Stuff to Do

At this time of year, I start to take stock - inventory. Where am I? Where was I meant to be? Am I living up to my own expectations and standards? I start to look around me at the STUFF. All the stuff which we accumulate, hoard, and then trip over in our daily life. Maybe it's because I have four children, but I feel like we have just SO MUCH STUFF, and it gets in the way of our actual life. Most of my day is dealing with all the stuff. I don't have time for life because I am a stuff wrangler. I want to embark on a process of simplification, which will eventually encompass all areas of my life, but since big goals aren't really my thing, and always lead to failure, I'm starting with one area. Specifically, food. I want to change the way I shop, the way I cook. I want to use what we already have, and not buy into the notion that I need to cook the cover of the magazine to nourish my family. In my pantry (which isn't massive, and I'm happy about it) I'

I feel angry. Why, you ask? I am angry at what I have missed this year. I am angry without a target, or at least one that helps. I am angry at the monsters of depression and anxiety, for what they have stolen from me. I was thinking the other day (as we often do this time of year) about the past year, and how it's been nearly a year since our friends came to visit our little corner of the globe. I stopped in my tracks - that cannot be possible. What the heck happened to this year? Where was I? I don't even know. Yes, we've had some wonderful moments, some happy occasions, but where was I? I was lost in a fog of housework, obligation, confusion, exhaustion. Forcing a smile for others whenever possible. Trying to be perfect for everyone all the time, and hating myself when I inevitably failed to measure up. It's almost like I have some kind of memory loss. Much like when I initially had PND, and I don't really recall the first six months of our second daught

I've been adjusting my medication schedule - mornings simply don't work well, because they're not consistent enough, and I kept missing doses every time things went pear-shaped. Simply having a child home was enough to throw me out, and I would forget. So when a friend suggested taking it at bedtime instead, that seemed a much better idea. After all, I go to bed roughly the same time every night. While eventually things will even out, at the moment I'm having to work extremely hard to see the good and to accurately assess situations so I can respond appropriately. It is comforting to know that this is a temporary state, and when things level out, I will be happy again. For now though, it's hard, hard work. Exhausting. Which kind of lowers my immunity, and my shingles pain comes back. But I am confident, which is relatively new. I'm not stuck in "This is too hard". I've been working very hard at shedding the guilt and self-criticism which has been

There is a lot of information out there on parenting. French parenting, attachment parenting, free-range parenting, tiger parenting, helicopter parenting, and the list goes on and on ad nauseum. Something that I've been thinking a lot about lately is related to long-term objectives. Someday, my children will appreciate my efforts. The scenario I've created in my head goes like this: (Phone rings) Me: Hello?                        Child: Mum?                       Me: So good to hear your voice. What's new with you?                       Child: (as yet not existent) Child 1 did this thing, and I remembered that time I did the                                 same thing, and I remember the look on your face, and I get it now. I'm sorry.                                Thank you for teaching me to be responsible. I didn't like it, but now I                                 understand. End Scene. Or something along those lines. The thing is, I often experienc

So yesterday was kind of a crazy day, or maybe it was just a day and very #normal. We sold one of our cars, which officially makes us a one-car family again (hooray!). Before that though, there was a brief moment of panic when my son made a remark about it being his friend's birthday party day on the 7th, when we thought it was the 8th. I quickly sent an apology text to his friend's mother, and she replied that we hadn't missed the party, it was the 7th and the party was today (yesterday). Oops. That little drama averted, we then proceeded to drive to meet the fellow who was buying our car. Early lunch at McDonald's, then we started driving home, stopping at a shop to buy swimsuits for two children, then the grocery store, getting supplies for dinner. By the time we arrived home, I was depleted of energy, and desperately needed a coffee. I dented my mother-in-law's car, when I swung my door open to get out of the car, but didn't realise she had pulled into t

I've always loved organising. I've never been organised, but I love the process. The tools, the way it all comes together brilliantly in my mind - all of it. It should not be a surprise then, that 'back-to-school' is my favourite time of year. Here in Australia, thanks to the educational system, I get that four times a year, and the endorphin rush of planning out the family calendar is undeniable. I've made chore charts, I write a list for the morning and afternoon, I'm revamping my housecleaning schedule, but something which I've never done before is including me in my schedule. Normally, I plan out everyone else's schedules, and then try and squeeze myself in the cracks, surviving on the crumbs of the day. I used to think this made me noble, selfless, and somehow more maternal, but now I'm not so sure. If I'm really honest, and since this is my blog I can be, it more often turned me into Hulk Mom, because I was touched out, brained out, nois

