Thankfully this week I haven't actually felt like strangling anyone, so there's a plus. (Except for the usual amount of times I get stroppy with the kids, but that's nothing out of the ordinary.) Possibly I've just hit the next stage on the hormonal rollercoaster, with this last week being defined more by introspection than anything else.

My lower back decided last weekend it was time to give me a bit of curry. It does so from time to time for no apparent reason. A chiro visit on Monday helped... but in the early hours of Thursday morning my left arm decided to get in on the act and go the whole nerve-pinching pain thing, so I haven't been on top of the world. A chiro visit yesterday has helped that - but I'm not quite myself again yet. (And I keep thinking that I'm certainly contributing to the chiropractor's superannuation fund, if not a new car or two.) I've not exercised all week because of the back and arm, and so a happy little vegemite I am not.

At TAFE I'm in the process of deciding what to do next year. It's a part of the course I'm doing to do so, but it's also what I need to do anyway. I've applied to do a one year course in Information Technology (Web Design). I *think* it's what I want to do when "I grow up", but I guess I'm not 100% sure. On Thursday I decided to use the counselling service at TAFE - they do careers counselling as well as the personal stuff. Hell, it's free, why not? My first session was helpful - and I'm going back next week. Perhaps she will help me unearth whatever it is within that tells me I can't do stuff - though I'm not completely sure about the airy fairy stuff.

The oldest teenager is doing the girl with the curl thing, and when she's not being good and helpful and lovely, she is being dramatic, and accusative, (and unhelpful) and we are apparently unreasonable and over protective parents who are going to scar her for life because we are following the 'no computers in bedroom' line as advised to parents. And we won't/wouldn't let her go to a party at a town 2 hours away... She doesn't bring friends around here because we are, apparently, Embarrassing, (because I dare to engage her friends in a bit of conversation it seems), her sisters are Annoying and she can't get away from any of us in 'our open plan house', despite the fact that she has her own room. Pardon me for just BEING, and for not having a house with rumpus rooms/separate TV rooms and the like. I'm not sure what palaces her friends live in.

The biggest challenge (and preoccupation) at the moment is that we are planning a cycling holiday riding, with other tandem acquaintances, down the east coast of Tasmania - next February. Planning and communication with the other parties has to be done online, and that is proving to be ... interesting. I am about to bite the bullet and book our fares on the Spirit of Tasmania - the ferry between the mainland and Tasmania. We are going to drive to Melbourne (2 day drive from here) and then slum it on the ferry. It looks costly, but by the time we weighed up the cost and hassle of plane fares, with camping gear and tandems, extra accommodation for a family of five, and airport shuttles, the overnight ferry experience won out.

Weighing up the pros and cons of shared costs for the ride has been another challenge altogether. However - it looks like it's going to happen, and .. did I mention?... I'm about to make the booking. Today. Sometime. It is exciting and yet daunting all at the same time. I thrive on the planning of something like this, though at the same time it stresses and consumes me. Today I have reached the point where I am saying to Marc 'So? Do I book it?' Point of no return. A financial investment in another family holiday and adventure. I haven't quite done so.. but sometime later today I will. I WILL.

The planning for that will ebb and flow - until it reaches panic stations in February!

Meanwhile I just have to manage the teenage angst, my own angst - and decisions about where I'm heading with the rest of my life...

And finalising the last requirements for this current course. A few pieces of writing, which should be right up my alley, seeing I want to do something with writing to earn a quid or two, yet I am procrastinating over it all nonetheless. (And a First Aid "exam" on Tuesday.)

And Christmas is around the corner, and that stresses me out like not much else can.

I'm not sure where blogging fits into this, but while I work on reinventing myself, I might just need to vent every now and then. (Is it significant that the word "vent" appears in reinvent?)

When I am not venting, I will inevitably be preoccupied.

Labels: bike riding, daily, parenting, teenagers

If you have more than one child, chances are that you've suffered the endless bickering about whose turn it is to sit where - particularly in the car. Chances are, anyway, that you remember the fights with your siblings! (Now you know what your parents went through, don't you!) And if your kids aren't yet out of baby seats or booster seats, then all I can say is enjoy the relative peace while it lasts... I have always said that as kids get older, some things do indeed improve -but all you do is move on to another "phase".


If you have more than one child, chances are that they fight about whose turn it is to do just about anything. In our house it's not only who gets to sit in the 'best seat available' in the car, but also on which seat round the dinner table. (Call us weird, but the only set spots are mine and the Daddy's. And you can call us slack parents, but the 'better' seats are rated according to best line of vision to the TV, and you can go bite your bum if you are going to lecture me about not having the TV on while eating dinner... What if I want to watch the news? Or whatever else is on?.... It's just the way it is here.. ok.)

It could be about who gets the sofa bed when they stay at Grandmas, or who has to about who has to have the first shower, and.. yes, well, any other thing you might imagine.

And it's enough to send a mother right up the wall, screaming as she goes. I know. I've been there.

I did try a few of the usual strategies. "Taking turns' involved far too much memory required on my part.. and nagging appeals about how long each 'turn' was, and stuff like how it was not fair because SHE got to go a LONG way yesterday, and this is only a SHORT trip today), or 'first in best dressed' - which is hardly fair given the age differences - we finally came up with a pretty much failsafe system, which also has the added advantage of making them do all the remembering, and some mental arithmetic to boot. Not that that was the major goal, but it has proved to be an added bonus, and it assuages some parental guilt when you get the "How to be a better parent" type tips in the school newsletter about how to incorporate the Three Rs into your everyday family life. I've never been a fan of deliberately being 'educational' at home - IMHO more often than not it just happens - so those tips actually annoy the hell out of me, but that's another rant for another day!

Anyway... this is how it goes:

They get a DATE each, on a rotational basis. Three kids, rotate through the calendar. Easiest way is that one gets the multiple of 3 date... and the other two are either side of it. ( This selection process is the hardest thing you'll have to do with it - the rest is plain sailing.)

When it's your day - by date - you get the first choice in ANYTHING that involves choice between siblings. Car seat. Dining room table seat. When to have your shower... whatever.

There are just a few rules to go with it.

1. If you aren't around on your day, tough bickies. No rainchecks. Person whose day it is next gets the choice. Swings and roundabouts - another time someone else won't be around on their day.


2. Mum or Dad have the ultimate right of veto, and if they decide someone has been really BAD, then they lose their day.


3. On the 31st of the month, Mum gets to choose who gets it as their day. Usually the child who has pissed her off least in the past 24 hours.


4. End of February, 29th and/or 3oth miss out? Tough.


5. If it's your birthday it's your day. If your birthday happens to fall on your date, oh well, sorry, you don't get an extra day to make up.


6. If you can't do the maths, then the other two have the right to NOT do the maths for you... Funnily enough this only seems to apply to the ELDEST who, while having the easiest maths to do - this year she got the 'multiple of three' dates - also seems to be constantly the vaguest on what date it is. The youngest two are right on top of it.


7. If there is a seemingly onerous choice it works in reverse - eg. having to go up to have your shower first ( oh my god how awful is that!) then the person whose day it is LEAST has to go first, and then the next. Naturally if you actually WANT to have your shower first on any occasion, then you get to choose.


8. It applies wherever you are. eg. it saves Grandma from having to make decisions about who sleeps where.

That pretty much covers it. I don't give out many parenting tips because I don't think I'm much of an expert in that department, and there's nothing worse than the 'parenting expert' is there!



But I reckon this one is worth filing away for future reference and experimentation, and adapting to your own circumstances. It has pretty much saved my sanity this past year.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Disclaimer: This strategy does NOT work once they are sitting in the car, and they are fighting over personal space, and "she TOUCHED ME" and "she HIT ME" and "her mp3 player is up too loud" etc etc.... If anyone has the solution to that, other than the van we used to have whereby they were separated by distance and a middle row of seats to put one of them in, then I'd love to know!

Labels: parenting

I am a mothering anomaly.

Here I am, a SAHM, still, because I can't bear not to be around for my kids. When they might need me. (Because I feel compelled to drive them hither and thither to all their sports after school, more like.)

