How to raise boys

They have gone rock climbing with their dad. One will be scared, distrustful of the ropes and buckles, the hired shoes. He might cry, crack the shits and demand they come home after ten minutes. One will be too confident, arrogant even, annoying everyone with his bravado and swagger. It’s hard to say which will be which. They operate in relation to each other, like yin and yang. One up, one down.

—

At a Christmas party, I am given a pair of inflatable plasticky logs, meant for play fighting in a pool. I plan to save them for our next river swim, but the boys grab them from my hands and puff out their sweaty cheeks, before passing me the nozzle, gummed with their saliva. They circle around my legs like excitable fish. ‘As if you need another reason to fight,’ I laugh, and they both lift their arms in the air, cheeks red. They take them onto the trampoline and belt the crap out of each other, screaming, and I keep running to the back door thinking one is hurt, but they are red and sweaty and laughing.

—

I had an acupuncture session this morning, to strengthen my uterus. I have too much fire in my heart, the therapist tells me. Too much heat, too much excitement. More yang than yin. I think of the nights spent awake in the dark, thoughts racing. I promise to drink the herbs and teas she has prescribed.

—

In the night, one will climb into my bed. His head is permanently damp with sweat. He brings an armful of teddies: Sophie, Frankie, Blue Bear, Snoozy, Baby Bear, Dusty Martin, Fluffy, Bubble Bear and Bunny. He sleeps with them all every night. Their faces are squashed and the fur is matted where he rubs it in his sleep. I wake up face to face with the enormous eyes of a pink Beanie Boo.

—

I am on the toilet when the door is pushed open. There is a scramble of muffled giggles, and then a chicken named Jack Riewoldt is thrust into the bathroom and the door is slammed shut. Hysterical screeches from outside the door. The chicken and I eye each other, then the door opens again. They want to surprise me but also to see my reaction.

‘We put a chicken in the bathroom! While you were on the toilet! And shut the door!’ One states the obvious, the other rolls his eyes. Both are red faced and giggling maniacally.

The chicken shits on the floor and I wonder if you can die from laughing too much.

—

On accidentally hurting your kids

I frequently feel enormously unqualified with most things parenting-related. And I fail, often. I’m a big fan of free-range parenting, letting them ride in the back of the ute up the driveway, teaching them dangerous things, taking risks with climbing and jumping and experiments. I have taught Archie to light a match, to check a beehive, to use sharp knives.

And I understand that they will hurt themselves, sometimes. I would rather they learn their own limitations, their own boundaries, than me enforce them under some abstract idea of safety.

But the times when I accidentally hurt them? Oof. It does not feel good.

I once accidentally punched Archie in the face, and his nose started bleeding (I was reaching in front of him as he turned). Why did you hurt me? He stares, bewildered, as blood and tears ran down his face.

They have both fallen off the kitchen bench, onto an open drawer, leaving huge bruises on their backs.

One time, in a supermarket carpark, I was carrying a load of shopping bags and turned around quickly, and completely knocked Jed over. Then I stepped on his hand and dropped a bunch of bananas on his face. A comedy of errors. A comedy of apologies.

So I kiss them, and I make it better, and I say sorry, darling. Mum’s so sorry.

I know that part of my job as a parent is to make decisions that they don’t agree with (no, you can’t take a jar of Nutella and a spoon in your lunchbox). And, as Archie likes to remind me, sometimes I make him cry.

But crying because I made them go to bed is different to crying because I accidentally gave Archie a bloodnose, or because I blasted Jed with my hairdryer and he was extremely unamused, or I accidentally dropped a fork on Archie’s leg and it left a mark.

I visited a friend’s brand new baby this week. And seeing the way the new mama looked at that little lady baby, full of love and exhaustion, reminded me that we are all just surviving, second by second. Trying our best to love our little humans, our partners, ourselves.

I am constantly stuffing up, blundering along, banging into walls and crying in the front seat of the car, looking straight ahead so the kids can’t see me. But I am human, and present.

And I hope (I really do hope) that they will look back at their childhoods and see a mum who is doing her best.

For new mothers

It’s 2am. The kennels across the other side of the river are at full capacity over the Christmas break, and the howls and barks set off every dog along the valley.  It feels like when we lived in Brunswick and a roaring late night motorbike would wake up the dachshund two doors down, who would bark his annoyance and set off a chain of tiny, terrace-housed barking dogs up and down Merri Creek.

The cicadas are at full blast, and the cockatoos screech through the manna gums lining the river. It feels as if we are living in the deep bush, instead of perched on the side of a granite hill, overlooking the vale separating Melbourne’s suburban sprawl and the wineries of the Yarra Valley.

A whimper. “Mum, I did a wee.”

