About 3 days too long based on my last poll :)
Anyways, to be honest, I would have updated earlier but am just getting in to the groove of this blogging thing and am also stuffed. I just don't have a pause button. I don't have a 'me' button (though the readers of the Bikram Yoga post will be well pleased to know that I'm well on my way to Lotus posing with the best of them and the readers of the Martha blog with be pleased to know I've been cooking! With vegetables!).
BUT. I don't want this post to be about me. I want this post to be about Isabella. And I have since about Tuesday when I caught a bus with her into the city.
Isabella.
My 4.5 year old with Down Syndrome. Ya know, I just had a flash back to the moment in hospital when they told me that her having Down Syndrome was a possibility. And I just felt a tinge of sadness and a lump in my throat with that flashback (I've also just had 3.5 Drambuies on ice so that probably doesn't help :)). But it was sad. It was sad because my partner just walked in after almost floating back to Bondi the night before to a room full of huddled doctors (a senior one and about 7 other student doctors) and hit the floor with a thud when their whisperings started to get a bit coherent.
IT COULD NOT BE. NO! NO! NO!. How could they make this up! Not his little girl. Not the one that was gonna kill all the fellas with her surfing skills, not the one that was going to turn the heads around Bondi for the next 18 yrs plus, not the one that would be doing this inbetween working out what more to do with the split atom for 2027 Nobel prize win. Could they not see they were wrong??
What a strange strange time that was. Such a strange strange time. I want to go back and give that mum and dad a great big hug and say "you have no idea just how ok you will be, you have no idea just how beautiful she will be just as she is, you have no idea that one day will start to write a blog about her and your eyes will well with tears because, frankly, the light inside her makes you feel a beautiful, tender and caring love that you could not have expected".
Those that know us know that we lost another little girl 10mths earlier. Our beautifull Liljana who was born too early, much as her fight would have had you question otherwise. We then, and still now, missed her. So our resources were down. First the dream of one girl, and then the dream of the next.
And yet we still had our baby girl. But the adjustment from what we thought she may be, and the realisation that what we thought no longer mattered, was a mighty adjustment to make in 2 days. It took longer ofcourse. It took longer for R. He lost 2 dreams in less than year. It was understandable that he shoved his head so far down that sand pit that it took me virtually jumping on his back and thrashing about to pull him out.
I had my pains too. I was angry with the universe. So so SO angry. How could it do this to me?? I wasn't a bad person. I love diversity. But another load of adjustment and pain my way? Again? Why? Why? Why? Lots and lots of nights wondering why??
Soon enough (actually around the time my friend Sally popped over with a bottle of Baileys and left 3 hr later, ahem, Baileys free) my mind started to much more easily shift towards..."oh look, she needs a breastfeed, where is that nipple shield" to "oh, wouldn't that top look great on her" to "I wonder if anyone has noticed just how divine her eyes are". The mummy in me kicked in. And I am very very very proud to say in a very very big way.
But it wasn't all butterflies and fairyfloss. I became an internet addict. In the middle of midnight, 2am and 4am breastfeeds I was googling every possible Down Syndrome scenario. At 3pm in the afternoon I was googling. At 4pm I was still on. At 9pm I was still on. More, more, more. What more info was there for me to know. I was addicted to knowledge. It probably took me about 2 years to really start to kick back. A lot of mums will say they wish they could have just relaxed and enjoyed that time more. But I did enjoy Belles. I just wanted to be armed with every bit of ammunition I could to make her transition in to life outside my arms as positive, as capable, as strong as possible. I think in plenty of ways I've managed to do that. I think in plenty more ways she would have done it anyway.
