Coming Home Again

Posted on April 3, 2012 6 Comments

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Very few things will ever compare to coming home. I love going away but I live being back again even more.

The Googy probably struggled the most and was distant and emotional when I got back. But she’s been happily coming into the bed for snuggles in the nights since I’ve been back which I have loved. I know as soon as she’s feeling secure again things will go back to the way they were and I will miss her.

The Squishy was far less fazed. Her only reaction to my return was to giggle her little head off.

If I expected to find an overwhelmed or stressed out husband when I got back, I was dead wrong. He really enjoyed the time. And he and the Squishy have developed their own jokes and games in my absence. And it has only been with a heavy reluctance that he has left the girls at home to go to work this week.

Possibly the husband will now become a victim of his own success as I wouldn’t think twice about going away now.

But before I do that, I have to stock up in the snuggles department.

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Going Viral (Not the Good Kind)

Posted on May 14, 2010 6 Comments


I like the idea and the reality of a family. You have company without having to get out of pyjamas. You get to be around somebody who has seen you at your absolute worst and still thinks you’re pretty awesome. You have in-jokes and non-secret codes. All in all, it’s a pretty sweet deal.

That is, until somebody gets sick. This week that person was me. I was the evil carrier monkey that brought this flu into our home. And then spread it to all and sundry. But even before I’d started to spread the misery, certain things break down. Like the pile of dishes that doesn’t have the decency to do itself when I’m not feeling well, or the piles of clothes in the bathroom, or the unmade dinner or all manner of other things that I would normally do during the day.

There’s a big problem with getting sick and looking after a toddler. For starters, unlimited energy goes a long way. And I’m running on negative energy. Somehow the ‘let’s fall asleep together on the couch’ game isn’t as exciting to the toddler as it is to me. The other problem is that they are entirely intuitive creatures, so if you’re not feeling well, they’re likely to pick up on it and be miserable themselves. So instead of being sick and having a jolly toddler. You are sick and have an irate, grumpy, demanding, sensitive toddler.

Then of course, the husband gets home after a hard day at work and a long commute and is faced with a tantruming toddler a bleary eyed wife who only vaguely resembles the woman he married thanks to the snotty, coughing, exhausted mess she’s been replaced with, and a pile of dishes that looks about double what it was when he left in the morning. It disrupts the balance. The delicate, delicate, domesticity balance. Because I might be sick, or I might just be a relatively ugly lazy person who refuses to get out of her pyjamas.

And then of course, the nail in the coffin happens when EVERYONE gets sick. I get more sick and start to feel like I should be researching head transplant options, the toddler starts to get sick, and the husband gets very sick (because women can never be as sick as men. It’s like a fact or something). And instead of a well oiled machine, you’re left with a crash site and grumpy people who are unable to get to sleep because someone, somewhere is always sneezing, spluttering or coughing up a lung. And despite the toddler being poorly – it doesn’t stop her from bouncing or running or crash tackling. Because she’s sick, not dead.

The best you can really hope for is that you don’t get better at different times and then re-infect one another. That’s the dream of family life – that we don’t reinfect one another.

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Somebody Tell Her That

Posted on May 10, 2010 4 Comments


This year, Mothers’ Day was a pretty awesome day. Sleep in, pancakes for breakfast, lunch made for me, a nap in the afternoon and generally waited on hand-and-foot.

But. And it’s a big but. Somebody should have told my daughter that it was Mothers’ Day. Would not let me pick her up all day – it was ‘Josh! Josh! Josh!’ and she was having a daddy day. No cuddles or kisses (although I did manage to sneak a cuddle before bed. This morning when Josh was going to leave for work he asked her for a cuddle and she came up to him, kissed him square on the cheek and gave him a big squeeze. When I left she just said goodbye.

Now – to be fair – she often has mummy days – so I often welcome daddy days. But Mothers’ Day?! It’s a pity that 2 year olds don’t understand the concept.

And naturally, when I came home from work today – sick with an impending flu, exhausted and pretty hungry – it was at that moment that she decided to go back to being a mummy’s girl. And really, stroking a little one’s head when they are teething, upset and overtired when you are tired, groggy, sick and hungry is what motherhood is all about.

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The Invisible Parent

Posted on May 1, 2010 4 Comments


Mothers’ Day has got me thinking about fathers’. Strange, yes but it does. Josh often comments that I am the Queen of left-field comments and will often get me to recount the connections that happened in my brain before the words came out of my mouth, just because it’s a roller-coaster ride.

