Grateful For...The Girls

This week I'm so, so very grateful for 'the girls'.


Unfortunately I don't mean those 'girls'.

Underwhelming, deflating, mis-shapen, disaster zone are a few endearing phrases that come to mind when reflecting upon those puppies.

No, the girls I'm referring to are anything but disappointing.

In my eyes, they haven't suffered any wear and tear at the hands of age, gravity, pregnancy or breastfeeding.

They've blossomed through all that jazz and have come out even more fabulous than before.

The 'girls' I have been well endowed with are the beautiful women in my life who are more supportive than Dolly's own Playtex.

I'm beyond blessed with the girls who 'get' me - yet, strangely have stuck around. There are a bunch of wonder women in my life who are an endless source of love and laughs. I can happily blame a large proportion of my not-so-fine lines on these moles!!

I honestly don't know where I'd be without such a beautiful network of inspiring, understanding, generous, caring and damn funny women to bounce off, laugh/snort with and cry to.

Grateful doesn't even begin to describe it - but it's a start.

Being grateful with Maxabella Loves. 

Shar :-)

7th of the 7th

Dear Diary,

Today...

• is my Mum's birthday. Every year I wish I could spend it with her. This year she marks her 'special' day by attending the burial of her cousin who died in tragic circumstances and then an appointment with her cardiac specialist to discuss her impending heart surgery. A 'happy birthday' indeed.

• began with a win. Literally. I rose to an email from the gorgeous Alex @ Whoa Mumma informing me that I had won myself a copy of the new 'The Little Engine That Could'. The perfect antidote to waking up feeling like 'The Little Engine Who Couldn't (Be Bothered).

• the students at school were a mirror of my heart. How come they get to be cranky, feral monsters while I have to maintain my smiley composure?

• I purchased some adorable pics of my Magoo and little family. We cooperated with a family photo fundraiser at Magoo's child care centre recently (mainly because of my 'I'm on the committee' guilt) with little expectation. Last year's freebie pic is still in it's envelope as Hubby hated the photoshopping of his freckles and Magoo couldn't muster more than a grumpy scowl for the nasty man behind the camera. I looked fabulously fake (thank you, retouching editor) but the photo hasn't seen the light of day. Today, I rushed in, saw three, large, really-looks-like-us smiles on that glossy paper, gave another for good measure and bought the lot. The fantastic, super child friendly photographer added her own smile to the mix and pocketed the cash. A happy unbirthday for her.

 

• I was summonsed to jury duty - and was sadly excited by it! Just last week, I was teaching a unit on law and government (yee haa) and realised that I'd never been (randomly) selected for jury duty. Obviously, because I wasn't considered worthy by whatever random citizen generating contraption they have. Relieved to see I've earnt my place as a citizen after all.

• I received the annual water rates and was not the slightest bit excited by it - nor the inevitable sequel of council rates to follow.

• I finally scheduled a much longed for movie night with special friends. We may just be the last three women in Australia to view 'Bridesmaids'. But I'm sure we'll love it.

• I have had Paula Abdul's 20 year old tune 'Opposites Attract' stuck in my head. It came outta absolutely nowhere in the car this morn and has stuck around since. Thinking it has something to do with the "two steps forward, two steps back" business.

Shar :-)

The Village

I have a dream...


A village (with the essential modern conveniences and unlimited internet access) in a perpetually warm climate, nesteld in a forest with a tepid river on one boundary and the ocean in all it's stunning glory on another.

The village is inhabitated by genuinely friendly, welcoming, non bitching, don't-care-what-your-clothing-label says women and their respective gorgeous children.
Stay a day, a week, a month, a year or a lifetime.

The afore mentioned hormonally blalanced women co exist in harmony and raise their children the way nature must've intended...


Sister ___, you are such a morning person. You can rise with the crack-of-dawn children and enjoy activities with them while your sleeper Sisters have a rest.


Oh, Sister __, you like to swim? Go take a long swim while we watch over the children. We might send them down to bathe when you're done.


Sister _____, you love to read to children. Knock yourself out. The floor is yours.


Sister _______ aka 'The Craftmaster', you delight the children with your wonderful work.

Sister ______ Dolittle, the way you care for our animals is beautiful. The children (and menagerie) are in good hands with you.


Oh Sister _____ who aches to run, why don't you take a quick run for yourself before taking the children on one of those little bushwalks you love?


