Motherhood

Day 100 – A last minute hospital visit and an impromptu lockdown party

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Yesterday Liam threw out a comment about having a 100 days of lockdown party. And the more I thought about it, the more I decided we’d go for it. Moods have been tricker since school has come up in conversation, and it’s been almost a month since we last had a birthday here, so it seemed a good a day as any to throw a party just for the sake of it.

It helped everything really. Schooling became making decorations for the party. Although I did sneak in a spider web piece of art too, just so we weren’t entirely off topic.

Unfortunately Megan has been having trouble with her braces for a couple of weeks, so I contacted the hospital yesterday, and was told to bring her in today. The tough part was that at age 14, she was considered old enough to go into the department on her own, including being given a mask for the waiting room, having a temperature check and answering all the Covid related questions, and going through the orthodontic procedure, all with me waiting outside.

So off we went, with some understandable anxieties. But the promise of a drive through McDonald’s on the way back, and picking up party food from the shop, all went a little way in helping. She was brilliant and brave and the braces are sorted again for now. And I was brave too, loitering in the alleyway outside.

We got back in time for lunch, and Theo enthusiastically decided our party would have a Numberjacks theme. Because ever since his nursery teacher started sharing episodes for the children to watch, he’s been obsessed. So I went with it, printed off some colouring pages and got them making ‘decorations’.

It did all get a bit hot today though, didn’t it? So we had a break from crafting to dish out ice lollies, and to fill up some vessels with water and have a little play with the hose to cool down.

I then got slightly engrossed with printing off a photo for every day of lockdown, 100 hundred days of memories. Toby created lockdown party bunting, and was so pleased with his success that he announced confidently that he might become a party planner.

It was good to have someone matching my enthusiasm for the cause.

Picnics are a mixed blessing, I find. There’s something delightful about laying a table of food that everyone will eat – obviously completely disregarding the salads. And the happiness of dining al fresco, always to be regarded as a treat in Wales. But then there’s the freedom for small people to run around like excited puppies, and refuse to sit and eat their food, and the frequent freak outs over ants because our entire garden is basically an ants nest.

Nevertheless, it was a fun evening. We looked at all the things we’ve done in the 100 days at home together and picked our favourite photos. It seems like such a long time in a lot of ways, to look at the change in seasons, the things we’d forgotten about in those early days in March. And then the things we are starting to have freedom to do again. The first time we went out more than once in a day! The first time the kids went in the car. The first walk with friends, the first McDonald’s.

And on Monday it will be the first time back to school for two of the children.

There have been many ups and downs over the last 100 days, and although I’ve written a lot, there’s obviously a lot that’s left unsaid too. In my first post on day 1 I shared a page from our kids Thought for the Day book, entitled ‘But God.’ It said that those two words show up over 3,000 times in the Bible – whenever something terrible was looming, ‘but God’! He comes and turns it around, the bringer of hope.

In all the last 100 days, the ill ones, the well ones, the rainy ones, the hot ones, the cranky ones, the loving ones, the jealous ones, the grateful ones, the grieving ones, the rejoicing ones, the claustrophobic ones, the hermit like ones, the anxious ones, the hopeful ones, in all of those days, God has showed up.

He’s been there in the gifts people have sent, in the messages and phone calls. In the Zooms and the virtual church and the music in the kitchen. In the Bible and in books and in the changing of the seasons. In the turning around of cranky days and the teary talks with one another. In the rainbows and the kindness and the sacrifices people have made. In the saying sorry and the forgiving hugs and the chance to always keep learning.

He’s always been here. And He’ll keep showing up in the days, weeks, months to come. Whether they’re easy days or hard days, He’ll be there. Because He loves His world and He loves His people, and it can look like it’s all falling apart – but God.

23 ‘Nevertheless, I am continually with you; you hold my right hand.
24 You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory.
25 Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
26 My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.’ – Psalm 73:23-26

Day 99 – Unicorn Talk

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My latest strategy for coaxing them into learning is to do something really fun and then try and casually switch them into the boring stuff without them noticing. Today we got very excited about making lollies. Micah allocated the red and green chopping boards as teams, and took his banana dissecting duties very seriously. Theo held more of an operational leader role. We successfully filled the lolly moulds and put them in the freezer, and headed to the dining room.

Sadly they weren’t fooled at all. Maddie had a comparison chart to fill in regarding positives and negatives about spiders. The positives were hard to come by. The negatives seemed to consist of ‘creepy, scary, creepy’. I think that we know where she stands on the matter.

So we dragged ourselves through a bit of schoolwork, interspersed with, ‘are the lollies frozen yet?’ every five minutes.