It's a little late to mention this, but this post is really for those many people that asked me many times, and for those that wanted to ask. What's Bella really like? What's it like having a little girl with DS
I could tell you plenty of things. I could tell you how really, it's not much different to having another child (and I'm qualified to say this because I have another two - they can alternate between being the most divine little creatures on the planet to you wondering what on earth you thinking when you decided to procreate). I could tell you if you are a new parent that she is toilet trained, walks and talks (those big early worries) and can give a head of hair (usually her brothers) a tug so hard you would be sure there is no 'low tone' there at all :). I could tell you that I find it frustrating that it takes her a little longer to learn things. And that this is my biggest big fat cross against that extra 21st chromosome. That despite how strong her desire is, things will always take a little longer for her to learn. I could tell you, like most of us, she won't learn everything. I could tell you that oft times when she does, it will be with a lot more effort and persistence than the rest of us could even muster. I could tell you that she has the most amazing green eyes and a smile that melts hearts. I could tell you that her brothers adore the pants off of her (hair tugs and all). I could tell you that she is one hell of a clever cookie that knows exactly what she wants and doesn't want. I could tell you that some days, like my other 2, she wouldn't have a clue what she wants. I could tell you that if anything, ANYTHING ever happened to her my heart would break in two and never ever be repaired again. I could tell you that the way she greets people at the door makes her, quite possibly, the only reason anybody ever comes to visit (it's certainly not for the cooking, I can tell ya).
But I won't tell you all that. What I will tell you is what happened on the bus on Tuesday.
It was 9am. I was on my way to a course she was coming to. The whole bloody bus was miserable. I've forgetten how unjoyful people are. Not me and Belle's. She was my joy. That kid just did not stop smiling. And playing. And chatting. I did not stop smiling. She made me happy on that bus ride from the inside out. All these miserable people could do with a bit of Bella in their life.
But she's a kid right. All kids are a bit of fun (when you're not racing to work yourself - but that's another blog). No. Bella's extra. And I've known that for a while. But on Tuesday I remembered why.
On the bus ride home it was a MUCH happier bunch of vegemites (3pm - non workers is my guess, bless their happy socks). They smiled at her. She giggled back. They giggled. Grown men giggled. Ladies stopped on their way out at their bus stops. They tickled her. They high 5'd her. The bus ride was less than 20 min long. There was happiness all round and she was handing out little rays of sunshine in dosages well beyond her size and years. And then we got off the bus. And the bus driver said "goodbye gorgeous". And she beamed. And she blew him the biggest most beautiful kiss. And then he beamed and his head nearly fell of his shoulders from having to hold a smile so wide. And he blew a kiss back. And then he nearly crashed the bus driving off he was in such happy la la land.
And me? Well I was so so so proud of the beauty in front of me.
I haven't thought about the 27th Jan, 2005 for a very long time.
Tuesday and the other Tuesdays in my life are the reason why.
Thankyou Bella. Thankyou for being more than I ever thought you would be. Thankyou for being beautiful. I love you.
For the rest of you. Holy cow! You got to the end! Can you go and follow or subscribe or leave a comment or something so i know who you are :)
And a teeny little post script. Bella got up at 5am today. She took care of her dolly patiently for about 2 hours before the rest of us ventured up. But it was too early. She got tired and cranky and shovey and sooky and a bit of a pain. Coz, really, she is just like any other kid :).
And lucky for me, she's all mine.
Dovic xx
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Be my Martha
**UPDATE: Have just registered Domestic Goddess 101 and Domestic Spunk Rat 101 in bloggerville to prove I'm seriously up to the challenge I talk about below :)**
Sorry for the lack of posts my lovely followers and random subscribers. I'm suffering writers block. I have so much to say and so little words to say them with.
Why is that?
I did fall asleep IN the car OUTSIDE the cinema yesterday. AFTER I parked, thankfully. Was 6.45pm one minute, then 6.55pm the next and after deciding to yes, still brave the cinema, I fell asleep 10 minutes in. Straight after my choc top ofcourse. At least I'm cool with priorities.
Anyway. It could be that I need a night away from the computer and time to rest my weary head. I should probably get a good meal into me too. Something that isn't comprised solely of toasted bread, butter and vegemite. Or chocolate. Or Icecream.
Why can I not find the time to plan meals a week in advance, why do I not have chilli's drying from my kitchen window and lemons preserving in the pot. Why am I not Martha Stewart. Why am I not Cindy Crawford (I could do with those legs). Why am I wide awake at midnight but feel like my eyes are being jabbed with toothpicks during the day.
I certainly will ponder these and many other questions as I slink off heavy shouldered to that lump of a thing I call my bed and continue to waste my opportunity to sleep by picking up one of the 13 books on my bedside table.
