Six months

My boy, all 7.18kg of squishiness, is six months old. He's well and truly come alive.

From a frail, tiny being in a humidicrib to a squishy ball all legs a-kicking.

He's a little pork dumpling of joy. In fact, Goosey is often worried that if we take him to the dumpling restaurant he will be mistaken for one.

He giggles and smiles with delight at most things. Will drop his lip at strangers. His eyes light up when he sees his Dad and his sisters. His legs kick furiously with excitement, busting to get out there and on with life.

He's laid-back and calm, but has a cheeky glint is his eye.

He had his jabs yesterday and looked like Bruce Banner just before he turns into the Incredible Hulk.

He's having his first taste of solids today.

I can't imagine life without him. And despite his night time shenanigans he's pure, 100% joy.

D with his tired and old-looking mama. 

The little things

Lately, I've been going through this weird, stupid, ridiculous time. I kinda feel like the world, the government, the universe or someone is against me. There have been mistakes, mix-ups, accidents, bad luck.

It feels like one battle after another some days.

Just when I'm wringing my hands and shouting: "Are you serious?!" one little thing happens that keeps me going, that stops me from throwing in the towel. It's often simple, inconsequential to the person giving it but means the world to me.

A supportive comment on this blog, a kind act from a stranger, a text from Skip, a funny conversation with the girls, a giggle from D.

It's amazing how much positive fuel we can make for ourselves from one tiny action.

It's a great lesson to learn, but can I have a few smooth weeks now? Please?

Just another boring sleep post

It's now four weeks since the boy's sleeping went awry and I'm worn out. Boringly, frustratingly worn out.
He slept so wonderfully, I thought I'd finally got my 'good' sleeper after years of dealing with non-sleeping children. Not so, it seems.

Everyone keeps telling me I should be happy that he slept well for a time. It some ways though, it's more frustrating as I know he can do it, so why isn't he doing it now?

I'd be fine if it was once or even twice a night, but it's usually 3 or 4 or more times a night. Last night he was up 4 times, 3 of those times for longer than an hour each. This doesn't include the times that Goosey got up.

I'm tired. Skip's tired. My back and legs ache from settling and holding and rocking. It's so ridiculously boring.

My head is fuzzy and I'm not with it at all.

So let's forget about all that boring stuff and concentrate on the good. Like Mad Men and the fact that it's coming back, very soon!

It looks like everybody kicked a goal

The Castle

Life is a bit of a blur at the moment. I'm struggling with the dropping kids at school and preschool and then picking them up again. In theory it sounds like an easy, quick and simple thing to do, but by 10am I've got kids in and out of car seats six times, then 2.30pm rolls around and we do it all again. I feel like D and I live in the car carting the girls around to and fro. It's all a lot busier than I thought it would be. On top of that there's swimming lessons, preschool meetings, school social events, kids parties, etc, etc. Being sleep deprived and a bit frazzed, I don't have the time I thought I would with the kids out of the house. Poor D is the baby on the run who just has to nap and eat wherever and whenever.

In the rush of the mundane it's also easy to forget that these are little people doing amazing things for the first time. Instead you think of them as packages that need to be distributed.

Yesterday, I tried to take some time with each of them, just a couple of minutes to take note of what they've grown into.

Lil-lil is so grown-up. She reckons she's so good at reading that she can do it with her eyes closed. She's got a complicated social life with friends and bestest best friends that change on a daily basis. She's hanging out to win Student of the Week at assembly. She's learning big lessons, like looking after her school hat (already lost) and her lunch box and that the playground is a big, rough place.

With Goosey she punches so far above her three years that it's easy to forget she's learning so much and growing too. How to bond and find her own place in the world and with her friends. She's finding a place where she's not Lil's crazy little sister. That "birds keep eggs under their bums or else the eggs will shiver". She can now draw the happiest little people and love hearts. She only plays with the boys.

D is a far cry from the scrawny little boy pulled out too early. His thighs are impressively chubby. He's reaching for things and grabbing, trying to move and desperate to roll around. He can even pull his sister's hair, the first step in his revenge plan, no doubt.

The best part of being a parent is watching them kick their goals, no matter how small they are. I just need to remind myself to look occasionally and not get lost in the day-to-day.

I've got your back

For the longest time, I thought to survive and be a 'grown up' you had to be tough. Present to the world that you had it together. Fake it to you make it. Never show fear, never show uncertainty. Don't rely on anyone. Be better than the Joneses.

I've learnt that is a load of crap and a pretty sad way to live your life. In part, blogging and being 'out there' has shown me that it's far better to be honest, vulnerable and occasionally lean on others. Be sad when you're sad, be happy when you're happy. Crushing down the facade makes for a richer life.

