must try harder

I'm not sure where to begin with this one.  It's not easy to write about, which means it can't be that easy to deal with.  It is something that I should have known a long time ago, before Ollie was born, before he was even an idea, but in truth, it's only in the last few months that I've realised it, and only in the last few weeks has the realisation been strong enough to leave me feeling very shaken.

So, this big realisation?  It's the realisation that parenting, at least parenting the way I want to parent, doesn't come naturally or easily to me.  A fine thing for a mother of three sons to admit, but here I am while they are sleeping, thinking about nothing else but my influence on their lives and how much better I know it could be.  I resort to snapping and yelling and time-outs way too often, forgetting to listen to the boys, to let them speak, to treat them the way I'd want to be treated.  It sounds so simple but the reality (for me) has been very different.  Getting them to listen is hard.  Then, getting them to do stuff they need to is hard (you know, eating, going to the bathroom, putting on sunscreen, bathing...).  By that stage, you've gone hoarse asking them time after time to put their shoes on because we are already running 30 minutes late for kindy, and then you yell.  And there's no turning back from that one, once you yell, it's hard to be calm again and then the affection you want to show your kids... well, it's there but it's hard to get out.  And after a tough day I'm not sure they want it either.  Never mind the impact of constant barking of orders on the kids, I have ended many an evening feeling very, very inadequate, exhausted and very unhappy, knowing I've not done all I can to bring out the best in them.  I don't want to be that mum.  I want to be the affectionate, happy, nurturing mother that enjoys her kids rather than endures them.  I want to be the mother they want to be with, not the one they want to avoid.  Above all else, I want them to be their happiest selves and to know I am doing everything I can to make that happen.  If I'm not going to try 100%, what's the point?

So, a few weeks ago I did what I have always done when I feel this way, and resorted to books.  Books on pregnancy, babies, toddlers are all part of our odd repertoire of architecture, cookery and history books, but it didn't feel like what I needed was there.  So, to the library, and we came across this book, the title of which pretty much hits the nail on the head when it comes to what I'm trying to achieve.  Correction, what we're trying to achieve. I've had it now for over a month, renewing it last week so that I could absorb as much as possible and so that my husband could do the same.  At first I was skeptical, it seemed a little simplistic and it wasn't telling me what I didn't already know, but really, it's helped enormously to be able to read, and read about something I care so much about, and to know my instinctive response isn't always going to be the right one.  By using case studies that I can completely relate to, I'm learning that there is always a way of dealing with things, of getting my point across, of communicating and getting the best out of my children.

The best part (after the fact that it seems to be working) is that we are doing this together.  Reading the book together has given us some clarity over how to do things, we talk a lot more about how to deal with situations we know are going to be tough, we are enjoying the kids a lot more and dare I say it, the kids seem to be happier too.  The consistency, the shift in gears, the change in attitude and the step back we've taken has had an impact almost immediately.

Anyway, it's not that they are bad kids, far from it, and there are so many marvellous moments we have with them that are completely devoid of frustration and angst, moments that are really quite wonderful and I wouldn't want this post to detract from any of that good stuff.  They are great kids, it's just that I'm not a great parent and probably never will be but just as I learned to read, to write, to cook, I can learn to be a better parent and be the mother that raises three kind, compassionate, open-minded and respectful men.  Books or not, I do know that for that to happen I need to be kind, compassionate and open minded first.

It's a long road this one, but there's no turning back and neither do I want to.  Those days of yearning for my independent self are long behind me, all I want now is to know I'm doing the absolute best I can as a mother and wife.  It's a slow journey but I'm hoping the track we're on is now the right one.

progress

A week ago, we introduced dear little Hugo to a couple of spoonfuls of courgette, steamed and pureed until they were lump free.  I told him he couldn't have any dessert until he'd eaten all his vegetables.  I caved and gave him a teaspoon of pureed pear.

It's with some sadness that I'm seeing this little guy grow up but it's with excitement, too.  Yesterday, we were lying on the floor of his big brothers' bedroom (they were at kindy) and he discovered their box of little matchbox cars.  For a few moments there, he was in heaven, picking them out, one at a time, sucking them, bashing them with his fist, waving them around frantically, before dropping them and picking up another.  It was so cute seeing him being a little boy, rather than a little baby.

He rolls over, roly-polying around, it wakes him at night when he realises he's on his tummy and calls to be rescued, but won't settle for anything except a sleepy, fuzzy breastfeed, before I put him back in his cot and he gives me that smile, eyes half closed, the one that says, 'thanks mum, see you in a couple of hours'.