I had to go to Morrison’s this morning, so I took Toby with me to experience the delights of social distancing in the real world. 10 year old boys are not naturals, it appears. But I think it’s given him a little insight into how school might feel somewhat different, and from that perspective it seemed like a worthwhile outing.

When we returned, the small people had moved from playdoh to kinetic sand, which they were now happily throwing around the garden in a wild and frenzied manner. But they seemed relatively happy, and for that both we and the neighbours were grateful.

I’m trying not to assume it’s directly related to the amount of time we’ve all been at home lately, but our neighbours have spent a lot of time constructing an extra extension of trellis above their fence over the last week, to encourage their thick and perhaps sound limiting trailing plant to grow along and up. I can’t say I blame them. I’ve thought about doing the same thing around my chair at the dining table. Maybe one of those Perspex cubes that drummers sit in would work. Although I hear Perspex is tricky to get hold of these days. It seems to be quite popular in the supermarkets.

Much to their delight, the lollies did eventually freeze and were ready for eating. It seems the chocolate milkshake ones were significantly more popular that the strawberry smoothie ones. No surprises there.

Someone had a power nap on the sofa whilst watching telly, a fact he hotly denied later, even when shown this incriminating evidence. ‘No! That’s NOT me!!!’

Everyone seemed to need a bit of exercise this afternoon, so we ventured out, albeit in different directions. Megan and Maisie deemed themselves too cool to go on a family walk, and left way ahead of the rest of us. Toby has been granted a small amount of freedom on his bike recently, so he headed off to do circuits around the outside of the nearby playground.

Which left Liam and I with Theo, Micah, and a slightly fractious unicorn. Who we engaged in conversation to try and see if we could help encourage some verbalising of the fears and feelings that kept her up late last night and saw her creeping into our bed at 1:30am.

‘Hey, unicorn, it seems like you’re a little bit worried at the moment?’

Unicorn nods it’s head violently.

‘I’m wondering if you’re thinking about going back to school?’

Unicorn nods again.

‘I wonder if maybe you feel a bit worried about school feeling strange, and about keeping a distance?’

Unicorn nods violently, neighs and paws at the ground.

It turns out unicorns are real, and I’m learning their language. And it’s much less scary to ‘speak’ through an inanimate object if you feel a bit worried about something and aren’t sure how to express it. I’m thinking about trying it myself the next time I have to face a difficult conversation. I wonder if Liam can interpret crocheted penguin language. And how to say, ‘please could you put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket instead of next to our bed?’ in penguin talk. Not that I’d ever need to say it, of course.

Tonight we had friends over and a fire and we got to use the fizz emoji again after far too long. It may be a cliché, but there’s definitely a new level of appreciation for these moments now we’ve lived some months without them. And with the uncertainty of what the months ahead will hold, these are the pots of gold to look for and enjoy.

It feels like the hope we hung onto is there, coming nearer with every garden glass of Prosecco, every distanced walk, every news announcement saying that maybe, in two weeks, we’ll be able to travel and move nearer and even go in a house. There is light ahead.

I looked closely at the growing sweet peas today. I’d say my sweet peas, but given that I didn’t plant them and haven’t watered them, I’m not sure I can make such claims. I love how as they grow, and they are frail and wobbly, they send out tendrils to hold onto something for support. They are vulnerable, they look for something stronger and cling on.

But in my Google education about growing them, I was interested to see that the advice to was keep a check on the tendrils, and snip them if needed, because if left unchecked they cling onto the wrong things, or their neighbouring plants, and the whole thing ends up a mess.

I saw myself in those young sweet peas today. When I feel wobbly I’ll send out a tendril, look for something to hold onto. A family member, a friend, the words of a book. Those things are gifts and blessings and good. But if I don’t hold onto to the right thing, there is a danger I’ll choke those around me and tie myself up in knots.

There is One I can cling to, who’ll guide me in the right way, who’ll hold me fast when the winds rock me, who’ll allow me to grow stronger and bloom and become who I’m made to be.

14 “Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name.
15 When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will rescue him and honor him.
16 With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation.” – Psalm 91:14-16

Day 98 – Incy Wincy Spider

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Hello and happy Monday to you. I wanted to start by giving a quick thank you to all of you who were so kind to comment on my post on Friday about finishing these blogs. I won’t stop writing, I do enjoy the process and there’s plenty more tucked up in my head! So I will be popping in, just a little more infrequently. If you’d like to see when I post you can opt to subscribe on the blog, and it’ll pop you an email to let you know.

So here we are again, another weekend passed. Saturday we had a morning of activity, prepping for Father’s Day. We made a cake, which my helpers lasted approximately until they’d stuck their fingers in the butter and spilt sugar over the kitchen floor, leaving me to do the rest.