Sister ____, you love to sew? Here's each child's measurements and off you go. Hee hee.


Sister ____, you feel fulfilled by going out to work, so go ahead while your children are well cared for. (We gots to eat!)

Sister ____ of the green thumb, you and the children are doing a magnificent job in our gardens, veggie patch and orchard!


Meals are prepared communally, with each 'sister' going with her own strengths.
Other chores are divided among the village, again with each 'sister' choosing where she wants to pour her energies.
Discipline is shared, mummy meltdowns are non existent, whinging and swearing unnecessary.
Once the little people have drifted off to sleep (to the soothing sound of Sister _____'s beautiful harmonies) the wine drinking sisters gather and have a lovely old time celebrating their day.

You may have noticed that men do not feature heavily in this scenario - but I guess the gorgeous children have to come from somewhere.
(I considered a dream IVF clinic, but conjugal visits could be accomodated.)

For the record -
In my dreams I am the early rising, running, bushwalking, reading to and playing with children, laundry organising, occasionally cooking,  wine drinking sister.


In my reality, I'm struggling to adjust to the world of single parenting!
(Kudos to those who've been doing it a lot longer than my four months.)
But am so, so, so appreciative of my own pseudo village.
Thank you a thousand times 'sisters'.


Come join me.
What would you like to bring to the village?
We're short a great pastry chef ... and a winemaker would go down a treat!

Shar :-)

Why Run?

I can appreciate that plenty of folk can't quite comprehend the joy of running.
That they can't understand how 'joy' and 'running' could even logically be in the same sentence.
That's fair enough - I have zero inclination to EVER don cricket whites and I pray that Magoo follows suit!

For me, to run is to be alive.
Really alive - not just going through the motions.
To be able to run feels like a precious gift - not to be wasted.






I have moments when my running seems selfish - despite the fact I get up in the dark to be done and dusted before our family's day really begins.

I'm well aware that training for my marathon was  a huge commitment on my part - and involved a bit of sacrifice on my family's part.
But again (cause I need to justify) I trained alone, early and as efficiently as possible to minimise the impact on my gorgeous little unit.
I know it is not going to be repeated anytime in the near future and I appreciate how lucky I am to have had this opportunity at this point in my life.


Marathon aside, I run because it's part of who I am.
It makes me a better person, wife, mother, friend, teacher, colleague, customer, driver, stranger in the queue...
It's an outlet and an inspiration.


I am not running away from anything - most certainly not my family.
I am running home to them - to share with them the energy and motivation I found in here <3, while out there pounding the pavement.


When I run, I organise my thoughts, channel frustration and drink in those fabulous endorphins. Sometimes I just blast my ipod and escape in the tunes for a while - until my head starts babbling again.


I love when Magoo greets me in his pyjamas with my water bottle or sits over breakfast with the cutest "how's your run today, Mum?", "what track you go?".
I don't see how having an active Mum (and Dad) as a role model can be all that bad.
I would hope we're instilling some positive attitudes that will hopefully be a part of his own choices in life.

Not having as many opportunities to run in the past few months has given me a clearer view of my running - and how much it means to me. Having to explicitly schedule time to run, having to work at squeezing running in or even having to beg ask for the chance to run has been an interesting exercise!

Years ago, when fertility specialists recommended nothing more than a fast walk I toed the line. As I've mentioned before, the minute I saw those beautiful, miraculous two blue lines  three and a half years ago I stopped running again without hesitation. I didn't miss running for that time because there was a bigger picture in my sights. The feeling when I picked it back up some 18 months later was just awesome though - a slow, painful awesome!

But lately, when running has been put on the backburner it's simply been a logistical problem. With Hubby slumbering faraway in a bed other than ours, I can't hit the road in the dark and cold as I normally would. I don't want to continuously palm Magoo off to accomodate my running and I won't compromise our days together just to serve my own interests. But I'm not injured or pregnant (sorry, girls!), so the desire to run is burning strong. Willing, but not so able.

This recent (unwelcome) lifestyle shift has made me appreciate any opportunity to run and reminded me of how running feeds my soul - and can soothe some of my ugliest traits. Quite pathetic, I know - but true.

I heart running!

What about you?
What fires you up and cools you down all at once?

Shar :-)

Point + Shoot : Toddler Turnaround

They fall hard but they bounce back with speed - these little people.

