Drowning

I hear the car's tyres crunch on the driveway.
The gentile squeak as it stops.
The bang as the car door closes and the creak of the gate.
The door knob rattles.
I hold my breath, teeth clenched as I see your face.
You're scowling again.
What is it now?
"How was your day?"
"Good."
And like that you are back out the door, leaving the tension behind.
I am suffocating in it.

When you smile my heart skips a beat.
It is like sunshine fills my heart and birds my ears.
But your smile?
I haven't seen in a while.
Have I done something wrong?
Talk to me.
Just talk to me.

I stumble.
I falter.
It's easy to be mad when the scowl is so frequent.
I want to help you, but I can't if you don't let me.
Let me in. I am stronger than you know.

Frustration fills me.
Anger.
I feel the tug as you pull me down with you.
Is this what you want?
To drag me under.
You're drowning me.

Please, fight.

Embarrassing Stories

I'm guest posting over on the very wonderful Where's My Glow today, for a He Did What? involving Mr Black.
Pop on over and leave the ever so wonderful Glowless some comment love, follow her too, trust me you won't regret it!

Making Mountains Out Of Molehills?

Women.
I know as a woman, I often feel like I'm running on a completely different wavelength to men. At least the men I know.
The way things are processed, interpreted, and then finally reacted to.
But is there a right and wrong way? Is one sex more justified in the way they feel and how they choose to let other's know about it?
If the situation above happened to me, I would react in the exact same way as Jay. Probably with not as much sass, comedy and class. I watch it with giggles and nods because everything she says would be a thought in my head.

Would it be a thought in yours?
Do you feel like you run on a different wavelength to your partner?

If I had a dollar for every time I was told "You women make mountains out of molehills" I'd be a billionaire. Is it that we take things too seriously? That we overreact or are overemotional? Or is it that men can be emotionally shunted? Maybe even self induced because "men aren't supposed to feel"? Or maybe it's simply that some people (because I do not feel this is necessarily limited to men are this women are that, but I do tend to see the polars in most relationships) are a lot more relaxed about relationships, or what their partner is thinking or feeling or doing than others?

What are you like? 

How to find yourself castrated by the end of the week.

Mr Black has been at it again, doing the usual blokey stuff. I guess the extra testosterone means they cannot help but be more of a pain in the arse than the child prodigy's?
Please oh dear bloggers tell me I am not alone in the daily findings of cleaning up more after the "grown up" men, because it's seriously doing my head in!
So in honor of my long and shitty week here are 7 ways to ensure that your boiled balls will be served up to you for dinner by myself, the wonderful and ever pleasant Miss Pink. *Cue dazzling and innocent smile*

1. Dear we have been through this a thousand times in the many years we have been together, if you make the mess, you clean it up. Don't want to use a bread board to butter your bread? Fine. Just don't leave the crumbs there for me to find. Turn around, grab the dish cloth and neatly wipe the crumbs into your hand. The key word is hand here, because if I find the said crumbs on my neatly swept floors that will guarantee you a quick trip to the chopping block.

2. That lovely big blue basket that sits in our doorway, it's your clothes hamper. When you take your dirty clothing off put it IN the hamper, not on the floor next to it. If your clothes are not in the hamper I will not wash them on wash day, and if you complain to me about not having something clean I will ask you "Was it in your hamper? No? Not my fault." I know you think that because I am a stay at home mum I really have nothing better to do than sort through your clothing and try to work out what is clean and what isn't, but I honestly don't really have the time for that. I have more important things to do, like tweet.

3. Following on from #2, I am not responsible for putting your clean folded clothes away, because I frankly don't want to be woken at 6am to be asked where something is. Your children, who are 20 years + younger than you are able to put their clothes away, so I think its time you learnt this valuable life skill too. Putting them away does not include putting them in piles on the floor. You have drawers, use them, or I will assume that you have left them empty for me to fill, and that is your blessing for a shopping spree.

4. This goes back centuries, outside = man's job, inside = woman's. No I will not mow the lawn, sweep paths, garden, take out the bins or wash the car. Call me sexist, but I have enough to bloody do inside the house. You are a clever man, you can manage all of that yourself. If you were smart you would let the kids help you, after all that's what children are there for. Child labour.

5. I don't know how many times it has to be said, if you use the toilet put the toilet seat down. And for the love of all things that have the sense of smell flush the bloody thing! I don't need to panic when someone drops in and check the toilet has actually been flushed.