We then moved on to cards. Feeling confident in my new found pre-school crafting abilities, I googled some ideas and went for it. It’s always hard to merge the Pinterest image in your head with actually letting the children have their own creative way. As the photo above shows, I struggle to allow freedom of creativity in the craft department.

The kids insisted on hiding their presents themselves, which was slightly concerning, especially as at least one had chocolate in it. By Sunday morning, Micah had hidden his so many times that even he had no idea where it was. Thankfully it was found just in time to avoid complete meltdown.

Saturday afternoon we walked with friends. This was the first time our little ones had seen friends in all these weeks, and it produced a variety of emotions as expected. But it was so nice to see them settling into it and enjoying hanging out together.

In the evening it was Marvel night, which Toby is generally excited about from somewhere around Friday lunchtime, and I fear it’s going to be with us long after we have freedom again. One should think carefully about these traditions. Especially when they involve watching the Incredible Hulk.

But all joking aside, for as much as the films themselves might not be my viewing choice, I love that it’s important to the children that we do it together. And for that I’ll keep mustering enthusiasm.

Liam was wished a happy Father’s Day by being held hostage in the bedroom, by a zealous Theo, who insisted he stay there until the party was ready. Cryptically, he told Liam the party was for ‘someone who puts up the sitting hammocks’, confirming just how important that particular role is to him.

After we’d made Liam his choice of bagel with poached egg, gifted presents and proudly presented cards, we moved to church online. We’ve hit the stage where the younger three children pick the exact same three songs every week, despite my best efforts at sneaking other ones into the repertoire. There was a lack of musical accompaniment this week, although Micah sat and ‘played’ the music on his pretend iPad, which is actually a kids kindle case, whilst singing along very loudly in his very deep monotone.

We made prayer hands for the crafts. There were different prayer points suggested for the different fingers, which was great until it got to the teenage girls, who were reluctant to choose to pray for ‘someone who points you in the right direction’. It turns out they weren’t that keen on being pointed in the right direction. I wrote myself on that finger for them. I need all the prayer I can get.

Especially on a Monday.

The Monday vibes were strong today. There was a significant reluctance to do anything I suggested. And perhaps not helped by Maddie’s topic for the week being spiders. I can’t say I relished the YouTube videos of extreme close ups either.

There was definitely a sense of heightened tension and anxiety for little miss, lots of questions about school and distancing and it was a day on the edge. So we crafted. A lot. It seems to help keep a vague degree of calm when one of us is by their sides, present to calm frazzled feelings, soothe sulky stand offs, and mediate in the melee.

Liam started them with stick spider webs, which they loved, although raised concerns that a spider might actually decide to live in it.

We made a new batch of playdoh which they then played with for a while, involving plenty of soothing sensory squishing. And also plenty of throwing it around the dining room.

We then attempted spider web plates, the most popular part of that one of course being the hole punching. They then insisted on hanging them on the door, fighting for whose was the highest, had the longest string, and swung the furthest when hit. If there’s a way to compete, they’ll find it.

And as the final last ditch effort, we made spider web rainbow cupcakes. I fear we’ve completed a week’s worth of crafts in a day, but maybe Tuesday will dawn with a slightly more positive take on literacy and numeracy. Maybe.

It took a lot of emotional energy to keep a level of calm today. Especially as I felt like I was losing it at around 9:30am as we attempted early pen skills at the same time as early number forming at the same time as a war was breaking out over the two times tables, one student was standing on a chair waving ribbons, and another was crying because ‘you made me sad’. (Micah’s favourite phrase of late. Said when we say absolutely anything he disagrees with.

In between the meltdowns over, ironically, a spider, the fear-related regression to baby-like behaviours, and the late night soothings of troubled minds, it was a Monday of Mondays.

But the sun shone beautifully and the washing dried on the line. There was enough of yesterday’s roast to not have to really cook another dinner, and lots of pudding and cake. We were on time for piano lesson zooms and happy birthday to my nephew zooms. And Ikea reopened today. So there is much to be thankful for.

28 ‘For it is you who light my lamp; the LORD my God lightens my darkness.
29 For by you I can run against a troop, and by my God I can leap over a wall.
30 This God-his way is perfect; the word of the LORD proves true; he is a shield for all those who take refuge in him.
31 For who is God, but the LORD? And who is a rock, except our God?-
32 the God who equipped me with strength and made my way blameless.
33 He made my feet like the feet of a deer and set me secure on the heights.’ – Psalm 18:28-33

I find huge comfort in the fact that tonight and tomorrow and all the days to come, there is One who lights a lamp in my darkness. Who gives courage for the battle. Who gives safety in the danger. Who gives stability in the unknown. Who gives strength in the weariness, freedom in the shame, and hope in the desperation.