Earlier this week I took him to kindy, to the nursery there, where he's officially started (only one day a week) for a little play.  I can't bear to leave him just yet so we sat on the floor and drooled a bit.  You see although I don't go back to work until March, I've had to take a spot to ensure we have care for all three boys by the time I'm back to being my groomed self, looking after grown up clients who are at times as frustrating as toddlers.

Anyway, Hugo enjoyed his first tastes.  Avocado, mango and pureed carrots have all been sampled too, with varying degrees of success.  Most of it ends up on his bib/the floor but we have definitely turned a corner.  He's graduating from the bumbo knockoff his brothers used before him and last night I cleaned up the high chair we've had since Ollie started eating real food nearly 4 years ago.  Got out the little bowls and spoons.  Even cracked open my baby food book to start thinking about the meals I think this dear little fellow might enjoy eating.  It's happy and sad to think that this time next year, he'll be a toddler too, making a mess at the table with his brothers, refusing food, giggling at their monkeying rather than concentrating on his meal.  He does that already.

He'll be 6 months old next week.  Every day I wonder what he will be like when he's older, not forgetting that at this moment he's as sweet as they come, with a smile for anyone that smiles back.  I ache with tiredness and from the mental and physical demands of three young children but my heart is fuller than ever before.  Watch this space for more Hugo cuteness, because I can't help myself.

fathers' day 2012

True love.

the arrival

At about 4.30am on 14 July 2012, Will turned and asked me if I was alright.  2 hours 45 minutes later, our son Hugo William Downes was born.  Neighbours were called to look after Ollie and Max, bag was already packed and in the car, we drove in the dark to the hospital, cursing over every speed bump that seemed to bring on a contraction.  And it was an intense labour with contractions every 5-7 minutes from the get go, which meant I went from half way there to ready to push in about 30 minutes after arriving at the hospital.  The pain was unbearable and every contraction made me feel like I couldn't do it.  I remember feeling out of control, pleading for someone to help me, trying to push and feeling helpless, the birthing team telling me I had to get the baby out, out, out now... and then when it felt like it couldn't be any more unbearable, he was born.

The euphoria of giving birth is really something spectacular.  I had previously only ever had labour induced and was able to manage the pain of contraction upon contraction with an epidural.  This time, we decided to wait, and while we'd booked to be induced this week (at a week over), we were hoping labour would happen in its own time, and I would be able to experience that feeling of recognising the baby was coming, and the build up of labour, rather than the intense experience of being subject to the artificial hormones and pain relief.  I got my wish.  I can't say I was altogether happy about it at about 7am on Saturday morning, but to have got through the experience the way we did, makes me feel like I have lived an amazing experience.

I came home the next day, and since then, it's been about the little milestones, first bath, first feeds, first poos (mine, not his)... and we are getting to know little Hugo, who is (in my husband's words) very cute and very loud.  He is also as soft as soft can be, so soft he hardly feels like he is there when you stroke his cheeks and that brand new hair on his head.  Sometimes (like the moment he was born) I see Max in his face, and other times, Ollie.

Ollie and Max?  I think it's going to take some time for the little men to come to terms with what's going on.  They have been incredibly sweet, but I think it's hard for them to see me absorbed with this new baby, and they are struggling somewhat with Hugo's intense crying noise, which we hear a lot because he doesn't like to sleep unless it's on me or Will and doesn't like to be left alone.  It is again somewhat overwhelming, this feeling of surging love for all three of our children, even if it is interspersed with complete exasperation at not being able to meet everyone's demands all at once.  Ollie and Max are still so young, at 3y8m and 2y3m asking them to understand the impact of a newborn on our lives is so far beyond reasonable, I just need to remember that every time they act up or don't do exactly what I need them to do.

And so, we are new parents again and every day is a new experience.  Our future has been reset again. I'm trying my best to cope with the early days of breastfeeding, postpartum recovery, lack of sleep and complete lack of the predictability and routine that I normally thrive on.  The relief of being on this side of things relatively unscathed keeps me going.  We have three sons.  We are a new family.  We are happy.  We are blessed.

sad and complicated

This evening, when I was reading to the boys before bed time, Ollie said to me, 'Mum, I feel sad.  And complicated.'  It was easy to see how this was a funny thing for a three year old to say, but we talked about it for a bit.  He was feeling sad, because I had forbidden any tv this evening, and though he couldn't quite tell me why he was feeling complicated, I'm guessing it was because he was so exhausted this evening, he couldn't possibly have been thinking straight.

