By Kyle Flood from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada (Waaah!) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
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I hate to jinx it, but very recently my children have become easier, for want of a better word. They are five and two now, and are the best of friends. They play adorable games together which allows me to have cups of tea in peace. My five-year-old can wipe her own bottom (yay!), shower herself, and get her own snacks. My two-year-old is talking well now, and can tell us what he wants; while we still have tantrums, and the sight of him in restaurants still conjures up a mix of pity and terror from fellow diners, he can sit still for longer, have conversations, and is generally happy. At times, I am even that mother sitting and reading while her children colour or play quietly. (For about five minutes).

Proof that life has become a little bit more bearable is this.

Making a prawn and fennel bisque. Like, from Gourmet Traveller! From scratch! Who would have thought?
Making a prawn and fennel bisque. Like, from Gourmet Traveller! From scratch! Who would have thought?

I’m cooking again. Real cooking. Not throwing things hastily into the oven, churning out boring casseroles, or relying on good old spag bol. On weekends anyway, I feel remnants of the old me returning – the one who loved to cook elaborate meals, involving many ingredients, much simmering and sautéing and chopping, and the type that is celebrated with the clink of glasses at the dinner table and “Compliments to the chef!” I am able to do this mostly because my two-year-old has now been surgically extracted from my leg, and no longer needs to be in bed by 6:30pm.

This state of affairs sounds quite delicious, I know, to other parents who are still in struggle-town. I was there not long ago. I do not remember now what exactly made it so hard – the pain is all a blur. I do remember that it was freaking hard, and that I was miserable at times, and that I cried occasionally. I remember everything being a struggle with my toddler – each simple task of living like getting dressed and eating was an enormous and often physical and loud battle. I remember the 12 months or more of 5am wake-ups – of sitting on the couch in the dark with a wide-awake baby, the whole household asleep, wondering how on earth I was going to stay awake until 8:30pm. I remember being so tired at night my eyeballs felt like they were going to fall out of my head. I remember a lot of food on the floor.

And yet I worked and studied full-time, nine days a fortnight. Truth be told, going to work was an escape in many ways. Whenever I was tired, I reminded myself that being at home would have exhausted me just as much. Still, looking back, I don’t know I did it. I do remember making a pledge to connect and engage with my children to the fullest, despite the challenges, and to live these precious and exhausting years with more joy and less guilt. I do feel that I have done that. I have kicked mother guilt in the ass. And while I have trouble remembering the exact details of the pain, I remember the exquisite joys as though they were yesterday. I can taste and smell them; I can feel the little hands in mine still. These are etched in my memory.

I am not much different to any other parent. I do not have extraordinary challenges – just the everyday, mundane challenges of parenting small children while working. I do have flexibility, a reasonable salary (as a GP anyway, not as a student…) and find meaning in my work. But mostly, I coped because I took things one day at a time. (I had no choice really). And I know that new, different challenges are to come. But I want to pen some encouragement to every parent who is still in that dark, hazy time of raising small children. (Studies show that parents are generally as happy as compared to people without kids, except for those with preschool-aged children. These people are pretty unhappy and stressed). Perhaps you have the dreaded combination of two under two. Perhaps you have a ten-week-old, and have just been through the most difficult ten weeks of your life. Whatever the case may be, I want to say this to you, with all my heart.

Take things one day at a time.  

But make a promise to do your best every day. 

Some days, your best will disappoint you. That’s ok. Be kind to yourself. You’re just doing the best you can, and you’ve never done this before. Every phase makes you an absolute novice at parenting again. But tomorrow is another day.  

Some days will be very dark. This just means you are right in the middle of the tunnel and the light cannot be seen yet. But if you keep moving forward, there is a light. It’s bright and very beautiful. It will make you cry tears of joy.  

Every day, connect at least once with your children, and once with yourself, even if only for a moment before you shut your eyes at night. Be grateful at the end of the day, breathe, and start again tomorrow.  

It’s ok to “lean out” during these years. It’s ok to say you’ve got too much on your plate right now. You have. It’s crazy. But it won’t last forever.  

If the days are too dark, talk to someone straight away.  

One day at a time, the days will roll excruciatingly slowly into weeks, and months, and then a year or two. You will look back and that cliché will escape your lips-  “They are growing up too fast!” Stupid cliché. But it’s true. 

But I know that seems far away now. I know how hard it can be. But don’t blink. Take it all in. 

One day at a time. That’s all you need to do. The best is yet to come, but in some ways the best is with you right now. That’s the exquisite conundrum of parenting.