Tomorrow is a new day, full of possibilities. And coffee, too, no doubt.

Riding the Wave-Keeping Calm in Uncertain Times.

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We all know these are the strangest of days, I don’t have to tell you that. And no doubt you have your own thoughts, fears, ways of dealing with the current craziness that is going on all around the world. I don’t profess to have scientific knowledge, or spiritual wisdom, but as I’m currently housebound with a child who has a cough, I thought I’d write down my thoughts on how I’m processing today, and my feelings about the next few weeks.

In the past week I’ve seen a wide range of responses to Coronavirus news. There are the avoiders – it feels too scary, so we play it down. It’s only flu, I’m not going to look at the news, what’s the big fuss all about.

As the week went on, there were more voices that were the controllers – it feels too scary, so we need to be informed and control our risk. We check every update, we see what’s happening around the world, and start questioning about why not enough is being done to stop this. We race to the shops (or online shops) and make strategic plans for what might happen next.

I’ve done both of those. But I think those are both anxious responses. And given that the scenario we’re living in is likely to last weeks and months, not days, neither of those are sustainable long term. So here’s what I’m trying to do in Coronavirus confusion:

-Read the Bible. Before I look at the news or social media, remind myself of the truth of Who is in control. That this world is only temporary, and there is a hope and a future. Practically, I’ve decided to pick a book of the Bible and read a chapter a day. I’d already started Isaiah, and there have already been so many rich truths that I’ve been holding on to. Earlier in the week I read words which have stayed with me all week – ‘For the Lord spoke thus to me with his strong hand upon me, and warned me not to walk in the way of this people, saying: “Do not call conspiracy all that this people calls conspiracy, and do not fear what they fear, nor be in dread. But the Lord of hosts, him you shall honour as holy. Let him be your fear, and let him be your dread.”‘(Isaiah 8:11-13) These have helped me hold perspective and to quieten my soul when anxious thoughts arise. Pick a Psalm, a Gospel, or even just a verse, and hold onto it.

-Worship. I ask Alexa to shuffle songs by Hillsong or Bethel worship, or Rend Collective, or hymns, or whatever takes my fancy in that moment. I sing along in the car and in the kitchen, and I try and fill my mind with helpful words and loudly and badly sing it even when I don’t feel it. It helps, it really does.

-Be informed. I don’t want to avoid or obsess, the reality is there is big, world-changing stuff going on, and I need to know the truth. But I need to keep that balanced. For me that looks like limiting myself to checking the news or the Public Health site a couple of times a day. If something comes up on social media that seems hype, I check the source before believing or panicking.

-Pray. Being honest with God about what I’m afraid of, what I don’t understand, how crazy it all looks. Asking for wisdom and peace.

-Then put it aside in my mind. If I’m dwelling on all the data and what’s happening in Italy then I’m not consciously present with my kids or my responsibilities for today. My child needs to be picked up and held. My washing needs doing. My house needs cleaning probably more than usual. These are ongoing needs that won’t change whether I know how many cases of Coronavirus are in my town or not. Life cannot be completely on hold indefinitely, and there are things I can keep doing (or start doing the ones I’ve been putting off…finishing the landing painting might be a good way to spend the time!)

-Do the things I can do. I can make meal plans and have an idea of what I will need for this week. I can book a click and collect order. I can write a list of things to do if the kids are off school for a while. Several of my children will not cope without structure. So I’m planning a vague timetable of things we can do each day, and I’ll look up things like playdoh recipes and order a few craft things from Amazon. Maybe we’ll have a topic and all the different ages can do something related but suiting their different stages. I’ll put wellies and waterproofs on them and send them in the garden for at least a little bit every day, whatever the weather.

-When I have to make a decision, look at the facts and advice and be sensible and considerate, not dramatic or foolish. I don’t need to ring 111 for my child’s cough. But I do need to follow the advice about keeping her home and protecting others and the health service.

-Remember other people. Who can I love today? And how can I do it? Coronavirus has taken over the world, but for many people, their world was already painful for other reasons. I might not be able to meet up with people, but I can check in on them. In a time when we may need to ‘socially distance’, we can still choose to connect. The person who was grieving is still grieving but maybe feeling more alone. The tired mum is still being woken in the night but may not be able to go to the toddler groups that give her some social interaction. The healthcare worker who was already stretched and tired is going to be under a whole heap more pressure. I’m not very good at phoning people, but if we are isolated I intend to speak to someone on the phone every day. Because as good as whatsapp is, it’s not the same as actually hearing a human voice. There may be neighbours I can drop a card to offering to pick up some shopping for if they can’t get out. No man is an island, and I find it ironic that in a time where the world is more ‘social’ than ever before, we are worried about social distancing. I think the fear is because we know that we all need to actually connect with people in our lives, and that looks like going beyond Facebook and Instagram, and choosing to truly interact and care.