If you know of any way, ANY way of making sure I turn off the lights before the first light of day, or any way of meal planning that works, or any where to get a good mattress, or any way to make my eyes drop the bags, let me know. Infact, any hint on the home, sleep and even hubby front (note I need to fit some work in too) would be pure wonderfullness. For tonight, I would love it if you would be MY Martha Stewart.
ACTUUUUALLLY, my shoulders just erected themselves and sprang back to life writing that. I have an idea! I wicked idea :) I will try every handy hint for at least a week, no questions asked and report back. Even if it's something wierd like go to bed and have sex with your husband 3 times a day. Or greet him with a home cooked meal. Or eat apples for 7 days straight. I'll try them all in one week if I can (but only if you're being serious which rules out the 3 times a day thing). Don't want you killing me over the longer term.
Oh dear blog, you do manage to find ways to make me happy.
Dovic x
PS have just put up a poll too.
PSS Quite possibly the reason my head hurts so much these days.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JcSzqm5Whwc (but only look after posting a challenge/handy hint, don't want you losing the moment like I almost did :)
Sorry for the lack of posts my lovely followers and random subscribers. I'm suffering writers block. I have so much to say and so little words to say them with.
Why is that?
I did fall asleep IN the car OUTSIDE the cinema yesterday. AFTER I parked, thankfully. Was 6.45pm one minute, then 6.55pm the next and after deciding to yes, still brave the cinema, I fell asleep 10 minutes in. Straight after my choc top ofcourse. At least I'm cool with priorities.
Anyway. It could be that I need a night away from the computer and time to rest my weary head. I should probably get a good meal into me too. Something that isn't comprised solely of toasted bread, butter and vegemite. Or chocolate. Or Icecream.
Why can I not find the time to plan meals a week in advance, why do I not have chilli's drying from my kitchen window and lemons preserving in the pot. Why am I not Martha Stewart. Why am I not Cindy Crawford (I could do with those legs). Why am I wide awake at midnight but feel like my eyes are being jabbed with toothpicks during the day.
I certainly will ponder these and many other questions as I slink off heavy shouldered to that lump of a thing I call my bed and continue to waste my opportunity to sleep by picking up one of the 13 books on my bedside table.
If you know of any way, ANY way of making sure I turn off the lights before the first light of day, or any way of meal planning that works, or any where to get a good mattress, or any way to make my eyes drop the bags, let me know. Infact, any hint on the home, sleep and even hubby front (note I need to fit some work in too) would be pure wonderfullness. For tonight, I would love it if you would be MY Martha Stewart.
ACTUUUUALLLY, my shoulders just erected themselves and sprang back to life writing that. I have an idea! I wicked idea :) I will try every handy hint for at least a week, no questions asked and report back. Even if it's something wierd like go to bed and have sex with your husband 3 times a day. Or greet him with a home cooked meal. Or eat apples for 7 days straight. I'll try them all in one week if I can (but only if you're being serious which rules out the 3 times a day thing). Don't want you killing me over the longer term.
Oh dear blog, you do manage to find ways to make me happy.
Dovic x
PS have just put up a poll too.
PSS Quite possibly the reason my head hurts so much these days.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JcSzqm5Whwc (but only look after posting a challenge/handy hint, don't want you losing the moment like I almost did :)
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Bikram Yoga vs Throwing Dishes
Today, I could have done with an affair. At least the thought of one.
Was on the way home from the course and got a text from hubby saying "Can you be home by 5.30? I need to go out." Of course, I responded. Perhaps he wanted to nip out and buy me some flowers. Perhaps someone had an emergency he needed to ride his horse to. Perhaps HE had an emergency. HE did. Bikram Yoga.
Don't get me started.
Oh, I already have. Ok then, here it goes.
Said hubby has been working interstate for the last six months or so. My Monday-to-Friday gig has revolved around sleep-deprived nights, chaotic mornings and evenings, working four days and juggling the world, three kids and the kitchen sink. Blah, blah. Said hubby has been bike riding, Brazilian martial artsing and Bikram Yogaing. Probably all three at once. For all I know he's been doing it all to the daffodil tunes of Doris Day (whilst my neighbours probably have me on speed dial to DOCs- "There is a crazy woman next door that yells a lot.")
Anyway. He has been back exactly three days. For three days he has gone to Bikram Yoga. Bikram Yoga??
