Sometimes genetics suck. I remember last year as we waited with my dad to discuss options for his heart surgery (turns out there were none apart from a triple bypass, except imminent death) he kept asking the specialists: "What could I have done differently?" The answer was always the same. Nothing. One doctor summed it up more succinctly. "Well," he said, peering intently at the photos of my dad's angiogram: "you could have had different parents."
This week I suspect my son has been wishing the same thing.
Specifically that he had a different mother.
I'm short sighted. Horribly short sighted. I can't do much without my glasses and on the rare occasions I don't wear them I simply see a fuzz about 5 metres away from me. It's turned out to be useful at parties. If I don't wear glasses, I don't see how big the crowd is and I don't get nervous. It's an awesome destress tool.
One of the many suggestions touted in what seems to be an unending quest for support for Mr Large was an eye test. We duly booked in for one but because it is child specific the wait has been a long one.
Mr Large has made his feelings on the subject of glasses very clear. They are UNACCEPTABLE. When you are 7 and shy, anything that makes you less conventional is deeply upsetting. So we haven't discussed it much.
It was the elephant in the room. Except, it was an elephant wearing glasses.
We went for the test.
The results will not surprise you.
Cue a complete tearful breakdown from Mr Large and a heart-wrenching drive back to his school with me feeling like the most hopeless mother EVER. Hopeless for not realising that maybe an eyesight problem might be a factor, because HEY LOOK WHO ELSE CAN'T SEE? and helpless because he has to wear them and that's the end of it.
We didn't even get round to picking out frames because he couldn't see through the big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
So I was dreading today because I had to take him today to buy some.
But yesterday he came bouncing up to me after school begging to know when we could get new glasses. I mean BEGGING.
Turns out, a little girl in his class for whom he has a huge soft spot, is organising a play. It's a Shakespearean tragedy. No it's not. It's Alvin and the Chipmunks. She has asked commanded him to be Simon the Chipmunk. On account of his pending glasses wearing status.
And so of course he needs them now.
And all the tears, stress and anxiety associated with said glasses has now diminished hugely. And in a way I'm looking forward to our shopping trip this afternoon. I'm seriously thinking of buying this little girl a present too.
And we're renting out the movie this weekend as well. But somehow I don't think Mr Large will be getting glasses EXACTLY like Simon.

Dear Me

it has come to my attention that long term sleep deprivation may have made you become a tad irrational. I wanted to draw your attention to the following points:

When you fall and bang your knee so hard you see stars, then it's okay to have a few days off from exercise. It is not okay to wake up in the night stressing about it. Some people would call you weird. Start back at a gentle jog tomorrow.

When your parents drop off some prawns for you to cook because they know your husband is working late, and you are tired, it is okay to look at the prawns blankly and put them in the fridge. And have toast for dinner. Have the prawns tomorrow night instead.

When you have the rare opportunity to meet other mothers from your child's school it is NOT okay to envy their lovely jewellery and beautiful manicures. It is okay to admire them. One day you will win the lottery and be able to buy and have those things. Till then, be happy for them and make mental notes about where they bought them for future reference

When for the twelvth time that night your toddler wanders across creaking floorboards to place his chubby paws at your shoulders and breathe heavily down your neck, it is okay to muffle sobs of frustration. It is also okay to wake your sleeping husband and shriek LOUDLY at him that it is HIS turn to put Mr Small back to bed.

When you feel stretched every conceivable way, and feel guilt about the stress of your Bronze Medallion Course and trying to write something half decent that maybe someday will be published and read by other equally frazzled parents, as well as returning to work next week, remember this:
You can't have it all, all the time. You can have some of it most of the time. So relax and go and make a cup of tea.

Love

A friend once said to me, that the anxiety she suffered from was like having a filter missing. I asked her to explain that, and she said that humans have a filter that enables them to cope with not only everyday life, but also the horrors we are bombarded with on the news and worldwide. When that filter is missing, the anxiety is overwhelming.
I have a huge tendency to be over-anxious. I've come to realise over the past year that exercise is my filter. Without it, I get anxious about everything.
This past week or so I haven't been able to exercise on doctors orders and the effects have been enormous. But every morning when I get up I spray my current favourite perfume Clinique's "Happy" on and verbalise my commitment to, you know, be happy.
For anyone who has suffered or huge loss, it's often on happy occasions we find ourselves taking deep breaths wondering if we do allow ourselves to be happy, will the world come crashing down around us? Because, it has before. I've written about one of those shattering occasions here.
Anyway, over the weekend we had a couple of family occasions where I had to do just that. I had to give myself permission to embrace the joy and laughter around me. And when I did.
Well it was just wonderful.
Firstly I should explain that I said good-bye to an old companion this week. It has become a bit toxic and it was decided we should part ways.

So I was left with this (and it's hiding alot of stitches) I'd just like to say I've had 3 c-sections and they weren't as sore as my arm has been. Just so you know. :)


To cheer myself up I went from this:

to this:

But the best bit of all was at my daughter's kindergarten picnic where we borrowed my parents vintage car, dressed my husband as Santa and he rode up and was surrounded by so many excited children. His extreme makeover was the best of all. Our own children didn't recognise him and days later they are still talking about Santa's visit. In the photo you can see I gave myself permission to be absolutely, ecstatically happy.

And you know what?
The sky didn't fall in.
Nothing bad happened.
And it probably won't.
But I will be very glad to get back to bootcamp next week once my stitches are out.
I miss my filter.