6. For the love of my sanity take your dirty shoes OFF before coming inside. Please do not walking all through the house before making your way back to the door you came through and then taking them off. It really does make a difference in how often I have to vacuum, another thing that I would rather avoid so I have more time to blog. It would also be nice if you turned things OFF when you are done with them. Not watching TV anymore? Turn it off. Done with the stove, yeah buddy it'd be nice if that was turned off too (I am not kidding in the slightest, this really does happen, and regularly). Laughing when I freak out at the fire hazard, burning of the children hazard that you left for the entire duration of dinner is not a way to diffuse the situation, just a way to have me testing my castrating skills with the daggers I am shooting from my eyes.

7. Finally, and this will be the last time I say it, do not tell me to hurry up when we are getting ready to go somewhere. I am a woman, if you want me to look my best it takes time. Also, I have 2 children to get ready and pack for, children you never offer to dress or pack for. It takes you roughly 10 minutes because all you have to do is put clothes on and have a smoke before getting into the car. I need to feed the children, wash mine and the kids faces, brush our teeth, do our hair, pick out our clothes and get us dressed, put makeup on,  clean up after said meal, pack a bag full of everything we could possibly need, find our shoes (why is there always one missing?), put our shoes on and then finally load us into the car. If you would like me to be faster maybe try offering your help. I will probably look at you like "Dude, there is no time for a quickie, no, go away." But if you genuinely want us to be ready faster you will accept this is the price you have to pay.

So please dear, take all of this into account. That and the fact I am raising your children, and I quite obviously have the power to turn them gay by suggesting they cook with me in the kitchen, much to your horror.
Your ever loving and devoted babymama

This is all very tongue in cheek, and laced thick with sarcasm. I can ensure my children are not chain ganged, I could not care less their sexual orientation (not that I believe they have one yet), nor would I really cut off Mr Blacks balls, that would create far too much of a mess and undo all my cleaning efforts. But I may just lock him outside and throw objects at his head. 

Unschooling.

Last year when debating weather or not to send Bluey to school homeschooling briefly became an option. An option because I felt that homeschooling could be ok.
I am not an anti-homeschooler. I can see how it could be beneficial to some children. I do feel that school is important at some stage. For me personally I think from grade 2 onwards.
Homeschooling was something we considered mostly due to Bluey's age. Mr Black felt it important he went to school though, from Kindergarten onwards, and so we enrolled him.

Last night has been the first time in the 86 days of school that I have had an issue with something that has been sent home. Bluey's home reader, he gets a new one each day and he reads it to us before bed. Last night's home reader was called "Mum's Diet" and the story was basically about mum talking about how fat she is and thus needing to go on a diet.
Is this really appropriate for a 5 year old?
Firstly, kids shouldn't have to be worried about their weight, size or shape.
Instead of the story taking an education route and talking about how to eat a balanced diet and the importance of exercise, all it discussed was the Mum complaining that she is "fat" all the time and making the children live off of a diet of lettuce and tomatoes, nothing else. So it wasn't even talking about a well rounded diet, and it was making lettuce and tomatoes sound like unfavourable foods. The children complained about having to eat the lettuce and tomatoes, asking for spaghetti instead, and the mother said no they couldn't have it because she didn't want to have to watch them eat it. They then went to their fathers house to ask him for food because they were hungry.

As Bluey read this i was thinking to myself 'This isn't a very appropriate book' and Mr Black, who almost never pays attention said to me "This doesn't sound like a very appropriate book?" My thoughts exactly. By the time Bluey finished his story I was hit with the questions.
"Mum, what is a diet?"
"A diet is when some people choose not to eat any junk foods or special treats like we sometimes have."'

"Mum, why does it matter if the mum in the book is 'cuddly'?"
"It doesn't sweetie. You know how some of your friends have a different hair colour or eye colour to you? Well the same goes for how tall you can be or how wide you can be. Sometimes if you eat too much junk foods you can get very wide and it might make you sick, but sometimes people are just that size and it's ok because they can still be fantastic people to be friends with."

"Mum, why does the dad live in a different house? Were the kids allowed to eat his food?"
"Some parents don't live together. It's sad, but sometimes it happens. The kids still have two parents who love them very much though. I'm not sure if they were allowed to eat his food? Did they ask their mum first?"

