Stuff to Do

I was doing so well. Honestly, I thought I'd seen the last of my mental bogeymen. As it turns out, all it takes is some extra stress, and my inner control beast becomes a rage-fuelled temper tantrum with appendages. The accumulation of little things, suddenly becomes too much, and I find myself crying in the laundry because someone said "I can't find my (bag/socks/lunchbox/drink bottle/shoes/underpants)." The accumulated failure of all my attempts at organisation becomes this huge, hairy monster, and I break.  Then, the guilt. Oh, the guilt. I'm tired my friends. Tired of mornings which have us apologising to each other and crying, of afternoons which probably freak the neighbours out, and painful bedtimes which drag out for HOURS.  So much of this is just life. Normal, everyday life, with kids.  Why can't I deal with it the way other people seem to? I don't know, and I wish I did. I can't find things to look forward to because all I h

Another park run in the books, and a new personal best time. :) I managed to run a bit today, and to my surprise, the paramedics were not needed. I'm feeling the teeniest bit stronger, and ever so slightly smaller. I haven't weighed myself, and I don't need to. Still not instant coffee, and I'm remembering to eat. This week is snacks. It seems a simple thing, but for me it's complicated. I am currently crushing my first assessment, which feels great. I arranged to have my practical placement, at three possible schools. I am so hopeful that after practical placement, I will be able to get full-time employment at one of these. God knows where I'm needed though, and I trust him with the outcome. I am no longer cooking dinner during the week. I got tired of planning meals, cooking them up, and serving them, only to hear cries of "That's DISGUSTING, I'm NOT EATING THAT" and "YOU MAKE THE WORST DINNERS IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD". So i

In the post from last week, I wrote about this twelve-week thing I'm trying, and I did indeed manage to not drink instant coffee all week. I also ate breakfast every day, and tried to be more active - I was feeling a bit under the weather, and had four children at home sick for two days, but this morning was my very first park run (I walked). Photos were taken. I HATE seeing photos of myself, generally speaking. This photo, the first thing I noticed was my face, which I thought looked cranky. My friend says I look determined. We'll go with that. The next thing I noticed is my shape. I've put on a lot of weight over the years, and while I know that, in theory - seeing evidence of it is uncomfortable. A lot of what I'm doing right now is uncomfortable. Self-care, physical activity, starting a course of study - it lies a billion light years outside my comfort zone. In the raising of these children, in the growing of my family, one of the things I want to impart to them i

This process of getting myself sorted is not by any interpretation of the word, linear. It's more like Whack-a-Mole combined with Crazy Teacups and Bumper Cars (Dodgems, if you like). Now that I'm sorting out help for our son, my anxiety is managed, I've enrolled and started studying, it is time to address the elephant in the room (pun not intended). For years, I have struggled to get to and maintain a healthy weight. There are heaps of programmes out there, but they all feel like punishment for being obese. Every person can tell you what worked for them, but if I'm in the business of not comparing myself to others, I can't realistically expect that it will work for me. I just need to learn how to eat again. How much, how often, which foods. I need to reforge the connection between my brain and my stomach - I've ignored hunger cues for so long that I don't really know when I'm hungry. This has led to extremely disordered eating which I want to chan

You know, just your average Saturday night thoughts... We had a 'situation' here yesterday. Before we get to that though, here's something I realised. My children, while they love me, do not respect me. I have wondered at this for so long. Their teachers, their peers, other adults - all get respect. Everyone tells me how amazing my children are. I rarely get to see it. I've been so frustrated by this, until I actually thought: They don't respect me because their whole lives, they have watched me disrespect myself. Ouch. Now that I am developing a healthy level of self-respect, I can say with confidence: I will not allow anyone to hit me, call me names, or hurt those I love. I will not do for my children what they can do for themselves I CAN have boundaries. Which leads me to the second part of this post. Some time ago, I wrote about establishing boundaries- I have learned that without self-respect, and a firm belief that they are necessary, I cannot

Here I sit, at my kitchen table, in the stillness. God's word in front of me, coffee mug beside. Thoughts being divinely ordered for the day. Ticking over all the 'to-do', and looking for grace and purpose in it all.  It truly is a wonderful way to start the day, and perhaps the ultimate form of self-care. People always say, you can't fill from an empty cup, but what is my cup filled with? I'm learning that unless I fill my cup first with God's best for me, then the cup will run dry. When I consistently and intentionally start with seeking his will for my life, and seeking to live his way, everything else falls into place. Not perfect, not problem-free, but in its place. When trials and difficulties come, I am equipped to face them because I have his word, the Bible, hidden in my heart. I'm not perfect. I make a lot of mistakes. Just ask my family! But by seeking God's wisdom, I can see those mistakes. By the torn veil in the sanctuary, I can ask for

