If the Gift of Sleep is so good, why all the mystery?

It seems the writers of The Gift Of Sleep eBook are banning anyone who dares suggest their methods be anything other then loving from their Facebook, twitter, and YouTube pages.

I have two things to say about it.

1. Don’t publish a book if you cannot accept criticism
That’s pretty straight forward but I’ll elaborate a little.

I’m a “mummy blogger” as in I write about my opinions on parenting and share a little of my parenting journey. From birth to breastfeeding to behaviour and boo boos (see what I did there with the Bs ) I write about what interests me and what is relevant to my family. Over time that has evolved. When I first starting blogging it was about boobs and birth trauma, with some other stuff thrown in the mix. I put it out there because I thought it was important.

And most of the feedback was just ace. Lovely people supporting me and sharing their own journeys.

Some of the feedback was critical and questioning, that’s also okay. I answered honestly and engaged them in open and frank discussion.

The only comments I ever deleted were personal attacks or just down right rude comments filled with racism, sexism, profanity or just hate filled rants.

But I expected people to question my parenting methods if I chose to talk about them in a public way.

Yes, some of it was harsh and at times a little hard to deal with, but I expected it.

If the authors of The Gift of Sleep are comfortable with their chosen parenting method then they will allow others to question it and then in return will engage them in frank and open discussion.

Let’s be real Mia and Elizabeth, you’re peddling the same old snake oil that baby trainers across the western world have been flogging for a while now. Ignore the protest cries and respond to the distressed cries. We’ve heard it. We get it.

It’s still ridiculous.

You see in a baby every cry is a form of communication.

But more on that a little later.

The second reason why I am worried about the blocking is this.

2. What have they got to hide?

I started this blog with the intent of being open and honest about what attachment parenting is all about. I’ve shown my struggles, I haven’t always painted with every colour of the rainbow. I’ve posted during wonder weeks about how damn tough it is.

Why? Not because I want to sway people away from attachment parenting or even parenting in general, but because I believe parents should have all the information about parenting before making choices so then they have realistic expectations.

If The Gift of Sleep is really as good as they say it is, why are they worried about criticism. What are they hiding? Why aren’t they upfront about the fact that it is controlled crying?

Let’s be honest, if a sleeping method involves crying that is timed by the parent before it is responded to is controlled crying.

There’s nothing wrong with calling controlled crying controlled crying, some parents will choose that method. There is something wrong with calling it something else simply to sell books to unsuspecting parents.

Woops. eBooks.

They’re also not upfront about the authors qualifications either. That also sends up alarm bells.

Pick a parenting author who is upfront and honest.

Dr Sears, is a doctor, paedatrition in fact. And he’s open and honest about it. You could even go and see him in his practice and see his license on the wall if you wanted.

Pinky McKay is a lactation consultant, and is endorsed by the Australian Breastfeeding Association.

Elizabeth Pantley is just a mum. Sorry mom, she is American after all. But she is up front about that. She presents the methods that worked for her family in a honest way and without a scrap of judgement.

Tizzie Hall? I think she was a nanny. Apparently she did a unit of study on psychology. Yet she makes huge statements about breastfeeding. Okay then.

Elizabeth Sloane? Who knows. I’m not willing to pay $19.95 to find out. Maybe she’s an expert in door knocking or carpet scratching.

Mia Freedman? She’s a shrill woman from the suburbs of Sydney who practices a form of detached parenting that makes me cringe and claims to be a voice for Australian mothers. I wish she’d just buggar off into obscurity to be honest.

And now picture this.

It’s dark, cold, and someone is crying. Their carer, sitting in another room is drinking a glass of wine and watching TV ignoring the cries.

The person crying is getting louder and louder, the carer looks at their watch. It hasn’t yet been 5 minutes so she refuses to go in.

The person crying is sweaty, has a headache from the crying, is distressed, but had to wait. The book says this is the only way.

