Stuff to Do

My daughter's preschool Christmas party was last Tuesday. We were asked to bring something to share for a lunch. I brought a box of crackers, which left me feeling simultaneously impressed and mortified.  Impressed because 1. I remembered to show up - ON TIME! and 2. I brought food.  Mortified because A BOX OF CRACKERS.  Look - I know that it's not about me, it's about the kids. I know that, okay? I get that when it's all said and done, and my crackers are in a bowl on the table, with all the other food, nobody even knows who brought the box of crackers.  No, it's more that unlike the Grinch, my heart is two sizes too big, and because I love people best via food, bringing a box of crackers feels like a pitiful expression of love. I've tried so hard to continue being the mother who makes incredible food, despite having an incredibly busy schedule - and most of the time, I pull it off. This season, with its endless parties, ceremonies, and events - has und

My husband said last night he was concerned that I don't have interests of my own. Presumably, he meant ones which don't relate to housecleaning, childrearing, or to my status as a homemaker. At first I was, shall we say, indignant? The more I think about it though, I think he may be on to something. I do in point of fact have interests. I enjoy reading, writing, listening to music. I really enjoy creating things, or solving problems. I enjoy cooking, because it incorporates several of those things all at once. I think what is apparent to me, and not to him, is that every one of those interests has had to adapt because of my role as a wife and mother. I sort of wrote about this a few years ago, in this post . But with two more children, life has become more intense.  The truth is, I don't dwell on having no real life of my own because I do miss the ease of operating without little people in tow. I miss being able to say "I'll do this now", and *gasp* then DO

I love a good plan. In fact, I spend a great deal of time planning. Activities, meals, shopping, how and when I will do housework. If I can get up on Monday morning, and simply follow my lists, I have a brilliant day. Like Rainbows-Coming-Out-My-Nose-brilliant.  During Influenza/Pneumonia Week, I had a Plan.  None of my Plan happened. And I struggled with that. Nobody wanted to eat the meals I had planned. Which meant the carefully thought out shopping lists were useless. And not having everyone go to their assigned destination (school, preschool) meant that my Oh-So-Amazingly-EPIC to-do lists were absolutely not achievable.  I did not handle this well. I got up Monday, and felt unwell. But I had a Plan. I went to the pool, did thirty lengths of the pool, did the shopping, but came home and basically collapsed. Unable to cook, clean, or do anything but shiver and sweat and ache. And my Plan - it collapsed too. We went into survival mode. If the children could reach it off a shelf

I'm wrestling tonight with some massive loads of guilt, and in an effort to work through it, I thought I'd write some things down, and just throw it out there into the night, somewhere between the stars and sky, where God can sort it out because I'm just too, too tired.  My oldest was in hospital last week. Bilateral pneumonia, as a complication of this blasted flu we've all had. Now. I didn't cause the flu, and I didn't cause the pneumonia. In fact, the latter was caused by her not coughing up the stuff in her lungs. So I know that I didn't cause all the fuss. What I don't know, or what I've been trying rather hard to compensate for, is whether I did everything in my power to make her well. I had rather a rough week as well, having also had the flu. Trying to care for four children, all in varying stages of sickness, while being so sick myself- it kind of addled my brains. I kept looking at her, and thinking "she needs to go to the doctor&quo

People always tell me "Enjoy it while it lasts". Referring to the fleeting childhood of my offspring, presumably - but in a bigger, carpe diem interpretation, I take it to mean that life is too precious, and we need to LIVE it.  I read an article last night, which was shared on Facebook, "it's their day, too" , and it was superbly written. Plucked at my mother-heart so intensely, I think every parent/carer needs to read it. It needs to go viral, in all honesty.  I promise I'm about to join those two thoughts- bear with me?  This morning, my son and daughter began busily unpacking my cabinets, and giving me a concert with the saucepans and containers. I was tripping over them, trying to make lunches, fielding what seemed to be a zillion questions. You know, just normal stuff. And then, before we left the house, one daughter cleaned up the blocks, including the Very Special Mega Blocks Computer Construction my other daughter had made. We were a bit

I hadn't intended to write anything today, but at church this morning I was challenged by the message, and I wanted to share my thoughts.  We've been learning about love, from 1 Corinthians 13. Today, Love is Not Selfish.  As a mother to four young children, supporting a husband through a law degree while trying to be a good friend, a good daughter, a good stepmother, a good everything - I get depleted rapidly. I struggle with self-care, and today's message challenged me in this area. The difference between self-care and self-love for me is that self-care is really about caring for others. I can't give endlessly of myself without refilling my own tank. Self-love however, declares - "I am doing this because I deserve it. Because I am worth it." It has nothing to do with others.  I came to the conclusion that self-care isn't selfish. It is making sure I am fit to care for my family, by doing things that restore me. Taking my daughter to creche (church n

When I was depressed after the birth of my second daughter, I used to get inexplicably annoyed at people who would tell me "you have so much to be thankful for". I couldn't put words to my annoyance, even in my own head. After a few years of reflection, and a couple of brushes with depression since then, I can. Being depressed didn't make me ungrateful. And implying that I wasn't thankful for all I had, it didn't make me more thankful. It didn't make me not depressed. What it actually did was to pile on a heap of guilt, which only made the depression heavier and heavier. What I needed was for someone to say "I am here with you, and I will not leave you". I needed someone to tell me that I was not a horrible person, I was not a horrible wife, a horrible mother, and so not worthless. I needed someone to squeeze my hand. I needed sleep. Oh, how I needed sleep.  These days, when the shadows whisper, my first clue that something is amiss is usually