...and sometimes, need to speak but don't. I was leaving the grocery store, and I saw some people talking to each other, and the mum described two of her daughters in one way, and the third in another. It got me to thinking about the words I speak over my children. What do they believe about themselves, because of the things I say to them? For that matter, what do I believe about myself, because of the words I offer to myself? You see, this process of mental reconstruction I'm in, it is not simply a matter of getting rid of unhelpful words. It must also be the adding in of things which build and strengthen me. Likewise, my children need me to NOT be overcritical, but also need me to help them know their strengths. My oldest is incredibly kind-hearted to children and people in need, and wants to make the world a more beautiful, exciting place to be. My second child is fair-minded, and also kind-hearted. My third child is STRONG and determined, and a wonderful artist My

No. That's it, just two little letters. Yet for all my loquaciousness, I choke on it. Harder still is to simply not speak. Where there is something wrong, I am compelled to fix it- usually by feeding someone, and often that someone is ME. I have always been a 'go hard or go home' kind of person. I simply don't know any other way. Doing something less than perfect leaves me feeling defeated and depleted, if not ashamed. Motherhood, homemaking, volunteering - none of them are something I take lightly. If I'm volunteering, I will expend great amounts of energy I don't actually have to make it to every single rehearsal. If I'm mothering, I will cook ALL of the healthy food, obsess about my children's behavioural challenges, read ALL of the parenting books, blogs, articles- and spend a good deal of time feeling rubbish about my own lacklustre performance. If I'm homemaking, I will work myself into exhaustion, then caffeinate and work some more.

One of the benefits of having somewhat odd methods of self-care (cleaning my house) is that when Father's Day rolls around, I can literally do something for someone else that totally counts as self-care. Today I washed the bedroom curtains (using the new detergent that my husband loves), did some more work with my husband for our growing garden, and cleaned the top of the kitchen cupboards (ewww. Two years of filth) and refrigerator. I benefit, because getting a tough job done feels good, and he benefits because it's something he appreciates. Now, my friends, I'm off to the grocery store, to provision for the week, then home to make dinner (vegetarian burritos). Another interesting observation is that when my husband is here, I find self-care easier. When he's away it feels impossible, but is even more vital to the function of our family. I'm forever telling the kids that anything worth doing is worth the effort, so perhaps I need to follow my own advice - futur

In one of the Facebook groups I have joined, a member posted about a September challenge she was doing. I like the idea, and while I tend to commit to things and then realise I have no capacity, I thought I would do my own version, and write about it. Self-care, as you all know from previous posts, is practically painful a bit of a challenge for me, even at the best of times. Well, the quickest way for me to do something is for someone to tell me I can't. Perhaps it's because I spend time with children, but my brain kind of says "Oh yeah? Watch me." I know, right? SO MATURE. Surely I can manage thirty days, though. Self-care for me isn't all pedicures and manicures. It's not a massage (I don't like people touching me), and although my recent mini-break in the city was restorative, it's not a big holiday. No, my self-care is much more basic - things like showering, brushing my teeth, letting my husband buy me things - these are things which take s

Our family life doesn't look like I imagined it would. If I had to guess, I'd say yours doesn't either. Or maybe it does, which - hooray for you. But in my world, four children in five years, a husband who works away, anxiety - definitely NOT what I pictured. Nevertheless, it's what I've been given, so my desire is to be content in this role, and to be the best me I can be.  Yes, it's tough having him away, but you know what is tougher? Having him here, but unavailable because he is under stress. So even though he could find work closer to home, he would actually be LESS present than he currently is. What we have isn't perfect, but it's consistent. Our family only functions as well as it does because it's consistent. When we have changes, things tend to get hairy, emotionally. So even though this is hard, we make it work. Sometimes better than others, but it works. Learning to care for myself in both practical (think showers, brushing teeth, a