Plus, what the hell would I do with them in school holidays if I had to work?

While they were little, even though they often drove me mad, I still, inexplicably, wanted to be at home with them, though not because I set out to be like that. It was just how it happened and how I felt once they were in my life. [Helped to be kind of 'between careers' and not knowing what the hell to do for work.] Oh, I choofed them off to preschool soon enough. From around 2 years old, they started one to two days a week, building up to about three days by the time they were 4. They needed it, and so did I. I'm no mother saint. And I waved them off quite happily when they each started school. Yee ha!

(Mind you, I've always objected slightly to the 'Home' part of the SAHM acronym, because being out and about with them happened just as much as being at home. I used to love going shopping with #3, once she was the only one left at home. Can you believe I said that? This is the same 'me' who told Ms 14 and Ms 12 to go sit in the car while I went through the supermarket the other day! No, #3 was a real delight when she didn't have big sisters bossing her around and arguing over who got to sit in the trolley, or push the trolley... And she still talks about how she and I used to go to a coffee shop - I'd have a cappucino, and she'd have a babycino!)

But I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I'd occasionally [OFTEN!] feel a bit trapped when they were little... particularly because my husband worked long hours, and then when he changed jobs in 1997 (with the move up here), he started going away a lot as well as working long hours. I was on call 24/7, and when he was home we didn't get round to doing anything as smart as getting a babysitter so we could get out together. He just wanted to 'be home' after being away for so long, so it didn't really happen.

A few years ago I gradually, and finally, started doing a few things for myself. Blessed with well-behaved girls, I could start leaving them unsupervised to watch (or play) while I did a 1 hour swim squad class. They were old enough, by then, I figured, that it wouldn't kill them to watch or wait for me for a change, given the hours and hours I spent watching them. (And there was the Role Model stuff - exercise, fitness, etc - that had merit as well.)

As #1 and #2 got older and proved to be pretty responsible and sensible, I've gradually built up the time I could leave them at home. I started with deliberately getting home from shopping, for example, half an hour after they got home from school. So they could handle letting themselves in, and so they could cope with things if I ever got held up in traffic, or the car broke down, or the like.

I started going out for 45 min walks.. and I have built it up from there. I do feel a whole lot happier having a mobile phone, so they can contact me anytime. (Except when I'm in the swimming pool!)

So, with the eldest at 14 now, this past year it feels as if we've been pushing the envelope more and more. She's old enough to babysit other people's kids, so surely she'll be right 'in charge' at home? I now leave them at home while I go to netball meetings. And they cope just fine. (TV choice here they come.)

Being the crazy couple that we are, Marc and I have started getting our 'us' time with our early morning bike rides. (It does feel better leaving them when it's daylight. Yep. Some people go out for romantic dinners. We go out for a bike ride and breakfast!) We leave here around 5.40, and get back around 9.30 or 10.00. But half that time they're in bed!

When netball was on we'd ring them at 8.00 to make sure everyone was out of bed and getting themselves ready for netball. (Now #1 and #2 get themselves up to do a paper run!) But if we weren't out riding, we'd probably still be in bed, and they'd be doing the exact same thing - computer or TV! So I don't feel too bad about it. We'd have to nag at home for them to get ready, and it is possible to nag via phone!! (And to tell them to hang the washing out!)

Lately, though, it seems we've been taking even more liberties, and here's where I'm starting to tousle with my conscience.

Last Sunday we left home around 10.30 to go to a bicycle group AGM. They could have come, but didn't want to. It was supposed to be at 11.00, but didn't start till 12.00! By the time it finished at 2.00 I was famished, so we went and had lunch. (Then went to the hardware store.) Rang them a couple of times and they were fine. They had even very capably made themselves a special lunch! Egg and ham breadcups no less! Baked in the oven! (Though Ms 14 needs Ms 12 to break the eggs!)

I still felt rather guilty because they were home pretty much all day Sunday by themselves, and not doing anything much bar TV, computer and reading .. but then, once we were home, everyone continued doing much the same thing anyway! When we're not full on active sports, we specialise in Sloth!

Last Tuesday I left at 6.15 to go riding with a friend. Marc was home till he left for work around 8.30 ... only #3 was up, but she already knew I'd gone riding.

When I finished my ride I rang home at about 10.00. #2 answered.
Where are you? she asked.
I thought you must have been still up in bed!
Good communication all round, huh? And.. um... makes me look like the slacko that I am every other day if she thought I was still in bed!

Still, I felt a bit sheepish as I then had a coffee before heading home. I did take them some vanilla slice which made me feel a whole lot less guilty! And what do you know.. they were all ready and organised to go iceskating. So... no problem. I wouldn't have been doing anything with them in that time anyway! Would I? Except nagging them to clean their rooms, pick their shoes up off the floor. Etc.

I would have been on here while they did their own thing anyway.

Tonight I went swimming. (Leaving them to put pies in the oven for dinner!).

And with this weekend coming up, I have a bit of a raging debate happening within. Up there in my head. Between my conscience, and the "I wanna" part of me, wherever it is.

Marc is away for work (and then sport) till Sunday night and I have the choice of:

Saturday morning ride. 6.00 till about 9.30.
A Sunday morning ride - 7.30 till mmmm, maybe 12.00 by the time I get home.
Tuesday morning ride again... 6.15 till... 11 ish. And it's the last day of the school holidays.

My conscience tells me that I'd be going a bit overboard if I left them at home while I did all three... (My inner sloth tells me I don't want to get up at 5 am on Saturday!)

My conscience tells me that if I can leave them for all that, I could go and get a damn job already...

My common sense tells me they will be fine, and I should Seize the Day, and take the opportunity to do some exercise... and soon enough it'll be term time again and I'll be running them all over the countryside.

If you made it this far... What do you think?

Labels: parenting

It is probably an act of protest - seeing that all the words she has employed haven't really worked. It's 8pm, and the cooking of dinner is in process. As I ask her to remove herself from the computer (where she has sat in a huff all day) and set the table, I realise that she is still in her pyjamas! Still.. not showered and changed. STILL! (No, I didn't pay much attention to her today!!)

Mind you, this final act of protest has stung less than the accusations that only a 14 year old can fling. Seems we have scarred the poor girl for life because we aren't doing anything on New Year's Eve. Seems that last year we sent them to bed before midnight, and OMG! She doesn't want to have such a rotten NYE again. They want to be 'crazy' and stay up till midnight... *sob sob*

Mind you, her first line of attack was to ask if she could go into town to the Jetty Carnival with friends. Whoa there! Quantum leap from what you've been allowed to do so far without supervision - and.. so... no. Not New Year's Eve. With drunk people around. Etc.

So, why couldn't we invite people around? You need other people to be able to run around crazy with...

Well.. there's the problem of the house that looks like a disaster zone, and if you want visitors then you need to pitch in and help with some cleaning up.

Which? Hasn't happened.

And, sorry, I felt too crook yesterday to even think about preparing for visitors.

And so we are the worst, most boring parents a 14 year old could ever be saddled with....

Sorry about that kid.

So it's the fireworks on telly.. and if you don't annoy us too much you can stay up and watch the midnight ones.

Ah yeah.. well.... HAPP-Y NEW YEAR then, everyone. Hope yours is more exciting than ours!

Labels: kids, parenting

It's been an emotional week.

There's the Christmas lead-up, of course, and I am going through much inner and outer turmoil as I try to manage the raging conflict I have over it. That would take me another post and a half to explain how stressed I am over trying to de-stress the whole damn thing. It is only significant here in that everything contributes (including the inevitable and ever-present out-of-whack hormones) to this gooey, blubbery mess you see before you.

There was the primary school presentation on Monday of course, with the highest academic accolade going to a second daughter! I did have to blink away a few tears, even though I knew she was in line to get it.

(Then there were the rollercoaster emotions over the eldest daughter... but I'm on a fairly even keel with that now. Sort of.)

