THE LITTLE MUMMA HAS MOVED

Please come and find me at

http://thelittlemumma.typepad.com

 

 

Grab your things and let’s go!

Okay! It’s time!

This is your formal invitation to the new home of The Little Mumma!

The new address is:

http://thelittlemumma.typepad.com

There is still some tinkering to be done. And there are some formatting issues with older posts that I will get to. But mostly everything that is here is now over there, too. This site will still remain but I will no longer be posting here.

For those of you with email subscriptions, please feel free to sign up again over there. And as always, I will be updating the Facebook page whenever there is a new post.

Head on over and leave me a comment letting me know what you think.

I love my readers!

 

New Digs

 

 

 

 

 

A rocky path

Happy Thursday eve to you all – or whatever day and time it is where you are.

I was hoping to tell you all to hitch a ride with me over to my new home. But things have transpired (boring, formatty, interwebby things) that mean that’s not possible tonight. By tomorrow, I hope I can give you the formal invite. Not a lot has changed about the blog, just where it ‘lives’ now. But things will change. Change and improve and grow. So I’m excited.

Tomorrow, we’ll go. Okay?

I’m in a strange mood tonight. I have heard some news about the child of a dear friend. Some news that was unexpected. Unsettling news. Upsetting.

So I am left feeling shaken. And I am reminded of what a blessing my two boys are. Of how I would move heaven and earth to ensure that they have everything they need in order to go out into the world and become young men. Even now, with each passing day, they get further and further away from needing me.

But sometimes, our children need us more than we ever anticipated. And it’s harder than we could ever dream. And we wonder why it is that this precious child should have been given a road ahead that is not as easy as the road that others are walking. And we wonder if we are up to the task of leading them on that rocky journey.

Here’s what I know. We ARE up to the task. Because God never gives us more than we can handle. It’s just that sometimes, we might wish that God didn’t have so much damn faith in us.

So tonight, I am thinking of my dear friend. I am thinking about what lies ahead for her and for her youngest child. I am looking ahead to the future with her. I can see what she sees – a rockier path than first imagined. But I also see, as I know she does, too, the promise of the future. With knowledge comes power. And I know that she will arm herself with every available piece of information so that there is no stronger force. She will be the suspension cushioning the impact of her little one’s journey.

Once again, thank you for coming along on this ride with me.

Fair Play

“Can I come, too?”

Four little words. And with them, a crushed dream.

I was in the kitchen. Maybe I was scoffing down sour cream and chives potato chips, maybe I wasn’t. Not the point. Point was, when I looked down at my ankles, no-one was circling them. The kids were – gasp! – otherwise occupied. They were playing. There was no screaming. And I was not involved in any way. Heaven.

I saw a chance and I took it.

But fuck me if that damn safety gate at the top of the stairs doesn’t squeak like a motherfucker. And then –

“Can I come, too?”

I was trying to run silently down the stairs but there is no silent running. Not really. And the smallest of movements from me will cause my children to prick up their ears like a deer in the woods. Like little fucking deers with supersonic fucking hearing.

All I wanted to do was take a piss alone. And if, once the solo piss was done, peace and calm still remained above, then I might think about putting some washing away. So, you know, selfish shit.

But no. I was busted. And even though I threw promises of a speedy return over my shoulder as I ran (silently, I tell you!) away, I knew that LD would stand at the top of the stairs shouting at me (‘Mumma, I need my blue bike! Where’s my blue bike, Mumma? Mumma, I want strawberry smoothie, cup of milk and juice. Mumma? Mummaaaaaaaaa?’) until I got my arse back upstairs. And that would alert Zee to the fact that I was gone and he would proceed to rattle the safety gate like a prison inmate and scream.

So what did I do? I pissed like I was going for an Olympic record and got the fuck back up there. Of course I did.

But I’m telling you, when I can take the opportunity to hide from my kids, I do. Oh, you better recognise. I hide and I’ll hide again. Because there is only so much I can reasonably be asked to take before my blood pressure causes me to spontaneously combust.