Eventually the crying stops, the carers toast their success. In the dark room, perhaps the person is asleep, maybe they’ve just given up. They lay their in the darkness, heartbroken, no one is coming.

Why is that okay if it is a baby being ignored by their parents, but not okay if it is an elderly person being ignored by nursing home workers or a handicapped person being ignored by their carers?

Why is it disrespectful to ignore a crying adult but not a crying baby?

It is simple. Baby trainers don’t award babies the same status of personhood that they do adults and older children. They are simply a problem to be managed and their unhappiness a tool to make them some serious dollars. No other group can be as marginalized or as discriminated against as children are, because they don’t have a voice.

He’s not giving you a hard time, he’s having a hard time.

Parents check your ego at the delivery room door because it’s not all about you anymore. Truth is having a baby will change your life in more ways then buying cute outfits or rearranging your schedule to fit in gymbaroo. You will be tired, you will have little time to yourself and you will spend a lot of time consoling a cranky baby. Your fussy baby may infact just be a normal kid. Relax, one day they’ll leave home and then their sleep won’t be your problem any more.

However choose what you do in the mean time with great care. Babies are resilient, they do bounce, rolling off the bed one time won’t doom them to a life as the village idiot… Routinely and repeated ignoring of your child’s attempts at communication can have serious negative effects on their mental health. Secure and loving attachment is vital.

This doesn’t mean you have to cosleep or breastfeed until college, however if you find yourself scratching the carpet while your babies cries for you just ask yourself, would I treat a friend like this, and if I did would we be friends for very long?

Autumn

It’s Autumn.

It’s not cold but there is a very different weather pattern happening. Trees are losing leaves, the summer rain has gone, the clouds are light and grey instead of heavy and black. There’s no humidity anymore. I love this time of year.

But does anyone else feel like there are just not enough hours in the day?

Lately my blogging has been quite sporadic because between parenting, studying, housekeeping, socializing, and sleeping, I’m not really finding time for much else. Throw in having cars stolen and our house broken into, it seems as though every last minute of every day is spent doing something. Or catching up on something that should have been done the day before.

Last night the small one only woke once overnight. Hallelujah! When DS woke up and I heard the shower going I thought “WTH, why is he showering at this hour of the night, he’s woken the baby!”

It was actually 5.30am.

Oops.

I’m actually finding myself really no longer interested in a lot of birth or newborn type stuff unless it really grabs me. I just don’t have the time. Majority of the reading I’m doing is course related.

Which, by the way, is going well. I have two subjects completed, Nutrition 1 and Naturopathic Philosophy with a credit and a distinction respectively. I’m now working on Herbal Medicine 1 and Anatomy and Physiology 1. I’m plodding along with it and very much enjoying it.

My mother in law will be here next week and we’re all very much looking forward to that.

It’s beginning to cool down overnight now and the kids are in winter pjs.

We’re getting there, albeit quite slowly at times. We’re waiting for a few things to happen and I know that they will.

Health wise I’m feeling fit, strong and healthy. I’m getting to the gym a couple of times a week and working towards my fitness goals.

Overall we’re doing okay. Having the cars stolen was a huge stressor but it looks like the end of that saga is very near.

Fingers crossed.

If you want something to train, get a dog

Although I wouldn’t even submit my dog to the Tizzie Hall’s or Elizabeth Sloane’s of the world.

Let me put it this way. I often here about parents “not signing up for this” or their little ones being “unpredictable” or “out of schedule.”

Recently I heard about a mum who had a horrible night day 3 in hospital so was implementing a routine so it never happened again.

Seriously.

It seems this Elizabeth Sloane woman is the new flavor of the month. Her ebook has a forward by über bogan Mia Freedman. The method involved knocking on the door and scratching the carpet. Dead set.

I don’t know about you but if I were crying and someone started knocking on the door loudly shhhhing me I would actually be quite offended, if it were my partner or my parent I would be confused, if they can hear I’m upset then why aren’t the helping me?