What struck me though, was that lately, I've been feeling a bit sad and complicated.  I think it's probably post birthday blues, or the pressure of my work life, or feeling tired and achey regardless of how much sleep I get.  I mean, I'm also quite happy and generally as content as I've ever been but I'm a bit sad too.  See?  It's quite complicated.  I don't have much to be sad about, life is ticking along nicely, we have plenty to anticipate and the kids seem... manageable.  Enjoyable, even.  But there's something and I think it's that feeling of belonging (or lack thereof) that's creeping back into my life, making me question where we want to be as a family.

So anyway, I have made this post all about me, but really, it's all about my children.  They are far better at articulating themselves than I often give them credit for.  It's easy to brush off some of the things that kid says, but much as he couldn't quite tell me what he meant, I'm pretty sure that sad and complicated is just how he was feeling at that moment in time and credit to him for knowing just how to tell me about it.  I hope he realises that happy or sad, I will always want to know how he's feeling.  Even when he's all grown up and life really is complicated.

bunk

Part of the two days off we had last week involved a trip to IKEA.  Yes, we do like to punish ourselves sometimes.  But it was surprisingly pleasant walking around IKEA, childless, with an aim and a little extra time to wonder whether we needed more kitchen ware or tea lights.  And what was the aim?  To purchase the the MYDAL bunk bed for the boys.  I've had my eye on it for a while, nothing else has really compared either for style or price, and since this purchase would also mean new mattresses, duvets and sheets, we needed to be sensible about how much we had to spend.

So we bought the boys their first bunk bed.  We got it home in our Corolla wagon (just - it was comical how scrunched up we were in the front of the car with the bed, mattresses etc in the back), and then we painted it.

This is the colour - Gunnard (Taubmans).  I love it.  I love grey, actually, and I'm increasingly finding it's my go-to colour. The reason for the grey on the bunk bed was so that it would match most of what's in the room.  White was the other obvious choice but our house is fairly white as it is and I liked the idea of the grey against the quilts I made for the boys and the rest of the colour in their room.  As a result, it looks great!  I'm so pleased with it.  And as a bonus, it feels and smells a bit less IKEA-y than it would have if we'd left it with that ghastly natural pine look.

But most importantly, the bunk seems to be a success with the boys, though that I think is due in part to the talking up we've done of it over the last couple of months.  We've taken Max out of his cot and he's now in the bottom bed, and the biggest problems for him are (a) he wants the top bunk and (b) when he does accept he's sleeping in the bottom, he cannot stop himself from getting up and goofing around, much to his brother's delight.  These photos do not even get close to depicting how much joy he's getting out of maximising the cheek involved with bed time now.  Last night (night two - the first night Max did actually decide he wanted to sleep in his new bed), we spent about 90 minutes listening to toys being thrown around, fits of giggles, boys jumping on the top bunk, then a slightly smaller boy jumping on his brother... it went on, but they did it and managed their first night in the bunk bed.  And as I'm writing this, Ollie is squirming around in the top while Max is sound asleep.

It's the start of a level of shenanigans we haven't really had before.  Max is always a little cheeky when we put him to bed, but Ollie is generally a good boy.  Now that they are both out of their cots, it's given them (ie Max) a level of freedom that means Trouble.  But, much as it was annoying that they took until 9pm to go to sleep last night, they went to bed happy (and only really got yelled at a couple of times) and it's reinforced that they really do like sharing their space with each other.

Speaking of spaces, it could be nesting, but it might just be normal-everyday-have-to-organise-it-now!-me, we are starting on the baby's room, which has been a spare room for the last few months and is now beginning to look like a nursery.  Will dismantled Max's cot to go in there this morning and I went through all the many clothes we have to pick out the ones that I will eventually wash and fold neatly in anticipation of that day we bring this new life back from the hospital.  Softly, gently, aching with love and that feeling that the world has just started again for us.  God willing, it will be that way.