When you come out of that tunnel, I hope you come out with more joy, less guilt, and no regrets. And eventually you too will be stirring prawn bisque in the kitchen, glass of wine in hand, like me. (If that kind of thing floats your boat). 

x

 

By Kyle Flood from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada (Waaah!) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
At the very least, photographs of tantrums make for hilarious 21st birthday party slideshows. By Kyle Flood from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada (Waaah!) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
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Happy birthday to my princess. And hello to fondant cakes!
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Happy birthday to my princess. And hello to fondant cakes!
Happy birthday to my princess. And hello to fondant cakes!

At the start of this week I wasn’t feeling very good about myself. I was facing a week of extraordinary juggling of roles and responsibilities, and to put it plainly, I was grumpy. Grumpy that I had so much on, grumpy, even, that I had said yes to some of the things I had. Let’s take a look at the week that was and how it went, because it’s clear from the title of my post that I found unexpected (or perhaps expected) joy in much of what I did.

Monday morning: Go to baking store with four year old. Spend $120 on cake making equipment for her birthday cake. Perhaps I should have outsourced? Never mind. Browsing aisles of coloured fondant and plunger cutters gave me so much glee it almost felt illegal. 

Monday lunchtime: Meeting with Kindergarten teachers about the nut allergy incident from last week. Get handed a bunch of forms to fill out. Brain explodes slightly, but am grateful for the opportunity to discuss this very serious issue, which has now been resolved. 

Monday afternoon: Submit journal article to none less than the Lancet (which has a 99% rejection policy). Get quite excited when I don’t get rejected within the first 3 hours. 

Monday evening: Frost first birthday cake, followed by work on conference presentation until 11pm. Exhausted. 

Tuesday: Clinic. Am grumpy because of impending teleconference at 7:30pm. Think of pulling out. 

Tuesday afternoon: Teleconference cancelled. Mood lifts! Text husband, who immediately suggests we go and watch the Avengers. 

Tuesday night: Go out for dinner and watch Avengers Age of Ultron, which was tolerable because of my favourite character Ironman was in it. Kids are with Mum who is visiting us from interstate. Eat a choc top. Bed at 12:30am. Yawn!

Wednesday morning: Parent helper morning at kindergarten. Bring birthday cake along. Four year old is very excited, says it is a “really special day”. Listen to some awful knock knock jokes. Learn some Italian songs. Four year old cries when I leave, makes quite a scene. Wonder if I have done the right thing.

Wednesday afternoon: Supervision meeting with my Honours student, followed by practice presentation for upcoming conference talk. Get lots of “feedback”. Realise I have to change half my presentation. Brain starts to throb slightly. 

Wednesday evening: intend to go for a run but am too tired. In bed when the kids go to sleep. Paper is still not rejected by the Lancet! Get a glimmer of hope. 

Thursday morning: Work on presentation. 

Thursday afternoon: Hairdresser appointment. Finish reading Brene Brown’s book. 

Thursday evening: Run followed by dinner and then frost second birthday cake which, to my relief, was a success. Fondant is easier than I thought to work with! Why have I not done this before? Consider offering to make birthday cakes for our our friends and family. Slap myself a little bit. 

Friday morning: Paper is rejected by the Lancet. Resubmit to another journal. 

Friday lunchtime: Give a tutorial. Thoroughly enjoy being around “young people”. Their jokes are funny! Feel a little bit young again. Also feel thankful that I had my grey highlights covered the day before. 

Friday afternoon: Home early to make decorations from fondant with my four year old, to put on the cake. The cake is finally done and all ready for the big party on the weekend! 

Well that was my week. Looking back, it was such a wonderful and full week, and I came out of it feeling really really good. Why? Because I had made the decision to make every single scrap of my day count, to spend it only doing things that were meaningful, rejuvenating, important, or that would make someone else important to me happy (or me happy). And the teleconference, for a voluntary position on a committee, was one of the things I had reluctantly said yes to but felt that I shouldn’t. Once that was taken out of the equation for the week, the rest of my week was authentic, honest and very satisfying, inasmuch as it involved jumping (leaping?) from one role to another.

I feel like I am giving an Oscar speech now, because I cannot do this juggling without flexibility. The nature of what I do is not time-based but outcome-based. This makes my week very flexible, apart from my clinic day, and allowed me to take two hours off to volunteer to sharpen pencils at kindergarten. Of course it’s not about sharpening pencils but about doing something that meant a lot to my daughter. But yes, thank you flexibility, and may you grace the work weeks of everyone else.

I also cannot do this juggle without a healthy disdain for meals that require hours of preparation. Meals this week consisted of baked salmon (in the oven and off to the gym!) and tacos with grilled pork and guacamole. In the big picture, time doing things I love is more important than spending hours in the kitchen, but I still do pump out home-cooked meals for every single weeknight.