"Mum, what's wrong with eating lettuce and tomatoes?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I like lettuce and tomatoes do you?"
"Yes."

While I am happy to teach my child about the importance of a good diet, I fail to see how this book provided it in any sense and I am upset it made my child question food he enjoys to eat because the book made it out to be food that shouldn't be enjoyed.

Have you ever had a piece of homework, maybe a book like us, that has come home from school with your child and you have found it inappropriate? Did you alert the teacher? Did you still allow your child to complete that work?

That Knot.

Image from here

It's back.
That knot, it's tightening.
At first I feel nauseous, like someone has their hand clenching around my stomach forcing the bile to rise up into my lungs. Then, as my lungs slowly fill with this acidic tar I find the nausea doesn't seem so bad compared to the lack of breath. Suddenly I am having trouble breathing. I can't breath in without a stabbing pain, and my head starts to spin as my eyes become eagerly aware of every little thing in the room. Those little things don't seem so little anymore though.
The way someone sits. Should I be sitting like that?
How people are able to look others in the eye. Why can't I do that without feeling like the other person is seeing right through me, and looking at the awful person I am?
How happy people seem to be talking to others. The laughter, the chattering that comes effortless. Instead people feel rather awkward with me.
The constant sway of Am I trying to hard? Back off. Oh no, now you're seeming disinterested and they think you're being rude.
And finally the I need to get out of here now, which leaves you running for the bathroom as fast as possible because making it home isn't fast enough. You're in the throws of a panic attack and suddenly even a toilet cubicle feels extremely big and open so you curl into a ball on the toilet seat wrapping your arms around your knee's and rocking willing yourself to calm down enough to get home.

The hardest part about anxiety is trying to explain it to others. To those who don't have to live through it, avoiding the triggers, naturally doing things that calm you down and keep your mind busy because if you let yourself rest for even a moment you may be hit with a flood of emotions which sometimes leave you making the crazy cat lady look sane.

And so what I am about to tell you will have you scratching your head thinking why would she do that to herself?  The answer is here.
On Saturday I am going to be stepping out, my first public appearance if you will, and thanks to much encouragement I will be attending the Sydney Digital Parents Meetup. That is, unless I chicken out in the next 6 days, which is highly likely. I am counting on you to NOT let me do that. 
To say I am nervous is a huge understatement. I cannot explain the swirl of emotions inside of me. The girl behind this small blog, meeting with blog Superstars, but it is something that I want to do. I do. There is excitement in that swirl of emotion, I promise. So you know, if you want to put a face to the name, be there, or be square. 

Do you live with social anxiety? Have you ever tried to face it? What did you find helped? 
Even if you don't suffer social anxiety have you ever faced a fear? What was it, and how did you go? 

Distrubia

Da-De-Dum  Dum-Dum-Da-Dum-Dum.

You work yourself hard all day. Physically hard. You do this so that when bedtime comes your body is beyond exhausted. You collapse into bed with your last drop of energy only to be hit with the never stopping busy highway of your mind. Thoughts that race by, you try to grab at them but they are too fast. You try to ignore them but they are too loud. So noisy all you can hear is a roar so loud it keeps you awake.
Hours tick by and your still yet to slip into that blissful slumber you so desperately need. You crave.

Image from here

So when you wake the next day you push yourself harder hoping that if you push harder sleep will come more easily than the night before. But it doesn't. It never does. And so you're left listening to the busy traffic of your mind each night, hoping that after a few hours it will almost become a hum of background noise.

Exhausted.
Yep, you have that covered.
Tired.
Even that one.
Does sleep come though?..

Do I have to Grow Up?

Recently Jodie over from Mummy Mayhem blogged about being a parental influence on our children. She asked some very good questions, like how did our parents affect us? And how are we affecting our children? 
This got me to thinking about my parents influence growing up, and how I may be affecting my kids. Well, I had a bit of a word vomit and decided to share my experience and my hopes for my children with all of you. But please click the link above and check out Jodie's (much better put) post about her experience. Don't forget to leave her some comment love!