-And have fun. Watch happy films, play games, read books, craft, drink wine and eat chocolate. Also do online exercise to combat the above. (That one might be harder for me to motivate myself to do, but important nonetheless!). Look back at old photos and use the time to make the photo book you never get around to. Write real letters to people. On paper. (Wash your hands first).

I honestly believe this is all for a reason. Let’s use this time to reevaluate what we’re about and maybe come out of isolation a bit stronger, caring, and more compassionate. Whatever your situation, I’m sending love and calming vibes to you today. See you when my kids stop coughing, but hopefully speak to you in the meantime!

Stuck At Home Mum

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I feel like the old lady at the start of Titanic…’it’s been 84 years…’

It’s actually only been four days, but it’s surprising how slowly time can go when you’re confined to the house. Our outings so far this week have been to the school bus stop and back, and to the playgroup and back. On Monday the poorly child vomited on the way to playgroup and on the way back, so we’ve avoided any other non-essential trips. Now this isn’t all a sob story, because I did actually get out of the house yesterday for a quick meeting and emergency food supply top up, and a cheeky meal out for Liam’s birthday (big shout out to the brave Aunty we left here to man the ship!). The meal was bracketed by the second poorly child being sick on our bed and all over me before we left, and us returning home to change aforementioned bed. By midnight we had two small people in our bed with us.

There are times when weeks like this have occurred, that it has felt devastating. I have sulked at cancelled plans, been jealous of Liam getting out of the house, and got increasingly annoyed at the universe and it’s injustice.

Over time I have become more accustomed to these episodes. The maths seems to say that the more children you have = the longer viruses live in the house for. I’ve worked out that if the pattern of first child getting ill on Sunday, followed by second child ill on Wednesday continues, then we’ll be at home for roughly a month. I wonder how many hours of Octonauts could be watched in a month? I guess we need to settle in and ride this wave.

I dart off in between clingy children, and do the essential jobs. I work out the budget. I send emails. I make phone calls. I’m itching to paint the landing, but the length of time between Calpol doses or the sad ‘mum I need a cuddle/drink/snack/telly’ calls isn’t very long and I fear that would be a foolish dream to try and achieve. But already my brain is starting to go a bit mushy. When I left the house yesterday, and we drove to the big city, with the big car park, and fancy restaurants, I was genuinely in awe of how many people were out! At night! Did they not know this isn’t normal?! It felt like a surreal experience of walking into a movie, I’m out in this world but don’t feel like I belong. I’m starting to forget how to hold a conversation or whether I brushed my hair.

I would be lying if I didn’t say the monotony or the challenge of juggling lots of small ill people doesn’t get to me at times, but I think there are definitely things that I can do to help my attitude. I’d seen last week that someone on Instagram was running a challenge about looking for joy in parenting. It seemed ironic timing, but actually it was helpful to be going into this week with that mindset, consciously looking for the good moments. Obviously the danger with too much time on social media is the tendency toward jealousy of all the people who I think are having more fun, but as long as I keep the perspective that we only show what we choose to show of our lives and no-one’s lives are glamorous all of the time, then I find some parts of it can be fun and even helpful. A reminder and challenge to look for the good, and to find things to be grateful for is always helpful to me.

I try not to have too many expectations – over how long the illness will go on for, how much sleep I’ll get, or what I might get done today. Roll with it, we’ll all get through somehow. If I’m stuck to the sofa under a feverish child with Paw Patrol on repeat I can probably manage to hold a book in the other hand and keep my brain alive. The key is to making sure I stop to make myself a cup of tea before committing to the cuddle.

There are times I might have to ask for help. This is my weakest area. I’ve spent a lot of time over the years trying to hide my vulnerabilities. I’d much prefer to think I can manage alone, but why? There are people out there, if they don’t know I might need something how can they help? We aren’t made to do it alone, we’re made for community. I put a quick shout out on Facebook this morning to see if someone local would mind picking up some Calpol for us – the thought of dragging three poorly little ones to the shop wasn’t appealing. Some kind mum friends quickly got in touch and offered, and it wasn’t long before someone dropped some off. But I’d also reminded myself that if no-one did, that isn’t personal either. People don’t always see the message. Other people are in the same – or harder – position, and can’t help this time. That’s okay, if I have to do it anyway it might not be easy, but we’ll be home again in half an hour.

