching the cameras at the time.
Yours,
Pissed of Mamma!
Later on that evening, after consuming bowls of ice cream of a flavour we wouldn’t normally have, thanks to escapades of toddler and husband at the supermarket, toddler was more grumpy than usual. No apparent fever, but I did notice his glands were up.
In his utmost helpfullness, Grumpy did try to aid me with determining what to do.
“How come you never notice when my gland is up?”
Yes, thank you very much. Hilarious.
Really not sure how I’m going to properly check Chippie’s temperature, what with me being doubled over laughing and all …
Mums can do everything, with a little bit of help
Posted by: | CommentsHere I am, at Wine O’Clock, sitting and trying to catch up on whatever the hell is going on in the rest of the world, as I have absolutely no idea, by watching the news.
A skewed view of what’s going on in the world, admittedly, however it gives me a little more of an idea outside of how the tall boy in the kids’ bedroom is falling apart, and the likely places the wood glue may be found.
It is 27 seconds into the first news item, when Monkey Boy yells his standard “Mu-uuum! Come here!” This could range from someone or something being located in an unusual spot, he is stuck somewhere, he has found a funny comic that is, in fact, not even remotely funny, or the wood glue is sitting on the tall boy.
I catch “Quick, theres something something scaring me!”
“Be there in a minute,” I yell back in reply.
“QUICK!” he screams. “It’s attacking me!”
And shortly after, I hear the dreaded word “spider”.
Have minor panic attack. For two reasons. I hate spiders and I’m well aware I am on a knife edge of fucking my kid up for life by showing him just how panicked I am re alleged, attacking spider.
I slowly make my way up Chippie’s room, as Grumpy has, quite conveniently not heard a word of this, yet will inevitably have stern words re killage of said spider should I go down that particular path.
Also, I have issues with squished spiders.
I find Monkey Boy, curled in the cornder of the room, pointing at the cot to where the spider was, and I swallowed another panic as I envisioned a wolf spider residing between the folds of Chippie’s unmade blankets.
I squint, look closer and see a spider all of, oh, several milimetre long – HUGE! – including it’s legs. And I sigh. And I send Monkey Boy for a glass in which to capture it.
Note: Spiders must always be captured in a glass so you can see what the fuckers are doing.
He returns with a red, plastic, Cars tumbler. Opaque red, I might add.
*sigh* and I dive in anyway as I instruct him to grab a “scrap paper from my office” with which to cover the opening of the tumbler, where I will, subsequently, transport arachnid out the front door and toss him to the wind.
He returns with a book mark. One which barely covers one quarter of the opening I wish to prevent the spider from escaping from.
Ultimately, I am forced to run to the front door, holding recepticle at arms length, twisting and twirling it to ensure spider stays as far from the opening, and my vulnerable fingers, as possible until I can get out the door and flick the cup to evict spider.
It is at this point I wish the spider to leave the barely covered opening, yet it refuses, and I endure several gruelling seconds in the rain, in my pyjamas and trying my utmost not to squeal in some kind of girly Fear Of Spiders way.
Monkey Boy shuts and locks the door for me, with me still on the outside, and returns to his play, uninterrupted by Hugely Enormous Spiders that Attack And Eat Little Boys.
*sigh*
Lo GI Bread and School Lunches – a review and some ideas
Posted by: | CommentsI had the very distinct pleasure of being approached by Bakers Delight’s PR company, asking me to try out their Hi-Fibre Lo-GI bread, and share some of my creative and fabulous lunch box ideas.
Chuffed, I was. The only way to describe it. Oh, and hungry, as it was around lunchtime that I received the loaf in which I was to get all creative.
Aside from the term Lo-Gi Bread reminding me of GI Joe, action man derived from Ken of Barbie and Ken fame, and sending me into giggling fits every time I see the acronym “GI” and thinking of Ken, and I’m guessing GI Joe, and his dubious manhood, the bread is rather nice.
It is also hi-fibre. Essentially,it is white bread tasting, yet all the goodness of wholemeal bread without the “Mum, this bread looks like it’s a funny colour” and “NOT NUT BREAD!” etc that kids say. Because they can.
Anyhoo, after a rant about such things as the ridiculousness of “easy” school lunch box ideas and tips and the like doing the rounds, among other things, at the commencement of school last year, and in the true spirit of being a Real Mum (one of my fellow real mums wrote an article on it a while back), I was more than ready so share my realistic and acheiveable, and edible of course, lunch box ideas.
Also, as my children invariably say “Vegemite” when I ask what they want on their sandwiches, I sent them off to school with hi-fibre lo-gi (giggle) white bread sandwiches. Which, I’m sure, they devoured without thinking about it, in between picking their noses and not doing what was asked of them by their teacher.
However, as my project was to come up with some ideas for school lunches, my children are of no aid what-so-ever, and taking into consideration health, nutrition and the “no-nut” policy of the school, as well as storage and fall-out-ability of various fillings into consideration, and, first and foremost, the real mumness of sandwich fillings, I have come up with these awesome fillings for your hi-fibre lo-gi (snigger) white bread sandwiches:
- a scrape of margarine, topped with a scrape of Vegemite
- a scrape of margarine, topped with jam – choose from a huge variety of flavours, including strawberry, blackberry, apricot, raspberry, marmalade or other. You’re only limited by your imagination and what’s on sale at the supermarket
- cheese spread
- cheese slices
- cheese and Vegemite (sorry, that was a hard one; the thought of those two together makes me physically sick, therefore, my kids don’t get it in their lunchbox)
- margarine and honey
If you want to get realy fancy, you could always slice some cheese yourself, perhaps add a slice of ham or similar, and maybe some cucumber slices.