As for the carpet scratching, well if I were crying and my husband started scratching on the carpet I’d probably suggest he seek out some professional help, that’s just crazy.

Now we haven’t been having the best of nights. A combination of stress due to break ins, and my sons teething means at 16 months he still doesn’t sleep through. But that is okay. He’s having a hard time not giving me one. And yes it is frustrating and yes I would love a night sleeping right the way through, but it will happen and in the mean time I just do what needs to be done, rocking, patting, feeding, it doesn’t take long to get him sleeping again.

We also recently got a dog. He’s a beautiful little Maltese x shih tzu who we call Raafy.

Now he sleeps in our bed at night, sometimes at our feet and sometimes snuggled in between hubby and I. I’ve woken to find him asleep on a coat I accidentally left on the floor and often he will follow me into DSs room when I go to feed him or resettle him. He doesn’t bark or even make a noise, if I didn’t know he had followed me I wouldn’t even notice he was there. When he’s tired he lays down and has a sleep, if the room is too loud he moves to another. He eats when he’s hungry and drinks when he’s thirsty. And he’s not a feral brat of a dog, he is content. We all need some “puppy training” so we can work well together, especially the kids, but all is well.

The same goes for my kids. They eat when they’re hungry, drink when they’re thirsty, sleep when they’re tired. And so do I.

And we’re all content.

What’s my point? My point is that if something sounds cruel and unusual then it probably. Scratching carpet or knocking loudly on the door isn’t a settling technique, it’s something a parent does to justify ignoring their babies legitimate need to be with their mother. It’s done so they can say, I didn’t leave her to cry, at 5 minutes I went and knocked on the door so she knew I was there. It’s an excuse, it’s a cry it out method. Children don’t learn, they just give up on getting what they need by communicating through crying. Simple.

Harsh? Probably. Sometimes things just can’t be sugar coated.

The Gift of Sleep is a method designed for convenience of parents not to help the baby sleep.

Considering when I suggested that leaving her baby with a relative stranger and drinking a glass of wine and watching Telly while said stranger used controlled crying methods on her small baby possibly wasn’t the best parenting choice Mia Freedman exclaimed “Quick!! Call DOCS!!” and then blocked me on twitter, I doubt she is going to engage any critics in any form of intelligent conversation about the ebook. That just raises more red flags for me.

Babies are demanding, their sleep isn’t always consistent and not all babies sleep through before 6 weeks let alone 6 months. With that in mind I think we need realistic expectations of baby behavior not cruel methods that could be damaging to a babies mental health.

If you’re gonna be dumb you gotta be tough

Have you ever watched Jackass? I have, plenty of times. I love it. It’s hilarious. The stuff they do, you’ve got to think “they must just have to switch off their brains to do that, everything in their rational self must be screaming DON’T DO IT!”

Does Mia Freedman have to do the same… Every single time she speaks or writes publicly?

She’s marketed as some sort of voice for Australian mothers but this Australian mother finds her uneducated opinions presented as facts as annoying and sometimes even offensive.

Her “journalism” techniques of “my friend said” or “I heard from a friend” are just cringe worthy. Anecdotal evidence is not good journalism sister.

And her loud shrill opinions on everything attachment parenting or homebirth – when she has neither had one nor spoken to anyone who ever has. Unfortunately a fair number of people read this garbage.

And then there’s this on breastfeeding. Which is just so full of anecdotal “evidence” of how “Breast Feeding Association” (there’s no association named that in Australia btw, she’s just made that up, it’s the Australian Breastfeeding Association and they do a bang up job).

And her latest ebook “The Gift of Sleep” which says a mum will knock on the door loudly, shhh and that’s the comforting part, oh god it’s just do bad.

The opening by Mia talks about how this baby “guru” who she paid $3,600 for the pleasure, came to her home and while Mia and her husband sat and drank wine and watched TV the guru settled the baby using crying techniques. But it worked!

