Stuff to Do

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