When I said I was thinking about writing about Dads’ for my next post he said (rather indignantly) ‘you should – it’s like you’re running a one man show’. Point taken. Or point not taken and get your own blog. Either way. But it got me to thinking that it isn’t just my husband who is the invisible parent on my blog. The most involved, engaged and active father can be somewhat invisible to the world. Little ones often have an unshakable preference for mama and are likely to spend the majority of their time with the stay at home parent (often their mama).

Now it’s not as though Josh is completely absent around these parts. I wrote about his tattoo here, our story here, how he antagonised me when I had the plague here, and all about him as an attachment parent here. And even though he’s fine with me blogging about him, I do tend to err on the side of respecting his privacy. Not mine of course. I have no respect for my privacy.

And I will freely admit that I frequently and loudly complaing about his:

1) Snoring. It’s so loud! Beating him with soft objects is unsatisfying.

2) Tendency to whinge when Riley is whinging in our bed and not going back to sleep. Listening to two people whinge is heaps better than listening to one.

3) Inability to look for something in a useful way. Staring at the same spot will not make the missing item appear.

4) Unhealthy attachment to the Xbox. Actually I don’t mind that one – it makes me feel better about my unhealthy attachment to my computer.

But really, all of those things are just things that people say to make sure that they don’t invite disaster and have a piano fall on them when they’re least expecting it.

Right about now, Josh is probably wondering why he ever brought up the whole thing in the first place.

But here are some of the awesome things that Josh does that make him a kick-ass parenting partner:

1 ) He tidies up the house and does the dishes every day after his 90 minute commute from work.

2 ) He wrote me a message on the shower wall to cheer me up

3 ) On Friday he left Riley and I a plate of delicious brownies to devour at will

4 ) When I ask him for a massage at night he never says no even when he’d really rather not

5 ) He spends on average about 15 hours a week in the car, commuting to and from work, so that we can afford a house and a mortgage

6 ) He discovered that puzzle games on the iPhone will give us an extra hour of sleep in the morning. Genius.

7 ) He reads lots of stories, does lots of puzzles and changes DVDs every 10 seconds because Riley finds changing them over far more entertaining than watching them.

8 ) He makes killer scrambled eggs. Riley will flatly refuse any eggs that I make.

Tip of the iceberg really. But you get the idea.

Mothers’ Day is coming up. He asked me ‘so do you want a present for Mothers’ Day?’. There are so many things that are wrong with that, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. But really, it’s the other 364 days of the year that matter more.

Note to Josh: That is not an excuse to blow off Mothers’ Day. Proceed as instructed.

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The Unrelaxing Long Weekend

Posted on April 25, 2010 3 Comments


I thought it would be a brilliant plan to make a dent in the painting. Long weekend. Perfect time to do projects around the house – or so hardware store advertising would have me believe. Obviously the marketing geniuses for those advertising campaigns don’t have toddlers.

A sweet little bundle who looks up at you with her big eyes when you are in the middle of cutting in and says ‘Mummy! To-urn! Pu-lease’. Very difficult to resist. Also very difficult to impress on her that the paint brush doesn’t need to go all the way into the paint tin, or that there are some things that she just can’t help with. Tantrums ensue.

So, Daddy was relegated to outdoor duties with Riley (planting Sunflowers, playing in the sandpit, swinging and trampoline). Anything really, to give me some time with the painting. And for the record he hates it when she asks to go on the swing. Trust me, it gets pretty boring after awhile.

So now, I have made a dent in the painting (although not as much of a dent as I’d like) and I begin to wonder if I’ll actually finish the job in my lifetime. Because I’m working on the easy bit. The hallway has no carpet, no furniture and is generally out of the way. The fact that I’m currently doing the easy bit is deeply terrifying. I’ve still go the play room, the kitchen and the lounge room to go. I think if I had about 10 long weekends in a row I might have a hope in hell.

Whatever people pay painters, it’s worth it. I have DIY amnesia – when I had an investment property with my sister and we re-painted, I swore I would never submit myself to that kind of torture ever again. Yet here I am, painting, again. Still, looking at the 70s fake wood is more than I can bear. If I have to look at it for too much longer, I’ll lose the will to live. So I guess I have to take these frenetic bursts of DIY motivation where I can.

In the end it will be worth it. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. The fake wood will be painted antique white. The lino will be replaced with blackbutt floor boards and the beige-void wall colour will be replaced with a pale pastel green. Picturing that is officially my happy place.

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Turning Two – Parties, Chocolate and Bubbles

Posted on April 11, 2010 7 Comments


The birthday girl. There’s something magical about the second birthday. She’s still too young to understand the concept of the birthday. So she wakes up on what to her is any other day and is greeted with balloons, bubbles, presents, more chocolate cake than she could eat and lots of adoring visitors. Its innate randomness just adds to her joy in it.