After school on Monday Alison and I did a frantic 'Eleventh Hour' shop to buy a dress for her Yr 6 Farewell... the dress code was "good casual" ... but it had to be the 'right' dress, and the one eventually bought on the weekend after some other dramas had produced tears once we were home, because it wasn't the right dress. At 5.25, just as the shop was shutting we found The One (though I had to get ribbons sewn on as straps the next day!)

On Tuesday at school they had their 'graduation' assembly. It was a fairly casual affair, with a slideshow of photos from their year (mostly of their recent Sydney excursion).. and then a trot across the stage to each receive a certificate folder.

But then the two Year 6 classes stood and sang "Forever Young", and the tissues were coming out all over the place. I was fine until I saw a friend's mum dabbing her eyes, then I too succumbed. That trick of sticking your tongue on the roof of your mouth? It only partly works. It was straight on with the sunnies as we spilled out into daylight, and round to our 'kids' for more kisses and hugs.

And I have been a blithering mess ever since - whenever I even think of the damn song. Perhaps the lyrics aren't quite applicable.. yet they are. And even though it's my middle child reaching a milestone in her life - moving on from primary school to high school (so I've been there before, and I'll be there again) I can't stop the tears from welling up.

She is bright, smart, clever... tough, yet fragile. Capable, yet infuriating at times! And the one minute you are full of hopes and wonder at her future.. and just so excited for her to be going off to high school - and the next you want to just freeze this moment forever.

And look at her - she's just gorgeous.

And here I go with the tears again:

Labels: kids, parenting

[Scene: In car. Mum is driving. Ms 14 is in passenger seat. Ms 14 reaches over and changes the radio station - a typical move on her part. Mum frowns as music she doesn't like blares.]


"You know, when you are an adult, and have your own car, and you drive me somewhere.. I am going to just reach over and change your radio to whatever I want to listen to."

"No way! This is different! I'm your daughter!"

"And I'm your mum. What's the difference?"

"Oh well, when I get old, I'll probably end up being boring and listening to the ABC like you."

[A few kilometres down the road, Mum changes the station back to intelligent 'talk' and the odd bit of music. A slight smile plays on her face as she notes that Ms 14 doesn't change it back as she normally would.]

Labels: parenting

When we brought home our first little bundle of joy, we realised pretty quickly, as expected, that the accustomed 'us' time of an evening was going to be disrupted. For some years at least - especially when we had another two babies after that one!

We are pretty fortunate to have had reasonably good sleepers... compared to many horror stories I've heard. We had occasional 'issues', but nothing like ongoing reflux or the like to deal with.

Our first child, in particular, seemed to have inherited our 'night owl' genes - it was difficult to put her to bed at night, but once she was asleep we'd get a good 10 hours out of her, and consequently the luxury of sleeping in. Swings and roundabouts, as they say. We could cope with that. Even if , when she hit toddler age, we went through a period of having to lock her in her bedroom listening to her scream till she fell asleep. She used to climb out of her cot.. and later the bed... and then fall asleep on the floor - on one occasion right up against the door! (I promise there were no scratch marks on the door!) The 'tough love' worked and we gradually got our evenings back again.

Being the disorganised person that I am, even as the kids were older, I was never capable of getting them to bed as early as 6 or 7pm like some people, so I probably did myself out of a fair bit of 'potential 'no kids' time. The flipside was that they have never woken us at the crack of dawn, so we were ok with that. And once they were old enough, we were always guaranteed some 'us' time for a few hours. Probably we started going to bed later and later just to get that 'no kids' time in the evening after they'd finally gone to bed, but still.

Wind on the years. I always feared that #1's sleeping habits would come back to bite us, and so they have. Even before she was a teenager she was a shocker to get out of bed in the morning. Payback time for all those times we smugly slept in on weekend mornings - people who rang at 8 am and woke us could not believe it was possible! - "But you have a baby!" they cried in disbelief.)

Now we have to all but drag her out of bed by 7.45 - in time for her to catch the school bus at 8.15. She resents any attempts to wake her any earlier than that, and we've had a few ding dong arguments over that. (Along the lines of "I am not your maid. If it suits me to wake you at 7.30 so I can get on with what I need to do, then I will wake you at 7.30.")

We are coping with that. An uneasy truce, you'd call it. (And hilariously she's just taken on a paper run two days a fortnight, and so has to get herself up before 6.30! - Love it.)

The worst bit is the inclination for them to stay up later and later. Both the 14 and 12 year old are shockers to get to bed. They dilly dally, and, inexplicably, often manage to take an hour between being sent to bed, and actually getting between the sheets. They sneak down the stairs and watch tv shows from behind our backs. (Then the reading addiction kicks in, which is another problem, but at least they aren't downstairs with me.) Why they do this constantly amazes me, because all they get is one cranky mother. They even joke about me turning into The Woodpecker - which is the type of kiss they get when they finally manage to say their goodnights. A hard peck born of the frustration of umpteen "GO TO BED"s. Get the picture?

Last night Ms 14 was dragging her heels on a school assignment.. She was still working on it at 10.30, and as I got stroppier and stroppier I realised that it was more than just annoyance that she'd wasted time in the afternoon when she should have been doing her homework. THIS was intruding into my downtime with Marc. Again. It's slightly more precious downtime too, given the years he worked away so much and I only had myself for company every night.

Having to share this evening time with one's offspring is going to become even more commonplace - particularly when we have the computers in the loungeroom. (I am loathe, however, to succumb to allowing her computer/internet access in her room - though how we are going to manage that when she is in senior high school I'm not sure.)

And so we come full circle, and I am going to have to get used to a phase of parenting where we lose our ''us' time again. Either that or build a bigger house, give them unfettered internet access in their rooms.. or start counting down till they move out.

Am I awful that I want and need that 'no kids' time with the Daddy of my children?

Labels: kids, parenting

Late this afternoon I started asking Ms 14 to help me with dinner. She accused me of trailing off with my sentence, which she finds frustrating. Seems I do it a lot. She is probably right - I think I do do that. Something I have to work on. I told her that when she is at the computer I sense she isn't actually listening, so I tend to sort of give up. (When I don't yell that is!)

She says: "Oh I do hear you. I just ignore you in the hope that I'll get away with staying here longer... "

Oh REALLY?!!!

You'll keep kiddo.

****

On a similar theme, a couple of days ago she was talking again about her improved maths result, because since then she has come home with a Merit Certificate for "Effort in Mathematics" (which her father and I promptly "claimed" because we are the ones who made all the 'effort'.)

She babbles: "And I was talking to my friend about how on earth I got that because I hate Maths and I don't work at it, and my friend said "I reckon... but just imagine what you could do if you actually tried!"... and I said "Shut up, you sound like my parents."

Hope she sticks around that friend. She sounds like a sensible girl!

Labels: kids, parenting

My daughter's friend apparently told her grandmother (who she lives with) that she wishes she was more laidback. "Like Tracey is." Apparently I'm 'cool' because my house is a mess and nothing seems to faze me. (Poor Grandma. Apparently she is more the 'clean freak' type. Who knew that having a clean and tidy house was not something to be admired...) The grass is always greener, of course.. or as this same kid said this afternoon. "How come your toast tastes better than our toast?" So we've coined a new phrase - "The toast is always browner..."

Given that I tend to feel embarrassed about the kids' friends coming round to my dirty, messy house, it hasn't done my self esteem any harm. Heaven knows, much of the time I don't feel like I'm getting anything right....

For example:
Last week said self esteem did take a bit of a battering when said daughter was telling me about a 'Bio Poem' they had to write at school. Bio as in biographical. (Or auto-biographical to be more precise.) She told me they had to include stuff like their favourite things, and things they feared. And up there with Daleks on that latter list was "Mum when she's angry."

Oh!

Apparently when I get cross, and yell, and bang things around and stomp up the stairs, it's scary. Though given she was telling me this with her arms wrapped around me, and the fact that she was telling me at all, I rationalised that maybe, perhaps, hopefully, she isn't really scarred for life. (And I can't be that bad, if her best mate is of the opinion that I'm laidback... Can I?)