(Personally, I add the cucumber slices as a separate snack, then I don’t have to think of another snack to add 
)
As the kids were at school, and hubby and I were home with a loaf of hi-fibre, lo-gi (pahahaha) white bread, we tried a few things for lunch, too:
- BLTs:- bread grilled on one side only, then “buttered” with mayonnaise, filled with lettuce, tomato, grilled bacon, cheese, and, on one occasion, fried egg – YUM!
- Steak sandwiches;- bbq’d steak, seasoned with pepper, and placed on fresh bread with lettuce, tomato, cucumber and tomato sauce
- peanut butter and strawberry jam, because we have no “no nut” policy in the house
- cheese and tomato toasties
- leftover spaghetti bolognaise jaffles – exceptionally delicious
- salt and vinegar chip butties (YUM!)
It also works well for breakky, toasted with Vegemite, jam or peanut butter toppings.
Apologies if my school lunch box idea suggestions are somewhat boring – I do, however, know they can be whipped up in under 1 minute (complete lunchbox in under 3 minutes), require little thought and no “handrolling” of anything! And the kids eat them.
You can get your hi-fibre lo-gi (guffaw) white bread from Bakers Delight.
They also have a website, that you can’t eat, sadly, as their bread is quite nice, but can find your nearest store: http://www.bakersdelight.com.au
I also have five $5 vouchers for a Bakers Delight store near you, for the first five people that send me a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
Or the best five “School lunch box ideas” that come my way that fit the criteria of “Doable by a Real Mum” – as well as the no nuts, can be done in under 3 minutes, no wrappers, no packets, no fillings that fall out and no handrolling anything … and all the other “no’s” that are in the latest school newsletter …
I’ll leave you to work out what I mean by that (see if you’re on the ball 
) but it better make me laugh!
“I don’t know how you do it” Part 1
Posted by: | CommentsI don’t know how you do it!
Ah, a phrase I hear quite a lot.
A phrase I heard from some of the other members of my First Time Mother’s Group when I started uni (my first time! I really had grown up! Or had I??), and did the odd Fill In When A Waitress Called In Sick at hubby’s business. Oh, yeah, with a new baby.
I heard it more when baby number two added to the mix.
And when I started realmums.com.au, and did a stint as kinder Parents & Friends Committee President, and made cakes for the cake stalls.
Etc.
What prompted a more recent spate of “I don’t know how you do its” was a blog post I did back in May, over at Reality Parenting – 19 Days … a reflection
Or, if you prefer, here is the slideshow review
I’m not bragging. Nor do I think I’m particularly special or unique or anything remarkable.
I still have the ocassional meltdown and tantrum.
I’m normal.
I don’t have a nanny or cleaner. I bloody well need one! Or seven. But I don’t. Yes, my house is a mess. One of my good friends called it “homely, and like you can sit down without worrying about touching anything”. I think she was genuine and not just being nice.
Anyhoo, people keep asking “How do you do it?”
So, I’m letting you in on all my little secrets. In stages, because I am very busy and am wearing a towel, and don’t want to overwhelm you with the complexity and extremely difficult things you need to implement in your life in order to be able to “do stuff”.
Nah, joking – its all easy. I can’t be arsed doing hard stuff … but I do do stuff.
So, Part 1 of how I do it…
I have a collection of awesome, inspiring women around me. I have great friends. I accept that each of my friends, without diminishing anything about them, has a role in my life. I know which ones will give me what I need at any given time. I know which ones are not the go to person for a particular situation, but are perfect for others. I don’t expect any of them to be someone, or to do something they’re not.
I have a safe place I know, without question, I can go to, online, to rant and rave and receive the support I need, to share my successes and have a bunch of friends support me and be happy for me and celebrate with me, I can speak and won’t be judges, I can share my stories or experience or advice and know it will be received with the intention with which it was given, even if it’s crappy advice.
In short, I have a safe haven to go to when I need, for good or bad, for failures and successes, to laugh and to cry.
Sure, I did create it, but I didn’t expect the community – no, the family (only it’s one of those really nice families where everyone is cool, and loves each other) – that the members created. It. Is. Awesome.
It is Bad Mother’s Club. A free, online community for Australian Mums. It has a paid, VIP Membership area, with a closer knit community, more privacy and more opportunities to connect online.
I have great friends there. And I also talk … about anything I need to.
How I do it, is I talk, share, and connect with others. Not just any others; absolutley fabulous others.
And I have others I know I can go to, for the things I need, when I need them, for the purpose I need.
That is just one of the things that helps me “do it”.
How do you have?
You rock, Doll.....thanks for such awe inspiring honesty and brilliant laughs.
Mad Cow writes a very funny blog that all parents can relate to. I know that whenever I drop in to catch up I will end up in stitches (of laughter!) and head off to my day with a smile on my face. Thankfully, here is someone who tells it like it is. 