Last week the 'boys' in our house took a little road trip. Mr Busy could not get his homework done quickly enough, nor pack with enough speed when we suggested he might like to accompany his Dad on a trip to install a coffee machine in some out-of-the-way country town in northern NSW.
This left us 'girls' with three nights at home without the pleasure of our menfolk to entertain us. The house was quiet. And calm. And peaceful. We all spent some of our time studying. With a student-free day on Friday, we spent some time catching up on episodes of 'Under the Dome' and 'Extant'. We enjoyed a shared pan of nachos without feeling like we had to hoard our share, because we just picked away at it til it was gone. No competition.
And then the boys came home. In a whirlwind of noise and teasing and general kerfuffle they arrived home at lunch time on Saturday, ravenous and prowling through the kitchen. I spent the entire afternoon telling Mr Busy "it was quiet while you were gone!" Indeed, I went and did grocery shopping all the way down in the suburbs to get away let the dust settle a bit!
I know when I've been away for the weekend without my family I find the reentry to family a little bit bumpy. Coming home drops you back in the deep end of refereeing arguments and fielding requests that begin with "Mum, can you...." or "Mum, can I...." like all those questions have been building up to be blurted out the moment you walk in the door. After a weekend away it's hard to come back to the full force of that. But what I discovered on Saturday is that when anyone in the family has been away there is a period of readjusting and resettling that is necessary. And not always that easy. My best reentries have happened when the family have been out and I've had an hour in the house on my own to reacquaint myself with my real life. I suspect that may be have been useful to remember when the boys came home. Mind you, they had been on a three-day sugar bender, so there was extra fuel behind that reentry noise!
The back seat of the car looked like an archeological dig - layers of rubbish that told a story.
We're back to normal now, and a visit to 'The Dish' as they drove through Parkes netted me a new thimble for my collection; a softening of the reentry whirlwind.
It's two weeks until the end of the term; three-quarters of our way through the school year and we are limping, people. Seriously limping.
Last week I didn't make a menu plan. Bad, bad mistake. Figuring out what to eat nearly brought me to tears more than once because I have lost my will to cook. It feels overwhelming and completely overrated and I daily wonder aloud why these people in my home think they need to be fed. Five. Times. A. Day. We are resorting to freezer meals and take away too often because I have lost my will to cook. In the words of Claire Huxtable from The Cosby Show: Sad and pitiful!
Mr Busy keeps asking about putting together a Gandalf costume for his Hobbit Party next week and I just can't make my brain work enough to think about what that even means. And then there are all the school holiday dates that I can't even make myself put into my phone. I know there's a Kids Church leaders thing, and movie days and a Uni thing and maybe a trip to South Australia for a few days. My brain is sludge and it won't cooperate with keeping those things straight in my head let alone putting them in my phone where they won't be forgotten.
To top it all off I am not waking up at the crack of dawn, even though it's light by 6am now. I am an early riser. I beat the birds all through the winter without a second thought. But two weeks before the end of the term and I'm struggling to get out of bed with the alarm that is waking me from a dead sleep.
Yes, we are limping. The girls are tired. Mr Busy has to be reminded ten times to do anything, including turning his light out at night. I am just doing the next thing and saying no to stuff I want to say yes to. Dh keeps telling me how tired he is and I have no sympathy for the poor man. The other day I told him "we're all tired, it's not unique to you so suck it up and get on with it". Not our finest moment!
The problem with this picture is that we're all sad and pitiful. None of us seem to capable of carrying another. In eleven sleeps we can stop going to school for a little bit. Eleven sleeps can't pass by soon enough.
Tonight....roast chicken. If I remember to pull it out of the freezer, and there are no guarantees between here and there.
How are you going this close to the end of the term?How do you protect yourself from being the worst end-of-term family?
I wonder how you handle those really big decisions in life? Those ones that occur at a major cross-road in life, but where there doesn't really seem to be a 'right' or 'wrong' way ahead, just a choice to be made.