Thirdly, sleep. I skimped on it for the first two nights and started to feel pretty grizzly. Then amazing after catching up on sleep. Sleep is the working mama’s secret ingredient.

Fourthly, fun and self care. Respect for the “date night”. Making the time in a busy week to get my hair done. I’ve given lip service to self care before and this week I had to force myself to pay attention to it (or rather the state of my hair forced me).

And lastly. The realisation that I am juggling very very good things and even things that bring me joy. Sitting in on an kindergarten Italian lesson and laughing at four-year-old jokes? Joy. Making birthday cakes? Joy. Even the tutorial, tacked on to the end of the week and seen as yet another time stealer, was joyful because I was teaching, and because it was fun. So I am filled with joy and gratitude, on this Saturday morning, for the week that was. An amazing week of work and love. And choc-tops. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a birthday party to organise :)

PS. Sunday evening. Party was a success. I cannot believe she is almost five. They do grow up fast… after the toddler years :)

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Two days ago, during a meeting, I got the dreaded phone call from kindergarten.

“She’s had an anaphylactic reaction”, they said. “The ambulance is on its way. How soon can you get here?”

It turns out they meant an allergic reaction, thankfully, but still that call was enough to send my heart pounding, and see me racing to collect my things in a slightly delirious haste, and run out the door.

But even though this unfortunate mistake of both kindergarten parent who sent birthday party food in with nuts accidentally, and teacher who didn’t check, meant that my child’s face swelled up and she threw up three times, I am grateful, once crises are over, that they come along at all.

I am grateful because nothing puts your true priorities into focus more blindingly than the experience of running down the street desperately trying to hail a taxi so you can get to your sick child’s side.

At that moment, it’s crystal clear what’s really important. And I’m ashamed to say that of late, it is mostly these crises that remind me. I tend to forget and become focussed on what doesn’t really matter. Just that morning I had a thought, as I scurried around Uni doing this and that, being “busy”, that I was so absorbed in work that I wasn’t really living the moment.

But during an emergency, I suddenly remember.

My laptop and what’s on it isn’t the most important thing. I couldn’t care less at that point.

Money isn’t the most important thing.

Having clean floors is definitely not important.

The most important, the dearest and most precious things to me, are the people that I love, and making them happy and safe. Being with them. 

Health is important. So valuable and so underappreciated, until it’s gone.

Time is important. Time to spend with the cherished ones in your life. Living each moment to its fullest.

I’m not saying that it’s good to live with crisis after crisis, unresolved; this is extremely stressful and damaging and sadly, is the reality for many people. Neither am I suggesting that we should neglect planning for the future, and managing our finances. These things clearly are necessary, though they tend to pale in comparison when the safety of a loved one is at stake. Who would rather have lots of money in the bank than be able to hold a frightened but healthy and alive child in their arms, or speak to Mum on the phone to hear that her biopsy results were all normal?

Our little crisis settled quickly, with the help of antihistamines, the reassurance of the nice paramedics, and lots of TLC. The appropriate steps have been initiated to strengthen the policy around not bringing nuts in. The poor parent rang me to apologise from the bottom of her heart, which I appreciated.

Crises like these are what I call my “reset” button. All the rubbish that was building up in my head is now cleared. I’m back on track again. But I don’t want to rely on crises to help me rethink my priorities, so I’m (re) starting a daily gratitude practice, to ensure that I’m fully appreciating and living every single day instead of missing out. Because you never know what tomorrow will bring.

What about you? What helps you to “reset” your priorities?

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This is Part I of my thoughts to that lovely post by a father who calculated what his stay-at-home wife and mother to his toddler would cost him if he had to pay for all the services she provides. But really it’s an open letter to all primary income earners in families, who are lucky enough to have a stay-at-home spouse, whether they be dads or mums in heterosexual or same-sex partnerships.

This post was important because it highlights a couple of key facts about partnerships. One, it is the woman who still shoulders the lion’s share of domestic duties, even if she is employed outside the home. Two, this work is unpaid. Three, this work is often goes unrecognised, which is what this lucky dad wrote about. He hadn’t realised, up until recently, how much his wife meant to him – in very practical terms as well as emotional. Him having a stay-at-home spouse allows him to go about his work without worrying about childcare dropoffs and pickups, what to cook for dinner, whether he has a clean shirt, whether the gas bill is due, or whether there is milk in the fridge. It is this kind of happy arrangement that has benefitted men for decades and that Annabel Crabb writes about in her brilliant book The Wife Drought. And I applaud Steven, and I know he probably feels like hiding in a corner at the moment with what sounds like an enormous response to his heartfelt post. I’ve been there. But as a woman and a mother, who has been both a SAHM and working mum, here’s a few suggestions as to how you, Steven, and all the other fortunate people who have a stay-at-home spouse, can really repay your beautiful wife (or husband). I apologise in advance if you are already doing all of this. You sound like a great guy, so it’s quite likely that you are. If you’re not, here’s what you could do.

