I am indeed the luckiest mum in the world
Image courtesy of We Heart it. 

To ensure the smooth running of your household, always make sure you empty your offspring's lunch-boxes at the START of the school holidays.
Failure to do so may result in:

1) a 3/4 eaten sandwich looking like something out of a laboratory experiment that has gone hideously wrong.
2) A smell in the lunchbox that is impossible to eradicate.
3) Awkward questions about what your offspring are actually eating for lunch, if they haven't eaten your perfectly good sandwich.

This handy tip is bought to you by A. Very. Bad. Mother.
Feel free to reign hell down on my housekeeping skills, or soothe me with your tales of domestic shortcomings.

Image from We Heart It.  Sadly for my offspring, their lunchboxes have never looked remotely like this .

I'd taken a few minutes to steal away from everyone.
Just me and my book. I'm a big re-reader of books. My husband thinks it's odd that I would want to read the same book over and over again, but I find a delicious familiarity in revisiting words, pages and stories.
This may make me weird, but I'm okay with that.
So I was on the beach with the biography of Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt and blithely ignoring the rapidly arriving clouds in the sky.
I'm also the eternal optimist. I was going to keep reading out there until the first raindrops fell.
A human sized shadow loomed over me and I sighed inwardly. Clearly break-time was over.
It was my darling Miss Medium.
"Can we build sandcastles mum?"
Another deep inward sigh.
But in fairness I'd read the book before and this was clearly going to be the chance for some special time with my daughter. Now she is in school full time, any moments I get where it's just her and me are important.
So I agreed.
I gave her my book to take back to our little hut and she skipped off to get her bucket and spade.
She came back with two little giggling girls in tow. I had suddenly become surplus to requirements.
And the sting was mighty.
I sat there on the sand watching them. They debated the merits of which fairy was the best one to be. The rainbow and tooth fairy were nominated joint first winners.
And then suddenly the two little girls flitted off. They'd been called in for lunch.
She looked at me lovingly and gestured to the unfinished castle.
We worked together on completing it. I listened closely as she chattered away.
I may no longer be her everything.
But I will always count for something.
That means the world to me.

My brother sent me this photograph this week. It's one he took while travelling in Scotland last year. Dark and cold in many ways, but incredibly beautiful as well.
On Wednesday I had a fundraiser to go to. I don't usually go out during the week. In fact I'd gone through three babysitters in order to be able to get out the front door, and at the last minute Mr Large kicked a football through our front window smashing it into spectacular smithereens.
Keeping my voice calm (and resisting the urge to yell loudly at him) I asked him to get me the tape. I knew I'd need to  measure up the window to give the correct details to the Insurance Company.
He rushed off and returned white-faced seconds later, thrusting the sticky tape at me.
My sweet boy.
His hopeful little face that I'd be able to repair the damage done by sticky tape. And sheer relief I hadn't yelled at him, even though I'd really wanted to.
Having established that someone would be out shortly to repair the window I shot out the door. While driving I thought about how late I was and feeling increasingly edgy.
The fundraiser itself is for a cause dear to my heart. Within minutes of arriving I'd calmed down and wandered the room looking at the silent auction bids. Then the speakers were introduced.
The Doctor was first. She warned the parents of the children in the room that this would be hard for them to hear and to hold on while she did.
And she spoke.
I wiped tear after tear as she spoke passionately about the children she works so hard with.
I cried as I looked across the room at a mum who wants her daughter to live a long and happy life.
A mum who is running across the Great Wall of China in a half marathon to raise funds so other parents and families don't have to suffer the same way. Three fellow school mums are joining her in what is considered the toughest run in the world.
For reasons I can't discuss further I know too much about Cystic Fibrosis. It is a cruel and gruelling condition. It turns the lives of families and sufferers upside down.
But listening to a father of three with CF speak about his life journey, which included 2 lung transplants it struck me. It's perspective and the one we choose to have.
The Doctor was there to fight it.
The Mother was there as an advocate.
The Sufferer is Living while living with it.
The broken window is repairable. The petty small stuff we sweat over? It's rubbish.
What's important is how we choose to see things.
Like the photo above there is darkness so much of the time, but the light and beauty is what makes it bearable.
Standing in that room that night surrounded by people who took the time to be there, to cheer those mums on and to donate towards the work they're doing made me smile. Ordinary people doing extraordinary things.

I always find it takes a few weeks into term to find my "swing."
You know the swing that lets you juggle the constant round new things. Including, but not limited to extra curricular commitments of swimming, tennis and music.
Because right now so much of this is brand new. From teaching Miss Medium how to tie her shoelaces, through to the borrowing of a keyboard from the grandparents for the piano lessons.
It's figuring out what will stick and what will fall by the wayside.
Already I can see Miss Medium loving the music, while Mr Large counts down the days to his next swimming lessons. Meanwhile Mr Small doesn't care what we do as long as he is front and centre with the action.
It's constant checking and rechecking the diary. Yes I can do that meeting as long as so and so is here and x and y go there.
And sometimes it all falls in a heap.
And I take a deep breath and we start of over.
But really at the end of the day. Amidst the ferrying, the juggling of deadlines and the incessant almost relentless heat
they know this.