And don’t you dare insinuate that Mia is anything less than a model mother or she’ll block you from twitter. Or call you a hypocrite because it takes all kinds.

Seriously did she really think that no one would disagree with her methods when she put them out their publicly? Really?

Anyway, I would love to see Mia being more factual and less “making it up as she goes along” but she won’t, so I’ll just have to avoid her at all costs

And as for her “Gift of Sleep” thanks but I prefer Pinky’s book, someone with actual qualifications that are out there for everyone to see and you don’t have to pay $19.95 to find out.

What having my car stolen has taught me

On Sunday evening while my family and I slept our family car was stolen. I really liked that car. It was my first car. A Holden Commodore 2003 V6. I liked it. It was nice to drive, comfortable, roomy, it was exactly what I was looking for in a car. And not to be vain but I think I looked good in it.

I am only on my learners at present but I was looking forward to a time when I could drive my car with my kids and by myself. I could picture it perfectly. Even down to what song I would have playing the first time I drove by myself. Sad I know.

Fuel by Metallica by the way.

Anywho so we went to bed on Sunday night and on Monday morning at around 5am my husband went to get something from my car so he could go to work… It was gone.

I’ve spent two whole days on the phone to the police, insurance, locksmiths, family, defence housing Australia, working my bum off to get this fixed. It was found Monday night. The gear box is wrecked. It was towed, we’re waiting for police to release it then the insurance agency to assess it. We won’t have it back for a while, if at all.

It’s happening more and more in Townsville. And it’s kids.

I was angry, very angry. I cried and swore and felt like shit for about 48 hours. Why us? Why our car? Why did they have to violate my feeling of safety and security in my own home? Why did they do this?

Then I woke up this morning and it clicked. Because no one loved them enough to know where they were and what they were doing. No one loved them enough to teach them right from wrong. Because they have no empathy for other people, why else would they steal an obvious family car (2 car seats would have been a big give away) and why would they steal the car seats or toss them. They stole the best of the wiggles for Pete’s sake!

They probably don’t go to school, why else would they be joyriding on a Sunday evening. So clearly no one loved them enough to teach them how important an education is to their future.

They probably learnt very early on that to get their parent’s attention they had to act up and now they don’t know how to behave.

I bet no one at home asks them about their dreams for their future, or their ambitions. No one cooks them a special birthday dinner or drives them to early morning band practice.

I bet they don’t have parents who watch, listen, and monitor their activities.

They’ve probably seen that positive behavior is ignored and only negative attention is acknowledged.

I feel sorry for them.

I was blessed with loving parents who cared about me and loved me enough to be involved. So while I wasn’t an angel, I knew right from wrong and I made good choices because I understood that a responsible member of the community doesn’t just think about themselves but the impact their choices make on everyone else.

I don’t believe it’s about whether or not a child is smacked or punished, this isn’t about that. I choose not to spank my children. I don’t think spanking kids will stop them from becoming criminals. I hazard a guess that lots of these kids were spanked, maybe even abused, but I also guess they didn’t receive much positive attention or guidance.

It sucks that my car was stolen, it is a huge pain in the bum trying to fix the mess, but I chose to let go of anger and accept that they made bad choices because no one loved them enough to teach them why they should make the right ones.

So I forgive. I don’t forget though. Believe me. I don’t forget. And I hope they are caught so they can be brought before a court of law and appropriately punished. Police and judges don’t have enough power against criminals in my opinion, they can’t even chase down criminals in a known stolen car.

But anger, bitterness and resentment eat you alive like a cancer. And I let go of that.

So I forgive, I learn from what has happened and moving forward into the future I do not forget.

For the fallen, the broken, and those who loved them

Anzac Day is a day of quiet reflection and remembrance. For many, myself included it is a day to quietly reflect on the sacrifices made by men and women of the Australian Defence Force in conflicts both past and present.