She was shown the kitchen as soon as she woke up. Or to be more accurate as soon as she slapped us awake and told us to get out of bed. I think the oven mitt is her favourite part of the whole thing.

The balloons were a big hit right up until one of them popped and snapped her in the face. And despite sobbing into my chest from the fright and the pain, it in no way deterred her from attempting to capture more wayward balloons. This led to more popping. Not good. Eventually we managed to get the balloons up into their decorative positions. However, this too was met with outrage. Using my most awesome parenting skills I distracted her with a bottle.

Later on there was bubbles. Thanks to a battery run bubble machine, also known as bubble madness.

And more bubbles. There’s no such thing as too many bubbles.

There was fairy bread. Highly nutritious.

And presents. Lots and lots of presents. Also, I’m afraid I might have a stunt woman on my hands. She looks far too comfortable here.

And swinging. Because nothing says winning combination like bucket loads of sugary goodness and swinging.

Luckily, unlike her mother she has a stomach of cast iron.

Everyone took tea. Whether they liked tea or not.

And birthday cake. With more icing than cake. Also known as an icing delivery system. No one complained.

Now she’s two.  She looks so much taller today.

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I Am an Agnostic and I am Not Lost

Posted on April 3, 2010 38 Comments


It’s Easter. Easter has a lot of different meanings to different people. For us, it’s not religious. It’s about easter eggs, bunnies and a long weekend. I caught a few snippets of some comments made by the Australian Clergy during their Good Friday sermons. Is there anything that Twitter isn’t good for?

Some of these were re-iterated here in this article:

Sydney Anglican Archbishop Peter Jensen on Friday describing non-belief as a

  • “human assault on God”
  • every bit of a religious commitment as Christianity itself.

Don’t worry it get’s worse:

The new Catholic Bishop of Parramatta -  Anthony Fisher:

“Last century we tried godlessness on a grand scale and the effects were devastating: Nazism, Stalinism, Pol Pot-ery, mass murder, abortion and broken relationships – all promoted by state-imposed atheism”

And then it just gets weird (thanks Cardinal George Pell):

there are no community services sponsored by atheists

Firstly, I’m going to shock you all by agreeing with Jensen, I believe that atheism is just as much a religion as any other faith. It still requires a leap of faith, because you can’t prove that God doesn’t exist, any more than you can prove that God does exist. You can believe it, to the core of your being, but that is a matter of faith, not of fact. But an assault on God. Dude, isn’t God infallible, omnipitent, and all powerful? I hardly think God is concerned with a human ‘assault’.

I like how Anthony Fisher has conveniently forgotten the thousands of years of religious wars. And also how he’s put abortion and broken relationships in the same category as mass murder. The fact is no one has never needed an excuse to go to war. And most of the time, it has nothing to do with if you’re a godless heathen or a devout believer. And George? Oh, George. There are such things as non-religious charities. I used to work for one.

This isn’t an attack on religion or people of faith or Christianity (I’m not assaulting you, I promise).

I am an Agnostic. That doesn’t mean I’m a fence sitter. I choose not to have religion or God be a part of my life. I am not lost. I am not sad. I don’t need to be saved. I am happy. I am fulfilled. And I am an agnostic. I wasn’t always an agnostic. Once upon a time I was capable of that giant leap of faith that leads to complete and utter belief. The faith that can’t be proven, but you know in the core of your being. It’s like falling in love. You can’t prove it. But you know it in your very bones. But now, I am no longer able to make that leap. I choose to stand on my own, without faith, without religion and be right with myself. The truth is if I really search my soul, I believe in a higher power, but not in a creationist God. But regardless of what I believe, I don’t want my life wrapped around it, so I don’t.

I have met so many wonderful women of faith through this blog. For some kick-ass awesomeness celebrating faith during Easter you can check out SquiggleMum and Ceaseless Praises. I love that Carrie talks about how sharing her faith with others is a core part of her belief and who she is as a person.  Both Catherine and Carrie prayed for me when I was going through a traumatic period. And I was grateful. Because regardless of what I believe, to have someone care enough about you to include you in their prayers is pretty amazing.

Just because I’m an agnostic doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about what other people believe, and their experiences.  In fact, that’s exactly what I want to hear. About experience. The way I figure it, tell me what’s in your heart, and I will tell you what’s in mine. I only draw the line where I’m told what should be in my heart. I am not lost. This is the life I have chosen, of my own free will.