Before my ex all I ever wanted was to be a mum and at home with my kids. He did not want kids, and with time it rubbed off on me and so I no longer wanted children or to be married when I met Mr Black. Life obviously had other plans for me and well here I am a SAHM and this is my element.
Prior to becoming a mother i studied Early Childhood and worked in a childcare centre. Coincidence? Maybe.
During school I always excelled, but come high school I lost the drive and settled into just being "smart" rather than brilliant, and I stopped putting effort in. My parents never pushed me or congratulated me with my straight A's, and they didn't notice when those A's dropped to B's.  However they did celebrate if my younger sister got a C, so I had zero external motivation.
I knew early on in high school I wanted to be an adolescent psychologist. People and the way their minds work fascinate me. I elected most of my subjects for year 11 to help me with this and getting into university. Going to uni was always a given for me by everyone a I knew, but by the time year 11 ended I just knew I wasn't going. I do feel stupid now that I didn't make the effort to go, so that I could provide better financially for my children, children at the time I thought I was not going to have. Many people i have seen since finishing school have all been shocked when they learnt I never went to uni.
My boyfriends before Mr Black were always very well educated and I am sure now they would be making money easily. Mr Black left school at the end of Year 9, with not very good grades.

As for my kids, I (will) push them. Not in an over the top way, but I get them to push themselves at the level they're at. I will make learning fun for them and help them to set goals and challenges. Greenie is a bit young, but Bluey and I talk all the time how important school and "education" is. Not because I need him to be a Brain Surgeon or Rocket Scientist, but I have put it to him by saying "The more you learn and the more you know then the more things you will be able to be when you grow up. That means that you won't have to miss out on something you might want to do when you're older." And that seems to satisfy him.
He told me the other day he wanted to be a fireman.
'A Fireman' I thought, 'What a wonderful job!' I just want him to be the best person he can be, to be kind to others and happy and be able to provide easily for his own family one day.

Right Here, Right Now.

Pain. 
The Oxford Dictionary defines pain as highly unpleasant physical sensation caused by illness or injury.
Sore. Unbearable. Hurt. You feel this, either emotionally or physically, but either way you are uncomfortable. 


Urban Dictionary says pain is weakness leaving the body. 
Weakness leaving the body? Does this suggest the more pain we feel the more immune we are to the hurt it gives us? No. But I do agree that sometimes we need to feel pain first in order to be free of it, at least partially.  Other wise we might combust. 


The worst pain is the pain you are feeling right now. Not yesterday's. Nor is tomorrow's relevant. The pain you are feeling right now in this moment is your concern and you couldn't give two shits what's to come, or what you have felt in the past. It's just you and your pain, here and now. 
Remember pain is a thing that will pass. Sometimes quickly, sometimes it will feel like you are hooked up intravenously to your very own pain drug, but it will pass, eventually. 


Hold on. 

A Year Round Love

Saturday Grateful posts are one of my favourite times of the week. I enjoy seeing what people come out with. What was different in their week as opposed to mine. Or perhaps, what was the same but they saw in a whole new light.

It's something that I find really amazing in itself. 

Anyhow moving on. This week I am grateful for schedules and lists. It is no secret that I have been struggling with organisation since the move. Something I can usually pride myself on! This week I was very inspired by a post over on Mummy Mayhem and after a week of stuff up's, I sat down yesterday and started drafting a full blown schedule including times for school pick up's and drop off's, what is needed for school on what day, what housework is to be done on what day, Greenies appointments and even time for blogging. The exception is weekends. I grouped both Saturday and Sunday together (as we currently have no sporting commitments) because I only have a handful of things I need to do in preparation for the new working/school week, meaning the rest is freed up so we can do family things or individual things, or whatever else. 

It's not finalised yet, but it's coming along pretty nicely. I can see it helping me when i'm having a frazzled day, as all I will need to do is look at the schedule and know what I need and where I need to be on any given day. 

This is something that will not only make my day to day life easier, but my year easier. I am so very very grateful for it!

That Kid

We have all talked about it.
The "that kid" that annoys all of us.
The fear of one of our own becoming "that kid".
But lets face it, our kids are "that kid" to someone, at some time, and we will always have a "that kid" in our life.
If "that kid" happens to be a kid from school, i think it's simpler. They're only an issue at school, and you can opt to not continue that friendship out of school, to avoid play dates.
But what do you do when "that kid" is a friends child? A friend you love and care for, a friend you have known before their children came along. But every time you are with your friend their kid drives you nuts.
For some of us it's kids that never use their manners, or it could be the child that whines about everything, perhaps this the "tornado child" aka the kid that seems to walk in and destroy a place in the blink of an eye, or it could be the rough and rumble type who is always hurting you or others.
At first you tell yourself 'Okay, this is just kids, mine sure as heck aren't perfect, they will learn, it's just a phase.' But slowly time passes and you find that the little tricks this kid knows irritate you more and more until you find yourself thinking 'I'd rather not catch up with my friend.'