I remember sitting in school assemblies listening to stories of war. I remember hearing of the young men who gave their lives in war and the young women who served alongside them as nurses, truck drivers, the radio operators, and other support roles.

Anzac Day is also a time to reflect on my own military heritage. My Great great uncles served in Gallipoli and on the western front. My great grandfathers on both sides of my family served in the Navy during WWII. My grandfather went to Korea as an infantryman. My uncles are in the Army and Navy. My dad joined the Army before I was born and is still serving.

I think of their sacrifices and the sacrifices of their family. The ones left at home.

The men who died in combat were sons, brothers, fathers, uncles, nephews, fathers, husbands, grandfathers. And when they died they left behind siblings, children, aunts, uncles, grandparents, wives, fathers, mothers. Families.

In 2010 when my father was in Afghanistan every time a death or injury of an Australian soldier was announced on television I would tense up. I knew that if anything happened to dad that mum would have rung before anything went to the news but it still shook me. I’d breathe a huge sigh of relief as soon as they’d say a rank, age, hometown, anything that didn’t match up with dad.

I’m an adult, when dad was deployed I hadn’t lived at home for 3 years, but it was still a stressful time.

We live in a time of email, satellite phonecalls, letters, parcels – there are so many methods of communicating with our loved ones overseas. Especially with our men and women at sea. When I was at sea, back in my life before children, at the end of the working day I would send my husband a quick email and when we pulled into port I would send him a text message and then ring him once we were ashore. We were in contact. I can’t imagine what it would have been like in my great grandmothers day when my great grandfather was at sea and the only way of communicating was a letter or postcard when they went ashore.

When I was a kid my dad would often go out field and once every week or so we’d get a satellite phonecall for about 5 minutes. We’d all get a short snippet of our dads time, a minute or so, and often everyone on our end would end up in tears. I never much liked the satellite phones, I hated the way I heard my own voice bounced back at me. I loved talking to dad, didn’t like hearing myself.

My cousins were the same, although their contact with their dad was less frequent as he was (and still is now, although like my dad he’s now a reservist) in the Navy.

My uncle on mum’s side is also in the Army but has younger children so they’re going through some of the same things my siblings and I went through, although their mum is in the air force so they regularly have both parents away. I often think that must be pretty rough but those boys are very loved, and are lucky to often have my grandparents look after them.

I often think about not just the men who gave it all in war but the women who were at home. With the men at war women had to go back to work, care for the home and the children all whilst worrying not knowing whether their loved ones had lived or died. I can only imagine the fear at seeing someone in uniform walking towards the door or receiving a telegram from a government department. I can only imagine.

Anzac Day is a day I remember all the sacrifices made by military families past and present. I often think of my sister, she’s not in the military and she probably never will be, but if there were ever a birthday that dad would have been away for it was always hers. I remember moving over and over, as soon as you’d make friends and settle you’d be gone again. I remember the Christmas that dad was peace keeping in Bougainville. I remember all the times dad made it to special events like seeing me off to the formal, awards ceremonies, concerts, and all the times he didn’t.

In war time and in peace time, military families make sacrifices. We move from place to place every few years, away from family, to locations we otherwise wouldn’t dream of living often to spend a large portion of our time without our partner and our children without their father. At short notice there are duties, field trips, and deployments. Heck just last night my husband informed me he has to work this weekend and next, I have driving lessons, exams and a seminar booked. Time to replan. My husband is an Army cook, every Anzac day he leaves home at 1-2am to cook a gunfire breakfast. Even on what is considered the Army’s special day, not all the soldiers get to relax and enjoy it. This is my husbands 5th Anzac Day since enlisting and the only one he hasn’t worked was when he was recovering from facial reconstruction surgery. He will come home at about 10am absolutely shattered after spending half the night and all of the morning preparing the breakfast that is the tradition after the dawn service.

I hope someone shouts the cooks a drink for their troubles.