I sigh. I could ignore it, let him fall back asleep. But a fear of having the stinky kid at kinder, the judgment of childcare workers and an exacerbated eczema issue makes me lumber out of bed, stumble into his room and strip the bed. I peel off wet underwear and throw them into the tangle of sheets in the corner.

I wipe him down with a damp cloth, fumble with the nappy that he should have had on in the first place.  I lay him into my bed and he curls up like a poked beetle, all sweaty hair and rosebud lips.

I sigh, again, and lay down on the bare mattress in his room. The mattress is new, and soft, with a foamy pillowtop. A few short years ago, a nighttime interruption was a personal affront, an attack on my right to sleep. I blamed the babies. I’m not proud of it, but the heady early days of motherhood make for crazed midnight thoughts, jacked up on four nights of waking up at 20 minute intervals. I remember when his brother was small and I was hovering on the tightrope between chronic exhaustion and the muddy sinkhole of post natal depression, and the baby fell asleep on his front. The SIDS pamphlet I had been sent home from the birth centre with was shoved on the bedside table, part of the detritus of a major life change.

A thought flashed. If he had SIDS, at least I would get some sleep. And then the guilt hit me. What kind of mother welcomes the idea of cot death? What kind of mother feels relief at the thought of her baby suffocating in the night? What kind of mother?

I know now, that thoughts are not actions, and that it is what you do that matters.  I love my babies. But I still feel sick at the thought of them facing harm. The older boy will go to school next year, and the idea of it kills me a bit inside.

The dogs across the river are quiet again. I breathe in the smell of my baby and listen to the twin snores of father and son through the thin walls of our creaky house on the side of a hill.

What I've Been... Bacon choc-chip cookies, running and shoes.

I bought these ducks off eBay a couple of years ago, and still love them.

Pondering... Balance. There are times when everything seems to tick along nicely, and times when I am running around like headless poultry, doing lots but achieving little. Currently, I am working two days a week, co-running a business (I really need to stop linking to that heinous website), looking after Archie, renovating and project managing the building of a house, taking up running (see below) and occasionally high-fiving my husband and seeing my mates.

I love having lots of things happening. I love being productive and getting shit done. I want to do everything, feel all the feelings and see all the things. When Hannah ranted at the hot random guy with the fancy house in Girls about how she just want to experience everything, I was nodding my head.

But sometimes I would like to take my son and my husbo and live on an island with no internet and no Moreland Council Planning Department and no Bunnings and no elections and no money and no worries.

Eating... So. Much. Food.  I wrote an article about Huxtaburger for work last Monday (despite never being there to eat. Welcome to the world of journalism) and haven't been able to get them out of my head since. So when I found myself in Smith Street last Thursday, 20 minutes early for a meeting and absolutely ravenous, there was only one option. And dear god,  it was good. I probably could have had two, as they are not huge, but my Spanx were already pushed to their limit and I feared my pencil skirt would erupt like a sausage casing on a juicy banger, so I had to be happy with just one burger.  The chips were average, but the burger was divine.

In keeping with my American-themed eating habits this week, last night I made bacon and choc chip cookies. OH YES I DID! I had seen these around, mainly in the Instagram feed of my other (favourite) husband Henry Wagons and honestly, what dish is not improved with an extra helping of bacon.

There was heaps of leftover bacon from the week-late Father's Day breakfast we had yesterday, so I chopped some up and whacked it in some cookie batter. Obvs I left some batter aside for my vegetarian husband and clearly separated the bacony and non-bacony cookies, so as not to blemish the purity of his meat-free digestive tract.

They were amazing. The bacon is not overwhelming, but adds a little bit of saltiness and that pungent flavour that can only come from cured pig. DO IT, you guys.

Beginning... Running. So I have finally started the Couch to 5k program, despite having it installed on my phone for the last month, staring at me accusingly every time I swipe the screen. I have completed Week One so far, and am loving it. Mostly I love how gloating and smug I get to be after I go for a run, and wear my stinky running gear for as long as I can, to maximise the amount of people who know that I have just been running. Because I am a runner, you guys.  I run three times a week for half an hour, then spend a couple of hours being smug while swanning around in my Lycra, stretching and drinking water while sighing about my sore hamstrings.

(Also, I am fully aware of the juxtaposition of me showing off about running, straight after I wrote about eating bacon cookies.)

Watching... The Newsroom, Season Two. Oh, Aaron Sorkin, how I love thee. Snappy dialogue, complex characters, suspense and heart-pumping drama. I don't usually like shows where I have to work hard to keep up, but this is pure gold.

Thinking... About the business. Since I last wrote about it, we have had a meeting with a designer about getting a proper website built, started planning a product photo shoot and consolidated the furniture range. I have a to-do list the size of my arm, but it feels GREAT to finally be heading in the right direction, instead of just shrugging at each other while staring blankly at our dwindling bank account.