I will do my utmost to fill their life with love.
And sweet surprises.

I must admit to being insatiably curious about some things. This is one of them. When I see harried mothers juggling offspring at shopping centres or glamorous women shopping at high end stores, my thought is usually the same.
What's in your bag?
Not because I want what they have in there. But because I just like to know. I'm curious like that.
I have a love of handbags. The bigger the better. It's interesting to note that my need for bigger ones began at roughly the same time my first child arrived. It is only in recent months that they've stopped stashing nappies and bottle of milk. Yes my offspring were all late to toilet training.
The last couple of years saw me toting round a black Mimco handbag that was my pride and joy. I had it on lay-by and proudly paid it off over a number of weeks. Strangely I'm more attached to it than I would have been if I'd been able to afford it outright.
The past few months have seen a bit of a change though. Firstly, I'm no longer toting nappies and milk around. Tip for those of you that do this. Make sure the lid on your milk is FIRMLY SECURED. Trust me on this.
Secondly I had therapy. The link between therapy and handbags may seem odd but it saw me break free of my lifelong need to wear black most of the time. Now I take pride in wearing bright colours. I'm not waif like or a size 10 but I'm happy in my skin at long last.
You may know I recently bought a new bag. A richly pink, gorgeously weaved bag. It's love. True love.
And yesterday I did the "back to school" restock.
I don't know about you but there are certain items that HAVE to be in my bag before the school year begins. Because they'll be needed somewhere down the track for sure. So yesterday I did my bi-annual re-stock of "must have or the world will collapse around me" items.
So I've tipped out the contents of my handbag to show you. Please note I have only just managed to jam my wallet shut as it's bursting with loose coins and receipts that I still haven't filed away.

Firstly, please don't judge me, and secondly yes, it's only panadol.
So here's my question. What's in your bag?
ETA Megan just reminded me. My sakittome bag also goes in here. It's still lying on the work surface from being used last night. I LOVE my reusable bag.

Most of the time I parent on remote control. That doesn't mean I'm not present when I'm doing it. What I mean is that it's like driving a car. I've been driving for so long I don't need to consciously hit the brakes when I see a red light, I automatically know that's what I should be doing. The same goes, to some extent to my parenting.
You know, the "Mr Small, eat all your breakfast, it's good for you."
"Mr Large, don't jump from the top bunk, YOU COULD BREAK YOUR LEG!"
that kind of parenting.
Now Miss Medium is known as the family crier. I sympathise mostly. I'm a crier myself and you can't fight genetics. So when she cries I keep it pretty low key and don't make too much fuss.
A couple of days ago however, I was juggling a discussion with the painter, the phone began ringing and I was shovelling all our gear into bags to head out for swimming lessons. What possessed me to book swimming lessons the first week of the holidays I do not know.
And I heard her cry out.
It wasn't her regular cry and I just knew.
I shot outside to see blood everywhere and her white little face looking at me.
And in that moment I did not know what to do.
But it lasted a split second and I was overcome with a powerful realisation.
I am her mother.
I am the only one who can make this better.
And I scooped her up, disregarding the half finished conversation with the painter, letting the phone go to voicemail and knowing we would be late for swimming, if indeed, we got there at all.
Because none of that mattered.
I needed to be her mother.
I needed to make it all ok.
So I talked to her in the crooning voice that is known the world over. I wiped away the tears silently falling from her eyes. She was too shocked to cry.
And I kept her distracted as I looked at the blood and numerous scrapes and mentally assessed how the hell I would handle it all.
And she was okay. She looked trustingly in my eyes and let me mother her.
In those few moments I saw the amazing power of being a parent. She was hurt, she was frightened and she was afraid. And one by one, I was able to make each of those things go away or at least become manageable.
I know the school holidays are long, but moments like this forcibly remind me what a privilege it is to be a parent.
And she's okay by the way. Scraped and bruised from here to Christmas but doing just fine.

The deluge of advertising has begun. My mailbox was stuffed with junk mail today all suggesting wondrous gifts to buy for my mother for the forthcoming Mother's Day.

