Stuff to Do

Two things I've learned this week (and not from my feminine products)   #1: Apples are more efficient than caffeine at waking you up in the morning. I am not sure why this is, but I can tell you that apples have a relatively low glycemic index, which means the natural sugars are released more slowly into the bloodstream, which means you have longer lasting, more consistent energy. Now, if you have your coffee like I do, which basically means that with all the milk and sugar it really isn't coffee any longer, then you get the caffeine hit plus that sugar rush which can only come from 6 sugars (and yes, I know that this is a BAD thing). But 30 minutes later, you feel like the walking dead. So you just drink more caffeine to sustain you. This is how companies like Starbucks can get away with charging 5 dollars for coffee. Because we NEED it!   #2. Frosted Flakes (or Frosties, as they are called here) have a lower glycemic index than say, pita bread. The book I dis

Saturday morning I took the girls for coffee, and the most amazing thing happened. We got there, and I put Charlie on a seat, and went to get a highchair, put Pippa in the highchair, got a second highchair, put Charlie in it, and then went to stand in the queue to order. I was looking at my two girls, just sitting there (Charlie was pretending to read the menu, calling out random numbers and saying, "Um, babycino") and it was such a precious moment. I couldn't help but beam at them. So I ordered, and then I sat down, and started feeding Pippa her porridge. We were just sitting there, chatting about different things, and this wonderful woman leaned over to our table and said "You are such a good mum!" I was floored. I know you all tell me over and over again that I am, but to hear it from a stranger? Somehow, it's like I've never heard it before. So I was chatting a bit with her, and before she left, she made the comment that I must be so orga

So I found this list of little trivia factoids in, of all places, my packet of feminine napkins. I know, right? Maybe the manufacturers think we're losing brain cells through the process of menstruation, or we want to be Trivial Pursuit geniuses. Who knows. But I was intrigued by two of the little factoids.   Factoid #1. Flamingoes live up to 80 years. How do they know this? Did a study happen where they had a birthday party for the same flamingo, year after year? And who was invited - did they invite all the other flamingoes, and if so, did they make them wear party hats so they could tell them apart? What kind of birthday present do you give a flamingo? Lawn ornaments made to look like people standing on one leg? And how do we know that there isn't some crusty old flamingo somewhere who's lived to the ripe old age of 81? These are questions I need answered, because I really want to know. You'd have to be a special sort of person to even want to know th

I'm struggling to find a rhythm and pattern in this craziness I like to call my family. And because I love you all, I don't want to subject you on a daily basis to what could be otherwise known as the 'oh poor me my life is so haaaaaaaaaaaard and I'm so saaaaaaaaaaad so won't you please listen to me whine about how much life sucks' show. So while I'm not shutting this blog down, I am taking a couple of weeks off, in an attempt to put some order into my daily life. I will answer emails, though, so feel free to write. See you in a couple of weeks! Sarah

She woke up this morning, and all morning, kept saying 'messy room' or 'room hurt' or 'naughty fan messy' or 'big mess' or 'trouble mess'. It's a bit funny, but she wouldn't go into the playroom all morning because 'mess hurt', or something like that. When she woke up from her nap, the first thing she said was 'messy room', and I had to lead her by the hand to show her that I had in fact cleaned up the mess. I should add that this is a mess that she herself had made. So what's up with that? Is she going to develop OCD or something like that? Why is she all of a sudden so freaked out by mess? I dont' get it. Philippa does not like peas. She gagged them down, and spewed them back up. This is a characteristic of my dad's, which I'm sure he taught her in heaven before she was born. I can just see the two of them, conspiring and giggling. Feels like rain today, which would be nice. Chicken Korma fo

Well, we made it to nearly 27 months of age without a visit to the emergency department. Until today, that is. I wasn't in the room, so this is secondhand - Lachie said that Charlie was messing with the stick holding up the window, and BAM (and not the Emeril Lagasse kind of BAM) stick goes bye-bye, window comes crashing down, onto her fingers. To my untrained eye, it looks as though she had two, maybe three broken fingers - but I'm not a doctor or a nurse. I can report that it seemed as though it hurt - a lot. She was hysterical crying, which she doesn't do. Angry tears, yes. Tired tears? You bet. Hysterical? Never. Lachlan's taken her to the hospital, but I haven't heard anything just yet. I wish I could be there for her, but I couldn't get the house locked up quickly enough and I was in the middle of feeding Philippa a bottle. So now I'm stuck here, just waiting for some scrap of news.

I ran today. Not very fast, and not very far, but I jogged. And lived to blog about it. You see, I've been saying for ages that I'd love to be able to run someday. And I think the picture I had in my head was one of a runner - you know, someone who regularly does marathons. But here's the thing: everyone has to start somewhere. I was watching The Biggest Loser last night, and there is this woman, Amanda, who is very overweight. They all are, but she has the dubious title of being the heaviest female contestant ever. And she ran (as best as she could) up a hill. So this morning, I was walking, and I was thinking of this, and I just thought, "so why can't I do it? What's holding me back?" So I jogged to the end of the block. and then when I stopped wobbling, I did it again. And I'm going to keep on doing it, because (can you keep a secret?) --I liked it. I'm going to quit with the excuses already. I can't afford a gym membership? So w

I knew even as I was writing this morning, that it was just rubbish. But if you've ever been in that kind of head space, you know that you don't think rationally. Here's my take on things: Satan is afraid of me. He's afraid of what I can accomplish if I am left alone. He is terrified of this new, energised, and fired up Sarah. So he and all his little friends are having an all-nighter down in you-know-where, cramming like university students before a final exam, just pounding away at my brain. Telling me lies, lies, and more lies, to get me to quit and give up. Making me angry and bitter, resentful and sullen. So my children don't have a mother who shows them the love of Jesus. So my husband can say 'if that's what a Christian is like, forget it!' And I'm not having it. Knowing this gives me the edge - I can keep this in mind when I feel myself going into a dark space. I know that God loves me. I know it. So when the lies start coming?

So my gorgeous friend Heather ( http://heathersebi.blogspot.com ) says that I am Mom of the Year - at least for my kids, anyway! RULES (there are always rules):1) Admit that ONE thing you feel awful about involving being a mom. Get it off your shoulders. Once you've written it down, you are NO LONGER allowed to feel bad. It's over with, it's in the past. Remember, you're a good mom!2)To remind yourself that you ARE a good mom, list SEVEN things you love about your kids, you love doing with your kids, or that your kids love about you. These are the things to remind yourself of EVERY DAY that you rock! This is hard for me to do, and I really hope no one is offended by my honesty. My one thing (there are many, but this is the BIG ONE) is that I sometimes wish I didn't have children at all. There, I said it. Sometimes, I would trade them both in for a quiet, clean house where my things don't go missing all the time. Has anyone seen my hairbrush? I haven't brushe

Don't ask me what I'd like to do instead, because I couldn't answer you. I just know that this - the mess, the crying, the endless to-do list? isn't it. I'm going to need a whole lot of miracle to get through today. I don't even want to make it through today in a blaze of glory. Just get to the other side of today. Because in this moment, right now, I'm not sure if I will. In this moment, I am angry. With Lachlan, for leaving me to go off to work every day. With my birth mother, for not showing me how to be patient with children. With Lachlan again, for making me choose between him and my family. With the children, for being difficult to manage. With myself, for being so fat and trying to blame it on everyone else. I'm just angry. And sad, and hurt, and bewildered by it all. It makes me want to scream, cry, curl up on the couch, hide, run away, or just ignore it all. Take your pick. I have no energy, no life. I feel as though the life has bee