So I'm not sure what it is with me and birds, but at our house, there are a lot of birds in the backyard. This provides many opportunities for observation, and it's easy to personify them. This morning, there was a magpie, strutting around, rather oblivious to the peewee dive-bombing it. It was an excellent metaphor for the mama I'm trying to become. Something I've observed over the years is that with children, everything is equally an emergency. They live by extremes. Or maybe that's just my children - it's exhausting. For ten years, I have been living on alert, stuck in crisis mode. In some ways, this has served me well. In an actual emergency, I'm cool as a cucumber. Daughter drops a broken plate and slices her foot open? Blood everywhere? No problem. Another daughter sick and admitted to hospital? I'm on it. The thing is,  all of those pretend emergencies kind of act like practice for the real thing. The downside is that every single time I've

I'm loving life again. Antidepressants can take ages to work, but by the grace of God, I have found the right one, the right dose, quickly. And it's working. The darkness which has been my companion for nearly a decade - it's just not there. It's a bit strange because the way I'm feeling, which is a new kind of normal, is foreign. It is a deep, deep happiness; an awareness of little things which I simply could not see and an 'unawareness' of little things which before, seemed so big and frightening. There is a 'letting go' of some things, and a 'holding close' of others. Practically, I have more energy. I've been able to walk the dog, and to my surprise, I enjoyed it. The physiotherapist says I will eventually be able to run, and I'm hoping to do some local park runs with my husband. The dietitian is helping me work through some things, too. I've got a committed network of friends and professionals, all helping me to get well. I&#

Did you know that it isn't possible to maintain a shield of "I'm fine" indefinitely? I didn't either, except now I do. 9 years ago, I was diagnosed with postnatal depression. I allowed others around me to convince me I was fine. That motherhood was hard, and that I was merely not being grateful or mindful of the joyful bits. That I needed to pray more, or that my faith in God was weak. To be honest, I resented being told that I was somehow not grateful. I couldn't communicate that I trusted God, but wondered why on earth he felt I was suited to motherhood. I couldn't communicate that while I loved my family, I hated my life. I couldn't communicate that I felt they would be better without me in the picture, if I were hospitalised or just somewhere else. I couldn't communicate how badly I seemed to be failing at everything. Life went on. We had more children, more big changes. I was simply too busy to take on the burden of dealing with the uncomf

We had an ugly morning here Friday. It started beautifully - I got up before the kids, and actually took the time to make a proper coffee, instead of instant. I read my devotional, I prayed, I gave this day to the Father, and it was good. Until my firstborn woke up, and I had to repeatedly remind her that it was confusing to the puppy that she would sit down, let Daisy climb on her lap, and then thirty seconds later stand up and dump her on the floor. Chip. Then my youngest woke up, and started bellowing at me about something (I cannot even remember what it was), and began his daily assault to my sanity. His chosen weapons are defiance and name-calling. Shave. Then the second-oldest woke up and wanted porridge, which is fine, but all the microwaveable bowls were in the dishwasher, which needed to be emptied. She didn't want to wait, and proceeded to tell me just what she thought of this. Hammer. Then my second-youngest (if this sounds like a lot of children to you, I

Bits of paper, from an afternoon of furious crafting A growing-too-quickly daughter practicing ballet moves in the kitchen A son who is more mischief than I can keep up with, but charms my socks off A daughter with a will of iron which will someday serve her well The delightful bubbling laugh of another child Pieces from games and puzzles Sand, from someone's shoes Music, from the radio The smell of dinner, bubble bath, and coffee Life-confetti, I call it- when the ordinary is tumbled about in a chaotic and wild fashion, swirling around me in a way that inspires delight and excitement. There is something else as well, a thing I almost hesitate to name, lest it disappear. Something like... Joy. I choose to see this confetti - not as something frightening and overwhelming but as a gift from my Father, to be celebrated and enjoyed. What is your confetti? Sarah