NOW CLOSED
I have posted this at Rory's Garden but wanted to post it here as well.
If any of my readers have lost children or babies under any circumstances we would like to honour them, and you on Mothers Day. Richard and I are working on a very special project for Mothers Day.
If you would like to be part of it, please leave the name of the child you would like remembered in a comment here or at Rory's Garden. Please only leave your comment once though.
Any artwork or photography we create will be given to you as a gift from us to you for Mothers Day. Simply email us and we will email you the JPEG.
I will close this post off to comments after Saturday morning.
Thank you x

This week I've found myself doing alot of snapping and shouting. I blame the weather in part. It's been 40 degrees plus recently. I blame stress. In addition to worrying about Mr Large and his literacy "issues" we've discovered his teacher is taking leave, effective almost immediately. I feel sad for her and really, really stinking upset for my son who thinks she's wonderful. It's the week before my Bronze Medallion exams, FINALLY next week I'll get the exams out of the way and hopefully (fingers tightly crossed) pass them. I screwed up the courage to sign up for a course to improve my writing, and now it's almost here I'm terrified they will tell me my writing is AWFUL. And mother in law's birthday is coming up and apparently I have to organise to go out for a meal with them. On Sunday. Great.
So I haven't been a very nice person in general.
And then yesterday I had a lightbulb moment and I had this incredibly random thought.
What if I died, and my husband remarried and I was watching down from heaven, and saw his new wife treating my children and him, the way I am treating them?
I would want to kill her.
Or maim her at the very least.
Now apart from being a random idea, and for those of you who don't believe in the ever after, telling me I'm stupid beyond words, I think my point has merit.
And since then I've thought twice before snapping, or yelling.
I even told my husband to have a great time at his poker night.
I smiled at my children when they wanted to read the same story for the 7th time. And read it, with accents and everything.
And when Mr Small could not stop sobbing, because he loves his daddy and if daddy doesnt put him to bed the world will end or something.
Well I ignored my fatigue and the fact that I REALLY wanted to watch the latest episode of "Greys Anatomy" and we snuggled.
Until he did this.
And I loved every second of it.
I thought the "upstairs me" would approve.

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

Being the organised over-anxious and stressed out woman that I am; it's hardly surprising that when a letter arrived from my son and daughter's school that my children would be tested on their literacy and numeracy skills when the new school year commences, it sent me into a mild state of panic.
It is a constant source of mystification to me how I take these things so personally. Part of it is my perception that in a way, they are testing me. Do I measure up as a parent? Do I make the grade? Equally, I want my children NOT to find testing stressful. I want them to see it as a opportunity to show what they know, not to see it as a way to showcase their shortcomings. I've spent many times over the years soothing stressed out students before exams, so I know the reality of the pressures of tests.

So whilst I can't save them from the testing, I do try to support them in preparing for it.
And I wanted to show you something interesting.
Context: my eldest son is not a keen writer or reader. He struggled HUGELY with letter recognition and I did a great deal of work with him at home on this. Homework has been a struggle for him. He writes the absolute minimum he can.
So these were the obstacles I faced when working on how to best prepare him.
I told him and his sister that during January we would have "special school" at home each day. I told them they would have special colour charts. They think the stickers are nice. I know they mark their progression through the levels and it gives me a clear indication of where and when I need to spend more time clarifying things for them, or if we can whizz through something. And the MAXIMUM time we spend is 30 minutes. The funny thing is while they were keen for us to start "special school" it's now such an integral part of their day there would be a riot if I tried to drop it.

We start with a reader, and I ask them questions throughout the text or we talk about things that they are curious about. Then we have "writing" time. Miss Medium focuses on her letters and basic word recognition. Mr Large started on his first day writing this:


by yesterday he happily wrote this:

Regardless of the errors littered throughout it, what was wonderful how he didn't want to stop writing. I think finally saw it as a way of recounting things in a meaningful way.
Just like I find blogging does for me. Except that I spell slightly better.
Please note I edited the writing to remove all name references in order to protect the privacy of my offspring and his friends!
And that's how I approach it day by day. Just a little piece of reading and a little piece of writing. Looking at the big picture can be intimidating. But this way, I'm doing my best, and they are doing their best in a loving, safe and supportive environment. When they do their tests I'll know I did my utmost to prepare them and really, that's all I ask of them, that they do their best.
Seems fair enough, doesn't it?

I found while I was out running today that I was holding my breath in. Just a little.
It's a crazy week ahead filled with family reunions, the wedding, birthdays, MRI scans (mine) and the biggest thing of all (to my mind) is what is happening to Mr Small.
I should say at this point that my small child is quite possibly the most mischievous creature ever created. In case you think I am exaggerating, here is irrevocable proof. And this is in the last 12 weeks or so.





And so I am a little tense.
Because on Wednesday before the sun rises I will wrap my Mr Small in a warm blanket and strap him into his car-seat. I'll drive him to hospital and spend a while battling to stop him removing the anaesthetic cream the nurse will place on the back of his chubby little hand.
I'll smile, and I'll laugh and I'll keep him occupied. And he will put his little hand in mine as we walk into the operating room. He will sit on my lap and I will sing him his special song. I'll keep him distracted while they put the injection in his hand. My face will be the last face he sees as he drifts into a deep sleep.
And then they will whisk me out of the room while they perform a very simple operation that will help his hearing improve.
And I'll pace the floor outside waiting.
And when they call me to say he is in post-op and I can come and see him now.
Then,
then I'll release the breath I've been holding since today.