I’m not asking for sympathy or special consideration but I do ask this of you. When you stop to reflect today about the sacrifices made by men in war, please stop to think of the nurses and doctors who treated them. The ambulance drivers who risked going out on the battlefield to pick up the injured and dead, many of those drivers were women. Think of Simpson and his donkey. Think not just of our soldiers but our airmen and sailors. Think of the young boys who lied about their age because they loved their country so much they felt compelled to go whatever the cost. Think of the men who were too old and yet again lied about their age as they too were compelled to fight.

And think of the families at home, who worried for their loved ones. Think of the mothers who said goodbye to their sons never to see them again. The widows. The children left fatherless. Think of the men who came home broken, not just physically but those who saw too much, lost too much, gave too much.

Think of the victims of chemical warfare, who have no physical scars but suffer poor health due to what they were exposed to.

Think of the children who move school to school, who feel the peaks and pits of having their father away, who never quite know whether he’ll be there or not, and who did not chose this life but wouldn’t have it any other way.

For while the military life has downsides there are plus sides. As a child we saw amazing parts of the country, we were a tight family unit and as adults we are all very close, we saw that dad had an exciting job that he enjoyed, we had parents who loved us and we were always well cared for.

It can’t have been all bad, I joined the Navy and my brother is about to join the Army. To top it off, I married a soldier. I chose the army life for my children. It’s different now though, with better communication, better support services, and well having a Thermomix makes life easier when he’s away, but there are still challenges.

This Anzac Day remember those who have made the ultimate sacrifice, giving their life for their country, and remember those who loved them. For they sacrificed so much and lived with that scar.

For the fallen

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Laurence Binyon (1869–1943)

Dad’s are not babysitters

These are crayons

They’re made by taking little bits of broken crayon and putting them in a silicon tray and then melting them in the microwave on high for about 5 minutes. You can also melt them in the oven.

But I didn’t make them, my husband did.

Over the weekend he has cooked, cleaned, fed children, gotten up with them in the morning, cared for them while I did other jobs, bathed them, put them to bed. You know, parented them.

I get sick of hearing about dads who don’t parent their children. Dads who don’t do their share of the work in the home.

Now I get that stay at home parents are at home more and will do more of the work when they’re actually home, but when you have two adults at home why should one be working while the other lounges around relaxing. If both adults did the work then it would be done sooner and everyone could relax.

You know, one in all in.

Now I don’t expect my husband to come home from a 16 hour day and then clean the house top to bottom, but if I’m folding the laundry then we do it together, then it gets done quicker. One person washes the dishes and the others wipes them up. Sometimes one person watches the children while the other mows the lawn or weeds the garden.

It’s not babysitting when a father watches his child and he’s not doing his partner a special favor. On the weekend I have an exam (first one of my course, I’m a tad nervous actually) and my husband will be watching the toddlers, he isn’t doing me a favor, he’s just parenting. When one parent is unable to look after the children the other just takes up the slack.

Does he do everything how I would? No. Does that matter? No.

Haven’t we moved passed the parenting as women’s work era? As a feminist I believe that parenting is a job shared equally between the sexes. I can change a nappy as good as my husband can, he can read a bedtime story just as well as I can.

I don’t buy the line of not being able to or not knowing how. Why are men getting to adulthood and not knowing how to cook a meal, iron a shirt, mop a floor, clean a toilet, or make their own lunch. Seriously, how do these men survive single life? These are life skills I’ll be teaching my son and daughter.

As for not knowing how to parent, how to change a nappy, settle or burp a baby, bath a baby. News flash, most first time mums know about as much as first time dads. We’re learning on the fly, we’re making it up as we go along! When I had my first the only other newborns I could remember holding were my siblings (the youngest being 16 when my daughter was born) and my cousin (who was 4 when my daughter was born). That was it. I had studied early childhood practices at high school but that was 5 years earlier. I had no clue what I was doing!. I didn’t research passed birthing this baby and so when she was in our arms we were stumped. And we made it up as we went along following our instincts and I think we did a pretty good job.