And then there’s that quote, ‘the days are long but the years are short’. Perspective can be helpful. I definitely struggled more with times like this earlier on in my parenting journey. Suddenly the little girl who was driving me crazy with her tantrums and sleeplessness and naughtiness is the same height as me, with a hilarious sense of humour, stealing my make up, and likes to hide in her bedroom. And now I’ve got to the days where she isn’t clinging on to my side, I’d quite like her back here, where I can know who she’s talking to, what she’s listening to, and what choices she’s going to make.

So here we are, washing all the bedding, one small person cuddled to sleep in my bed because he had a strop about the cot. There have been fights, refusals to eat, and more biscuits than is probably nutritionally wise. But outside the sun is shining, inside the small people are safe and getting well again, and there will be a day when we get to go out. Only by then I might have forgotten how to speak to grown ups, and there’s a chance I’ll still be wearing pyjamas. If you see me, I’ll be the one in sunglasses getting used to all the fresh air.

Birth days.

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Liam says my mum gives presents if someone sneezes. Actually, that’s not true, because loud sneezes are one of the things that make her really cross. But still, gifts are her love language, and I’m the same. So it was already an interesting dynamic that the man I met and love and married shares his birthday with the day St Valentine met his untimely end. Who gets gifts? Do we just throw out the commercial holiday made to bring more money to greedy supermarkets, or do I get him two gifts and he still sneaks out for flowers/chocolates/wine on February 13th (or 14th…or 15th)? In previous years, we’ve gone with the second option.

Until two years ago, when on this day, we were gifted another Valentine. I’m not willing to take responsibility for poor planning on this one. Granted, our family planning historically has looked like more family and less planning, but on this one we can’t take any credit. I’ve already talked about his arrival to our family on here, so suffice it to say that we had very little idea we’d be sharing our meal for £15 with a tiny newborn that year. But that day changed our family dynamic once again, with a new little one to be grateful for. But what do birthdays look like when you weren’t the one who gave birth?

The very idea of a birthday is to celebrate someone’s birth, their arrival into the world. And, like my mum, I’m definitely up for that. I love giving gifts, I love making that person feel special. And I’m also very nostalgic. I love remembering dates and days and talking memories. But the truth is, that for a lot of people, birthdays often bring a measure of pain in the memories too.

As a student midwife, I quickly learned that the movie idealised birth story, where the perfectly made-up mother with gentle devoted partner pops out a beautiful completely round-headed forceps-mark free baby who is immediately bundled into a pure white crocheted blanket is just that – a story. Birth involves pain. For many people, the pain of labour is put behind them, and they embrace life with a newborn. But I think for possibly the majority of people, there is history that comes with them into the labour room, and that will go home with them too.

In those rooms, I saw mothers who had waited for this day for many many years. They brought fear and anxiety into the delivery suite, and a brave hope that their dreams might at last come true. I saw mothers whose tears of joy were mingled with tears of loss – they’d lost their own mother, or father, a previous baby, or the father of their child, and the birth of a newborn was an intense reminder of that person they desperately wished was still a part of their life. I saw mothers afraid of who their partner was, but they were birthing his baby and clinging to the ideal that he would be who said he could be. I saw mothers who were children themselves, with their own mothers nervously stroking their hair. I saw mothers who hadn’t anticipated this baby, and didn’t know how they felt, how they would bond, if they even wanted to take it home. I saw mothers whose baby was born, and it wasn’t the perfect baby they had dreamed of, it would have needs they didn’t know if they could manage, and their world came crashing down. I saw mothers who knew the baby they would birth would never breathe. Their baby had left earth before it arrived, and those heartbreaking deliveries were sombre with intense, raw grief. I saw mothers whose baby was born far too soon, and they were afraid for its life. And I saw mothers whose baby would be whisked away, because it was too unsafe to send them home to the chaos and abuse and trauma there.

What I learned in those rooms, through my own experiences, and through being privileged to witness so many others, is that often the words ‘happy birthday’ are an oxymoron. Often a birth day is not pure joy and elation. Even in the births of my first three children, I carry buried pain alongside beautiful memories, whole stories in themselves. For my youngest three children, their birthdays are mingled with huge loss. Their loss of safety, of childhood innocence, of the only world they’d known, and the loss of the mother who gave birth to them. I can’t even imagine what goes through her mind on those days. And for me there’s sadness too – all the first moments missed, and all the pain I wish I could have saved them from. But this is life in a broken world, a whirling mess of joy and heartache, a see-sawing of hurt and healing, and with every birth delivered in pain there is promise of hope. A new life, a new story to be written. A new person gifted to this world for a reason, capable of being loved and held and dreamed for, and of loving and holding and dreaming.