Seriously. Why on earth go out and exercise when you could stay home and share my misery, hover around Facebook for two hours and sit slumped in the chair next to me with nothing to say. Coz that would really be my preference. Seriously.
And here is the conundrum. Apart from continued announcements of going out and doing, like, fun stuff for himself, he is actually much nicer to be around. And he looks hot. Me on the other hand...well, I'm perhaps about 7 kgs heavier, much wrinklier in the forehead (yes I know they are called frown lines), and haven't so much as taken a run to the loo, let alone flung a flexible leg over my neck, for as long as I can remember. And the worst thing?? IT'S ALL MY FAULT. Somewhere between that first fertilisation (ie when the sperm met the egg) and 2009, I forgot how to take care of myself.
I forgot.
Everything I do, and I do mean everything (I think), has an element of putting someone else first. It can't be right. Or healthy.
The first fleeting thought was the affair. How nice would it be to have a fella that didn't Bikram Yoga and instead stayed home, walked around with low slung shorts and six pack for a shirt, lathered up in soap suds as he moved from hand washing the dishes to the delicates to the car (including removing the toast ingrained in the floor mats - sorry, that may have ruined the image), before laying a gorgeous dinner in your lap, handing you are wine and asking what YOU want to watch on telly. Bikram Yoga?? No real men (other than Becks) would be caught dead in a lotus pose when they could be lifting dishes at home.
Then I realised this sort of man only exists in porn movies (here's an idea - porn movies for women: no sex, just lots of naked men running around cleaning from one end of the house to the other) and that an affair would probably land me with a man that plays weekend golf, watches 16 hrs of footy telly in one hit and/or calls me by the wrong name. Is there no win in this snatch another male game?
For true satisfaction, I would probably have to look closer to home. And that means looking at him.
He's happy. He's content. He does have a six pack. He loves me much more after yoga than before yoga. In fact he loves the whole universe a lot more after yoga than before yoga.
I need a piece of his pie.
So Friday we're joining a local yoga/pilates/gym place together. We'll tag team this whole happy daffodils and butterflies thing together. If he's gonna have fun and be all zen-like and sexy looking, well damn it, so will I :)
To be honest, I probably would have resorted to throwing dishes AT him if I hadn't spent the last couple of days in the rays of the infinitely sunny Stacey from http://www.facebook.com/pages/www.sunnymummyausblogspot.com/117857524509?ref=mf .
She makes me want to clean and dry dishes, then pack them away nicely instead. Very strange behaviour indeed.
Dovic xx
Was on the way home from the course and got a text from hubby saying "Can you be home by 5.30? I need to go out." Of course, I responded. Perhaps he wanted to nip out and buy me some flowers. Perhaps someone had an emergency he needed to ride his horse to. Perhaps HE had an emergency. HE did. Bikram Yoga.
Don't get me started.
Oh, I already have. Ok then, here it goes.
Said hubby has been working interstate for the last six months or so. My Monday-to-Friday gig has revolved around sleep-deprived nights, chaotic mornings and evenings, working four days and juggling the world, three kids and the kitchen sink. Blah, blah. Said hubby has been bike riding, Brazilian martial artsing and Bikram Yogaing. Probably all three at once. For all I know he's been doing it all to the daffodil tunes of Doris Day (whilst my neighbours probably have me on speed dial to DOCs- "There is a crazy woman next door that yells a lot.")
Anyway. He has been back exactly three days. For three days he has gone to Bikram Yoga. Bikram Yoga??
Seriously. Why on earth go out and exercise when you could stay home and share my misery, hover around Facebook for two hours and sit slumped in the chair next to me with nothing to say. Coz that would really be my preference. Seriously.
And here is the conundrum. Apart from continued announcements of going out and doing, like, fun stuff for himself, he is actually much nicer to be around. And he looks hot. Me on the other hand...well, I'm perhaps about 7 kgs heavier, much wrinklier in the forehead (yes I know they are called frown lines), and haven't so much as taken a run to the loo, let alone flung a flexible leg over my neck, for as long as I can remember. And the worst thing?? IT'S ALL MY FAULT. Somewhere between that first fertilisation (ie when the sperm met the egg) and 2009, I forgot how to take care of myself.