1. When you come home, she needs to have a break. Even if you worked flat out without a break today, you at least had some quiet time on your commute home. So when you walk in that door, remember that she has had a full day giving your toddler all her attention – she’s been working, too.  She might not even have had a proper lunch. So you take the toddler, reconnect with him, and tell your wife to go and do whatever it is she has been longing to do all day – go for a walk, read a book, hide in her bed.

2. Let’s talk about groceries. Have you ever done groceries with a two-year-old? When you call her during the day, ask if there’s anything you can pick up from the shops. Chances are she’s run out of wipes or milk or forgot to buy garlic. Pick it up on the way home. On the weekend, offer to do the weekly grocery shop or better, ask if she wants to go to the store. Alone.

3. Laundry. Ask if you can help with a load of laundry. Every day. If there is a pile unfolded on the couch, do NOT, I repeat, do NOT ask why the house is messy. Simply pick up the clothes, fold them and put them away. If you see your wife coming out of the laundry with a basket, tell her you will put it up.

4. Spend a day with your toddler. Alone. Send your wife out for the day to do whatever she wants. At the end of the day cook dinner for your wife. This way you will really know what she goes through every day. Your appreciation for her will skyrocket. Extra points if you use minimal TV.

5. Never ever ask why the house is messy. If you start doing this, repeat Number 4. (I don’t mean to offend, your wife might keep an incredibly tidy house; if so, pay her double).

6. Let’s talk about finances, paying bills and all that admin. There are of course advantages to being able to do things during business hours like go to the bank. But lots of admin tasks can be done online. Yes, online, in the evenings, after work. Take over some of these. It’s a huge burden for your wife to look after EVERYTHING.

7. On the weekends, you are equals. You share childcare and domestic duties. You both deserve a weekend off. Her job of being exclusive carer to your child is not to spill over onto the weekend. Does your boss expect you to work on weekends and after hours? No? Remember, he is your child too. Do the diapers. Cook a meal. Give him a bath.

8. When your toddler wakes in the middle of the night, take turns to go to him. Yes I know you have to wake up and go to work but so does she. Take. Turns.

9. Holidays. Your wife needs a holiday every now and then from her job. See Number 4.

10. Just remember these four magic words that you should repeat as often as you remember. “How can I help?”

I promise you, if you do these things, you will repay her far more than any dollars will. She will feel equal, something she has probably struggled with since giving up her paid employment. Nothing is more polarising than having a family revert from a double to a single income. What she does is priceless, yes. But she doesn’t have to do it all. Once we start moving towards a more equal distribution of domestic labour, this parenting stuff will get easier. And if you’re already doing all of the above, well done. You really do get it. :)

Part 2 to come soon 😉

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It’s official. I’ve had 2.61 years of career disruption due to kids. I have all the dates; I even have a signed letter from my supervisor to confirm my years of maternity leave and part-time candidature. I need this for my fellowship application, because my “research output” will be assessed “relative to opportunity” – a new concept but a welcome one for others like myself who have taken a break, leaned out, along the years.

I have been saying to my colleagues that “This PhD is a doddle; building an academic career is the thing that is difficult”. I have wondered how life might have been without children – working ten hour days, weekends, writing and publishing and presenting and researching, building that “track record”. I’ve even had moments of fleeting envy when I leave at 4:30pm and see my childless colleagues free to stay until all hours of the evening, and on weekends to know they have the freedom to keep working, keep writing, keep up that research output.

And yet I have come to realise the truths that perhaps only parents understand: productivity is about quality, not quantity. Six solid hours is realistically what I can produce in one day; I have grand plans for the evening but after wrestling two small children into bed, lying down with them for half an hour, fending requests for water and a special blanket and more kisses, my brain is mush and I would rather watch cat videos on Youtube than write a paper.

Even more than this, my children give me something more than wide hips, grey hair and a quiet, desperate wish to one day complete my morning ablutions without an audience. They bring me meaning. They connect me to life itself. When I hold a tiny, chubby hand in mine, when I kiss a round cheek at night, when I breathe in that gorgeous warm just-woken-up smell and hold a soft little body in my arms in the morning, I know why I am here and why I am doing what I am doing. This is not to say that people without children do not have meaning in their lives; they do, of course, and in fact they have so much time to contemplate this sense of meaning too. Perhaps this is why, as a parent, connecting with our children is one of the most breathtaking experiences, because it occurs in the midst of utter tedium, repetitiveness, even boredom.