Winning... SHOES! I have decided to be someone who enters competitions. Not to go out of my way or anything, but just to enter the competitions which float onto my radar and which I am interested in. And you guys, I WON SOMETHING. And not just something, but SHOES!!!!!!!

I have drastically cut down the amount of blogs I read, but still check in on Fat Mum Slim sometimes because I like her voice. Also, she just had a baby and I love me some newborn photos. Anyway, I entered a competition on her site to win a $250 voucher for Bared Shoes and I WON! I had heard of the shoes before, because they are designed by a podiatrist so are comfy but also look good (A delicate line to tread (ha, get it). I'm looking at you, Kumfs).

And to make matters even better, they have a shop a few doors down from my office in Armadale, so I don't need to buy online and then anxiously worry that I've ordered the wrong size. Winning.

Have a great week, peeps!

What I've Been...

        

Thinking... About our business. Lee and I have so many ideas but suck at following through with anything. We tend to go crazy with sketching and ideas and making random prototypes, then fizzle out when we get to the stage of actually promoting anything or contacting stockists. SO. I am going to get all businesslady and crack the whip and get sorted. I am getting our heinous website fixed, sorting out some sort of branding and actually getting this baby making moolah.

I've been reading the Biz Ladies stuff and the whole CWC website to help find the next step. I have applied for a couple of designy markets, which will give us a deadline to aim for and therefore help kick our asses into gear.

Lee is so freaking talented and clever, and we have a fully-stocked woodworking workshop, so there really is no excuse to not be making awesome things that people want to buy. Thumbs up for getting out of my comfort zone, yo.

Enjoying... The SUNSHINE. God, how much better is everything when the sun is shining? It is impossible to feel bad when it's warm and sunny and happy outside. Archie can go pants-free (his default outfit) and get his bum out and about; stuff is growing in the garden; and I don't need to wear thermals to screw on roof sheets on our new shed.

Wondering about... The whole girls-with-tools  thing. On Saturday, I was in the front yard of our new house, wearing jeans, workboots, a work shirt and a toolbelt, demolishing the front fence and digging holes. I reckon every second person who walked past - and there were quite a few people, as it was the first warm day in aaaaages - made a comment.

One guy said "You are very good with a hammer!". One guy just looked at me and laughed. Two older men stopped in front of the house and watched me for a while. Um, awkward much? It wasn't a sexy thing, or an objectification thing, because I looked like crap and was fully covered up. I just know that if it was a guy doing the same thing, no one would have batted an eyelid.

This probably makes me sound like a massive wanker, or really up myself, or super-sensitive, or whatever. But I just know that it was weird.

Impressed by... My dad and my brother completed the Kokoda Trail last week. They got back on Saturday, several kilos lighter, more tanned and slightly gutsier. The photos were super spectacular and the whole trip sounded insanely tough.

So I think I have to wait a few weeks before going back to whinging about my sore hip and back in front of them.

Pondering... Facebook. I do love social media for the way I can stalk keep in touch with everyone. But between facey, Twitter, Instagram and this here blog, it is kind of overwhelming. Instagram and the twits are by far my favourite mediums. I know that I don't HAVE to keep updated with all of it, but the temptation is there and I sometimes really just want to close my facebook account completely. And move to a cave in the mountains, Thoreau-style.

Forget Me Nots #2

Little things I don't want to forget about Archie at this age...

• The other day he made me sit on his little chair and fed me a plateful of strawberries that I had cut up for his snack. He giggled the whole time and then gave me a big drooly kiss once he'd finished smooshing them into my mouth.
• He also likes to feed me his lunch, then try and eat it out of my mouth, using his own mouth. As in, he goes in for the full-on pash. That is as gross/cute as it sounds.
• He has learned to bend over in the bath and blow bubbles on the water. Sometimes he gets excited and starts lapping at his bathwater like a kitten. Cute, but probably not the healthiest thing to do. He has also started doing it in the pool, which is preeeeeety gross.
• His teddy, Brian, is his absolute best mate. He takes him to bed for every nap and all night. I give Archie a kiss and say "nigh nigh!" then do the same to Brian. He grabs Brian, throws him over his chest and give him a huge cuddle. When he is at daycare, he hold on tightly to him the entire time and does not let go.
• I found these little gumboots at Big W that look like dragons. We randomly spotted them in the women's sock section and he grabbed them and was enthralled. I had to leave them in the bagging area at the self-serve checkouts because the stupid machine was beeping at me and they were just out of his reach. He threw a massive wobbly until I could finally pick them up and leave. He carried them the whole way home, then wouldn't take them off once they were on. He spent the afternoon wearing a nappy and his new gumboots, and proudly showed anyone who visited buy marching up, stopping still and pointing at his feet. So freaking cute.
• A few weeks ago, Lee and I were home alone with Arch and decided to have a family pizza party as a special occasion. I am the mealtime Nazi and only let him eat from a proper bowl in his high chair or at his little table, so eating sitting on a rug on the floor was a pretty big deal. It was super-fun and I was feeling like mum of the year until he realised he could walk around while eating and proceeded to walk all over the pizza, leaving Napoli footprint all over the carpet.
• He is really into people's backs at the moment, like he has just discovered that if he stands behind someone they can't see him. So he thinks it is hysterical to come up and poke me in the back, or give me a bear hug from behind while I'm sitting on the floor. And I obviously always act super surprised and he dissolves in a puddle of giggles.
• He has a few clear words, mostly duck, dad, mum, hat, yum, cat, and things like that. His favourite by far is to yell DAT! while pointing at stuff. He gets up the morning and I carry him out and he begins the commentary of pointing at the window. DAT! The fruit bowl. DAT! The cutlery drawer. DAT! When he wants something he points and waves and shrugs in a huge performance shouting DAT! DAT!!! as if his whole life depends on me passing him a piece of my toast. What a cracker.