I still needed some saving grace though, and so I asked her who was scarier when mad - me or Dad. "Oh Dad, definitely" she said without a second's hesitation.

I quite relished recounting that bit to him later. Not that it puts either of us in the running for any parenting awards...

I'm also pretty crap today because, according to Ms 14, there was nothing to eat in the house when she got home from school. Only stuff that 'tasted like cardboard'. There were crispbreads. (Lo-fat.... yep, I suppose that's like cardboard.) But there was toast! Good toast, even, so I'm told.

Hmmm... Obviously my kids don't know which side their "toast" is buttered on.

Labels: kids, parenting

Well, no, but you'd have thought I just did.
I'm just that sort of Mum. Suggesting incredulously ridiculous things.

[8am, yesterday, 15 mins before Ms 14 has to catch the bus to school]:
"Mum, mum, can you sign my sport choice form for next term. It's due in today."

[wondering why this wasn't brought out last night]:
"Basketball again? Why don't you try something different?... like.... there's Surf Awareness. (Run by a guy who is the President of the Surf Lifesaving club, and who also is our swim coach. So I think she'd learn something. ) Umm.. or what about trying yoga? "

"Are you out of your mind? Like, I hated Nippers when I did it..."

"... Yes, but this would be another way of picking up a bit more surf knowledge without having to do all the nipper stuff that you hated."

" OH MY GOD, Mum... They do THEORY and stuff... Why would I want to do that? I'm supposed to look forward to Wednesday afternoon sport, not dread it."

[Mum ponders whether school sport is meant for just stuffing around or....]

"And YOGA? I can't believe you think I should do YOGA! Oh my GOD!... [turning to sisters].. She thinks I should try YOGA?!!!"

[Grasping at straws] "Well, if you don't want to use this as an opportunity to try different stuff, don't expect me to pay for you to do iceskating in Term 4, which I know you will want to do.."

[She grabs sheet and slams out the door muttering that I only have to sign it if the sport involves a cost.
This morning she presents the sheet muttering that I still do have to sign it. As a concession she's put Yoga in at Preference #4, knowing full well that she'll get First preference, basketball, anyway. I give up and just sign the damn thing.]

***
I've thus had a day of pondering my parenting- in regard to this issue, and still have no answers. I mean, do you just go along with whatever the little darling wants, or do you have a duty, as a parent, to try and encourage them to think beyond their own little world? To look outside the square, to branch out and try new things? Where do you draw the line of toughness on it? If you just meekly make a suggestion, you may as well not make it at all, because the initial reaction will always be 'You're a moron Mum.'

We (Marc and I) are also pondering our instinctive reaction to her maths. After that last saga, where I finally threw my hands up and stopped nagging her to study (in a 'lead the horse to water, can't make it drink' fashion), she has come home with vastly improved test results lsat week, placing SECOND in the class with the major part of the test. (Gaining something like 85%). Pending some more results from kids who did the test later, and the results of the 'non-calculator' section of the test. Still the teacher gave her a Commendation Ticket for it. So she is all 'Go me!' Woot! I am a legend!' And, being terrible parents, we are pleased but gobsmacked, and actually quite disillusioned. Because we all but had to chain her to the table to revise. So she didn't do her best. She did what we dragged her kicking and screaming to do. And, if she can improve that much by that method, how much could she improve if she actually sat down, voluntarily, and revised and studied like a normal student is expected to do!

So she accused me of never being satisfied, and she has a point. Thing is, we only want her to do her best.. that's all. It's just that wasn't actually her best.

It is also a terrible indictment on the school she attends - that their second placed maths student in Year 9 is actually not that good. Because, no! she is not that good at maths! In many ways she can be quite dumb at maths! And dumb would be ok IF she tried her best, and that was the best she could give. But we still haven't seen her give it her best.

So as a parent, do you have a responsibility to keep chipping away, against the odds, to try to help your kids be all that they can be? To try things. To take school seriously. Even the sport opportunities. To venture outside their comfort zone. Or do you just throw up your hands, and let them do whatever they think they want, even if that is below par for what you think they are capable of.

Where do you draw the line? You might know in your heart (from your own experience) that academic achievement is not the be all and end all. That there is the risk of burning out by the end of Year 12.. and then what? (Exhibit A - me)

Talking with each other last night we admitted that both of us were 'hard markers'. He is definitely so - to the point where I avoid raising dealing with stuff that I need or want his advice on, because I don't want him to chuck a wobbly. But, while I am tending to total slackness in many areas, here I am being a hard taskmaster on my daughter.

I guess finding the middle road somewhere in there is the goal. I just wish I had a map and directions.

Labels: introspection, kids, parenting

At last! The official end of the netball season, with the Presentation held today. And until about March next year I will have my Saturdays back, hip hip hooray and hallelujah!

I have two girls to be very proud of - one whose team won their grand final (in a boilover!), and the other whose team came runners up (and who got close to another boilover!). (Not that I'm not proud of my youngest - she just didn't play competition netball this year, and so wasn't involved in the presentation today.) Ali received the Most Valuable Player award for her rep team from her performance at State Age, and Caitlin received the Players' Player award for her Intermediate team. Which makes this mum very proud and just a little bit teary! I know I do a fair bit of whingeing about my kids, but the truth is I really do appreciate what wonderful girls I have. Sure they have their moments, and I know I can be their harshest critic. The big secret is I'm actually also their biggest fan. I just try most of the time not to be one of those parents who babbles on ad nauseum about how wonderful their children are. Thankfully most of the rubbish happens at home, and I know that "out there" they are liked and appreciated for being great kids - Heck, I've even had a number of compliments about them recently!

And hence, I am proud.

Even more than them happening to be good at netball, I am really chuffed with their sportsmanship. They play "nice". They play fair. (Given that, during this week, I've been composing tearful blog posts in my head along the lines of 'Why Can't They Just Be Nice To Each Other?!!', I'm very relieved that the Not-Niceness that tends to rear its ugly head most often among siblings seems to stay within the home; somewhere along the line we've done something right. They've been 'brung' up to be good sports, and out "there" at least they are good sports.)

This sportsmanship thing has been highlighted even more recently at the netball by the behaviour of one girl in particular. Ali has, this year both played with, and against her. At state age a number of we parents were embarrassed that our daughters were on the same team as her. At club level, particularly when our kids' team overcame the odds and beat this other girl's team (for the first time in the season) in the Grand Final, we held her up as an example of how not to play (and lose your rag.) Her parents don't fully realise what a monster they have, in part, created (because she has been allowed to develop into one).. It has tainted what would have otherwise been a totally brilliant year for the netball association, and because this kid is the daughter of the president, it has been one more issue I have with staying on the netball committee...

It is the AGM next week, and apart from having to get my act together with the minutes, I'll have to sort out the mess of correspondence etc because I intend to hand over the secretarial reins. I figure I'll still handle the website that I do, and any other computer-y stuff. People keep telling me I'm the computer whiz, and thank goodness they have me to do all that stuff. (I just wish I could figure out how to get paid for this supposed expertise!!) I'm just more than over meetings, and letter writing. And getting stuck in the clubhouse canteen week after week. Mostly that last one - which is why I'm doing such a happy dance about getting my Saturdays back.

Theoretically speaking today I had, at least, Saturday morning free. Free to go bike riding without having to hurry home; I mean, even though Marc is away, I have a single road bike, and I am quite capable of getting my bike on the roof of the car, and driving myself into town to the Community Ride. But I blew it. I had my bike ready to go, and cycling clobber laid out and ready. I got up at 5 am. I looked out the window, saw that while it wasn't raining, it was windy. ("Aww, diddums!"). And my back was sore, and I couldn't face trying to lift the bike onto the roof rack, never mind riding into the wind. So I got back into bed, and got up again at 10am!!! I then felt disappointed in myself the rest of the day for not pushing myself through my mental barrier. If Marc had been home I would have shamed myself into it, and then felt good about myself.

Next Saturday he will be away again, so I will try to redeem myself. Another chiro visit will be in order to try and sort out my back, and then all I'll have to do is work on my head!