Baby number 1 – 30 minutes old

Then 18 months after our first baby was born baby number 2 came along and as shocking as it sounds he wasn’t a carbon copy of his sister. Once again I had to learn, grow and change. The transition from one to two was harder then having just one. I had to learn all about this little person, figure out breastfeeding which I didn’t get right the first time and keep the toddler happy and on track. Hubby would stumble in from a 16 hour day to find me mid-witching hour. He would start cleaning and by the time he had done the dishes and kitchen the baby would be sleeping so I would pop him in his hammock while we tackled mouth Washmore. We had two in cloth nappies back then. By the time we finished that we’d stumble into bed only to be woken within the hour by a baby ready for a feed. Into our bed he’d go where he’d spend most of the night attached to the boob.

We worked as a team. It was a hard year for our relationship but no matter what was going on between us he never let up on his responsibilities as a father. I was never left doing more then my fair share.

Look I know some women like making their partner lunch or ironing their work uniforms or whatever and that’s great, that’s their choice. It should not be expected. And when women are struggling with parenting their biggest help and support should come from their baby’s father.

This goes for breastfed and bottlefed babies. And you don’t have to express to get someone to help you, there are plenty of things dad can do to help that don’t involve feeding. Bathing, nappy changes, settling, cuddling, playing with baby, taking baby for a walk or car ride, wearing baby.

Baby number 2 – 8 days old

It’s simple really, if you’re a man pull your weight, we know you work hard at your job but don’t forget we work hard at home raising your children. If we all pitch in we all get a chance to sit down for a break when it’s done.

If you’re a woman then tell him what you need done, if he doesn’t know what you need chances are he won’t do it. Avoid the angst and resentment, tell him straight – can you fold the laundry/get dinner started/hold the baby for a bit.

What do you do all day?

As a mum a lot of the work I do is invisible. If you weren’t here to see the spill on the floor, you won’t know I ever cleaned it up. If you didn’t see the kitchen utensils scattered from one end of the house to the other, you won’t know I spent half an hour tracking them all down. If you didn’t see the tantrums, tears, settling for naps, breastfeeds, packing away of toys, reading of stories, trips to the park, kissing of boo-boos, explanations to the 2 year old about every. little. thing. and the making of, serving of and cleaning up after every meal – then its like it never happened and I did nothing.

If you come home of an evening and the house looks relatively the same, that means I got quite a lot done. Some days living with two active toddlers is like trying to hold back a hurricane with a single finger, it doesn’t work.

Other days we get extras done. I mean the quick clean of a bathroom or the making of beds. That is an extra.

Now that I study the “what do you do all day” question bites even more. I do a lot. A damn lot. My head hits the pillow every night and I am mentally and physically spent.

My house is not perfect and I make no secret of the fact that I hate housework. I hate putting washing away, or drying the dishes. I don’t mind vacuuming because it’s quick but I can’t stand mopping. Polishing furniture bo-ring. I’d much rather reread Louis Pasteur’s theory on germs then clean the toilet. I will admit I put the blinkers on and chose to ignore certain messes. Wish my husband could.

But it’s not my husband who asks me what I do all day, at least not outright on occasion it is implied. And I will admit before my first child was actually born I thought stay at home mum’s were all about Oprah, lunch dates, shopping and Playgroup. I was wrong. I look back now and laugh, one baby that was easy.

My toddlers can be an organized and efficient demolition crew. While I’m cleaning up in one room they are pulling the other one apart. I almost feel like one day my husband is going to open the front door and it will all come pouring out like opening a flood gate. Some days it is more war zone then family home, I’m sure mums of toddlers can relate.

When my first was a little over 1 she could pull out all her toys and spread them across the living room floor in under 30 seconds. I timed her. She’s a mess making machine.