When you come to the end of a season these decisions are inevitable and necessary, yet not easy to discern the path ahead. My degree will be completed in a mere 7 weeks + teaching rounds. By the middle of November I will have completed all the requirements of my course and be qualified to register as a teacher. I know this is what God wants me to be doing. He pushed me to enrol at University. It was an impression over my life that I simply could not escape. I could not disobey what I was being asked to do. God has reiterated that the response He requires from me is to teach. The big decision, for me, comes with questions about where will I be teaching.
Over the last few weeks I have been doing some major wrestling over the desire of my heart and whether or not that might be the same as God's will in regard to where I get to teach next year. The desire of my heart is so strong. To have to step away from that will mean heartbreak, one crack at a time for weeks and weeks. It would mean leaving where I am. Leaving the children I simply adore. Leaving staff I respect and love deeply. Leaving the shared history of knowing and being known by others. I can tell you, this possibility has caused more than a few tears.
Yet I know to my very core that being outside of God's will is not a pleasant place to be. Being in that place means that when the wheels fall off and things get tough everything is just harder because you're not where you're meant to be. Knowing you're in God's will when things go haywire makes it just a tiny bit easier to endure.
The last few weeks have meant wrestling my way to a place where I have been truly able to say not my will, but Yours. You know my heart and my desires and I hope there is a way for them to be the same, but I'd rather be where You want me to be. The future is uncertain. There is no clear direction with few opportunities to apply for at the moment.
And so in my waiting my prayer has become make my will the same as Yours and give me a passion for where You want me to be.
This image above gives you an idea of the beginning of Mr Busy's day, when he realised his PE clothes were hanging on the line. Wet. Whilst we don't have a uniform at Our School we do have a you-must-wear-appropriate-PE-attire-and-school-sports-shirt rule for PE classes, so I had to write a note, which I opted to email because you know, you don't hear about these details until three seconds before running out the door.
For you amusement...the note:
It is probably a little late in the day, but I promised Mr Busy I would email you about his PE attire today.Dh, the resident laundry guru (as in, I
have no idea how the laundry appears clean, dry and folded in this house!),
upset the normal laundry routine yesterday, which meant Mr Busy's PE clothes
were all wet this morning.You can't
imagine how upset he was that he wouldn't have the right clothes, because I
have passed down my rule-following genes.It took a bit of convincing that normal clothes would OK this once,
considering the alternative (ie wet clothes that would stink, or ... nothing at
Hope the day has been bright for you both :)
I didn't end up emailing til late in the day because Miss Mischief left information for a SAC on the table so I uncharacteristically dashed back to school for her. I never take homework to school after we've left home (you know, if I was home to do it on a normal day), but this was an assessment thing, and I knew she would stress out over it. In payment, she is now my slave for life, which will includes shoulder rubs whenever I desire. It's a small price I'm sure.
Parenting older teens is a completely different prospect than I ever imagined for my life as a mother. Back when I began this journey with a teeny little one (and I do mean teeny, Miss Sunshine was just under 6lb when she was born) I could only imagine myself as a mother of little people. Indeed when Mr Busy finally went off to school it took me six months to adjust to the reality that I no longer had really little people in my house. I don't know, those Prep's at school look mighty little from my perspective now!
If I could write a letter to my very much younger self I would tell me to embrace every moment of having small people because day I will blink and all of a sudden all my children will be bigger than I and they will no longer fit on my lap (and Mr Busy has not fulfilled his promise that I could sit on his knee when he got bigger than me!). And those endless early days of 'peak hour parenting'? They will be gone in the blink of an eye and don't roll your eyes, even to yourself. You have no idea how quick that endless time goes by. It's an oxymoron...the quick and the endless. It's just how it is so embrace every moment: the tantrums, the illnesses, the cuddles, the innocent "I love you's", the funny pronunciation of new vocabulary, the "You can't tell me what to do" statements of a brazen (read: silly and unwise know-it-all) 3yo....all of it.
I would tell myself to stress less about the toilet training. It will not be the worst part of parenting. That will come when you have two learner drivers in your house. And they will try to kill you and crash your car every time they drive. Almost. Every day. For two years. Toilet training lasted about 9 months between the three of them and your life was not at risk. Embrace the toilet training and its safety. Frustration has nothing on fear-for-your-life. Be satisfied with 'frustrated'.