Labels: kids, netball, parenting

To be completely honest, I'm wallowing. And no, it's not a good look, but I'm in a phase where I just can't quite locate my 'happy place'. I am living one of those frustrating dreams where you can't quite make things happen the way you want them to. Just 'frustrating dream' status, rather than 'nightmare', so I should be quite thankful really. But I'm not in a happy place.

I'm mostly unhappy because Marc is away for work all this week. He left early this morning for Perth. Across the other side of the country - so it may as well be the other side of the world. Back Sunday - so that messes with the weekend, and it's the weekend toll that has taken its... toll... over the years. Over the 10 bloody years he's been working in this damn job, I hate to think of how many weekends have been 'stolen' from our family life.

After our crisis in March, and the ultimatum put to his work about having to stop the away work, or leave, he has been home most weekends (all bar one I think) and what a difference that has made. But there you go: "All bar one". There has had to be compromise - a midweek trip back to KL, and a 'one week trip' back to KL. I ran with these because even I realise it is pretty hard to pull out in the middle of a humungous project, and I am such an understanding, wonderful wife that he is lucky to have even though he lost sight of that there at one point. There have also been a couple of other mid-week jobs which involved being away - but midweek stuff I can cope with; the type of job it is means it is impossible not to travel to various jobs.

But this week is another compromise; someone else's project, and the other person who could do it is on 5 weeks annual leave and I'm pissed off and angry about having to compromise, because I feel like I'm being played for a fool. I made some ultimatums, because I damn well had a right to make ultimatums. But like WorkChoices, my 'fought for' rights are insidiously being whittled away...

Yes, it has been better. [Who am I kidding? - It has been fantastic.] And the thing is, I like it like this. Having hubby... Daddy... around... is normal. It's what normal people do. You get to do things together on the weekend.. even if it is just slothing around on a Sunday (which I think is ok if you've got up at 5 am to go ride your tandem together on a Saturday morning, and then spent the rest of that day with the girls' netball.)

Sometimes, now that the girls are old enough to be at home without us, we can do stuff like we did yesterday. We left them and went into the shops, because he needed my physical presence/moral support while he shopped for some jeans and a shirt. And so then, that achieved, we sat down in a cafe and had lunch. Out. Very nice.

Meh, so what right do I have to complain? My life has been, and still is, too easy in many ways. I haven't had to work. I haven't had to worry about money. Single parents do it waaaaay tougher. Most average families do it tougher - financially at least. Still, I'd recommend it to noone - not that many days, nights, weekends of the Daddy being away. Basically raising the kids (the eldest was 4, and the youngest not even born when all this away stuff started) half the time by yourself, but then having to switch back to 'normal' family mode when he gets home.

I always maintained that while he worked away, I was damned if I was going to try and juggle a job as well. He used to hassle me occasionally about getting a job (partly because he understood that my self-esteem actually needs a job; partly because I think he has found it a strain being the breadwinner.) He only admitted in March that it would have been too stressful for me to have been working all this time. (Logic tells you that he would have had to have taken on some of the home-load.)

But as the 'stay at home parent', anything that the kids don't do that you expect they should (or that he expects they should) you blame yourself for. Because you're the one with the frontline job of handling all that, and any failure feels like a failure on your part. Throw into that mix me being the crappiest housekeeper in the world, and I keep seeing "F" on my report card, rather than all the Distinctions and Credits - because people do commend our children for being 'lovely kids'. (And smart. And good at sport. And good friends. Etc etc.)

I just keep seeing the negatives. I see myself as being a failure, because I don't work, and what's more, I don't have a clue what I could do for work. (To fit in with 'being there' for the kids the way I want to be.) Look at all those mothers who are working AND their kids are nice kids, doing well at school, etc, etc!! And, yes, I hate the fact that I don't bring any money into the house. Big F for Failure.

I try my hand at volunteer work, with the school.. with the netball... and then I get the shits with it (usually one or two people start getting right up my nose), so then I pull this avoidance stunt with it, as I did over this weekend. On Saturday I refused to go into the netball clubhouse as I've felt obliged to do all year because I am secretary. I sat on my arse in a chair on the sidelines, and watched both girls play their grand final games. And I felt guilty. And then I didn't go to the senior presentation dinner.

And, then... the most trivial issues with the kids make me feel like I am failing them with the basics - and if I can't get the basics right, how am I going to handle any Serious Stuff that comes along down the track? The eldest yesterday, when charged with hanging the load of washing in the machine on the line when it finished, hung them out dripping (which I only discovered at 5pm when I went to get them in). Because, patently, I wrongly expected that by 14 years old she'd have absorbed, somewhere along the line, that washing, when the machine has finished is not dripping wet. Because it spins the water out. And she has hung out washing before this. And that lately I've had to keep going in to rebalance the load because there is something wrong with the balance mechanism on the washing machine. The machine goes *bang, bang, bang* and stops. Then beeps. And I curse, and I go in and shift clothes around, and start it again. And sometimes repeat that till it works. And I haven't actually stood her there and given her a lesson in getting clothes out of the washing machine, because I had credited her with more common sense than she evidently has. (And an ability to ring me up on the phone and ask what to do if she isn't sure.)

[And it's pretty hard for me to be teaching them any household domestics, because I am a really, really bad role model in that respect.]

And, the 12 year old has been mutilating herself, and I have been oblivious to it. We thought she was biting her fingernails.. have lectured and warned her about it... and finally this week I bought some of that foul tasting stuff to put on her nails. Then yesterday she stubbed her big toe, and we realised that she has somehow been mutilating her toenails... she has cut/ripped them back so far, that the surrounding skin on each toe is peeling, and on her big toe, with so much skin exposed, it is more vulnerable to stubbing. She can't explain what in god's name possessed her to do this, nor how exactly she did it. She used scissors, "once".. "about two weeks ago"... but wtf?!! I am freaked out that she must have some underlying psychological problem that is causing her to do this, and I don't know what the hell to do about it.

And now he's gone away for a week, which makes it hard to do the shared parenting thing- particularly over this trivial stuff.

So the way I handle it is to rebel with the household domestics (who has the psychological problem do you think?)... and wallow.

Perhaps now I've unloaded this piffle I can get up off my bum and get through the week with a more appropriate outlook. Any kicks up the backside as long as they are gentle, will be gratefully received and taken on board.

Labels: introspection, parenting

A bit of night sky distraction tonight with the lunar eclipse tonight. The last one for us was in 2000, so I'd kind of forgotten what they were all about, although I do recall huddling on our back verandah with the two older girls, who were then both younger than #3 is now. It was a bit later in the evening that time - I have vague memories of waking them up (the older two) so they could see it. Tonight's moon show was a more child-friendly affair - around dinner time - with 'totality' at 8.37pm, so we've been in and out - on every level of the house - numerous times to check on it. We have a perfect view up into the eastern sky, so it's been quite 'specky'.

It was also quite a timely distraction from me continuing on doing my lolly at eldest daughter for being a lazy sod who sits on her arse at the computer, conveniently putting off helping with dinner, and then coming up with all sorts of excuses that involve blaming her sisters for not calling her, or similar. So I have decreed that she be responsible for dinner this Thursday. (And #2 will do it one night next week.) She is complaining of course that she doesn't know how to cook a whole meal - but patently my M.O. so far of getting them to assist here and there with meal preparations has done nothing to teach her how to get a whole meal on the table. I figure I need to throw her in the deep end - and then sit back and watch her swim like buggery. (To coin an Aussie phrase.) Recipe reading time, kiddo. It's going to be interesting.

I am feeling very slightly better this evening, after waking up coughing, and feeling pretty ordinary most of the day. Just experimenting with some added extras just for good measure - like a sort of blocked ear. Marc suggested I go see the dr (for antibiotics), but the memory of getting thrush as a result of the antibiotics I had to take in December is still too fresh. I don't think I could handle that right now on top of the past few days. I haven't been in a particularly good mood all day - vacillating between a mopey sad sack, and a cranky pants. A psychologist would probably have a field day with me right now. I hope it is just the unwellness combined with lack of exercise - and I hope I feel better enough tomorrow to get moving again. I'm starting to realise that me minus endorphins is not a good thing.