My husband is my biggest cheerleader. In a Biggest Loser trainer kind of way. He calls me out when I'm being ridiculous, and consistently gives me the gentle shove towards self-care which I need. He is the one who reminds me to go get my hair done, to go shopping, to take a breather.  He sent me last weekend to get my hair done, and it was like a switch was turned on in my mental hallway. I began to see how feeling good could make me a better wife and mother. I remembered how great it felt to exercise, to do something just for me. I thought about my solo camping trip earlier this year, and how marvellous I felt after four days of mental decluttering.  I don't know how to love myself. I'm learning, though. Little things, here and there. Simple things, which probably aren't even a second thought for most people. Acts of radical kindness to myself, like a cup of tea in the sunshine. Or *gasp* buying new underpants. Taking time to blow my hair dry, and actually styl

This arrogance of mine, which says "I can be all things to all people all the time and do it all perfectly".  I'm calling myself out, starting today. Dear Sarah,  You are so lovely. You have a huge heart, and many good intentions. You can't possibly be all the things to all the people all the time and do it perfectly. And before you say "But..." let's take a second and be honest. Because if you can't be honest in a conversation with yourself, then when can you be?  You want to support your husband as he pursues his degree. Very noble of you, indeed. But how can you do that if you fall ill because you don't take care of yourself?  Your children? What would they do if you were suddenly very ill?  Yes, your family would cope. Eventually. A new normal would arise, and life would go on.  But wouldn't it be far better to avoid that whole scenario? Of course it would! So. Where does that leave you? Here is what I'

I long to lose weight, yet I'm afraid of being at a healthy weight. The last time I was at a healthy weight, I was blissfully unaware of my weight. Then college happened, and a series of stressful life events, then a job at McDonald's, then some time in the Navy, which seriously messed with my perceptions of food and body image. Then I met my husband, and though it was a happy time, I let my weight spiral out of control. Then we got married, and between pregnancy, miscarriage, moving interstate and overseas, more pregnancies, buying a house, I've let myself go.  The thing is, I'm happy in myself. I'm confident in how I look - until I see myself in the mirror. My husband finds me attractive. I am proud of all that my body has done. It has grown and birthed four children in five years. It has carried, snuggled, and rocked those children. It has nourished those children. I wear my stretch marks, my soft squishy bits - with a nod of respect.  I'm not heal

"You're not pretty enough." "You're not tidy enough." "Your house isn't decorated enough." "Your kids aren't well-behaved enough." You. Are. Not. Enough. It's easy, in this season of life I happen to be in, to feel like I am not enough. I am pulled, tugged, stretched in a hundred directions, feeling the need to be all things to all people 27 hours a day. And I know I've got limits - it hasn't escaped my notice that if I spend the day doing laundry, then the kids don't get much attention. If I spend the day doing fun stuff with the kids, then there are no clean plates. If I somehow manage to balance motherhood and housework, then I neglect my own needs. Or my marriage. It's all about getting that balance in order, and maintaining it. Simple, right? Not so much. I commented to my husband last night that I was ignoring the mess for a bit because I just wanted a portion of my day to not be completely ab

A few years ago, I was watching my friend at church (who has four boys), and she just seemed so...together. I mean, she was dressed nicely, didn't look exhausted, and was even volunteering to do stuff. She was running the play group, leading Bible studies, and I was so the opposite. I constantly looked at her, and wondered what my problem was, why couldn't I have my act together?  Fast forward a few years. About six months ago, I was at church practicing music, while my kidlets were sitting in the pew colouring in, and a new-ish friend came in for the service. We smiled and waved, and then church started. Afterwards, she said to me "I don't know how you do it - you've got FOUR kids, and you're up there singing, and they're just sitting there, colouring. She expressed her admiration, and I probably blushed, and mumbled thanks. I went home though, and it stuck with me. And all of a sudden, I remembered this conversation I had with my friend (the first one)

I am under a lot of stress, often. In fact, I have to actually shut down and ignore certain things, things which I really should have strong feelings about. My daughter, who has suffered from severe eczema all her life, is not going well. When she gets sick (as preschoolers tend to do), she experiences an eczema flare like you've never seen. What's stressful about this particular episode is that we only just completed treatment for a skin infection, and it was UNDER CONTROL  for perhaps the first time in over a year. All the healing we achieved, all the rigid medication - gone, because of one stupid virus. So I sit here and listen to the child scratch, scratch, scratch - I can almost smell the blood she's drawn. I know by the sound of her breathing whether or not she's scratching. It's worse if I restrain her, by far. Plus, the screaming. It feels like something is touching my brain, and not in a good way. I know we'll get to a happy place again with her skin, s

Time.  Specifically, the management of it. It's never been a strength of mine - nor has organisation. Lately though, I find that both of those things are crucial for me.  I've actually created a workspace for myself, and it's a daily struggle to keep the children from invading it in their search for pens, pencils, art supplies, paper. My post-it notes are particularly popular. I find them everywhere! It's a bit of a gamble, with two of the children so young. It does require me to repeat "That's MUMMY's desk" a fair bit. I know this because my youngest (2 1/2) repeats it. Not that he stops touching my things, but he repeats it.  With one child in Year Two, one in Kindergarten, one in preschool, and a few new activities/commitments on the horizon, organisation and time management are a vital part of keeping everyone on track. The slow cooker is about to get a workout and a half, and planning ahead is essential. I've got whiteboards, pin boar