I think it’s important to acknowledge the whole story, even if only to myself. I know I’m not alone in these days of mixed emotions. When we celebrate birthdays, I’m not pretending that all birth days are happy days. And I’m not trying to patch over a hard story. But I am celebrating this person. This gift of life. This day that marks another year on earth for them, another year of their unique personality and character and skills changing the world and the people around them because of their individual design. Despite the minor challenges of the two cake-making, double gift-buying, ‘where do I hang all the cards?’ issues related to the double birthday, I feel so honoured that we get to celebrate this little boy. People sometimes tell us that the children are lucky to have us. I don’t think lucky is the right word for such a start to life, but I feel incredibly privileged to have him, to be the one to wrap his presents, light his candles, and listen to him walking around the house still singing ‘happy birthday’ to himself, four days later.

As for Valentine’s Day, I still sneaked it in, with heart confetti on the dinner table and a chocolate for each child. I’m okay with letting it go for myself these days- I’m just hoping for double presents on my birthday to make up for it…

Defined by an Emoji.

~ savouringmydays ~ 2 Comments

I’m feeling meh today. It turns out that ‘meh’ is actually in the dictionary (thanks to the Simpsons, I believe), and given that it even has an emoji, it is clearly a recognised state of mind. Apparently it is defined as ‘expressing a lack of interest or enthusiasm, unenthusiastic, apathetic’ (Oxford Living Dictionaries).

On a normal day once I’ve pulled myself out of bed and woken up properly, I don’t stop. Until around 9pm when the older kids go to bed, I keep going, busying, organising, moving. But today I got up, got people dressed, made breakfasts and lunches, and that was it. I went up to get dressed but flopped on the bed and decided I don’t want to be an adult any more.

I’m not sure where it’s come from but the fog has been there for a few days now. I think the speeding ticket that arrived last week may have begun it. Then a small person smashed my favourite lamp and violently hammered the wall I’d just painted. Over the weekend I lost my Weight Watchers motivation and drank all the Prosecco and ate all the chocolate. The hall had been my project for last week, and downstairs is looking good, but the half painted stairway that I can’t reach anymore is nagging at me every time I walk up and down it.

Then Monday began badly. This week already felt stressful – Liam away overnight, a day of two birthdays sandwiched between hospital appointments, and a meeting I’m not looking forward to. I was trying to leave to meet friends and had a series of unfortunate incidents including a last minute nappy to change and a child’s fingers shut in the door, cue much screaming and reassuring.

So there was of course an irony in the smoke that started emerging from the bonnet as I drove down the dual carriageway. Accompanied by a rapidly rising temperature gauge in the car, an urgent diversion and parking up at a builders merchants, and all plans for the day being abandoned. So I cried, rang Liam, told the security guard my sob story, and the boys and I were rescued by a kind friend.

But the funny thing about my mood is that the car, which would normally be the biggest of my worries practically and financially, was actually a free and quick repair due to an error at the garage. So in theory, I should feel better today.

But I don’t.

So I started wondering about this as I attempted laundry, mindlessly and demotivated, this afternoon. The speeding ticket seemed to have kick started an emotional reaction in me, which followed along these lines:

I’ve never had one before, so I felt guilty, annoyed, and disappointed in myself. I should know better, be more attentive, be more careful, leave earlier, rush less, and not be distracted. Basically, I let myself down. And broke the law.

And now I can’t even finish off the hall painting job that I started.

Or stick to a diet which I avoided starting for fear of failing.

Or breeze into the week without worrying.

Or confidently manage two birthdays on Valentine’s day, complete with well thought-out gifts and homemade cakes of excellence.

Or be as good a friend as I’d like to be.

Or keep the house as orderly and tidy as Marie Kondo.

Or get myself out of a broken down car situation without feeling helpless and pathetic.

Or know in all certainty what the best way to handle a difficult meeting will be and how to make a wise decision in a seemingly Catch 22 situation.

The long and short of it seems to be this –

I’d like to think I’m superwoman. I place ridiculously high expectations on myself to be everything, do everything, and not make mistakes. And when I do, I wallow in guilt, self-pity, and disappointment at my humanity, and decide I’d like to give up.

The interesting thing is that when I see this in my children, I spend a lot of time reminding them – you’re human, you will make mistakes, it’s okay. We’re not God, we’re fallible creatures who will get it wrong. And we can rest in the arms of a kind God, who gave everything including His own Son for a relationship with us, who chooses not to look on our mistakes but at who He made us to be, and He declares that we are His design, and it is good. And when I remind myself of that, the mood starts to lift, and I can hand over the burden of worry and the pressure of perfection, and know that all I need to be today is me.

So it turns out I don’t need to define my week by an emoji. There is grace – for the mistakes of last week, the disorder of today, and the anxieties of tomorrow. And there is hope, in a new sunrise, a fresh start, and love that never fails.

And Weight Watchers can wait, because it would be downright rude not to eat cake on the birthdays anyway.