And those years of career disruption? To be sure, my career WAS disrupted. I have no papers published during that time. No conference presentations to put on my CV. It’s a gaping hole, that 2.61 years. And yet, on the other side, it was marvellous. It was filled with muslin wraps, long walks with the pram, sleepless nights, spew on my shoulder, delicious baby gurgles, toothless smiles, babycinos, trips to the library, quiet moments at home, noisy moments at home, dancing, scribbling, and lots of cleaning food off surfaces. It was marked by a feeling like I could never love more than I did that very moment, like my heart was exploding out of my body. It was a sense of awe, that I had been entrusted with the care, feeding and raising of these very special people. (It was also the hardest thing I have ever done. I have written of this previously.)

And so, to my children, I want to say this. Thank you for “disrupting” my career. Thank you for those years, the best years of my life.

Thank you for the way you love me without hesitation, without any judgement; for forgiving me for all the times I am distracted because I am thinking of my work, or my research, for loving me even though I am nowhere near perfect. 

Thank you for the way you remind me to be mindful and grateful of every single moment.

You are my guiding stars. Every evening I pack up my laptop and race home because I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again. (Sometimes I go for a run before holding you. But you know exercise makes mummy less cranky).

And every single morning, you give me a reason to get out of bed, to keep showing up. 

Thank you for making this trip worthwhile. 

 

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When my daughter turned four, I asked for birthday gift ideas. One was for a fairy door. A miniature door attached to the wall, where imaginary fairies emerge from. Given she is a huge fan of fairies in general, I went with this idea. Instead of ordering a $35 door marketed as a fairy door, I thought I would order a dolls house internal door (a hack I read about on the internet). I found a dolls house store on eBay and ordered a white wicker outdoor chair, a door knob, and some adorable accessories like a tiny broomstick, but yep, you guessed it, I forgot to order The Actual Door.

That was nine months ago.

Since then, “Order door” has been on my to-do list, but it has consistently made it to the bottom of the list below “Pay car insurance bill” and “Fill out kindy forms”. In other words, it became non-important, non-urgent. Time and time again that door order was bumped right to the bottom while I swashbuckled my way through a year of being a full-time PhD student, GP and mama. I wrote papers. I organised workshops. I took my kids to the dentist, allergist, and cardiologist. I analysed data. I did Christmas. And that fairy door was faithfully transferred from one list to the next, never quite making it up there. Until today.

Last night I awoke suddenly to a realisation. My daughter is going to be five soon. Before I know it, she will be six. Then seven. Then a teenager. Slowly, and yet not slowly enough, she is changing. She says Sesame Street is boring. She only wants to play with her friends (not me). She spends a lot of time alone in her room playing by herself. Life isn’t going to stop for us – the dentist appointments (sadly) will continue, the bills will keep coming in, my career will continue to burgeon and demand my attention. I will have school lunches to pack, recitals to attend, pap smears to get done (yay!)

One day I might wake up and it might be too late for that fairy door. That tiny piece of wood with six panels will only be that to her – a piece of wood. Not a magical doorway into fairyland and her imagination. That poor neglected door might finally arrive, if I ever get down to the bottom of my to-do list (it’s like the laundry – virtually impossible to clear) and she might not care a hoot for it. Non-important and non-urgent. But today, it went to the top of my list. Important and Urgent.

Urgent because time is passing as I busy myself with the tasks of raising a family and building a career, as we see birthdays, Christmas and Easter come and go each year like the ebb and flow of an unceasing tide. Tree goes up, tree goes down. Presents are wrapped and unwrapped. Each year marking a little bit more of a loss of this precious time, when imagination is at its peak, when my little girl starts every sentence with “Pretend I am…”

When will she stop pretending? When will she no longer believe in fairies and unicorns? I don’t know. But I don’t want to be too late.

So today, after taking a pause in the middle of writing yet another paper, I ordered the fairy door. And two tiny cat bowls (fairies have cats, don’t they?) A miniature pink mail-box, where she can put a tiny note to the fairies in. And a side table to go with that white wicker chair. (I almost ordered a set of four little celebration cakes and a miniature flower pot but I sensibly stopped myself).

Any day now, that door will arrive in the mail. We’ll paint it and put it up on the wall together with the fairy’s chair and table. And she’ll wait each morning to see what the fairy has done overnight. Eventually she’ll get bored of it and it will be forgotten. But not before I’ve had the chance to enjoy, to fully embrace, the marvel of childhood. The simplicity, the innocence, the beauty of this short time, before the fairy doors and unicorns and dolls and teddies are given away and packed in boxes and my children emerge into independent adults who no longer believe that fairies exist.