Sunday morning, after a Mummy run,

(Alleluia  - and thank you grandparents)

Magoo and I had ourselves a little "babytuna" date.

As we were leaving the cafe, Magoo suddenly began moaning, groaning and clutching at his stomach.

 By the time I hightailed him home he was crying and whining
 "Mummy, Mum-my, Muuummyy" on repeat.



Sunday 11am - poor little misery guts

The poor little man spent the rest of the day alternating between crying on my shoulder and sleeping on my chest.

Offers of trips to the park, ball with the dog, bike rides and snacks were all refused.



Sunday 6pm - smiles resume

Until 5.30pm when Magoo made a miraculous resurrection style recovery.

He ate dinner and dessert before declaring that he was now ready to go to the park after all

(unfortunately the sun had given up on him and gone to bed by that stage).

He cracked jokes, clowned around with a cardboard tube and proclaimed that my hot sweet potato chips were so good that I should take them into work and give them to all the teachers.

I'm not sure what knocked him for six to begin with or what brought him back to his gorgeous self - but I won't complain.

The snuggles were quite beautiful really and seeing Magoo shine again was pretty great too!

Pointing + Shooting with Lou at Sunny + Scout

Shar :-)

At What Cost?

You don't get nothin for nothin anymore.
Maybe you never did.





Most of us are familiar with 'paying the rent' after a big night out.
Be it as a vague recollection or giggly memory of last night's antics.
(I happily sorted receipts for taxation purposes last night - not exactly a wild night!)

But in the past few years (anyone say motherhood?) it seems that every last little thing has it's price. Not always necessarily monetary cost - but definitely in some form.
Be it mother's guilt in bulk, blood, sweat, tears or all four.
These days, it's just a matter of what we're willing to pay, really.


Oh, Maam. I see you chose to indulge in that last glass/bottle with the girls - when we both know you should have hit the road, not the wine.
Let's see... that's going to cost you an inevitable wakening in the night for a child's sore tummy/bad dream/drink of water/cuddle/vomit/earache...


Pushing your bub beyond their 'awake time' threshold?
That's going to cost you a major public meltdown, a screamer of a trip home and a refusal to nap for the remainder of the day.



A night out with Hubby or Hubby & friends?
You'll begin paying for that even before you walk out the door. There's the pre occasion guilt, the organising of childcare and then reorganising when something/somebody falls through, the busting a gut preparing the house, meals, snacks, entertainment, routines... in your absence. Then you have the mid occasion guilt causing you to check your phone incessently, call and text home, play the justification game where you remind yourself and anyone who questions you that you are worthy of a few hours of old fashioned fun. The post occasion guilt is usually peppered with a child's illness, allergic reaction or soiled bed.


A girls' dinner?
That one will set you back an ear bashing and a case of the guilts. Hearing the 'woe to be me' tales of Hubbies having to fend for themselves ie. dish up the perfectly edible dinner you had cooked before you fed the children, cleaned up, bathed the children, wrapped a gift and selfishly spent all of ten minutes in the bathroom before racing out the door.

Trying on clothing - in an actual store?
Leave your self respect at the changeroom door. Trade it for sing songing your little one to "please let Mummy find something to wear so I can put my maternity clothes away at last" or hissing at your toddler to stop opening the door while you are pant less. Then there's all the apologies. For bashing into all and sundry with your stroller / trolley / massive bag, for your son flambouyantly whooshing back the curtains on other customers, for the broken coat hanger, chewed tag or biscuit encrusted jacket. Then the humilating "no, thank you. I won't be taking any. Thank you. Sorry about that. Thanks again."

A sleepover at the grandparents?
These have been known to require payment plans to negotiate the size of such a debt (not in my personal experience, of course!) There's the pre packing of epic proportions, the lack of sleep for little and not so little people, the "Nanna/Grandad lets me" attitude that finds it's way into the car the next morning, the tales of cheekiness and boundary pushing that make you fume and the meltdown that afternoon.


A beauty treatment or hair appointment?
Prepare to feel like a high maintenance 'Hollywood type' for daring to uphold some degree of personal grooming and hair management strategy. The scheduling of such an appointment will require military type precision and planning. Then inevitably having to change your original appointment due to a family 'situation' will leave you feeling like a scatty Mumsy fool who should probably just embrace regrowth up top and the boy leg cut down below.