Labels: daily, introspection, parenting

I couldn't be left out, could I? Friday morning I woke up feeling crap. Gee, thanks darling, just what I always wanted. At least I didn't get the sore throat - where each time he coughed he looked like he was swallowing razor blades. (I took him to the doctors on Thursday, and he's been on antibiotics.) But I've gone through the aches, the headache, the shivers (though not as bad) the cottonwool head, the nose running like a tap; I sneezed about a hundred times yesterday, and then to add insult to injury, woke up this morning with period cramps. Happy days. Ah, it could be worse, but I've felt better.


You'd think with both parents down and just about out, our lovely girls, being the age they are now, would shine through and take control. *Cough, cough, cough*. God, getting them to help is like pulling teeth. And when you're feeling like death warmed up it's not really the optimum time to suddenly do something about the fact that somewhere along the line you haven't managed to teach your kids how to .. maybe.. cook a meal.. and clean up? All those times I've tried to get Cait to learn how to make spaghetti bol, but she would grumble and moan, and rather be on the computer thanks very much. Friday night it would have been really nice if she could have stepped in and made dinner - but she doesn't bloody know how! Oh, they did do stuff, but had to be led through every little bit of it - not what you feel like doing when you're crook. They even fought over who was doing what bit of the salad, for heaven's sakes. Just for once, given that we both were patently unwell, wouldn't it have been nice if they'd just stepped up - told us to just sit there - and done what needed to be done?

Eldest, just now, has asked if she could make a cake. I said 'as long as you wash up after yourself' (something my kids seem to always get out of), and then I did express my disappointment that they didn't come to the fore when both Dad and I were crook. That worked well. She's decided to go 'hang' in her room instead - presumably to seeth over the injustices of the world, and a mother who doesn't think that the little she did do under duress was as magnificent as she apparently thought it was.

I can see I am going to have to do 'something' to redress these obvious inadequacies in my parenting skills. Something like each of them being responsible for a meal once a week?

Meantime, at least come Saturday, the rain stayed away, and the sun had the oomph to shine through. Today was perfect weather.. Beautiful blue, blue sky at last. We'd already pulled out of the 100 mile bike ride when I realised Marc really was sick. (They postponed it anyway, partly because of anxieties that the showers would still be around- despite Marc insisting that it would be fine by today - gotta hate it when he's always right.) I've lost count of the number of washing loads I've put through the machine and pegged on the line yesterday and today, but at least I've pretty much caught up with it all. A silver lining through the flu cloud at least.

Labels: daily, parenting, sick, weather

We've had about 220mm (about 10 inches I think) of rain in the past two days. Sunday was drizzly, but yesterday and overnight it has absolutely bucketed down. Some of it came down in a big hurry too, causing some flash flooding in places in town - caused by blocked drains I guess. And we have excellent great drainage in our backyard too. Not! (I think I've posted photos of this before, but I still shake my head each time it happens.)

Last night was pretty wild and woolly - and it was one of those times the 'weather' was blowing in from the east, and thus, as has happened before, the french doors on that side of the house leaked - so I have a pile of old nappies sopping up the water against the doors. (*must collect them all and stash them somewhere till I can wash them and hang them on the line*) Somehow the water also comes in somewhere way above the doors up on our bedroom floor and trickles down the wall ... and we wonder each time if maybe we should silicon up the house.

In the early hours of the morning (and at hourly intervals throughout the night when the sound of the wind and rain was keeping me awake) I was wondering if it was going to be sensible to send anyone to school, but with daybreak it has gradually eased. Even more surprising (after having two kids home yesterday - one since last Thursday), everyone felt ok to go to school. Hooray!

I know everyone was wishing for rain, but the old saying 'it never rains but it pours' has held true yet again. Those state forest roads will be well and truly 'dampened down' now. (Probably all the new sand and gravel recently dumped on it has been washed and eroded away.)

So - alone again! I should be using my time more 'wisely'... I probably should wander down to the supermarket to stock up on a few things. Like dinner for tonight. Just the girls and me - Marc has a work 'dinner' in the middle of a two day meeting. I know, given the meeting agenda, he'd rather be at home. And I'd rather he was too; it takes two of us to pin #1 down to doing Maths homework.

Mind you, he lost it with her last night because she has such a flippant, ''don't like it, not going to even tax my brain" attitude to Maths. AND he found she'd drawn all over her calculator, after she was shaking it to try to get it to work. (And if this has been happening with it, what is she going to do if it won't work in the test on Friday?) That was after she'd been a total idiot with some question about right angle triangles. It wouldn't be so bad if she was actually 'not bright', but it is pretty disappointing to see a smart kid not try. How she is in the top class mystifies us - and has us doing some soul searching on the education system/school/teachers - who are letting her get away with this. (And believe me, being, personally, a champion of the public school system, this is causing me great turmoil and conflict within.) Because if she is coming about 10th in the top maths class in her year, god help the rest of them.

Do we sound harsh? Possibly. But this is a kid in Year 9 - (14/15 years old) - who is excelling at all her subjects, bar Maths, yet we don't see her doing ANY homework. (And the Maths parent/teacher interview and report proved she wasn't doing any maths.) She's sliding through these other subjects without even working up a sweat, and I fear that come Year 11 and 12, she will crash and burn because she doesn't know how to study! And that would be such a huge waste of potential.

She tells me this morning that there are parent/teacher interviews next week, so I said 'you get as many teachers as you can. Definitely Maths.' And, trust me, I will be taking these concerns to them - even the ones like the English teacher who told me last time she was a superb student.

I digressed.

In other news, and needless to say, I haven't been on a bike in the past couple of days... This weekend is the 100 mile ride, and while I probably haven't done enough riding, we will probably manage ok - particularly as we are tandemming it. My knee still niggles a bit, so I'll probably dose up on Voltaren to get me through it. I suppose you're all wondering "why?" but I will only answer 'because it's there'.

I have some netball stuff to deal with.. but don't start me on that right now!

Labels: daily, parenting

Poor little chook. While she was relatively ok last night, and slept through the night, my Zoe came up to our bed about dawn this morning, with a coughing attack that had her panicking about not being able to breathe properly. It's a strange thing, but any time she has ever had that sort of cough, I have always been able to calm her down just by drawing her into my arms, and soothing her. (I know that means we have been fortunate that she hasn't ever been that bad. No asthma, no croup that has required a hospital visit.) It feels like this bizarre kind of 'mummy power' that I only have with her (out of the three of them) - where holding her close is enough to work some kind of soothing magic.

This morning it worked again, but, wow.. she was a human radiator - I had to throw the dooner off myself for a while. You could harness that heat to warm up a whole house! Yes, very obviously a high temp (I wouldn't know what, my thermometer is broken, but I have always just relied on a mother's instinct, backed by the opinion of a doctor in one of those baby/toddler books where he reckoned that you know when your child is sick. Or hot. She was hot.) She also had that 'Snow White' look, which I remember from times when my other daughters (Alison in particular because of her darker hair) have been ill. The intensely pale complexion, highlighted by rouge-red cheeks, and blood red lips - the colour and intensity of which lipgloss manufacturers strive for. Put her in the Snow White dress and you could place her straight into the scene after Snow White has been poisoned by the apple and the dwarves have her lying in state on a stone tablet. No makeup required. (I think I must have that image from some childhood fairy tales book stored in my mind - I can't find an appropriate google image of it anywhere!)

The Daddy did the panic thing - 'you'll have to take her to the doctors!'... 'kids have died from this flu thing'. Oh good one, what a sensible thing to say in her hearing! I got up, got her some paracetemol. Got her a cold washer for her forehead - which quickly became a hot washer... but it's all worked to lower her temperature.

She came downstairs. Wanted breakfast. Ate breakfast, and was chatting away making observations on everything from picking out the mistake in the District Schools Athletics carnival note (12.30 am?!! - look mum!! - so that's on in the middle of the night is it? she says with a *snort* ) .. Next she is asking me what a 'light year' is after reading the DVD cover for 'ET', which I hauled out to potentially watch today. (A quick google and we've already done some school for the day.)

