The Good and the Bad

Long time no blog. Fingers have been too tired to type. I somehow slipped into a fatigue that gripped me so unrelentingly that just wombling through the hours of each day has been hazy. The kids voices drift to me down a tunnel of half conciousness. I am impatient with everyone. My eyelids droop at 7pm. Feeding the baby during the night is making me feel like I am back in newborn baby bootcamp. Yesterday morning I over-extended my back and put it into spasm which I haven't done for years. Most of the day was spent examining the carpet at close quarters and shuffling around stiffly with teensy steps but today I am able to move easier although it is feeling quite tight. I am sure tomorrow will see huge improvement and if this jolly rain ever stopped, I could get out for a walk which would help my back immensely. Baby girl has her third cold in three months - misery. Middle drama queen has been home sick with cough and sniffles. Oldest Fair-Police has been battling with a conflict at school which has been draining her and us. All three are hungry, messy and soak us up like sponges. As much as Greg and I pour out, they mop up and demand more. We are like husks. Empty with sense of humour failures. They are growing and juicy and funny. The house is heading towards its third open home in as many weeks, with lots of people coming through but no takers. We are resigned and not fighting the concept that we will have to rent it out. A few more months of dangling it out on the market though, too early to withdraw. It seems to a lay-person that there is a large hole in the global financial bucket and confidence is dwindling away to a puddle.

However, on a positive note:

  • it was Crazy Hair Day at school last Friday and we had fun inhaling pink hairspray fumes and stabbing or being stabbed with bobby pins.

  • Mishal is crawling faster than I can run. She eats everything on the floor that is smaller than her hand and yet is reluctant to be fed from a bowl offered in the high chair. Perhaps if I scattered her food around the house... She likes to crawl under the dining room chairs. She is saying "peek-a-boo" in baby syllables. She flips over during nappy changing time like lightening.

  • Soccer practice has been cancelled for weeks due to the soggy fields which is surely cause for fireworks and celebration.

  • I have managed to get my head around reining my thoughtless eating into more structured, energy-giving, balanced meals and actually drinking more than half a glass of water a day.

  • I took Maddy and Mishie to have their passport photos taken a couple of days ago which went very well, if you discount the small fact that Maddy fell into the ornamental pond outside the store which balancing on the edge, and then informed me earnestly that a horrid boy had pushed her in. Ahem, yes we do try to teach our children about truth first time. Middle child is finding this a boomerang concept and we are revisiting it far more than I had every dreamed parentally possible.

  • Greg is not travelling away this week. He bought me the Donna Hay Kids mag which so far I have hardly caught a glimpse of as the kids bore it off to their room, where they pore over recipes and the board game that came with the mag. Kenzie made us dinner last night, Pita Pizzas. It was perfectly edible and nice for her to feel powerful in the culinary field, although she did have to be encouraged not to read her book while the pizzas were cooking. Also, while checking on the pizzas, I discovered the oven door ajar due to the fact that the Crock pot cord and plug were dangling down and trapped inside the oven - before the house burned down.

So all in all, a marvellous few days really.


It's raining inside

A leak in the overflow pipe in the roof cavity usually means water somewhere you prefer not to have water.

Preferrably not, especially, your linen cupboard.

And also preferrably not on a rainy winter week when the entire lot is festooned dripping around the fireplace.

And perhaps when you are not overly sensitive about how things are looking in the house.

However, on a positive note, the plumber came within an hour. He had it fixed in half an hour and after two days worth of drying out the ceiling tiles and wooden shelves, he says you can use your linen cupboard again. Hooray.


A new vacuum cleaner


Lessons I learned last week

when attempting to keep one's house beautifully clean and presentable for potential buyers it is advisable NOT to:

1. feed your children

2. if this fails and they begin to plead for sustenance, under no circumstances allow them to have a berry and banana smoothie

3. if have your back turned and this is what they rustle up as bedtime snack, ensure at all costs they are restricted to drinking it in the kitchen and not trying to sneakily slurp it in the lounge

4. if all the above fails, and they see you coming and hide it behind the curtains, and then accidentally kicked it over, pray for sunshine, because you will be washing the drapes and attacking the carpet with chemicals and clenched teeth before your next Open Home



Any guesses what movie she went to see?


quotes of the week

Kenzie, said scathingly: "who'd want to adopt a boa constrictor?"
Her father: "maybe a boa constrictor daddy?"
- while deep in a game of cranium zooreeka -