the year in review

I went back to work after giving birth to my littlest boy and to my surprise, loved it, I joined a gym and kept it up, we had visitors from England, we broke a fridge, we bought a new camera and took a million photographs, we edited our photos and backed them up responsibly, we realised we need a holiday but didn't have the time to take one, we escaped the floods but friends weren't so lucky, I baked a cheesecake and made a pavlova, both for the first time, we lost a baby and cried and cried, we learned our son is crazy for puzzles and our other son is a cheeky little devil with a naughty streak that is adorable, we watched movies, so many movies, I watched my husband become an actual architect, I used my KitchenAid way more than I thought I would, I Skyped my parents every week, sometimes twice, I missed them terribly, we didn't always try a new recipe every week but we always ate good food, I loved watching the royal wedding, missed England and her countryside, visited the GoMA at least twice, we still haven't managed to get out to dinner but we had an awesome party for Will's birthday, we decorated our garden with 800 fairy lights, we said goodbye to Sue, but hello to Emma and Clasein, I had the most awesome birthday week EVER and ate at my favourite restaurant with my favourite person, we visited a zoo, our house was a zoo, I discovered patience, then lost it again, I became a little more like my mum, we ate McDonalds for the first time in years and regretted it, I got to know my sister as my friend and lamented the years we spent apart but realised it's better late than never, our boys' birthday parties were awesome and it didn't rain, we didn't send Christmas cards this year, but I've been good at keeping in touch with those I love, we became really good at doing the kids' packed lunches in about 10 minutes, and kept on top of keeping house, I worried about how I'm doing at work but found out they think I'm ok, I playdoughed, painted, tidied, read to my sons, our boys started sharing a room together, we only broke a few baubles this year, I wished I had read more books and had more haircuts, we had Christmas at our house with my friend Kate, I learned the names of lots of vehicles, we repaired our lawn and now our garden looks fabulous, I got cross with my boys more often than I would have liked but always ended the day with kiss and a cuddle, I started and ended the year very tired.  But so happy.

Come on 2012.   I know you are going to be great.

childcare update

There's been some progress on the childcare front.  We've managed to get Ollie into a local community childcare centre that we all (that's all of us) love.  It's walking distance from our home and the local train station, the staff are kind and cheery, the centre directors are happy, proactive people that want to do the best they can for the centre and for the families that go there and the centre itself has very lovely open gardens and play spaces.  Sounds too good to be true, right?

It is, a little.  We've only got Ollie in there for now, and for 1 day a week.  We still have no place for Max and we need 3 days for each of them.  The centre directors are doing what they can to get us the care we need as soon as possible but it's looking unlikely that we'll get both boys in until late March 2012.

So, some of the stress is abated, but we need to work out what we are doing after Christmas until March, assuming both boys will have places by then.  At least we are in somewhere.

Oh, and we had to start straight away to get in (we've been on the waiting list for over three years there), so Ollie had his first day there last week.  He had a great day.  He played, didn't cry when we left, slept when he was supposed to and ate most of his lunch.  In fact, when we both arrived to take him home, he wasn't too happy at the thought of leaving.  This week he was a little more cautious, his carers told me he asked to go home a few times, but he still had a good day.  I'm a little nervous for him tomorrow, he's back there, all on his own, the little guy, no friends yet, unfamiliar faces, toys he's yet to discover...

And Max?  Dear little Max, he had his first ever day in the whole of his life without his mum or brother when he went to Sue's on his own.  After being a little lost initially, he soon found his stride, and he too had a good day.

As I write this, my little boys are sleeping.  I am so proud of them, their tenacity, their stubbornness, their sweet natures and their ability to stand their ground even when everything and everyone is working against them.  And of course, their willingness to try new things.  It wasn't long ago that I would have doubted Ollie's ability to just walk into a new childcare centre and fit in.  But he did it and seemed to take it in his stride.  It might not always be smooth going, and I know this period of transition has yet to take its toll on him and our family, but we've started a journey we had to take.

three

Ollie.  Three years old, today.

"It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn't."
(Barbara Kingsolver, my hero) 

change

Sometimes, things happen that force you into making change.  For someone that is so averse to change, someone that actually enjoys a routine, predictable life with well planned deviations, those events that force you out of what you know best can be difficult to deal with.  Then again, doing new things, especially unplanned new things has more often than not been nothing but positive.  Take Sunday for example.  A day as predictable as any other ended in the sweetest way when we dropped by our neighbours' place for the Backyard Sound Exchange, a gorgeous little afternoon of talented friends singing, playing instruments, chatting, drinking pear cider and sitting amongst the chickens and toddlers.  It was one of those evenings that made me realise you don't need much to be happy, to feel content, just seeing your children running around with other children, chasing chooks, hiding in the hen house, eating carrots and revelling in the party lights that lit up the garden moments before we left to come home to dinner and the grown ups were just getting started.

Then there are those events that might force you to make a change which could be for the best but feel so painful in the process.  Losing a job, dealing with illness, battling with the internal conflict that tears you between being what you want to be and what you have to be to keep your family afloat... they all bring out decisions that would otherwise stay away, decisions that are more often than not for the best, but ultimately, they are decisions that you don't want to make.