So I think she isn't too bad. Cough sounds bad when she coughs, but she isn't doing it that much. Three hours later, while she's a bit flushed and glassy-eyed, her temp doesn't seem too bad. I'll keep an eye on her all day, of course. And I'll have to drag her off the computer soon, and maybe hit her with another dose of paracetemol just to be sure.

The only bummer is that while I don't think she is serious, both her parents can't really rack off at 5.30 am tomorrow to go bike-riding, in case she wakes up in a state like she did this morning. Marc thinks I am the one who needs the most training (just over a week till this 100 miler, and this week's been a write-off). But I'm not sure he has the 'magical soothing mummy power' if required.

We'll see. I am wondering if I should just get into my cycle gear, and just ride lots and lots of laps around the block - so that I am never far away from her. My own personal criterium course. Hmmm. I wonder what the neighbours would make of that.

Labels: bike riding, daily, parenting, sick

I found myself quite discombobulated at being pampered somewhat as I came to after the general anaesthetic. I'm not used to being looked after in that sort of way. Not that I'm not 'looked after' in every other way, but a soliticous bedside manner wasn't one of the many virtues that drew me to my Dearly Beloved. Good fortune has meant I haven't been sick that much in our married life, so he hasn't had much practice at the Florence Nightingale routine. He'll do what needs to be done to help, but I don't exactly get the forehead stroking and bedside attention. (And I suppose we don't exactly have a supply of heated blankets at home to tuck anyone up in!)

The lack of any mother/child role reversal in that department goes without saying, although to be fair, my youngest would probably make an effort if I looked particularly unwell. I mean, she runs to comfort me when the rest of them (Dad included) are stirring me up.

I thanked the nurse, and she smiled and said that as a mother she knew most mums didn't often get the chance to be fussed over. So she makes sure she does. Did I have even the tiniest bit of pain? - cramping? - here, here have some painkillers. Meh, didn't get to more than a 5/10... and basically (after they gave me painkillers) last night., the spot where the needle went in my wrist was the only thing that has given me any discomfort in any way! I will forgive the anaesthetist because he was French, and he could probably have just talked to me in French instead of giving me the pre-op woozy stuff that he told me was 'just like a gin and tonic'. (I told him I would have preferred a nice French wine, but next thing I knew I was waking up after it was all over.)

My doctor appeared briefly and hazily beside me as they were waking me up, saying 'everything went well'. We waited to see her afterwards, as was arranged, but she was caught up in surgery, so all I got was the message 'no polyps', and she'll talk to me on the phone today. That was a bit frustrating, as it meant we had waited for over an hour for no reason - when we could have been on the road. We didn't get home till nearly 8pm.. thank goodness for mobile phones - with the kids at home by themselves. I thought I had the continuing phone communications about dinner under control, but it is amazing how 'forgetful' a 14 yr old can be once she's had her own dinner. Mum and Dad's schnitzels put on the tray and put into oven when I made the call to do so? Oops. "I forgot." Gee thanks kid.

I realised as I sat on the lounge letting Marc cook our dinner, that I am not used to being waited on. Not saying I'm any paragon of domestic virtue, as you know, but I find it really hard to just sit and watch someone do what is normally 'my job'. Jobs will go undone, but I'm not good at sitting back and watching someone else do it. Especially when I don't feel especially sick.. I was just post-GA tired and vaguely wonky.

I slept ok, and this morning jumped up to iron uniforms, and yell a hundred times till Caitlin finally got up. (Standard morning procedure.) Alison woke up teary and with a sore throat, so I told her to stay in bed. Then I thought 'stuff it'. I had a general anaesthetic yesterday, I'm going back to bed. Caitlin can look after herself and I told Zoe to write herself out a lunch order - she really is capable of getting herself ready and off to school without me.

So Caitlin made the bus as always, goodness knows how she gets ready in half an hour (but I am sure I didn't hear her clean her teeth.) Zoe made her bus as well, but when Marc went downstairs, he found her lunch order on the bench. How typical - she writes it out, then leaves it behind, however she does that when I am up and supposedly on Mummy duty. Oh well, a chance for an infrequent Daddy-visit to the school to drop it off to her on his way to work.

Post op advice is no strenuous activity for 48 hours, which rules out my Saturday morning bikeriding insanity, but on the plus side I'm sure it also encompasses vacuuming. Two weeks of no other sort of activity of the type that one might have been looking forward to after their husband had been away for a week, but them's the breaks I guess.

The hospital discharge advice lists possible side effects of anaesthesia, which include dizziness, nausea, pain from the surgery, and more general muscle pain. I seem to have gotten away scot free on the first three, and I gave myself the last one anyway with my riding and weights on Wednesday.

Alison isn't too bad here; we are both having a slothful day (discounting the three loads of washing I've hung out). Till Zoe gets home and I have to take her to her tennis lesson (and pick up something for dinner.)

And till Cait gets home and I give her an invoice for $185 that I just discovered she has racked up on our phone bill! I went to pay the bill this morning and freaked at how much it was. Looked up the breakdown of calls and there were a heap of long and expensive calls to two mobile phone numbers. I rang the first one, but it was 'switched off'. The second one was answered by a teenage girl's voice. I tried asking 'who's that?', but wisely she suggested I had a wrong number.

"Hang on... are you a friend of Caitlin's?"

"Oh, yes, hang on I'll put her on." [obviously recess time at school]. Bingo.

"Caitlin? Hello. Yes, this is your mother."
I question her on the first number, and it turned out to be the same friend's old phone number.

"You've racked up nearly $200 worth of phone calls on our home phone! Hour long phone calls to a mobile number - what were you thinking? "

They come to more than half the total call costs on our home line - about $185. I don't know that we have specifically said 'don't make long calls to mobiles', but we have generally made an issue of avoiding calls from our landline to mobiles if possible. And never imagined when she rang her friend that it wasn't on her home phone number.

Any suggestions on an appropriate... consequence?

Looks like I'm straight back on Parenting Duty, at any rate.

Labels: daily, parenting

How come the only time my two oldest girls get on with each other is half an hour (to an hour) after I've started nagging them to go to bed? They get upstairs, and suddenly they are as thick as thieves. Often at my expense, finding some little thing about their mother to find hilarious - mimicking something I've said or done. (Tonight it was all about the goodnight "peck" they got instead of a loving embrace, because I was so cheesed off with them that they were taking (again) so long to go to bed!)

Sometimes one might even be found in the other's bedroom which has usually been declared off-limits to the other. For some reason, when avoiding bed, a ceasefire is declared, and they suddenly find themselves as allies instead of combatants.

The rest of the time these days, they are incapable of showing any form of sisterly-ness at all! Like, you'd never get them to stand, say, with their arms around each other for a photo. No 'see ya' hugs or kisses. No casual, matey, sisterly arms flung around each other. Not since... hmmm... well, I went looking for a photo, and this one from back in 2002 would be close to the last one there is of any voluntary 'arms round each other-ness' for a photo.


As I peruse the archives, it seems to me that over the years they both turned their sisterly devotions to their baby sister, who, in most photos, is conveniently wedged between them.


They are now getting less demonstrative with Zoe, who, at nearly 9, still wants that affection from them - and some nights has to chase them around the loungeroom for a goodnight kiss, as they duck and weave to avoid it.

I know it's nothing that I can change, but it doesn't stop me wondering about it all. (It's not as if we have strong 'familyness' genes that we have passed on to them - neither Marc nor I are particularly close to our siblings.)

I just discovered, though, that I had to go back a couple of years to find a photo of the three of them together. I wonder if it is just a fairly normal thing as one hits teenagehood, and the next one is a 'tweenager', or whether something has changed in the family dynamics.... (And I suppose photos don't tell the whole story either..)

In the meantime, I suppose I should be thankful that there are still times when they do get on. Even if it is at my expense. At night. When I want them to go to bloody bed!!