I forgot.
Everything I do, and I do mean everything (I think), has an element of putting someone else first. It can't be right. Or healthy.
The first fleeting thought was the affair. How nice would it be to have a fella that didn't Bikram Yoga and instead stayed home, walked around with low slung shorts and six pack for a shirt, lathered up in soap suds as he moved from hand washing the dishes to the delicates to the car (including removing the toast ingrained in the floor mats - sorry, that may have ruined the image), before laying a gorgeous dinner in your lap, handing you are wine and asking what YOU want to watch on telly. Bikram Yoga?? No real men (other than Becks) would be caught dead in a lotus pose when they could be lifting dishes at home.
Then I realised this sort of man only exists in porn movies (here's an idea - porn movies for women: no sex, just lots of naked men running around cleaning from one end of the house to the other) and that an affair would probably land me with a man that plays weekend golf, watches 16 hrs of footy telly in one hit and/or calls me by the wrong name. Is there no win in this snatch another male game?
For true satisfaction, I would probably have to look closer to home. And that means looking at him.
He's happy. He's content. He does have a six pack. He loves me much more after yoga than before yoga. In fact he loves the whole universe a lot more after yoga than before yoga.
I need a piece of his pie.
So Friday we're joining a local yoga/pilates/gym place together. We'll tag team this whole happy daffodils and butterflies thing together. If he's gonna have fun and be all zen-like and sexy looking, well damn it, so will I :)
To be honest, I probably would have resorted to throwing dishes AT him if I hadn't spent the last couple of days in the rays of the infinitely sunny Stacey from http://www.facebook.com/pages/
She makes me want to clean and dry dishes, then pack them away nicely instead. Very strange behaviour indeed.
Dovic xx
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Can't think of a title for this blog. Life and all that jazz?
I start a small business course tomorrow - just to make sure I fill the last remaining seconds left in my schedule.
I'm actually quite excited about it.
I don't really want to say this out loud, since it's the hand that has generously fed me so often and for that I am grateful, but I don't want to get back in to corporate life for now. Whilst I'm at it, can I mention I hope my kids have the inclination and confidence to follow broader dreams than working for the big big man, even if they never make a brass razoo out of them. The whole drive for the shareholder dollar is admirable in that it keeps masses gainfully employed and adds positively to the economy and keeps the wheels turning, etc etc but the soul is a fickle thing and life is too short and all that jazz.
Actually, as I typed that I just had a flash back to corporate life during 2000 and the Sydney Olympics and I take all that back. Much as I struggle to remember that year due to copious amounts of vodka redbull being thrown my way, I know that I had a good time. A good GOOD time. So I don't really mind what they do.
Anyway, I think that's what they call digressing.
So. The whole start my own business idea is really just an extension on the contracting I've been doing. Maybe it will be a case of setting up something simple from home. Or maybe after the shing ding with other like minded individuals I will also find the confidence to find and follow broader dreams.
Whatever I do, and here is my commitment on (cyber) paper, there will always be an element of supporting, connecting or enabling those that that could do with that support most. The disadvantaged. And that means freebie support too.
No point getting to the end of the road and having just gone along for the ride - I want to have seen people smile along the way (esp those that may have had good reason not too). I've seen that happen and I don't want it to stop. The alternative is just too sad.
And life is too short.
Dovic x
PS Will let you know how it goes!
I'm actually quite excited about it.
I don't really want to say this out loud, since it's the hand that has generously fed me so often and for that I am grateful, but I don't want to get back in to corporate life for now. Whilst I'm at it, can I mention I hope my kids have the inclination and confidence to follow broader dreams than working for the big big man, even if they never make a brass razoo out of them. The whole drive for the shareholder dollar is admirable in that it keeps masses gainfully employed and adds positively to the economy and keeps the wheels turning, etc etc but the soul is a fickle thing and life is too short and all that jazz.
Actually, as I typed that I just had a flash back to corporate life during 2000 and the Sydney Olympics and I take all that back. Much as I struggle to remember that year due to copious amounts of vodka redbull being thrown my way, I know that I had a good time. A good GOOD time. So I don't really mind what they do.
Anyway, I think that's what they call digressing.