Kirsten: "sometimes delusion is key to survival"
- in sympathetic support of parenthood and trying
to be a grown-up simultaneously -

Mark Twain: "the only person who likes change is a wet baby."
- a reassuring concept as i struggle with our future move and glean new mindsets from The Difference Maker by John Maxwell -


where have all the mondays gone?

one of my favourite bloggers, Kirsten, writes in the kind of way that transports me, it makes my tea go cold, or my icecream melt because her words are too much of a feast to be distracted from. today she talked about Mondays:

...but when stodgy old Monday rolled around it simply sucked the air out of the room! Mind you, I go through life in a whirl of gaiety (it's simply how I live, darling!) so it's not easy to get me down from that chandelier, but if anyone can squelch the mood, it's good old stodgy Monday with its empty fridge and piles of laundry. Not that I do anything about it--dear me, no! Darling, it may be the beginning of the week, but who said anything about manual labor??

i responded with the comment that tuesdays aren't that hot either:

you are so right, mondays go down like a cup of cold sick in our house too. but tuesdays (way ahead of you in time in NZ) can be grim too lest you be deceived. especially when your house is on the market and it is the school holidays, and your girls have decided to explode their barbies around the lounge and the agent calls to say someone is coming to take photos of the house in 2 hours. you would think 2 hours would be enough time to make your family home look like a magazine spread. you would be wrong. bring back mondays.


Ocean of Eyes

Yesterday in honour of the school holidays, we drove into Wellington to climb aboard the MV Doulos and check out what it's like to be on a big boat as well as the sheer delight of walking through the tables of ten thousand books. I have a book fetish and the hour spent walking around racks of them was deeply enjoyable. We got a stack of titles, including 3 Nancy Drews for K and a couple of activity books chosen by M, a poster of the periodic table of elements (which tickles me, my 9 year old is a chemistry fan - who knew?) and for the same child, the Jonas Brothers cd which she was rapt about, of course...9 going on 13.

Then we hit the park, pottered along the harbourfront, had lunch with Dad and then to M's delight, went indoor rockwall climbing. Both girls donned the harnesses and we stood as their belayes at the foot of the wall, trussed up with ropes. They had a ball! My camera's battery died which was cruel as this I think will a highlight for Mads for years to come. She managed to shimmy up to the top of the highest wall, pro-style, while Kenz was more deliberate but who also felt elated at her success. Mish had to just sit on the floor nearby, catching ropes and wagging them around her.
It was a fun day out, but hit a small snag on the shame front as we stopped for juice in the afternoon. We popped into Borders for a drink while Greg had an appt at the optometrist across from us. The previous night a documentary on Attachment Parenting had aired, and we watched about 10 minutes of it before switching channels in disgust (no offence those of you who adhere to this philosophy - it is just not for us) and before I knew it, I realised in the quiet, professional cafe that my baby needed a feed from me. Cringing, and fighting the feeling like they were all watching me thinking I was one of those hippies who fling their assets around for their children to chew on, I tried to surreptitiously latch her on without fanfare. Unfortunately I hit her head on my shoulder, so the screams of pain and shock began to bounce off the walls and alerted my fellow patrons to Something Interesting going on. I tried to sit as casually as possible in my seat and nonchalantly attempted to slurp at my juice straw. Sadly the juice slopped over my leg and onto Mishie, a fact I blithely ignored, steering my craft of doom unerringly forward towards the rapids of shame. My babe fell asleep and I got the stroller engineered to a position where I could just lay her down inside it without much drama. As I leaned forward, nestling her into the blanket and tucking her in, in full view of the line up to the cafe counter, even seeing out of the corner of my eye a suit approaching, half of my baby feeding factory became completely revealed in a non-delicate, non-excusable kind of way. The crazy thing was that I was unaware of how serious the situation was for a good few seconds and when I straightened up and realised how exposed I was, it was far too late. I dared not raise my head to the full room of mocha sipping, child-less humans, but imagined them as a sea of eyeballs on gently waving stalks staring unblinkingly at my reddened face as I shrugged myself rapidly into my coat, wound my scarf fiercely about my neck despite the heat in there, hissed to the girls to swig their juice quick, we were done. Deep breathing to stabilise myself in the waves of humiliation, I forced myself to look noble as I pushed the buggy out of the shop and in a final salute to my shame, the shop alarm screeched piercingly as we left. No doubt I had stamped upon the world my status as a disgraceful shoplifting mother who feeds her offspring in a way that displays no regard for the sensitivities of others. It was sheer relief to arrive back home.


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