So much of child-rearing is important but not urgent. Today I learned that much of it is more urgent than we think. Over in a heartbeat, they say. During the long difficult baby and toddler months and years, this seems ludicrous, but the older my children get, the more I am appreciating it.

Important, and Urgent.

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By Paolo Neo [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
By Paolo Neo [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Time is a funny thing. When I became a parent, and then a working parent, it became a precious commodity. I am obsessed with it. Each half-hour of my life is carefully plotted out on an Outlook calendar. Like Annabel Crabb, I use the whole day like an Italian farmer uses every scrap of the pig. One thing was sure – I never feel like I have enough of it. Time, that is. But then odd things sometimes happen – I will fall into a pocket of free time, and not know what to do with it. And, coming across a tiny patch of “leisure time”, I do what any other adult with a smartphone would do – check Facebook. Or Twitter. Click on a link and read funny “Engrish” signs or watch cat videos on Youtube. Which is all very entertaining, and I do subscribe to the idiom “laughter is the best medicine”, but watching another video of a cat on a Roomba is surely not the best way to spend my life and fill up those empty “windows” that pop up unexpectedly – like when the kids are playing quietly instead of fighting over me. Additionally, I have started to become more anxious, with self-doubt starting to rise again. I felt rushed, but also like I wasn’t getting anywhere.

Yesterday I read a quote by Carl Sandburg that went

“Time is the most valuable coin in your life. You and you alone will determine how that coin will be spent. Be careful that you do not let other people spend it for you”. 

This was my first “aha!” moment for the year. I am going to manage my time firstly by living the life that I want to live, that I am meant to live – not the life I think I should live, or what others think I should  (though I am always open to suggestions). I can only be who I am – and that includes being a mother to two (currently small) children, and someone who doesn’t (yet) possess superhuman skills. Me with all my unique talents, quirks, personality traits, aptitudes, shortcomings, weaknesses and commitments. I am certain that this alone is enough to allow me to lead a wonderful life. I think the anxiety arising from feeling pressured to be someone else was contributing to the sense of feeling rushed and not having time, and paradoxically, driving me to hide in non-threatening activities like socialising on Facebook. I am going to be me, but will aim to be the best version of me that I can be. And that version will involve a little more reflection, learning, integrity, self-compassion, and that elusive concept, balance. I will attend to Quadrant II – important but not urgent activities. I will exercise conscious choice and cease the habit of reacting that I have slipped back into. Time is no longer something to be managed, but something to be spent wisely. So, I should really re-title this post “How I Plan On Spending My Time”.

I leave you with some words from Steve Jobs.

“Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.”

 

What about you? Do you feel as though you are spending your time the way you should? How do you decide how to spend your time? 