I've learnt there's a different between being whingy and being honest. Between being needy and needing people. That we're all a little crazy some times. That most of the time I haven't got a clue.

I'm really lucky that I have a group of friends who I trust, who are supportive and are there no matter what. It took me a long time to find people like that. Some are in the same boat and can empathise when I feel like the mundane nature of motherhood is going to send me mad. Others have completely different lives but we relate as people, love hearing about each others worlds and support each other.

I find it hard to be around people these days who feel they need to promote an image of perfection. No life is perfect and it's perfectly OK to admit that some days. I'm so far from perfect. I make so many mistakes each and every day. 

It's so important to have people you can say to: "I'm struggling," when they ask how you are, rather than a tight lipped "Oh I'm fine." Who will listen without judgement, make you a strong cup of coffee and then make you laugh. They are also the same people who cheer on your achievements too. Who breathe a sigh of relief when a tough time has past.

I recently had an email from a friend who said: "I know you probably feel like you're failing some days, but from where I'm standing you're doing an amazing job." It's that kind of thing that means the world to me.

We all need people who've got our back, but we've got to allow them to by being vulnerable. I've recently realised just how many people really do have my back, and for that I'm grateful.

I just hope they know that I have theirs too.

Oh where for art you, blog?

Last year I used to have this lovely little window in the morning, where the kids were happily munching their toast and I could bash out a blog post. This year that window has disappeared. Making TWO lunches, a crying baby and ironing uniform seems to have sucked that precious little moment right up. 

As the day progresses, I'm struggling to find a moment to write and now I've got soggy, squashed mixed-up blog posts coming out my ears, instead of my fingers like they should. It's not good. I miss writing here. 

Instead I'm thickly spreading butter with a scrape of vegemite on Vita-Wheats for one, thinly slicing cheese and spreading avocado on bread for another. Which, let's face it makes for boring blogs, so I'm going to take my sleep deprived self and have a nap instead, who knows when the chance will present itself again.

The amazing sleeping boy has morphed into the non-sleeping boy and this phase is getting longer and longer. So I'm grabbing a moment of peace and quiet and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Si, parlo l'Italiano!

Lil-lil is at that exciting time in life, where the whole world is truly hers for the picking. Every option is available to her. Now she's at school, she's doing wonderful things like art, gymnastics, Italian, music. She's loving it and, best of all, the potential is there for her to enjoy and be good at any of them.

For me, it just reminds me of everything I didn't do so well at.

One afternoon last week, Lil excitedly told me how she was learning Italian and how brilliant it was going to be because her dad and I wouldn't be able to understand what she was saying. I then told her I could speak Italian and that I spent 10 years learning the language. It's true, I did. I even did it for my HSC (final high school exams).

Doing Italian for my HSC was one of the more silly things I've done in my life. For some reason I was convinced that learning a language would be brilliant and speaking Italian would really enrich my life.
In reality I never really enjoyed the classes and spent most of the time day-dreaming. Which resulted in the time when I embarrassingly replied I was going to "Al Pacino" rather "alla piscina" (the swimming pool).

My high school Italian teacher convinced me and four other girls that doing Italian for the HSC would be the greatest thing we ever did. I think she may have watched Stand and Deliver and thought she was going to turn us into Italian speaking freaks.

The moment it hit me that doing Italian as part of my final year of school wasn't going to be my moment of glory was when we turned up to the oral/aural exam. It was held in a high school quite a distance away, we walked into the hall and it suddenly hit us five naive little white anglo girls from the lower north shore of Sydney, that we were the only ones who didn't have an Italian background. We were competing against people who'd been immersed in the culture and language their whole lives. Our total exposure outside of class was reading the pasta menu at Pizza Hut.

It also didn't help that I never studied and the only homework I did was copied from the one girl in the class who actually tried. As I copied down her answers she'd try and explain what I was copying, desperate to teach me and I'd shush her away only caring that the homework was done and I wouldn't get busted. I really had zero interest in learning the language and a pretty bad attitude about the whole thing.

So once high school was over I tried to forget the little I'd learnt. The only time it came in handy was after a car crash just outside of Rome, other than that I've never uttered a word. I'm sure the girl who answered every Monday that on the weekend she went to 'alla montagna blu" has never had to use that sentence again. Every now and then Skip asks me to translate the Italian SBS news for him or asks what the neighbours are saying over the fence. I always fob him off with some "It must be a Sicilian dialect" excuse. Even living in the 'little Italy' of Sydney hasn't inspired me to tussle with the language again.

Now, Lil-lil is learning, she keeps asking me how to say things and little-by-little everything I spent the past 18 years trying to suppress is coming back slowly. Maybe I'll enjoy it a little more this time round.

What subject in school was a complete waste of time for you?