Slow January

~ savouringmydays ~ Leave a comment

In 2003 I finished University, qualified as a midwife, moved to Wales and started working.

In 2004 we got engaged.

In 2005 we got married.

In 2006 Megan was born.

In 2007 Maisie was born, and on December 20th she had a cleft palate repair operation.

In 2008 I went back to work.

In 2009 we moved house, and Toby was born on December 18th.

In 2010 we moved house, and I went back to work.

In 2011 we began a foster carer assessment.

In March 2012 we were approved as foster carers, placed with a child, and I finished work. In September we transitioned that child to his forever home, and in October received our second placement of a tiny baby.

In May 2013 we moved house. In November we transitioned baby to her forever home.

In January 2014 we received our third foster placement, another tiny baby. In September we transitioned her to her forever home. In October we received our fourth foster placement, another tiny newborn.

In August 2015 we moved house. In October we transitioned baby to her forever home.

In 2016 we received M and T as foster placements. In September we began our adoption assessment. In October and November I spent two weeks in hospital with a very poorly T. At the end of November I had the terrible phone call to say my brother Dan had suddenly died.

In February 2017 baby Micah joined us less than 24 hours old. In March we moved house, then went to adoption panel and were approved. In April we began our adoption assessment for Micah. In July we were approved as his adopters.

In 2018 we survived…the impact of grief, six children, a baby with (now diagnosed) milk protein and soya allergies, one child starting high school, one starting reception, one learning to walk, one being potty trained. In July Liam started a new job. In September four went to school and I juggled:

3 ballet classes a week

1 guides group

1 guitar lesson

2 piano lessons

2 swimming lessons

1 youth club

2 gymnastics classes.

What’s my point in this lengthy list? By December I was struggling. I was exhausted physically and emotionally. Liam’s job is brilliant but much longer hours. I was increasingly aware the children were not getting the best of me. At the same time, I was conscious that this was the first year no major changes had happened or looked like they were going to happen, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that. I was used to gearing up for the next thing, and although I dread change, I had adapted to living a fast-paced, adrenaline charged life. And now I was wondering what I would do next – in only a couple of years all the children would be in school. I started looking at what jobs I might do.

In December I was anxious about feeling very un-festive, stressed about all the things to do and the lack of time to do it. But then I decided to start embracing advent, the counting of each day, the repetitive opening of a calendar (or in my case, an email with crochet instructions!). The looking towards something, but making the most of the build up too.

I think somewhere in that month, I began to enjoy slowing down, and that changed my thinking about January. Megan had made the difficult decision to finish ballet, which had been a huge part of her life from the age of three. Maisie chose to leave guides, as she was new into comprehensive school, and felt she would be better home in the evening. Little M, new to reception, was (is) absolutely exhausted, often falling asleep on the way home, and one by one, her after school activities had to stop too. My initial response was to wonder what they could or should do instead? Surely it would help them socially and physically to attend these classes? What if they grow up and resent the lack of opportunities they had? What if they blame me for having nothing to put on their CV because they hadn’t moved from one thing to another?

Somewhere in those weeks at the end of an old year and start of a new one, it dawned on me that this year Megan will be 13. In five short years, she could be packing her bags and moving out. Micah turns 2 in February – by the end of the year, he could be going to playgroup, the stepping stone to nursery, then school. And I realised what I wanted to do most in January was to slow right down. To not replace the clubs and activities with more running around, but to be with the children. The times I get most overwhelmed, stressed, and unpleasant with them, are often the times that I’m running around trying to get everyone out of the house, or get dinner ready in between taxiing people places, doing ballet buns, and washing swimming kits. And then someone wets their pants or has a tantrum, and it’s one thing too much. And I don’t want to have spent the majority of our time together being stressed about the next thing, and missing the opportunities we have today.

I want to build relationships with them, to have time to talk about their days, what excites them, and the things that make them unsettled in the night. To watch and observe as they grow and to be able to speak into their forming characters. To give cuddles and play games and read stories and google maths problems that I have no clue about, and to help them as they think through what their actions meant. To not be so frazzled that by the time I see Liam in the evening I have lost all ability to hold a conversation, and he also gets the worst of me.

I know this won’t last forever. Life keeps changing, things will happen that I can’t anticipate or predict. The children will probably want or need different activities that will fill up the calendar. But maybe if I have slowed down for a time, when we had the opportunity, we’ll all be more ready for that.

So that’s where I am right now. Trying to take time to be. Not filling my days and evenings, but allowing time to be together. And time for me to be filled up so I can pour out to those I love the most. To read, to write, to pray, to listen to music, to crochet more animals, to take more photos, to even have a bath. With candles. And I’m actually learning to enjoy it.