April 2009 Archives

Words of Finn #2

" You see, sometimes trees get worried. And if you hit them like this (demonstrates hitting tree with stick) until some leafs [sic] fall off, then they will be all happy again".

Finn aged 3 3/4 years

Words of Finn #1

" Boys eat cool food. Girls eat yucky food."

Finn aged 3 3/4 years

Steam Valve

Dear Children

Today was a complete trainwreck. Which are probably the words of a true drama queen. Most of the day of course, in reality was fine. It's just that the events of the hours between 4 and 6 pm tainted the rest of the day so badly with a bleak dark thundercloud of misery it seems hard to even remember what the rest of the day entailed.

I had prefaced this week on Facebook with "Let the madness begin!" A phrase to describe what I thought might happen this first week of looking after three kids with Grandma no longer in residence. I really didn't think that the madness would begin so promptly on the third day. I also didn't think that the insanity I talked about would be my own or that the relative peace and security of a padded cell could seem downright attractive compared to a few hours spent exclusively in the company of the Horror Triumvirate.

Oh the three that managed to scream in glorious trifecta chorus. The two that managed to shriek in lovely duo harmony and wake up the third whenever I'd just managed to get him to sleep. The one whom decided that the non-eating of any food on his dinner plate was a valid reason to demand an Easter egg instead, and to scream at the temerity of the one who decided to eat the unwanted food when an Easter egg was denied. The one whom decided that taking a crap was an appropriate end to the bath. The other one whom decided that high pitched yelling followed by pitching head first into a wall was an appropriate end to the bath.

Oh the poor man from Optus who decided to knock on the door...ignoring the rising hairs on the back of his neck that said....Run RUN while you still can!

Oh the woeful mother, talking to herself in the third person. By the second hour I was having a distinct out-of-body experience, which perhaps not as blissful as an out-of-house experience, added at least a modicum of internal serenity. A bit like a DIY coma. How I would have liked to punch a wall. How I would have liked to shriek like a cat on crack. Mostly along the lines of FOR FUCKS SAKE, CAN THIS GET ANY WORSE?! But of course I did none of these things. I bit my tongue and tried to be nice. All the while dreaming of building a giant gin and tonic, forgoing pesky and unnecessary parts of the assembly, like tonic, ice and probably even a glass.

By the time your Dad came home at 6.30 pm I was a poleaxed pulverised apparition of someone who once tried to be an independent woman. The tap-dancing of your toddler feet on my head had driven me into the ground with the resolute force of a jack-hammer. There was no ability to make eye contact. There was no ability to form a comprehensible sentence. There was possibly the faintest amount of drool on my chin. Your Dad looked around, looked at me, said "The children seem happy. How was your day?"

If I was a kettle, I would whistle.

love Mum.

Easter 2009

Dear Finn and Holly

Today marks the end of the longest time that you and I have ever been separated. For the last two weeks you and Dad have been in New Zealand, spending Easter with Oma and Opa, visiting your NZ cousins and having huge amounts of fun on the farm.

Jayden, Finn, Holly and Laura

It's been a funny time for Tasman and I. Very QUIET. Very much the strong silent type is our Tas. I think I spent the first few days wandering around, wondering where you were, and thinking that some pieces of me had disappeared.

And then it started raining. And it rained and it rained and it rained. And the house started to feel damp and smell musty. And I looked with envy upon photos of you both having fun in the radiant Waikato sunshine. Your Easter egg treasure hunts. Your trip to the Hamilton gardens, and Rotorua.

I got paranoid. I started to think that you weren't missing me at all, in fact hadn't even noticed that I wasn't there, what with all your fun and hilarity. You with your shallow little dreams had forsaken me for a bunch of Easter eggs. In your defense, a very large bunch of Easter eggs. But your Dad assured me that you were asking if the extremely hot blond on the TV was Mamma? (So your eyesight's not that great, but I appreciate the thought).

And now you're almost home. I'm very much looking forward to hugging you until you beg for mercy. I've missed you.

love Mum

Sad and Happy Thoughts

Dear Finn, Holly and Tasman

A very long time ago when I was aged around 10 or 12 years old, my one year old cousin was diagnosed with leukaemia and died. I remember very little of it apart from the thought I had at the time, that at least she hadn't been a part of her family's life for very long, and that that would make it easier for them to get over her death. In hindsight, what a terrible thought. How immensely ignorant and naive was I.

Thirty years later, a mother of three could never have such a thought, could never imagine anything worse than the death of her child. From the first moment when the pregnancy test shows an extra stripe, from the first time I heard your heart beat, from the first moment I saw your sweet alien features on an ultrasound...you are as solid a part of our lives as you could ever be. The potential abounds. What will you be? Who will you resemble? What the hell are we going to name you?

Children are so very very precious. You three are so very very precious. There is not a moment, not one single solitary time, even at your most annoying, when I don't see you as being a part of our family for an extremely long time. I fully expect to be picking up your dirty laundry in 20 years time. Biting my tongue at your choice of friends. Taking photos of your hairstyles to humiliate you with a few years later.

Yesterday I was sad to learn that a Facebook buddy has a little girl recently diagnosed with cancer and about to start chemotherapy and it caused the door to open again to that numbing paralysis of thought, that same fear that comes visiting whenever you imagine anything bad happening to your kids. Kids probably deal with these situations much better than their parents. Unknowing of consequences and with fearless courage they charge into that time, put up their fists bravely, and say Bring it On. Their parents sit on the sidelines and pray as hard as they can that they are strong enough or lucky enough to get through it.

May she fight the good fight. May she win.

I wish that all children could realise their every potential.
I wish that their parents were lucky enough to be standing beside them when they do. Laughing at their hair. Picking up their laundry. Thinking them the most precious thing in the world.

love Mum