Labels: kids, parenting

This morning I realised that Zoe has now somehow "acquired" a school coloured navy sloppy joe and a navy jacket that aren't hers. No name tags (silly parent!).. and in much better nick than hers - in fact they look new. Amazingly enough she also actually has hers this time. (It turned up at school after a few days, found out in the playground somewhere where she denied leaving it.) She also denies having brought home these nameless ones, so I guess they just appeared here by magic. I shake my head, resist the temptation to whack name tags on them, and pack them up to send back to school. (I mean, with no name tags, are the other 8/9 years olds going to be able to identify their own clothing?)

Marc, though, wants to know how on earth she managed to bring home two jackets that weren't hers - and questions her about it to the point that she is in tears. With all the time he has been away with work, he just hasn't been home enough to realise that some things are easier to just drop - otherwise you'd truly send yourself insane. He also reckons she is looking pretty frumpy in hers... which is true .. it's been handed down from eldest through middlest down to Zoe, and is looking pretty shabby. I tell him that I'm resisting buying her a new one, because I just know that it will end up in the dirt, and lost for days on end... And for the amount of days she will actually wear it, it seems pointless buying a new one for her to lose and find, and lose and find...

Alison has been making friendship bracelets in team colours for her rep team, but has been having 'difficulties' keeping track of them all. "I was sure I'd made more than that!" *sob, sob*.... Last night: "Hey, Mum, I found the first one I made on top of the TV! So I have more than I thought."..... And this morning I'm greeted with .... "Now I'm back down to five... I don't know where the other one is." And tears.

My response is callous. Something along the lines of 'tell someone who cares' may well have passed my lips. If I joined her on every emotional lost and found rollercoaster ride she takes I'd need a straightjacket. Half an hour later she's found it. In her dressing gown pocket. Marc tries to get in on the act here too... "I thought I told you to put them all in one place!" he says. "Why don't you put them all in one place?!"

He has no idea! She does attempt to do this, but will inevitably get sidetracked. She knows what she should do, we've nagged enough... but some things she has to figure out for herself... Her own time lost or wasted might be the only catalyst to make her a bit more responsible for her own stuff. If not, nothing is going to change her!

Clothes tags from a new purchase are all over the floor of the playroom. For heaven's sakes, they treat their bedrooms and playroom like a tip. Sherlock Mum deduces that seeing the tags refer to sleepwear that is kind of conclusive proof that it is from the new dressing gown bought for #1. "Caitlin! Come up here! NOW." She denies all knowledge of them. She didn't leave them there. Magic! *sighs* (She bloody well picked them up though.)

Clothes all over bedroom floor of #2 and #3. Again. Despite my rants.. and the requests for everything to be sorted either away in drawers, or in the wash... SO THAT EVERYTHING IS CLEAN FOR YOU TO PACK TO GO AWAY. "For god's sake, are these undies clean or dirty?!!!" ..... "Clean..."..... "Well, what the hell are they doing lying all over the bloody floor then?!"

There are also clothes still there that I'd dumped out for Zoe to try on to determine if they were too small, just right, or (as hand-me-downs) still too big. The kid is shooting up like a bean pole... it is like she is being stretched out like a plasticine figure, so that she gets skinnier as she gets taller, with the result that pants end up being too short but still fall off her waist. I am just crossing my fingers that she's got enough to wear at Grandmas, and try not to think about how she looked when she came home from the school disco yesterday, having changed into 'mufti' for their afternoon 'school dance'. I hope it was the hand-me-down black boots she was wearing (from a friend of #2's) that made the jeans look so short. Either that or she's grown 2 inches in two days. Heaven help me, Grandma is going to be tut-tutting about how I can't dress my own children adequately....

She comes down stairs and I tell her to hurry up and brush her hair. "But I have!" she wails. More tears when I grump about her inability to look after her own hair, despite having had her hair cut so that all she has to do is brush it. "And what are you going to do at Grandma's?" I lecture her every day about having to brush her hair during the day, but she never does.. (The other two were never this hopeless with their hair!)

When they all finally tumble out the door (running late, luckily Sideshow Dad is leaving at the same time...) I breathe a sigh of relief.. and make a beeline for the computer, cradling a cup of coffee.

I'm not sure if I'm the ringmaster (and doing a very bad job of it) or just the straight 'man' for the clowns.

.... Next session begins at approximately 3.30pm.

Meantime I have pre-trip washing and ironing... Thankfully the sun is appearing - it was looking rather glum out there for a while this morning, and I was about to start ranting about where my 'fine' forecast was. I just had the brilliant idea of leaving the kids' beds for one more night (after so many, what's one more?) - I can do their sheets in the few days they are not here next week! Pure genius.

I expect that with the packing panic tonight, and blast off scheduled for the morning, that I won't be back blogging till Tuesday. Enjoy your break!!

Labels: daily, kids, parenting

Not prone to soppiness, I think I can tend to do too much whingeing about my kids on here, when in reality of course I love them to bits. They do so much that I am proud of - I just try to avoid bragging too much!! They can also do some bloody frustrating things at times, but they wouldn't be children if they didn't. Would they?

One of the things I enjoy about them as they get older is that they are each developing a pretty good sense of humour. They are really getting into that good ole bag-each-other-out kind of family banter... some of which is the PJ (private joke) type that only the family 'gets', with quotable quotes that will be forevermore trotted out for family recollection and enjoyment. Marc and I are also fair game... I blame him for the 'stirrer' genes and the role model that he presents in that regards. It is a fine line to tread between cheekiness and humour, but I wouldn't give up the moments of shared family hilarity for quids. (Plus, I figure, it isn't a bad thing to show them how to laugh at yourself.)

The older two are getting a bit bold in their old age, with the development of a quick wit and a good memory for lines and quotes. (Honed just a bit by their appreciation of excellent Aussie satire like The Chaser, and shows with humorous scriptwriting like the new Dr Who, and even Pirates of the Caribbean.) They do delight in recounting silly things I might have done (sometimes played out to dramatic effect.) Anytime they do that, I am, however, guaranteed a hug from Zoe, who will come running from anywhere just to 'protect her mummy'. The other two will sometimes tease me on purpose, just to get that reaction from Zoe, I think because they enjoy seeing me getting half-strangled! (I kind of hope she never grows out of the cuddliness though!)

Marc now can't get away with a *wink* whenever he stirs one of them. (Or me for that matter.) Doesn't matter who, the response from any of the three will be 'Is there something wrong with your eye, Dad?' Noone in the family can get away with any eyerolling behind anyone's back either, because the standard line is "What's on the ceiling?" Doesn't matter what current allegiances there are in the family "dynamics", even if you're in the middle of an argument with the 'target' of the eyerolling, if you're caught doing anything with your eyes, you're dobbed in!

We do work at raising them to be true blue Aussies... which includes proper use of the Aussie vernacular. A new family quote has now been immortalised: Zoe came downstairs the other night in a right old state.

"It's no bloody use!" she exclaimed.

Us: Huh? What? (while we totally cracked up at her experimentation in using the term 'bloody'. It was spot on, very Aussie, but not quite what you expect from your angelic 8 year old.)

"'Cos noone uses the lid!"

She had gone to clean her teeth before bed, and discovered a tiny bug in the container they use for their electric toothbrush heads. (The lid is supposed to go on container overnight because of the unfortunate presence overnight- in this area during the warmer months - of cockroaches, who it seems have a penchant for toothpaste)

Ali, Cait and I were so busy laughing about her choice of expletive, it was left to Dad to try to deal patiently and seriously with the situation.

"Why did the bug go in the container?" he started to ask, in terms of finding out just who had cleaned their teeth last, and consequently left the lid off.

"To get to the other side" I suggested from the other side of the room, which left Cait and Ali for some reason nearly wetting their pants (and so I joined in, and we had a threesome laugh-fest at Zoe's expense.)

Turns out she had been the last of the kids to leave the house that day, so in fact it was her fault the lid was off.
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Oh well, guess you had to be there .. and be one of us....

Labels: introspection, parenting