Please tell me i'm not alone! I try to be patient. I know my kids have their annoying traits! I have heard others i am close with talk about this themselves, but i haven't ever had someone with an answer of what to do to keep that friendship without dreading catching up because "that kid" will be there.

I'd also like to know if any of you have experienced a confrontation as a parent of "that kid"? I have never heard of this happening before, but if you have, or know someone who has, what did you do?

Why I use cloth

Today I am guest posting over on Cloth Nappies Are Fun, so pop on over and say Hi to Tat and check out my cloth journey.

What happens when you run out of time?

This week i'm going to keep it simple.
I have a theme with these Grateful Saturday posts, and it is usually trying to bring up the smaller things, the simple things, the things we all tend to have in plentiful to remind me that life is blessed, and sometimes lots of crazy stuff is happening, but that small stuff is almost always there.

We just forget about it until we lose it.
This week i'm grateful for being busy.
I have had a busy week. Very busy. A lot to do, most if it things that do not interest me at all right now, like lots of it being housework, but i realised sometimes it's good to have that kick up your bum that makes you do all the things you otherwise put off, things you have been putting off, and then once they're done. They're done. You sit down aching muscles from the tiredness, but that feeling of "it's done".
So, i'm grateful for that. For getting things done.

Picture from here

The Almost Adoption

I was recently inspired by a post over of So Now What where the beautiful Bern shares her adoption story, to post a story of my own and adoption.

It was a warm sunny morning, a week before my nineteenth birthday when i looked down and saw two very bold lines on my pregnancy test i had picked up the night before from the supermarket with shaking hands. My period had been 2 weeks late, and i was adamant that it was "still coming" even though i had never been even a week late my entire "woman-hood". Mr Black begged for a few days after i admitted i was late for me to please just take a bloody test. I stuffed the doomstick into my dressing gown pocket and got ready for work in a daze.
Mr Black worked evenings at this time and the only time we got to speak to one another was my lunch break at work, i told him the news and was greeted with the words "I'll take care of this". He didn't say the word, but i knew what he meant. Abortion. What else do you think of when you're 20 and 19 and have only been dating for 2 months?
The word hung heavy in my mind for days and days. I was all set on doing it, that this was what was best, we were both still living with our parents, not even together, we couldn't raise a child surely?
All the while i had an uneasy feeling in my stomach, and it wasn't the morning sickness. A nagging feeling that this wasn't right. It took me i'd say about a week or more all up to work out just what it was, but it was the feeling that i couldn't have an abortion knowing that i could continue with the pregnancy and later give the baby up to someone who couldn't have a child of their own for some reason.
And that became my answer, that i couldn't end something so beautiful and precious. Mr Black respected my decision. As he put it "I'd rather a life with you than without you, whatever that means."

More time, more thought passed and after talking with some very dear friends at the time they counselled me into a decision i guess i had made from the start, that "Whatever decision you make it is YOUR decision that YOU will have to live with for the rest of your life. You need to make that decision prepared to do it all on your own if it comes down to it, but you need to make it knowing that once you do it's something you cannot take back." Those words have stayed strong with me to this day over 5 years later.
Eventually i realised that i felt the need to own my mistake. Everyone thinks "It isn't going to happen to me"I know i was one of them. But it does. Fact of the matter is, if you have unprotected sex you're playing a game with the devil. Sex after all is what makes babies. And so knowing that if i gave up my baby for adoption i would forever wonder about him, even if things didn't work out between Mr Black and myself that i would rather parent this baby alone than not have this baby, my baby. So i told Mr Black, who was nothing but supportive. I know he would have preferred for me to just get an abortion at the time, but now? He wouldn't change a thing. He said to me at the time "Well we're just doing all that we planned, just a few years earlier than expected." And he was right, and i think that no matter what age we become parents we all make mistakes, we all wish for things we didn't or don't have at the time, but if you love your child wholly and would do anything for them, well that's all that matters isn't it?

Seven months later i gave birth to Bluey.