I don’t believe in training toddlers to clean. My 15 month old loves to copy me with a rag wiping down surfaces and my almost 3 year old will put her toys back in the toy box. She’ll also tell me when there’s a mess and attempt to wipe up her spills. I don’t expect them to clean, I don’t expect them to do anything, cleaning is not their job, playing is their job. I’m often told you have to train them young. I don’t think so. If they went to childcare and were sweeping floors or wiping down tables I would be livid.

So mum’s, we do a lot, some of it can only be seen by us, or our children, while other things like our happy healthy well cared for children are a testament to everyone of the great work we’re doing. Forget the tidy house, as long as it’s not a pig sty then it doesn’t really matter. Engaging with your children, that is what’s really important.

Speaking of which, I have work to do

Sunday catch up

The wet season is over, the dry season is here. This is by far my favourite time of year.

It’s cool of an evening and in the morning but lovely warm and sunny in the day. Slowly the grass will turn crispy under foot.

It’s perfect weather to grow tomatoes, I should get onto that.

This dry season as opposed to last I have two walking one talking toddlers. I am so much closer to getting my drivers license. And I’m much more confident in myself and my parenting. I’m no longer in survival mode, I’m thriving!

I have 29 hours of driving left to do. Only 29 hours! I can do that!

I get a little bit more sleep, though it is unpredictable and some nights he sleeps through and other nights he doesn’t.

And I’m happier. And I’m healthier.

We’ve made big decisions. No more babies. We now have permanent contraception in place. Well, hubby does, I suppose I could have a love child if he were to deploy overseas, but that would require a lot of effort and I’m very lazy lol

I got my very first assignment back 30/30! Take that previous commenters who called me uneducated and picked on my grammar!

So we’re going well. I’m feeling okay about this wonder week. But I’m just at the beginning, ask me how I feel next week

The lemon tree

Last year, in the spring we bought a little lemon tree and repotted it and sat it in a sunny spot by the front yard.

About a month later the little lemon tree was covered in little white flowers and I was filled with visions of harvesting many many lemons. In my head I planned what I would make – lemonade, lemon cordial, lemon curd, lemon butter, lemon delicious.

Slowly but surely the little white flower fell off, and there were no lemons.

I kept watering and nurturing the plant but I was a wee bit disappointed.

I watched closely and at the end of the week I noticed two little tiny baby lemons. Small and green but full of promise.

More fertilizer, more water, more shuffling in and out of the hot Townsville sun. And slowly, very slowly, the two little lemons began to grow.

The wet season came and nature took care of the watering and I took care of the fertilizer.

Then one of the lemons fell off in a big gust of wind.

That was disappointing.

And as I harvested chilies, kefir lime leaves, carrots, snake beans, and then at the end of the wet yams, I watched the last little lemon grow bigger and bigger until it stopped.

For a week it stayed the same, no change, no growing just the same.

Earlier last week I noticed the colour changing, and this morning it looked almost yellow! We might get a lemon out of this yet!

Why on earth am I, a parenting blogger, telling you about my lemon tree?

Well it’s a lot like watching your child grow up.

When I first brought my daughter into the world I was filled with ideas of how she would be and for the first two weeks it was very much how I’d imagined.

Then silent reflux surfaced and much like the flowers falling off the tree and baring no fruit, as a mother it was disappointing.

But I continued and by the time she was a few months old she improved. Like the little lemons. And continued improving.

There have been set backs like tantrums and our mother/child relationship hasn’t always been smooth sailing. But now as she is truly a girl and not a baby, I can see her personality blossoming in front of me.

That one lemon when it is ripe will be the reward of all my hard work. Though to others it might seem like a small consolation prize, to me after months of hard work it will be a welcome reward.

My daughter is not perfect but to me she is amazing, she’s everything, and seeing her grow up into a wonderful young woman is worth the wait. I’ve never rushed her through milestones and I’ve treasured her at every age, good things come to those who wait.