A couple of days ago, Sue, the lady that I have trusted with my sons for the last 2.5 years told me that she would be finishing up her childcare responsibilities by Christmas.  That's 8 weeks away.  To say that I am gutted is an understatement.  It's not just because we are going to have to give up personalised care for our little boys that's on our doorstep that they love, it's not just because it's so convenient for our daily commutes but it's that I feel so personally let down by someone I have considered to be part of our family since our boys started spending time with her over two years ago.   Everyone is entitled to make their own decisions in life, but that we only have a couple of months to work out what we are going to do...

Still.  Despite the lack of childcare spaces in Brisbane, and my fear of not getting into a centre that I'm 100% comfortable with, this is going to force us to make a change.  I wish we could afford for one of us to be at home with the boys, but being in the family day care environment has been good for Ollie.  More recently, we have recognised that Ollie will probably benefit from even more structure to his day, more friends to make, more variety.  He's never been a very adaptable child, so that's my main concern with making the change.  Unlike his brother who goes with the flow.  But Max is still just a little baby boy, only 18 months old, and it's been so nice for him to be at day care with his brother.  All that will now change, as we'll probably end up in a big childcare centre, one with different rooms for different ages and... it makes me sad that the little boys I love so much will be apart when they have spent every day together... every day since Max was one day old.

Change.  I guess we have to embrace it.  There's no other way.

super mums

Last Friday, I was in the supermarket with Ollie and Max.  It's easier to do that these days, we seem to be in a bit of a groove with the routine of life, thankfully the kids seem to understand how things go when they are at home with me - a mix of chores, quiet play on their own and play time with mama.  It's not that straight forward but it's what we aim for and that's generally what we get, with a few tantrums and brotherly arguments thrown in.

Anyway, the kids were being pretty good, Ollie was insistent on looking at the cars (in the baby stuff aisle - why do they do that?) which is where I bumped into a lady I'd never met before who had no less than four beautiful little boys.  One was at school but the other three were with her, and I was amazed at how she seemed to be taking everything in her stride with four kids under the age of 6.  We got to talking, mainly about the fun of being mum to boys and the similarities between our little kids, especially as her children are 'half-castes' just like mine.

The lady asked me if we wanted any more children and without thinking about it I answered, yes, we would love another baby, but it's so difficult being as far away from family support as we are to know how we would cope.  And then she proceeded to tell me how she is on her own after recently separating from her husband, at which point I felt like hugging her.  This amazing, confident (and tired) mother was relying on the help of her own mum, who she said was a huge support and let's face it, anyone that has children and is lucky enough to be in a loving relationship must think about how bloody hard it would be if you were a single parent with only one child, never mind four.

But she was doing ok.  Just being positive seemed to be a bonus.  And she wasn't taking any crap from the kids, neither.  I'm sure she has her tough days more often than she has her good days, but she was an inspiration, that's for sure and I can't stop thinking of her, this super mum.  She reminded me of the other day, when someone called me 'super mum' because of a particularly efficient morning I'd had.  I'm definitely no super mum.  My own mum, who married and made a life with a man she'd only ever seen a photograph of and with whom she has little in common except for her values and faith, who's English was entirely self taught after moving to England at 18, who is devout and faithful, who has always put her children and husband before any personal ambition, who raised her three strong-willed, independent, wayward daughters in a society she wasn't familiar with, who has stood by her husband's side to work relentlessly with him in the family business to pay a mortgage and school fees for the last 30 years, who lives humbly, with thrift but with absolute generosity, and who has embraced her daughters as who they are with dignity and pride in a culture that hasn't always been accepting of the choices we've made, my own mother, who is a loving, proud and hard working and will always be that way, now she's super mum.  Super mum.

We all have our moments of being good at what we do.  I am not a super mum but I do have super mum moments, essential for motivating me when I have bad days, and my own moments of greatness come from having my mother in my life and the things she has taught me about resilience and what it means to be a good parent.  And then there's the inspiration from seeing mums like the lady in the supermarket.  It startled me how quick I was to answer yes to her question of whether we would have more children because it's always been such a topic of indecision for us (what will be will be), mainly because we just don't know how we'd cope, but she definitely gave me food for thought and I guess the confidence to think we could do it.  She also had a lot of bread in her trolley and I can't imagine how much she was spending on feeding four little men, or how much milk we would start consuming if we have another baby, but it would be amazing.  Wouldn't it!

m e l t d o w n

On Saturday evening, Will and I took the boys to a friend's 40th birthday party.  It was the first time we have attempted to break from the established dinner-bath-bed routine that we have done pretty much every day since Ollie was born.  Rather than putting them into their pyjamas after a bath at their ma-ji's house, we put on their best clothes (well, clean clothes) and off we went for a drive at night time to Uncle Tim's 'party-birthday'.  It was good fun, actually.  Hard for us to really enjoy ourselves what with having to keep an eye on each kid (seemingly not at all scared by the prospect of running far, far away from their parents) but they had a good time and Ollie was very charming, shaking hands and high-fiving anyone that offered.  He gave Tim (who's 'very old') a gift and ran around the place, sticking his nose into the Eskys and having quite the social time.  Max was an equal hit, that bashful look he has, the fluttering of those impossibly long eyelashes and that giggle that is so infectious.