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Sunshine in a Cage

Posted on March 28, 2010 4 Comments

It has been far too long since I visited Pompa. Weeks go by, and sometimes I don’t think about it. But then I feel guilty, or rather the guilt builds up to the point where my choice is either to be swallowed by my own self-loathing or go and visit him. Visiting him is so much easier. And I’m always pleased afterwards.
I’ve been to a fair few nursing homes, and I can’t say that I’ve liked any of them. Even the good ones. Necessary cages for people who either mentally or physically can no longer take care of themselves. For my grandfather, at least he’s in a fairly new one, with caring staff and friendly residents. But it’s still a cage. He knows it.

He will joke with Riley, when she’s at the gate or the fence, that there’s no point – there’s no way out. He likes going outside. At least it’s pretty there.

And the reason why I feel so guilty, is it seems like one of the very few things that cheers him up is this character. I really wish life didn’t take over and I could take her up to see him more regularly

And so, even today, when he seemed a little depressed, he brightened up immediately in her presence. Even though she wasn’t really giving him the time of day. He kept trying to play with her, but she read all of his overtures as attempts to steal her toys. So mostly she just hid things under her arm and yelled “No! No! No!”. He didn’t seem to mind too much.

Because to him, she’s sunshine.

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Childhood is a Bad Bet

Posted on March 24, 2010 17 Comments


That’s the assertion made by Elisabeth Badlinter in her new book, discussed in this article. The idea being that it’s a bit of a waste for a parent to sacrifice every part of their life for a child, given that we live for an average of 85 years and childhood is temporary. Her theory is that women get their life back by any means necessary – formula, childcare, whatever it takes – and get back to enjoying their life with a drink and a cigarette. And while I do enjoy both drinking and smoking, I do not concur with Ms Badlinter.

If you feel resentful about a sacrifice, it’s not a sacrifice. If you are continually listing all the things you are missing out on, you are not making a sacrifice. You’ve just made a bad choice, but it’s not a sacrifice. To my mind, a sacrifice is giving up something freely and willingly for something far more important.

If you don’t want your life to change, then don’t have children. Because they will change your life, regardless of whether you choose to breastfeed or bottle-feed, co-sleep or not, or use childcare instead of staying at home.

I have to say, I didn’t really relate to this article at all. Although Megan did and she raises some really interesting points here. And what Badlinter is saying is not that outlandish really. A whole swag of experts encourage women to maintain their relationship with their partner as the primary relationship, children are temporary etc. etc. And while I absolutely agree that doing things for yourself is important, and doing things with your partner just as a couple is also important, I tend to see things the other way around. Childhood IS temporary, so why would I want to miss out on it? They’re babies for such a tiny amount of time really so why outsource them and miss out on all the fun stuff?

I like being at home. If I had a choice between my pre-baby recreational activities and what we do now. I’d choose what we do now. I loved breastfeeding her. And if anything it made my life easier, rather than harder. I didn’t have to get out of bed in the middle of the night (hello co-sleeping), I didn’t have to sterlise anything and I didn’t have to take bottles and formula with us when we left the house. Both me and my husband loved co-sleeping with her. Sometimes I still go in and get her from her room so she can sleep with us. I like that our life has changed in a really big way. My husband and I have more quality time as a family because we are both not working full-time. It’s a better lifestyle for us this way.

As Megan said in her article there is plenty of time during the day for other interests – and there’s never been a block of time that I couldn’t fill up with some project or other. Whether it be working, house renovation, writing, reorganising, cooking or crocheting. But I also knew early on that I wasn’t going to feel like I was missing something by staying at home with her. Not everyone is the same of course, which is the benefit of all of those hard-won choices we now have.

And I can’t help feeling like the ideas put forward by Badlinter are antiquated. There are more choices than simply staying at home or being a high-powered career woman. You can also work from home, stay at home, work outside the home part-time, work full-time out of the home or any manner of different options. Motherhood isn’t oppressing women, the idea that we all have to fit nicely into the box of ‘earth mother’ or ‘career woman’ might be.

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The Cottage

Posted on March 22, 2010 5 Comments

On Saturday I made my maiden voyage (driving on my own) to Sydney. No animals, people, or property was harmed in any way. Major success. I was there for the Sydney Mum/Parenting Bloggers Meet Up, but decided I might as well make a day of it and headed down nice and early. It is also conceivable that I left early to avoid dreaded traffic. I went to my brother’s place first that he shares with his better half. It’s one of those beautiful old cottages that you can still stumble across in the Inner West.

See?! I’m totally capable of taking photots of soemthing else, other than Riley.

I love those shutters.

Clearly my brother and his girlfriend have a far greater sense of style in their pinky fingers than I do in my entire body. I maintain that they have an unfair advantage on us mortals because she’s an interior designer and he’s a libran

Clearly a match made in heaven. I comfort myself with the knowledge that eventually some of it is bound to rub off on me. Right?!

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