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http://freeaussiestock.com/free/New_South_Wales/sydney/slides/QEII.htmLessons
I’ve been thinking a lot about this mission of mine to slow down in 2015. I’ve had lots of metaphors going, but the ship metaphor has been my favourite. It doesn’t just apply to slowing down – it applies to many areas of my life that make me feel anxious, nervous or unbalanced. I was inspired in the first place by the following quote from Rear Admiral Grace Hopper:
“A ship in port is safe; but that is not what ships are built for. Sail out to sea and do new things.”
So here are the reasons I am going to be a mother ship in 2015 and beyond.
1. Ships are strong.
They’re designed by experts to weather the storms at sea and last for decades. They’re the world’s mightiest vessels. This helps me feel less vulnerable if I’m facing a new challenge with trepidation, or feeling a bit fragile or rough around the edges. (You know those moments when you feel like hiding under the quilt?) Ships are strong. I am a strong mother ship. I don’t crack under pressure.
2. Ships are made to weather the storms.
Kind of like (1) – ships are strong. They forge through a storm. I’m not a hopeless little rubber dinghy being batted about by the wind and waves. I am built to last through wild weather and then sail into calm waters. Because the storm always passes, eventually. I must remember this.
3. Ships need regular maintainence.
This is one of my favourite parts of the metaphor. Ships may sail out to sea but they always return to port, and have their barnacles lovingly scraped off, all bits checked and tuned, and repairs carried out. They’re only as good as how well they are maintained. This essential maintenance is scheduled in, to keep it strong, to extend its life, so it can keep on carrying its cargo. So in 2015 I am objectively scheduling in MY maintainence. To be honest, I am not actually sure what my maintainence should be, but it sure is an interesting exercise thinking about it. For me, at this stage of my life, I think I need regular physical exercise, down-time, some pampering, some reprieve from tight scheduling, and some fun. I need quality time with the kids and my husband. I need to see my girlfriends and have a laugh. I need mentoring. Inspiration. Kindness. And something to look forward to. Always something to look forward to.
4. Ships are graceful.
Not only are ships strong, but they exude a mighty sense of grace. They don’t get grumpy or flustered. They are as graceful as they are mighty.
5. Ships go places.
As in the quote, ships are made to sail the seas and explore. Ships do not hide in harbours, fearing the open sea. As long as the maintainence has been attended to, ships are built to take on risk. And, hopefully, this metaphor will help me as I face the changes that loom in the future – with more enthusiasm and less trepidation.
6. Even when ships are going fast, it feels like they’re not.
Instead of paddling a flimsy kayak furiously and going nowhere fast, if I go with the ship metaphor then I can imagine myself sailing effortlessly to my destination, wherever that may be.
It hasn’t been an easy week. I feel daunted by what I need to achieve this year – an 80,000 word thesis is in there somewhere. I’ve been meditating, almost desperately, to try to relieve some of my anxiety, which is probably counter-productive. But slowly, with practice, I’ll be able to transform my self image from tiny helpless kayak to strong, graceful mother ship. I’m looking forward to a more stable journey, a greater sense of strength, and of course, the maintainence.
What about you? How are you travelling at the start of 2015? What do you think your essential maintainence would be? 
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We went away, for three days. With no access to the internet and no phone reception. Which turned out to be a wonderful experience, as I was thinking about what I want for 2015. I reflected on 2014 and felt a sense of pride that we had made it through our gloriously exhausting year. 2015 feels rushed already, with many significant milestones to hit, a PhD thesis and papers to write, a new kindergarten to settle into (along with fairly working-family-unfriendly kindergarten drop-off times). I felt apprehensive and nervous; so it was a relief to have three days away from the relentless flashing red notifications of Facebook, Twitter and WhatsApp, to think and reflect.

But first, our holiday. We went to Daylesford, Spa capital of Victoria, though none of us got any spa time. (We did put the kids into the spa in our cottage but they were terrified!) Grandma came along for moral support. We stayed at Bergamo, a lovely two-bedroom cottage in the middle of peaceful countryside. They provided us free-range eggs for breakfast, and little goodies like this:

I saved this chocolate all to myself. The kids were having none of it!!!
I saved this chocolate all to myself. The kids were having none of it!!!

We visited a lavender farm, and had an outstanding Ploughman’s Lunch Platter; our kids were pleasantly surprised to be allowed to eat nothing but carbs that day (breadsticks and crackers, anyone?) and we enjoyed the peace that comes with said children eating bread. We wandered the lavender fields, saw lots of farm animals, and bought some lavender honey and essential oil.

Bowl of carbs on the right was consumed by the kidlets with gusto.
Bowl of carbs on the right was consumed by the kidlets with gusto.
We had many peaceful moments like this. These are my kids - I usually don't post photos of them to protect their privacy. But aren't they adorable? :)
We had many peaceful moments like this. These are my kids – I usually don’t post photos of them to protect their privacy. But aren’t they adorable? :)

On the way home, we stopped by a trout farm where each child caught one trout within minutes (not sure what they do to the trout but it’s guaranteed!!) and we enjoyed super fresh baked trout for lunch.

Smoked trout pate. Yum.
Smoked trout pate. Yum.
It was the kind of holiday where having a glass of wine every lunch time seemed the right thing to do. Certainly not something I will keep doing all year, but it was definitely pleasant :)
It was the kind of holiday where having a glass of wine every lunch time seemed the right thing to do. Certainly not something I will keep doing all year, but it was definitely pleasant :)

We had a great time. The kids got to see lots of farm animals and even went for a mini-hike. And while I didn’t get to finish the book that I ambitiously brought along to read, I managed to relax despite spending all day with the kids. I was surprised at how much I loved not having access to the internet. I felt uncluttered, more centred, calmer. It was quite enlightening.

After three days, I decided that what I want for 2015 is to learn how to slow down. The pace of 2015 might be lightning fast, but I need to feel as though I am coasting, or sailing, rather than paddling furiously. I am not quite sure how to do this yet, but this will be my mission for 2015. Slow. Down. (or learn how to). I have a feeling this will involve more meditation and less Facebook and compulsive email checking. I just don’t want to spend the rest of my life desperately trying to keep up. I am not even sure what I am trying to keep up with. Some call it life, but it feels like anti-life to me.