And so we stayed for only a little while, bundling the boys into the car after a quick change into more comfy clothes as we made the hour long journey back to Brisbane, where we delicately lifted our sleeping babies from their car seats and tucked them safely into their own comfy beds before enjoying a glass of red wine.  

I have to say the evening was a hit.  I think this kind of socialising is good for them in small doses, and  there was even a funny moment at the end of the evening when they clearly wanted to leave and for a moment, Will and I were our own parents, prolonging goodbyes and starting anecdotes and sharing tales with people we were trying to say goodbye to while the kids wandered around shoulders slumped waiting for mum and dad to get their act together.  It was a relief for us to have done this kind of thing, having turned into social recluses the day Ollie was born (to this day we have yet to leave them with a babysitter for an evening), but the kids were tired.

Yesterday, being the day after the party, Ollie refused to sleep.  We had friends over in the morning that stayed a little longer than we had anticipated - no big deal except Ollie needed to sleep and just wouldn't.  By late afternoon, he was exhausted, on the very edge and definitely not in the mood for dinner.  So, it was bed time at 6.15pm and within moments he was asleep, until this morning, when at 7.30am he woke in the grumpiest of moods and has been like that all day, despite a trip on the train into town, seeing a cop car flash their lights (just for him), watching the boats on the river and playing with his beloved sticker book.  On the way home from a morning in town we had what can only be described as meltdown as we found his breaking point and the kid screamed all the way home.  All the way.  Screamed.  Meltdown.  

He is asleep now.  Both of them are, thank goodness and I'm reminded that as a baby, he was always very hard work when he was lacking sleep.  Together with his dogged determination to do everything himself (and I mean everything) which seems to have increased exponentially in recent times, we are all feeling a little frazzled.  I am hoping he wakes a little happier than he was this morning and we can enjoy a bit of this winter sun without too much fuss.  He did so well at Tim's party-birthday, but lordy, if I've learned anything this long weekend, it's that the kid still needs his sleep.

just me and ollie

I love, love, love to watch Ollie and Max paint.  It's maximum cuteness watching Max copy his big brother and hearing Ollie ask for the green paint first - every time.  That said, I can't wait until Max is less inclined to paint the inside of his mouth.  I know he's just exploring and I'm not expecting him to even paint on paper (although he gives it a good shot), but I draw the line at eating paint.  At the moment, whenever I get the paints out (or the playdough, crayons, chalk, pens etc) I have to watch Max constantly at the expense of interaction with Ollie.

So, when Max was asleep this afternoon and Ollie said 'want to do some painting', we did just that.  We made colours (orange and pink), did splodging (I had to say 'splodge' every time he splodged), we did finger painting (with blue and green, of course), and then we had the most fun of all, playing with a basin of warm, soapy water.

It was really enjoyable one-on-one interaction with Ollie that is rare these days.  It's great to do stuff with both boys and they are good kids that truly love each other's company, but when it's just me and Ollie (or me and Max), it's a different kind of communication.  There's no jealousy, arguing, throwing around of toys, or even noise. It's mostly quiet, interactive, gentle play and that thankfully reminds me that perhaps I do have the patience for this whole parenting thing... I just need to realise it more often.

forwards... and backwards

It's been a busy couple of weeks.  Actually it feels as though we have never had more to do in such little time.  That's an exaggeration, but we are in the throws of working out where and how we will spend the rest of our lives and it seems (to me at least) to be all consuming, seeping into every moment that isn't spent just living, making us feel even busier than we are.

It doesn't help that my job, the one that pays the bills, the one that I've been doing now for over 12 years is getting me down.  I can't reconcile what I do with what I want to do and constantly thinking about it is exhausting.  My creative bones are aching, but I'm feeling stifled by lack of time, imagination and space.  Our house feels so claustrophobic, toys, clutter everywhere, there's always groceries to put away, clothes to fold, benches to wipe down before I can sit and just think about sewing, painting, drawing, even wrapping a gift more artfully than I invariably do.  I have never enjoyed living like this, preferring instead to see things in their place and neatly ordered.  If I know there's a drawer full of crap, it often irks me to the point of having to clear it out before I can stop thinking about it.  No wonder I never get anything done.