So, after three days away, I am recharged. Not fully, but even 25% feels AMAZING. I can't even imagine what it would feel like to feel 100%. The first morning, I awoke with a 'sleep hangover', because it's been an extremely long night since I slept 10 uninterrupted hours. Upon waking, I discovered that my wallet was not where I thought it was. I got completely a bit panicked, but my darling husband set me right. We transferred the money from my account to his, as a precaution, and he gave me cash, and sent me on my way. For the next two and a half days, I navigated public transport and walked a lot more than I intended. I acquired the perfume I've wanted for 11 years, and enjoyed the anonymous bliss of being in a city where people are all around me, but none of them are talking to me, so I can just be quiet. I read two books, ate nice (HOT) food and bought clothes. I resolutely avoided all housewares, stationery or children's purchases because I realised tha

I've been exhausted for a long time. Instead of being kind to myself, I have shushed my body's cries for food, rest, water, and basic hygiene with coffee and adrenaline, until I have utterly depleted all of its available resources. And then I caffeinate again, and hope for the best. In today's society, it is seen as a badge of honour as a busy mum. The question "how does she do it?" is seen as a goal to reach, so by that measure, I'm amazing. The reality is that I am invisible in my own life. My desires come totally from what I think others might need, what will make everyone in my life happy. On some levels, this is actually a noble thing- but much like my love of soft cheese, I have taken it to such an extreme that I say 'yes' to literally EVERY good thing which is put in front of me. It's a reflex. Today a friend said that she was going to outsource her housecleaning when she started getting clients again. My immediate response? "I'll

I have long suspected the autism spectrum. Or something. Several times, I have begun to investigate just what "or something" might mean, only to surrender to the doubt of my own judgement. -No, he just needs more church. -No, he just needs more time with his father. -No, he just needs a good spanking. -No, he just needs to be made to mind. -No, it's my crappy parenting. -No, it's his school. -No, it's just how boys act. -No, it's me not coping that is the problem. I have come up against every single one of these thoughts, or statements, from myself or others. Over and over and over again- and I get up, I try again. A bit more tired. A bit less hopeful that "this or that" will work. And it's worth mentioning that until very recently, I was the only person in my family to even suspect anything was amiss. Probably because I'm the only one to see ALL of it, on the front lines 24 hours a day, every day. I sweep up the broken glass, mop

Or alternatively, "Two weeks in which I become slightly irrationally motivated to solve every single problem/challenge/dilemma." Yes, my dear ones. Freed from the shackles of school morning circus tent-level stress, I rediscover that creative section of my brain, and ALL of the ideas flow. The temptation to dive in is very strong, I admit. But. (There's always a but. And suddenly the word 'but' looks weird, like is it really a word? Of course it is, but it still looks weird.) Moving on. I do a lot of thinking while driving, and for a stay-at-home parent, I do a strange amount of driving. Yesterday though, I was on my way to an appointment, and I was thinking that the process I'd started last year, of working towards wellness, got rather derailed. Having resumed the process, I have observed that I am the only one who can make my self-care a priority. I really hate this phrase. The word 'self' in particular. I cannot even explain why. Again, I

People often say to me "I don't know how you manage with four children.", and the cold hard truth of it is that I am often hanging on by a thread. I have so much in my head, that I am not ready to share with even my family. But those concerns, those thoughts - they are there. The reality of my life is that it's hard. Not the same as someone else's hard, not worse or better- but hard for me. I have four children, each of whom would be a challenge on their own. Adding them together means that one sets another off, and that sets ME off, and then we're all in a full-blown emotional crisis. I've been getting help for my own mental health, and the process has been very up and down. I think though, that I finally understand the concept of not being able to care for others without caring for myself. I still find it incredibly hard to remember to eat, drink (non-coffee), and shower. I go through the motions of daily existence, completely focused on the kids, on m

At some point, a glitter craft kit was purchased for one of our children. By whom, it matters not. But the carefully hidden leftover glitter was discovered, opened, and is now EVERYWHERE. Washing machine, hair, floor, walls. Every room, there is a sparkling trail of it. At first, I was irritated and annoyed, because it won't vacuum, and in some places it got mixed with glue. And then it occurred to me what a beautiful reminder it is of life, and how there is beauty everywhere. Sometimes we have to look hard, just like after all the sweeping and cleaning and scrubbing, there will still be the odd speck of glitter. Years from now, I will see it and smile as I remember when these children were small. Even when my life feels beige and bland, with no beauty to be found - there it is. Maybe buried under emotions, or just the challenge of raising little humans - but it is there, if only I would look! Graces, big and small, just there for the noticing. Having enough money to buy food.