Those nights when you were up changing sheets because you had children vomiting in the middle of the night. More than once? And the chest infections and snot and slobber? Yeah, that won't last forever either. One day your 18yo will be able to make it to an appropriate receptacle AND clean up after herself. Yeah, baby!! You will feel like you won the lottery on that one. It starts to happen around 10yo. By the time they are 18 you can leave them at home on their own for the day with the instruction to drink lots and avoid dairy. They will be just fine. And the nearly 17yo who goes to bed with a fever and wakes with a cough-her-lungs-out cough? She'll be fine on her own too. In fact, you'll leave her asleep in the morning and scrawl out a note reminder her to study around the coughing and be ready to write an essay assessment in the 100 minutes you'll have at home that night.
I do not know where the years and the little people have gone! I still look at these three and wonder how they got all the way up past me in height. But even though I was petrified of having teenagers these three have made it almost easy. There is the 'blip' and the 'dumb thing' here and there. And the teary tantrum because one's sense of justice has been breached. But they are just this beautiful overflowing of God's grace on a mother who wanted the second coming to happen before the oldest one turned 13.
Mothers of Little People? Don't be afraid of the teens you will have in your house. Teens can be so amazing. Not just mine either, there are a whole bunch of them in my girls' classes at school that are simply incredible. You know when you look at other people's teens and say to yourself "I want my child to grow up like that"? 'That' can actually happen! But don't wish away the Little People phase of life either. Cuddle them lots. Laugh with them more. One day you'll blink and they'll be learner drivers who can take care of themselves when they're sick. Who knew?
I am in a rut. It's not a pleasant rut and I wish I could wriggle and inspire myself out of it, but it doesn't seem to be happening. What I have learnt in the last few years is that when I am busy and my mind is completely focused in other areas, cooking a meal at the end of the day is this hugely stressful mountain to climb. Which is silly. I can cook a meal almost with my eyes closed, I've been doing it so long. I think it is more that it's another thing I need to get done in the day.
This past weekend I just could not get to the supermarket. At. All. I worked really hard on Friday night to get some assignment work done. I was out all day Saturday, home long enough to cook a dessert and then out for dinner. Slept all afternoon on Sunday to recover. But no shopping. And no desire to shop. But I have some stuff floating about in the places I keep food so I've cobbled together a menu that requires no shopping beyond some butter, bread and fruit. Here we go:
Monday: Meatloaf, vegies (last of my Costco mince) Tuesday: Pasta with bacon & tomato sauce (another of my meals made with Costco staples) Wednesday: Beef casserole (bought the meat last week and didn't end up making that meal) Thursday: Freezer meal (because whatever...I just can't do it every night!! and thank you Costco) Friday: Tuna and rice (Dh brought home an abundance of milk...tuna always in the cupboard)
As of Friday there will officially be 3 lamb chops and about half a kilo of chicken thigh fillets. I really will need to shop next weekend, but for now I'm pretending supermarkets don't exist.
You know spring is imminent when the daffodils begin to peak up out of the frigid ground. And a little sunshine with a smidgen of warmth offers even more hope!
I don't know about anyone else but this winter feels like it has been colder than I remember winter being in recent years. I'm always inclined to choose winter over summer when asked for my preferred season but my toes seem to have been cold for weeks, now. Any season is welcome, in my book, apart from the vicious, brutal heat of summer. We don't get the humidity like they do in the north of the country but my goodness, a 45C day will melt anyone's bones. And sanity.
With just a couple of months until I finish studying I'm starting to dream about vegie gardens and having the time to potter about one, should I ever manage the work of planting it out. Home-grown tomatoes and zucchinis a-plenty....I really do miss having a garden that grows yummy food.
In the meantime I'll just have to make do with photos of a stitchery I did, which hangs in my parents' home.
Look at all those pretty flowers, lovely rows neat beds of vegetables and tidy shed. Yes, a bit of a pipe dream. Maybe if I dream a little harder some little vegetable gardening fairy will decide to just drop a raised garden bed box or two outside my family room window and plant things that will grow despite my brown thumb. I killed ivy once; don't even ask! All I can say is the soil in Our Town makes even me look good! It grows things despite my garden-killing ways.