I read alot of blogs.
I remember when I started reading blogs and writing my own, someone asked me; "What are you writing for?"
Good question.
I think it evolved over time. It was a way of sharing what I wanted and needed to share with others. It was a way of connecting. It was a way for me to articulate (usually to myself) something I was working through or a goal I needed to set.
I enjoy blogging. I usually enjoy reading other peoples blogs. I've made what I consider to be genuine friendships through blogging.
And I don't for one minute think that reading a blog gives me a complete and total representation of who a person actually is. I may come across as delightful and witty, but ask my husband to describe me this morning and he would look anxiously over his shoulder to check I wasn't within earshot before telling you:"cranky and a tad unreasonable."
But recently a few things have begun to puzzle me.
I worry about those who share all too painful truths here, are getting their fingers not only burnt, but singed right off.
I worry that those in whom we place our trust, offer our support to, may not actually really need it.
It's like the way teens are often judged. The reality is, the majority of them are great, decent young people. And some are not. And often, it's the few who ensure everyone else is tarred with the same brush. As a former teacher it used to annoy me intensely the way this stereotype was both engendered and perpetuated.
And in some ways I worry about this in blogland.
There is a saying "Least said, soonest mended."
I could not agree with this less right now.
So I'm taking a little blog "holiday."
Planning a party for Miss Medium. Getting into training for my next fun run. Catching up on emails. Taking Mr Small in for surgery. Having my gallbladder out.
In the interests of full disclosure
I needed you to know that.
I promise I'll show you my scar.
Maybe not.

I had thought given the various plagues open heart surgery, gallbladder attacks, a child needing grommets and swine flu affecting my family recently that it was time for a lull.
Nope.
In fact further research taught me there were 10 of them in Egypt.
By my calculation this most recent plague is our fifth, so we have five to go.
"Your fifth?" I hear you say.
"I only counted four."
Yes, the fifth was Mr Small deciding to investigate my most recent cooking. An omelette for those interested.
Because whilst I happily serve up spag bol for my children I'm trying not to eat carbs in the evening.
Despite closing the kitchen door on him, he opened it, got a chair and dragged it to the empty sink wherein lay the frying pan said omelette was cooked in.
He then proceeded to cook his own hand.
The shriek he made won't ever leave me.
I'm ashamed to say my instinctive reaction was to yell at him. I was so mad at him and upset at the same time.
Yes I am aware that makes me a TRULY HORRIBLE mother. You absolutely don't need to remind me.
Then I swept him up and plunged his hand in icy cold water.
For a long time.
He cried against my chest.
I cried silently.
Because I don't think there was much else I could have done to have stopped him but I wished to God it was my hand burning not his.
He blistered every one of his fingers and across his palm too.
Some panadol and fixamol later he was calmer.
And he is healing very quickly.
He has even come to like his little glove.
It probably won't even scar his hand.
Just my heart. A little.

I should have RSVP'd to my friend's sons birthday party today.
But I haven't.
I can't seem to make my fingers dial the numbers.
I also needed to keep track of my spending, DH even installed a cute little gizmo on my phone so I could do it when I was actually out shopping.
Guess who had to sit down at lunchtime totting up a loooonnnggg list of receipts so it would all be done for THE MEETING tonight?
I know I should have been more patient with Mr J and Miss B when we did "lesson time" today.
I know I shouldn't have had an afternoon snack today, oh, fine then, if I am being honest, SEVERAL snacks this afternoon!
I know I shouldn't be here blogging right now. I should be mopping up the sand Mr L traipsed through the house a little while ago.
I know all this.
Actually I knew all this at the time several events took place.
So time for a little self examination.
Why am I deliberately sabotaging the dregs of a friendship?
Why am I deliberately sabotaging my good spending plans, eating habits etc that I have worked so hard to put in place?
Plain old fatigue.
I haven't had an unbroken nights sleep in weeks.
But I wouldn't change that for anything.
Because at the end of the day. All these things are fixable, the friendships, myself, the tasks I have to do.
But nothing,
nothing,
scares away the frightening shadows, monsters, teething goblin
better than me.
And nobody can wipe the tears away and murmur the soothing words they need to hear better than me.
They trust me.
They know.

ETA: Floors mopped.
Children bathed and fed a nutritious dinner.
Checked points on afternoon snacking, turns out diet and coke and parmesan stuffed olives are not too deadly after all!
Friend texted and told kids will be coming to party.
Yes texted.
Don't judge me too harshly...like one of Carrie's b/fs on SATC said "I'm not ready for voice on voice contact yet."