Trying to answer that last email, finish that last task or wrap an issue up before leaving work for the day?
That will result in the ridiculous dash to daycare to be greeted by the frosty stares of carers and the "No-bodys left here to play with, Mum" greeting. Cue more apologies and guilt.

Forty minutes at the gym, once a week?
Be sure you can afford the wails of "Muuummmm, Muuummm" as you walk out the creche door. Not to mention the 'tears on sight' when you're spotted walking back in the door. Or the heart in your throat as you spend the forty minutes waiting for the carer to summon you from the gym to attend to your inconsolable child. (Thankfully, persistence was the key here. So much so that Magoo saw me return this week and promptly went back to his play.) 


I could go on.
You know it.
You also know that the 'rent' is worth every cent.
The property value is astronomical - immesurable - and we wouldn't trade it for the world.
We know the probable costs and we make decisions as parents about what is worth our energy.

I voluntarily rise before the rest of my family a few mornings each week to indulge in a much loved run - trading some sleep for the more valued endorphins.

When Hubby's away I'm learning to swallow my pride, cash in some dignity, and - heaven forbid - ask for the occasional Magoo-sit to allow me to pound a little pavement and run out some bad vibes.

When he is here, Hubby and I have chosen to forego a weekend morning of dedicated family cuddles as a trio in our bed to pursue his or hers individual sporting goals or commitments. For now, we'll cop that one.

We've even gone down a road I thought I would never venture down. Hubby is currently travelling far more than any of us enjoy - with the long term pay off of (hopefully) a positive career move in our sights.

I decide that I'll just wear something I find in the back of the cupboard for now - or rewear the same old trusty favourites over and over. Real friends don't care, right?


I work a couple of days a week and we have made the necessary adjustments to accomodate all the prepping, packing, pushing and picking up that comes with it. (God bless grandparents and fantastic child care). The emotional cost has slowly decreased with every week of our routine.

I juggle like the clown that I am - to get to that hair appointment or waxing and wear the 'bad client' label. I rejig appointments continuously and begin texts to my fab hairdresser andbeautician with "Hi. i'm so sorry but it's me again. Daycare can't fit / Hubby's gone away..."


I get to spend a dinner out with girlfriends every few weeks or so and wear the 'selfish me/guilty me' badge quite happily.


So why do we do it?
Because the odd night out with friends, realisation of a personal goal, precious date night with the love of your life or simply grasping at sanity is priceless.


That said, I've not been able to contemplate/stomach the cost of a weekend away with the girls yet. One day.


What's your price?
How much are you willing to pay?


Shar :-)

Grateful for... Saturdays

In direct oppostion to the whole spirit of 'Grateful For...',

welcome to Whingefest 2011.

I usually love "Grateful for...Saturday"s, but I'm struggling this week.

Couldn't find a grateful word in my head last night

(plenty of words, some choice ones, but not an appreciative one to be found).

Now on Saturday morn, I'm typing this in bed for goodness sake.

At an ungodly hour -

as in an hour when I would usually have my running gear on and be out the door.

Instead, I can't find any motivation to 'rise' and I definitely can't find any motivation to 'shine'.

I'll wait here until Magoo comes a cuddling.

Hey - I'm super grateful for Magoo and cuddles. Sincerely.

Coincidentally, I have not run in ten days and counting.

I'm not injured or taking a 'break' - well, not voluntarily anyway.

I'm single parenting again and running doesn't find it's merry way into that programme.

Since the high of the marathon a couple of weeks ago,

I have run a measly total of thirty minutes.

I suspect it may be getting to me!!!

The other half to my (not so) dynamic parenting duo was due back yesterday,

but I arrived home from a particularly crapola day at work,

to be greeted by an email - yes an email - from him

stating the obvious.

That our little slice of Gotham City would have to continue

to be saved singled handedly for now.

Gratitude was not what sprung to mind...or mouth.

Batgirl's a little tired here!

Work has been relentless, Mum's health saga depressing,

Magoo a little challenging, sleep intermittent, the weather blinkin atrocious...

Blah, blah and blah some more!!

And look who's padded in to put in all back into perspective -

Awww.

Bless his little bed head wings.

I'm sooooo grateful for that sweet little face, that cute little voice, those warm little hands, his crinkly eye smile - that wipe this big ol cranky mug away.

It's Saturday.
A new day.
A weekend.
Let's love it.

I'm sorry I let you down Maxabella.

The sun will shine here next week.

Shar :-)