So. The whole start my own business idea is really just an extension on the contracting I've been doing. Maybe it will be a case of setting up something simple from home. Or maybe after the shing ding with other like minded individuals I will also find the confidence to find and follow broader dreams.
Whatever I do, and here is my commitment on (cyber) paper, there will always be an element of supporting, connecting or enabling those that that could do with that support most. The disadvantaged. And that means freebie support too.
No point getting to the end of the road and having just gone along for the ride - I want to have seen people smile along the way (esp those that may have had good reason not too). I've seen that happen and I don't want it to stop. The alternative is just too sad.
And life is too short.
Dovic x
PS Will let you know how it goes!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
40
Watching the aria's and feeling so hip and happening that I forget I'm not 23 all over again.
Til the memory floods back to about 5pm this arvo when I was midway through a spray tan and the spraytan-er asked me to look down at my toes.
I found them. After searching for minutes.
When did that belly of mine get so...pregnant looking?? I know it's stretched to accommodate a few growing bubs but it could have done it's duty and bounced back to it's pre preggo glory of, say 1992. And while we are on 1992, why did nobody tell me at the time that that was the best I was ever going to look, so I could milk the year for all it was worth. Why on earth was I not wearing mini skirts and boob tubes when the body was there for the flaunting?
Instead, here I am 17 yrs later getting a spray tan for, lets face it, shading purposes.
I love the female form. I love it in all its roundness, I love where there are imperfections, I love it for all the bits and bobs that may overflow on it.
But, oh to be 23 again and appreciate the time before all that additional beauty kicks in :)
And back to the Aria's. Holy Fuck doesn't this country spit out a hell of a lot of talented little vegemites. Not only do I want to be 23 again but I want to be up there with red hair, blue eyeshadow and a mini skirt belting out a rocking tune like the rest of them. Perhaps I can just turn my attentions towards being a pushy parent (KIDDING!).
Thank God Robbie and Kieth are up there, rocking my boat, so I don't feel like a complete and utter pervert. 40 aint so bad.
Dovic xx
Til the memory floods back to about 5pm this arvo when I was midway through a spray tan and the spraytan-er asked me to look down at my toes.
I found them. After searching for minutes.
When did that belly of mine get so...pregnant looking?? I know it's stretched to accommodate a few growing bubs but it could have done it's duty and bounced back to it's pre preggo glory of, say 1992. And while we are on 1992, why did nobody tell me at the time that that was the best I was ever going to look, so I could milk the year for all it was worth. Why on earth was I not wearing mini skirts and boob tubes when the body was there for the flaunting?
Instead, here I am 17 yrs later getting a spray tan for, lets face it, shading purposes.
I love the female form. I love it in all its roundness, I love where there are imperfections, I love it for all the bits and bobs that may overflow on it.
But, oh to be 23 again and appreciate the time before all that additional beauty kicks in :)
And back to the Aria's. Holy Fuck doesn't this country spit out a hell of a lot of talented little vegemites. Not only do I want to be 23 again but I want to be up there with red hair, blue eyeshadow and a mini skirt belting out a rocking tune like the rest of them. Perhaps I can just turn my attentions towards being a pushy parent (KIDDING!).
Thank God Robbie and Kieth are up there, rocking my boat, so I don't feel like a complete and utter pervert. 40 aint so bad.
Dovic xx
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Sometimes I can't be assed (arsed?)
Tonight is one of those nights.
This morning was one of those mornings.
In between I am pleased to announce I fullfilled my parental duties with gusto. No vegies, but still gusto. Which, I may add, I had to draw from some deep deep spot I didn't even know existed. Except for when I used it yesterday. Anyway.
The morning started at 12.01am with H (22 mths, going on 16yrs) calling out MaaaaaMaaaaaa at the top of his lungs. And then again at 2.05, and 3.13 and 4.45 and 5.59. Yes, all a.m. So all 3 got out of bed at 6.01am. Nice. Thanks H.
I did what I assume many mothers before me have done (though likely pre 1999 - ie before all those nasty reports started coming out) and put them in front of the telly. For 2 hours. I crawled out of bed at 8am and joined them. Oh I did get up on the odd occassion before then. Like when I thought I heard something crashing. But all in all, I rekon I managed an extra 1hr 48min sleep. That was my first survival tactic of the day.