But I digress.  I wanted to write about Ollie, who's gone jigsaw puzzle mad.  I don't want this blog to become a brag of everything my kids can do but I think it's a new mum's entitlement to voice her wonderment every now and again.  After the success of the 24 piecer I wrote about, we bought this little duo of puzzles for him a week or two ago, and it is amazing to watch him sort through the 40 pieces into two piles of very similar looking 2" square bits before the first is done in a matter of minutes and he's saying 'time to do the other puzzle now'.  Crazy.  On the other hand, potty training has taken a complete nosedive and I can't remember the last day where there were no accidents or even when Ollie told me he needed to use the potty.  I don't know what to do about this, since we started so well I thought we were done - poos and all.  But not anymore.  Even reverting back to treats for success doesn't seem to be working.  It is so hard not to get cross with him (and I know it doesn't help) but we've tried regularly asking him whether he wants to go, not asking him and letting him take the lead, and just taking him to the potty every so often but nothing seems to be working.  Anyone else might be happy to just go with the flow (so to speak) but for someone who craves order in her life, this hugely frustrating.  I mean, the kid can work out what to do with 40 jigsaw pieces but can't tell me when he needs to pee?  Come on!

go to sleep

For goodness sake, Max.  It's 2.40am.  Go to SLEEP.

postponed

Late last week, I was looking forward to the festivities of the weekend, with a little trepidation that the weather would be rainy and we'd have to bring Max's garden birthday party indoors.  I didn't mind the idea of that too much, although it's much nicer for everyone if the weather is sunny and the kids aren't confined to our little house.  The weekend arrived and the weather looked promising, so Will and I got on with preparing party favours, baking cakes, cookies, cupcakes, marinading barbecue food and generally getting organised as much in advance as possible.  When there's only the two of you, organisation is everything... and as you know, I'm not one for winging it.

Saturday morning arrived and with a full 24 hours before party time, I was quietly confident that the weather would hold and we'd have a beautiful sunny Sunday in the garden.  The boys were being a little temperamental (it always seems to be the way when we are busy - they sense our preoccupation), so Will suggested he'd take Ollie out to pick up some last minute party supplies and then take Ollie to his weekly swimming lesson (which he'd missed for two weeks in a row due to illness) to give me a bit of space to get things done.  Which I did.  And then on their way home, Ollie was sick and the mountains of food we'd prepared was suddenly the least of my worries.

Within a couple of hours, we'd phoned everyone to cancel our plans and we dropped everything to look after Ollie who was feeling rather miserable.  And then, Max, who quickly followed suit.

And so Sunday, the boys were feeling ropey, but we decided distraction was they way to go.  We hired a couple of movies, which we didn't end up watching - it seemed so much nicer that we should hang out in the garden.  Will made a little cardboard car for Ollie to ride in and we got the paints out (always a winner) for both Max and Ollie to decorate the car and we pottered about the garden, cleaning cars, gardening and trying to overlook the party that could have been.  And while we thought about the party that could have been, the day we had was just fine, with our little guys ending the day a lot happier than they started it.

And the sun shined all day.

accidents and clean ups

With all the fuss over Max's first birthday, I've let a rather important happening pass the blog by.  It's been a somewhat of a work in progress, interrupted by the tummy bugs we've had (all had - I was the latest to be struck earlier this week, forcing Will to take a day off work to look after the boys while I wallowed in bed for most of the day, feeling like I wouldn't ever recover), but the illness wasn't too much of a setback and I'm pretty chuffed to report that Ollie is now a master of the potty!

Sure, we have accidents, and some days (when he's particularly tired and cranky), it can seem like we are going backwards rather than forwards, but ever since about three weeks ago, when we decided to go for it and shun the nappies for some well fitted little underpants and a potty (and some treats for good potty action), we've had some pretty great days.  Even accident free days.  The mop is still always on standby and we ended up rolling up the lounge room rug when the boys were ill (to make clean ups easier), so it all kind of coincided.  I think the timing was important and having a tummy bug in the middle of it all wasn't great, and we went back to using nappies for a couple of days there, but it didn't seem to affect things too much.  Sue's been keeping things consistent at day care too, which has only helped.

We still have battles, especially when I insist on a potty stop before we go out somewhere (his excitement for whatever we are doing means the potty is the last and most dull thing on his mind), but it can also work quite well if I time it right:  'Ollie, just as soon as you've used the potty and washed your hands.'