The expression, "pot calling the kettle black" isn't new. But this particular reference comes from a funny moment I witnessed years ago. I often refer to it when I find myself giving advice to others which is advice I need to follow. Isn't it funny when that happens? In motherhood, particularly since our eldest daughter is growing up (much too rapidly for my liking), I seem to be talking to her about different things, but more in a way I wish someone had talked to me about things. I'm parenting the both of us. My tween daughter and my inner tween from 1985. I realised this the other day when we were at an enrolment interview for the girls' school where she wants to attend high school. The principal asked me what we wanted for our daughter, and my response was that we wanted to see her become more confident in herself, because she has so much to offer but it's often hiding behind her lack of confidence. It wasn't until later that I thought about this,

*Clearing throat, looking at no one in particular* I'm overweight, and have been so for years. I do a lot of things, but when it comes to physical exercise, I will make EVERYTHING a priority over that. I actually enjoy exercise, so I'm not certain why I do that to myself. Why is it so dang hard to do something I enjoy? I really enjoy healthy foods, too. So it seems like it would be easy for me to just drop the weight, right? So what is ACTUALLY the problem? My struggle lies in putting myself first, which is probably not a surprise to anyone. I've always had this struggle. I will avoid putting myself first enthusiastically, looking for things to add to the list above me. It's almost a gift. How do I go from thinking I should be last to knowing when I should come first? It is easy to hide behind my family in this stage of my life. It is much, much harder to admit that I am the one standing in my own way. How the heck does one fight against the enemy when the e

The kids and I went to church today, it was terrific. Coming home, my husband had a super fun way to get the kids to tidy up. He collected all the loose items from around the house into a large bag, and then spread out a blanket on the floor, and placed the items out for a 'garage sale'. Since the kids don't have actual money, they had to do a job to earn 'daddy bucks (a piece of paper with a smiley face on it)', and then had to spend one 'daddy buck' per item they wanted to buy back. We had to quickly enforce the rule of "buy your own items, not someone else's", but overall, it went well. They cleaned up, as well as putting away all the stray items. I should have left it there, but I tried to continue the party by getting them to help cull the stuffed toys. We have so many, and they're all allergic to dust mites, so keeping them all is like feeding my nut allergic girls a cashew. They were sick of working and not interested in getting

So on Saturdays, we generally go shopping for weekend provisions. This is a time when it becomes pretty obvious how different my husband and I actually are. He is laid back, preferring the weekends to be unplanned. He generally operates with a more fluid time than I do. On the other end, I prefer to know exactly what will happen, have activities/tasks scheduled (in ink, not pencil). We will do this at this time, it will take this long, and then we will do the next thing. It's how I do life with all these children. This morning, I stayed in bed. I heard but didn't freak out about the sound of our eldest daughter making herself an egg. I woke up anxious, but stayed in bed and unpacked each thought, giving it space, then putting it away. We went to do the shopping, and I spotted an elderly gentleman loaded with shopping bags. It brought back a memory of my father, and how he hated making two trips in from the car with the shopping. It struck me that I am so like him in so

A good day for me would look like this: 5am start, prayer and exercise Breakfast Shower Morning routine with children getting to school on time Walk dog Clean house Errands Lunch Baking Coffee and reading Writing After school routine with children completing all tasks Dinner Evening routine with children going to bed on time happily. Fold laundry while watching Netflix Go to sleep alone, and sleep for 8 consecutive hours. I think we can all see the potential for things not going exactly as planned in that scenario, and if that's my criteria for a good day, I will likely never have one.  I cannot control other people, but I allow them to control me, and the resentment I feel on a daily basis is actually self-resentment. I hate that I allow others to control my life, and I hate that I feel powerless to change.  I've been thinking a lot about my decision to try life without medication. When I made that decision, I was in a good place.

I frequently admonish my children by saying "Do an Elsa, and let it GO!".  It seems I'm excellent at lowering expectations for everyone else in the universe except myself.  Someone told me that I project "I've got this", when the truth is that I'm stretched as far as I can go, and that I have no real capacity to stretch any more. One unexpected moment will snap my rubber band. She said that I have to let go of the appearance of 'handling it' (by more thoughtfully considering when to say 'yes' to some things) in order for others to help me. Personally, I think I'm an obvious hot mess every moment of my life, but it does have me wondering whether other people perceive that. Also, she said that my personal expectations seem to be that I should manage to do all of the things I think other stay at home parents do (clean house, organised children, volunteering, serving others, laundry caught up, healthy children, personal health and we