The rest of the day was one sweaty blur. Brekky, get them dressed, break up fights (though I have to admit they are totally cute all together), get Bella ready for her bus, got snacks ready for the boys, took the boys to playgroup, took boys to park, came home made lunch for all and waited for Bella, went to park with all 3, took bella to new school for orientation and amused boys with paddlepops (to gain 5 min peace - which I lost in the clean up), came home, read twitter while they demolished the house, bathed them, then put them naked in front of their bowl of weetbix before putting them naked back in front of the telly.
You see by then I was almost at full circle and feeling like I did this morning. Weetbix for dinner is emergency strategy around here. Rare but useful. Bathing first just meant I knew I didn't have to do that after dinner. Letting them eat naked meant I could just wipe it off. Work place efficiency.
Pouring myself the G&T, as I watched them using the weetbix as body paint, was pure survival instinct.
The fact that I had to do the above in 73+% humidity which is Sydney (oh God, and then there is summer) meant that i had no energy left for the evening niceties of book reading, tumbling, teeth brushing. I did fit in a cuddle. At 7.34 they are all asleep (except for H who is back in front of the telly after calling out MaaaaMaaa again in the middle of me writing this).
So. Time to go and enjoy he who makes me suffer so much in the evening. Because despite last night, he is still so damn damn cute I could eat him. And he needs his teeth brushed.
Dovic x
This morning was one of those mornings.
In between I am pleased to announce I fullfilled my parental duties with gusto. No vegies, but still gusto. Which, I may add, I had to draw from some deep deep spot I didn't even know existed. Except for when I used it yesterday. Anyway.
The morning started at 12.01am with H (22 mths, going on 16yrs) calling out MaaaaaMaaaaaa at the top of his lungs. And then again at 2.05, and 3.13 and 4.45 and 5.59. Yes, all a.m. So all 3 got out of bed at 6.01am. Nice. Thanks H.
I did what I assume many mothers before me have done (though likely pre 1999 - ie before all those nasty reports started coming out) and put them in front of the telly. For 2 hours. I crawled out of bed at 8am and joined them. Oh I did get up on the odd occassion before then. Like when I thought I heard something crashing. But all in all, I rekon I managed an extra 1hr 48min sleep. That was my first survival tactic of the day.
The rest of the day was one sweaty blur. Brekky, get them dressed, break up fights (though I have to admit they are totally cute all together), get Bella ready for her bus, got snacks ready for the boys, took the boys to playgroup, took boys to park, came home made lunch for all and waited for Bella, went to park with all 3, took bella to new school for orientation and amused boys with paddlepops (to gain 5 min peace - which I lost in the clean up), came home, read twitter while they demolished the house, bathed them, then put them naked in front of their bowl of weetbix before putting them naked back in front of the telly.
You see by then I was almost at full circle and feeling like I did this morning. Weetbix for dinner is emergency strategy around here. Rare but useful. Bathing first just meant I knew I didn't have to do that after dinner. Letting them eat naked meant I could just wipe it off. Work place efficiency.
Pouring myself the G&T, as I watched them using the weetbix as body paint, was pure survival instinct.
The fact that I had to do the above in 73+% humidity which is Sydney (oh God, and then there is summer) meant that i had no energy left for the evening niceties of book reading, tumbling, teeth brushing. I did fit in a cuddle. At 7.34 they are all asleep (except for H who is back in front of the telly after calling out MaaaaMaaa again in the middle of me writing this).
So. Time to go and enjoy he who makes me suffer so much in the evening. Because despite last night, he is still so damn damn cute I could eat him. And he needs his teeth brushed.
Dovic x
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Well, hello there.
There are, apparantly, over 200 million blogs in the world. I guess that means I'm a little late. But I'm here now :).
The title of the blog comes from having randomly read the line somewhere today but like all good things, it touched me and warmed me. It made me think of good stuff. And good feelings. If you think about the small acts of kindness that have come your way, I bet it does the same to you. Go on, do it.
So here is to my new blog. Which won't be just about about small acts of kindness, though I hope they filter through often. It will be about stuff. Random stuff, for now. Feeling a little jingle dangle already. Will you join me?
Dovic x
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