In one of my hiding sessions today (in Zee’s bedroom – they’ll never suspect!), I read an article by Mia Freedman about how she hates to play with her kids.

It got me thinking. I never even dreamed of discussing that on The Little Mumma. And I pride myself on telling the whole story, no matter how unpalatable it might sound to others.

But clearly, I am all messed up about the question of play.

There are two conflicting arguments, as I see it.

The first is that you should play and engage with your children as much as you can. Play is how they learn and your time is the most valuable thing you can give to your kids.

Wise words from friend I greatly admire:

“It’s so easy to get caught up in all the pressures of the day that we brush our children aside. Next time your kid comes and tugs at your leg to come and play, drop onto the floor immediately and be in that moment with them. That’s all they really want.”

The other argument is that kids have wonderfully vivid imaginations so by encouraging your child to play alone, you are fostering this gift. An important part of a child’s development is the ability to play alone.

Wise words I read somewhere, one time:

“Children of today are given every conceivable toy or otherwise plonked in front of the television, and their imaginations are suffering because of it. Their inability to occupy themselves is a direct result of having their every demand met by someone (or something) else.”

 Reading both those sets of wise words back to myself, is there any wonder I am confused? They both have merit.

So then it’s a matter of striking a balance between the two. The only problem is that the kid you just played Postman Man with for the last fifteen (torturous) minutes, doesn’t understand why you are now withdrawing the playing. LD just didn’t respond as I’d hoped when I explained that I was simply “fostering the precious gift of your imagination.”

But who am I kidding? I have never played with my kids for a full fifteen minutes. I have to stand with Mia on this one and profess that I fucking hate it. And when I do get guilted into it (“Hey Mumma,” curls little hand around mine, “you wanna play dinosaurs…for a little bit…” looks forlornly to the ground, refusing to meet my eye lest I spot the extent of his manipulation), I am renowned for making the dinosaurs lie on the ground to nap.  

So I don’t know why I have never admitted it before. Maybe it’s because I consider myself a fun and vibrant mum. Hell, I am fun and vibrant but for fuck’s sake, I don’t want to crawl around on my knees being a lion. I refused to be a cow in drama class back in my university days (“..really try to feel the weight of your udder hanging between your legs..”) and it’s clear that nothing has changed.

Playing is painful. And, SHIT, I need my roots done!

So here it is. I hate playing. I don’t want to play dinosaurs or postman man or Buzz Lightyear. I don’t want to go to the park and if we go to the play centre, my preference is that the kids disappear for the entire duration so that I can catch up on some OK! magazines.

 I feel bad. But it’s nothing this beer won’t fix.

 Do you play with your kids? And enjoy it? Tell me about it….please?

Trust the Universe

Yesterday was possibly the very worst day I have ever had in Mumma-land.

And it wasn’t that the kids were especially difficult – although Zee is teething and LD is a three and half year old demon.

It was me. I fucked up. At every turn, I made the worst possible choice. It was an epic fail.

Yesterday, I was NOT a good mother.

And the killer was that within moments of me ceasing my screaming and ranting, both my children were so willing to crawl into my lap, to cuddle me, to laugh with me.

Kids are resilient? You can’t even imagine how true that is. How scarily true. You can get away with shit that a normal person would NEVER forgive you for.

But even if my kids have instantly forgiven and forgotten, just what am I etching into their little souls when I fail to be the mother they deserve? What will it mean, long-term?

I don’t beat my children, abuse drugs or alcohol in front of them, neglect them or leave them to cry. But there are choices I have made that I would never have thought I would make.

So, it was a bad day.

That evening, my babies tucked up in their beds, I was tooling around with the blog.

I chose to read two blogs that I had never read before. Two blogs that I had noticed many times but never gotten around to reading.

Anyone who thinks the universe doesn’t provide, that the universe doesn’t send messages, just isn’t listening hard enough.

It’s actually spooky how prescient these posts were.

And how reading them meant that today was one of the best days I have ever had in Mumma-land.

Check them out below.

And have a great weekend.

Pink Dryer Lint

Becoming Sarah