What I've Been...

 

Thinking... About spew. A tummy bug has gone through our house this weekend, like a freaking spewy monster of doom and carpet stains. I'm fairly sure the little guy brought it home from somewhere, either the germ-crusted kids at daycare on Thursday or from the Brunswick Baths on Friday. He likes to open his mouth and gulp the pool water, which was cute the first time he did it but is now just gross and concerning. On Saturday Lee and I were getting ready to go out for a date night, and the little guy was being extra cuddly. He looked a bit ashen and sleepy, and I thought he was just tired as he hadn't had an afternoon sleep and had a runny nose. Ha! Once again my supposed in-built mummy instincts were waaaaaay off.

He pulled a face and then projectiled all over me and the carpet and the floorboards and himself. I swear to god, that kid can put away some food, and also apparently shoot it out of his face at at least 30km/h. I just screamed HELP! while the baby exorcist in my arms emptied his guts everywhere. Poor little guy. He just looked completely terrified by what was happening and stared at me like "MUUUUMMMM what is going on in my faaaaaacce!"

And then the next day, Lee started getting queasy and upchucked in the porcelain throne too. I didn't want to share a bed with his green, spewy body so slept upstairs. But then mum got it on Monday and was waylaid on the couch all day with a bucket. Fun times all round! Fingers crossed I manage to avoid it, but I think it is probably inevitable. Oh, joy.

Eating... Despite being temporarily set back by a spew monster, we managed to have a date night on Saturday at a new restaurant in Warrandyte called Altair. It was pretty swanky and yum. I don't know if it's the whole Masterchef thing or just being used to eating out in the city more, but we have totally turned into amateur critics. Which kind of sucks, because the food was great and the atmosphere was great and it is in Warrandyte, not a tiny underground den in the CBD with a known chef and a Good Food Guide listing, so we should really cut the place some freaking slack. But our conversation goes like this:

"This lamb belly is great, but the beetroot is undercooked. The chef looks young."

"I know. The white bean puree is the ravioli looks better than it tastes."

"Ummm, why would you fill up the water and not take the empty plates. Seriously? Seriously. "

"The waitress is, like, twelve. And this room is all hard surfaces. The acoustics are shite. They should have put panelling on the ceiling."

Clearly, we are experts in the restaurant trade. And also, slightly asshole-ish.

Smiling at... I found these super cute comics by Phillipa Rice via A Cup of Jo. Oh gosh, they had me all smiley and feeling lovey towards my Manfriend. I love things that highlight cute, everyday little moments. Lee and I have a thing where whenever we are watching a movie or reading a book and some hideous flesh-eating monster or fugly old man or a donkey pulling a face appears, he will nudge me and quietly whisper, "That looks a bit like you." Cracks me up every time.

So when I saw THIS I smiled. I wonder if I can buy it as a print?

Watching... Orange is the New Black. YOU GUYS. It is so freaking good. I am pretty into Girls and New Girl and that kind of thing, so this is right up my alley. I have watched four episodes already and am so hooked. It's funny and dramatic and light-hearted and gutsy.

Planning... What the hell we are going to do with our house. I will write more about this some other time, because it needs about seven thousand words dedicated to it.

Visiting... Our new tenants. We went to see them on Saturday to fix a door, and they are super lovely and awesome. Two rad chicks with three dogs and quite honestly the biggest couch I have ever seen. They invited us to a party that night, which we politely declined because, um, super awkward much?

Sewing... my triangle quilt! I am super dooper stoked. I made it all on my own, with no help (well, maybe just some tips here and there) from my quiltmaster mother. It is meant for Archie's bed but I might not let him touch it in case of random emissions (see above) so we'll see. But YAY! Now I've just got to finish my awesome bunting quilt.