She opens her eyes, stumbles to the coffee machine and puzzles out how to put the filter together. Then it starts - the screaming, the name-calling, and the physical and verbal assault.   “You’re so STUPID! Shut up. Where are my f*ing pants?!? It’s all YOUR fault for not folding the laundry! You are the WORST I HATE you”   If this were an interaction between two adults, it would be called domestic violence. Others would encourage her to leave, put her safety and well-being first. But all of that changes when you realise that it’s actually children interacting with their mother. Every morning, every afternoon, every evening. Everything is all her fault, all of the time, and by the end of the week, she believes it. She can’t escape, can’t abandon them. She has to cop it, and move on. She’s supposed to model patience, love, kindness – even when she is screaming inside, and wants to flail out and defend herself from the assault. She’s not allowed, because they are her children

I've always envied the mother in the stories where she goes on strike, because I long for that moment when my offspring are subjected to the natural consequences of not doing their assigned chores. There's an invisible wall preventing them from doing their work. This morning they scrambled off to school, as normal. I've often wondered at how they seem to have no trouble following instructions at school, yet at home it's a whole other story. I came back home this morning, looked around, at the remnants of a temper tantrum, the cereal/sugar/milk/yogurt across the table, the discarded toys, the pyjamas dropped where they were removed. The wet towel on the floor (AGAIN). The lights left on. The remains of lunchbox preparation. The dishwasher waiting to be emptied, the dirty dishes left on the bench. It's not the mess, it's what it speaks to me. It speaks loudly of thoughtlessness, and I have seen my children be incredibly thoughtful, so what is the deal? I

I visited with a friend yesterday, and was lamenting how the chaos of the mornings and afternoons is causing me great distress. The noise, the mess - all of it. I am struggling to embrace the lovelier things because of the noise and mess. She encouraged me by saying that in those moments, I could think about how to fix it. By fixing it instead of freaking out, I avoid the panic. Genius. Last night, I could feel the frustration over all the mess that was left for me, and rather than let it creep into my every molecule to be vented all over my children, I prayed. A generic, "help me" kind of prayer, that God would help me to just be present with my children, and to not think about the mess. And HE DID. We got through bedtime peacefully, and when my youngest daughter came to me frightened and unable to fall asleep, I invited her up on my lap while I finished chatting with #2 daughter, and then I took her to bed and sat with her (okay, I fell asleep with her) until she was as

All the things I should have said to you must remain unspoken. I have to settle for writing them out here, which is only a poor substitute. I should have written you every day, telling you all about our children, and how wonderful they are. I should have sent you cards and notes, and called you on the phone. Even the most trivial of things would have been of deep interest to you, I'm certain of it. I should have shared my experiences of motherhood with you, and asked for your advice. I should have asked for your recipes for rice pudding, baked corn. I should have asked you what my father was like as a boy, and told you stories of our son, who reminds me of him. I didn't, and now it is too late. I have so many happy memories of childhood; you are in most of them. Time spent at the cottage with the other cousins, going to Vacation Bible School, those plaster of paris fruit molds when we learned about the Fruits of the Spirit. Chef Boyardee pizza in a box, fried squash, sno

The thing about not having self-confidence means that I am highly vulnerable to the word "should". I *should* make my children be tidy, but I *should* also serve them with a joyful heart. (there is NOTHING JOYFUL about making my children be tidy. EVER.) I *should* do things this way, but also that way. I *should* feel happy and grateful all the time, because when I am depressed I'm not trusting God and maybe my salvation isn't genuine? I *should* make sure I get rest. But I *should* also be productive all the time. I *should* not worry about the housework, but I *should* keep a clean house. It's exhausting, frustrating, and I'm DONE with that word. I am going to love my God, serving Him and loving my family with a joyful heart, in whichever way He leads me. Everyone else can have their opinions, but I'm not accountable to them. I cannot serve two masters. I am the parent to my children, the wife to my husband. I am the only person who knows wh

I made the choice at the start of summer holidays to go off my medication. While it was excellent at cutting through the dark fog surrounding me, it also addled my brains a bit. I had a sense of being 'outside' my life looking in, rather than actually being in it. In some ways this was great - tantrums, whinging, sibling rivalry - they all skimmed the surface of my awareness, instead of barging in the door and making themselves at home, wrecking the joint. In other ways though, it was very difficult for me to be present for others, and engage. Also, there were some other side effects that while not dire, left me feeling a bit 'meh'. Having had my husband around for three weeks has been incredibly helpful, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit anxious about when he goes back to work, as it's still three(ish) weeks until the children go back to school - but I still think I'm in the right frame of mind to try alternative methods of working with anxiety