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I’m hoping you’ll all come with me again on this journey. This year I wanted to combine full-time work/study and being mummy to my gorgeous kids (and wife to my dear husband) as happily as I could. I feel like I have made a great start, but my mind needs to stop frantically scurrying about from one tiny detail of our life to another. It exhausts me and energy is what I need more of, not time. So thank you for being there this year, and here’s to another adventure in 2015. x

What do you want to work on in 2015? What’s your mission for the New Year? What do you really want? 

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I really don’t mean to whine in this post and I hope it doesn’t come across complaining. I have simply been pondering the question of what it is about parenting that makes it so hard. Children are a delight, surely? Shouldn’t they bring me joy, fulfilment, and aren’t they fun to be with? With all the tragedies reported in the media recently, my thoughts have turned to my relationship with my offspring, to that moment when you think “What really is the most important to me? When it’s a life and death situation?” Loud and clear, it is my family – not my career, not myself even, but my two children and my husband. If I could ensure they were safe, happy and healthy, and if I could see them every day, I have everything I need. And yet, I find myself longing for some time to myself; when it is approaching 9pm and we are struggling to get either child to go to bed (what is with that recently?) that is when I begin to fantasise about spending a night alone in a hotel room.

So what is it that makes being a parent so hard? Why do we get together to commiserate, why do we call it “crazy”, and why do we respond with “Oh God, No!” when well-meaning friends ask if we have plans to expand the family? This thought of mine is backed up by evidence from rigorous studies that show that parents report less moment-to-moment happiness than non-parents, but a greater sense of meaning overall. Yep, that’s me.

Well, sometimes it comes down to this. Kids can behave in ways that melt your heart. They give the best cuddles, they insist on holding your hand, they like dancing, they say funny and endearing things. They can be unbelievably sweet to their siblings. Sometimes they will eat something that you have botched up at dinner, something almost inedible, and they will say “Yum it’s so delicious, Mummy! Can I have more please!” (This is a true story. It happened just last night).

My days are peppered generously with sunny moments like these, like when my son first wakes and only wants to sit on my lap for ten minutes. I have a long, indulgent cuddle with him, and spend the ten minutes just inhaling the top of his head. (He smells amazing. Don’t all small children?) Then he toddles off to start the day and cuddles are fairly few and far between after that from my little dynamo.

Here’s the rub. This behaviour is by no means constant. There are all those moments in between, such as:

• the tantrum over being given Vegemite on toast instead of honey
• refusing to eat anything apart from processed cheese
• hitting, biting and scratching when they don’t get their way
• assuming “The Rod” position when they are supposed to be buckled into the stroller or car seat (see cartoon below if you are not familiar with this position)
• saying things like “Then I won’t be your friend!” or “You can’t come to my house any more” (something I actually find quite hilarious) when I tell her she cannot have a cookie before dinner, or that she has to have a shower
• sibling fights
• refusing to brush teeth, get changed, get into the shower, get into pyjamas, get into bed
• throwing a nutritionally balanced, lovingly cooked meal on the floor
• wriggling around during a nappy change
• whining

The fact is, children are human, and they are not meant to provide us with constant amusement, entertainment, and joy. (Wouldn’t it be such pressure on them if this was the case!) Children get tired and hungry; they have poor control over their impulses and emotions; they deal badly with frustration; they do not appreciate nutrition, hygiene and keeping to a schedule the way we do. They are only children, after all. We are in charge of raising them to be well-mannered, considerate adults who still have all their teeth and can keep appointments. This is often in direct conflict with what children really want to do.

I read an article today (I actually Googled “Why Is It So Hard To Raise Kids”) which really hit the nail on the head. A paragraph reads:

All this makes sense from a historical perspective, the scientists point out: In an earlier time, kids actually had economic value; they worked on farms or brought home paychecks, and they didn’t cost that much. Not coincidentally, emotional relationships between parents and children were less affectionate back then — and childhood was much less sentimentalized. Paradoxically, as the value of children has diminished, and the costs have escalated, the belief that parenthood is emotionally rewarding has gained currency. In that sense, the myth of parental joy is a modern psychological phenomenon.

And yet, I cannot deny that I do derive an indescribable satisfaction from raising my children, and cannot imagine my life without them. They are and always will be the most important parts of my life. I have long moved beyond suffering intense guilt from not always enjoying my children, but I continue to reshape the way I think about this parenting journey. It’s hard, raising children, the hardest thing in the world. But the events of this week, with the shooting of innocent parents and schoolchildren, has made me hold my children even closer, almost suffocatingly so, when I see them again. Because I’m so damn lucky to have them and have this day with them. Even days when my son is doing The Rod in the car seat.

http://ridingcoastal.com/tag/car-seat-cartoon/
http://ridingcoastal.com/tag/car-seat-cartoon/

 

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