And so, the hurdle that was potty training is well underway.  We still have night time and nap time nappies to contend with (any advice on this is welcome) but I don't think it's a big deal just at the moment.  I'm just amazed at how much smoother this whole process has been than I thought it would be.  A month ago I couldn't imagine Ollie telling me 'I need to use the potty,' but why not?  He's so darn independent in every other way, it should come as no surprise.  I guess it doesn't matter what your kids are capable of, they continue to amaze you.  I just feel so proud of him right now.  So proud.

bossiness and new sheets

Not so long ago, I wrote about my bargain fabric buy, the green and white Orla Kiely king duvet cover.  A couple of weekends ago I finally got round to measuring and cutting it up to make a duvet cover and pillow case for Ollie's bed.  What with all the sickness we have had lately, especially the little guys, I held off putting the new bedding on his little bed.  A few days ago, after the boys were feeling a little better, on went the new sheets and I was a tad excited about Ollie's reaction as I took him to his room to see his mama's handiwork.  Turns out I needn't have bothered as my son, who is a creature of habit and not entirely welcoming of change exclaimed, 'Mummy, take it OFF the bed!'  Bossy pants.

I told him not to be so silly, the sheets were staying on and actually he accepted it and moved on to the next thing.  And since then, he's been quite happy to be tucked into his comfy, duvet laden bed.  It could be the autumn chill in the air (not by northern hemisphere standards, but a chill nonetheless), or just that he's a guy and well, they just don't care much for pretty sheets do they?

our little patient

Yesterday at about 2.30pm, I was at my desk, wondering how I was going to churn through my list of tasks when my mobile phone rang and it was Sue.  Ollie had been sick on waking from his afternoon nap and then again a few moments later.  I jumped in a cab, got to Sue's to find my dear little boy upset and confused with what was going on.  He was uncharacteristically clingy, asking for water and then being sick almost instantly, 'oh whoops, oh whoops, oh dear' he sobbed through his tears.  In a chaos of puke, tears, poopy nappies (Max sure does choose his moments), I got the boys home, into the shower, into dry, clean clothes and we snuggled up on the couch in front of The Gruffalo while Will made an appointment at the doctor on his way home to help with a very sad little boy.

After a reasonable night, not without its challenges, Ollie managed to eat a pretty good breakfast (at his own request) and both boys are now resting, Ollie in our bed, Max in his cot.  Ollie's never had to deal with this kind of illness before, and he's coping remarkably well, even though being sick makes him sob and he's exhausted from lack of food and sleep.  It is breaking my heart to see him so confused about what is happening to him and it feels as though we are sitting on a time bomb, waiting for it to hit Max and then us.  In the mean time, all we can do is make him as comfortable as possible and let him know that everything will be ok.  

Every parent deals with this, and some deal with a lot worse, but it's still hard.  I guess at the end of it all, we are lucky that we are in a place with doctors, medicine, a comfortable home and the flexibility and support of our colleagues to be with our children when we need to be.  We need to give it time, but I can't wait for the little guy to be back to his reassuringly bossy and impatient self again. 

a love of books

One of Ollie and Max's Christmas presents (commandeered by Ollie no less) was This is London by Miroslav Sasek.  It's a well known, time honoured, hard backed book about the city we love, full of facts and the most wonderful, detailed and atmospheric illustrations, that have the ability to transport me back to that awe inspiring city.

Ollie adores it, and This is Paris (by the same author).  We've read them both to him countless times, but even after only a few times, Ollie was able to finish the sentences and tell us what came next.  He continues to amaze me with his sponge like memory and fascination for the amazing detail in Sasek's illustrations.

I'm not sure that I've ever written about Ollie's love of books, which I am beginning to think is unparalleled.  Will is a bookworm and I love to read too, although I don't do it nearly as much as I used to.  I remember loving story time, and my dad used to take me to the library every Thursday for a while there (I remember the librarian that wore long, flowing '70s style kaftans and bright blue eye shadow with her long brown hair swept back into a big brown bun - she was a librarian version of the brilliant Margot Leadbetter, the height of sophistication to me in those days).  I have favourites from my childhood, but we've really started afresh with the boys, buying and borrowing books that we've never seen before, that we like the look of or that we've heard are a hit.  Ollie has from day one enjoyed being read to, Max not so much, but he's definitely getting more and more enthusiastic for story time now.  The stories by Julia Donaldson, Oliver Jeffers, the illustrations by Axel Scheffler and David Roberts - these only scrape the surface of the book world that Ollie is entranced by and Max is slowly but enthusiastically entering.

So, I've discovered how involved story time can be, how much more there is to a story than just the words and pictures.  It is such a lovely thing to read to little ones and I know I will write about this again.  In the mean time, it feels good to realise our children have opened me up to a world of story telling and illustration that might have otherwise passed me by.