From the Mouth of Babes

I have mentioned before that I attend a breastfeeding support group every Tuesday morning and how much I like it. 

Maybe I have also mentioned I jokingly refer to it as my Group Therapy.  Because it is.

And one week I really used it as the confessional. 

There was a good old rant at the start of business and I’m afraid I took the floor.  I let it all out and probably scared a couple of new mums into the bargain.

But by god I felt better after it. 

And what’s more, I found I was not alone in my feelings.  That’s why I love group so much – we none of us are afraid to let another know they are not rowing the boat alone.

I don’t mind sharing my rant here with you today because it was my rant and also because my seven year old impressed the hell out of me.

I am not proud of my rant nor am I not proud of the fact it was in front of my seven year old. 

But I am incredibly proud of him and his reaction. 

To my eternal shame I was brushing his teeth with more vigour than was strictly necessary and telling him how I need help in the evenings, how he knows I am always busy in the evenings trying to get everyone ready for bed; it is not easy, I don’t enjoy it.  I don’t enjoy shouting at them and it’s hard.  I’m tired, it’s the end of the day and I need some help. 

I put to him my favourite comparison; “How would you like it if you had four mothers shouting at you over and over again?”  I explained in my shite parenting moment how difficult I find it when the four of them are doing the same thing to me of an evening. 

Every evening.  

 

He listened but I could see increasing anger and frustration in his eyes, then he literally raised his hand and swiped the toothbrush away. 

He looked straight at me, clenched his fist and demanded; “So why don’t you do something about it then?”

He completely floored me. 

Knocked the breath from my body with that one furious statement.

How come sometimes the child is smarter than the parent?

   

Athy in June

It was the beginning of the June bank holiday weekend and Mister Husband declared, “I really love this town; there’s great community spirit.”

Once upon a time I would have needed a lamp post to hold onto for support as I laughed and laughed over a statement like that.  But I’m older now and see my home town for what it is and what it has on offer.

We had just enjoyed breakfast in The Bay Tree with Smallest Boy.

Not only is the food lovely, I really enjoy the banter with the staff and there is always someone in there having a coffee before work to put a smile on my face.  That day I treated myself to a freshly squeezed orange juice.  Converted!   Now I buy bags of oranges in Lidl  and juice them at home. 

The butcher was our next stop.  My family hold a BBQ on the first Sunday in June and I offered to get the BBQ special.   Hugh Hyland on the main street in Athy will fetch you 20 chicken pieces, 5 pork chops marinated or plain, 5 BBQ pork or lamb skewers and 5 burgers all for €20.  Bargain.

He will also throw in a great chat about the Film Club for free!

Then we headed off to our local health shop, Healthy Living Athy for Oldest Boy’s current hay fever cure, Herbetom.  I also picked up Salcura cream for dermatitis and eczema. 

Lovely Liam suffers on occasion and as the spray was a little more expensive than expected, Sue put some samples on order for me. 

She also gave me some nettle teabags to try out for my own rashy feet courtesy of the gorgeous weather we were having. (So you noticed I said were too)

The boys got a bag of yogurt topped banana chips to try out.

It didn’t matter other customers were spilling into the shop, not for one minute did I feel rushed and our final purchase on the way out was local honey.

We weren’t finished yet.  That bank holiday weekend, Athy was the location for TriAthy, Irelands fastest Triathlon.  Athletes of every level gathered to complete the course that includes a swim, a cycle and a run. 

This event has gone from strength to strength and attracts thousands of competitors from all over the country. Last year saw the British Formula One Driver Jenson Button take part.  Ireland’s Minister for Transport, Tourism and Sport, Leo Varadkar, put in a good appearance this year.

And sure it wouldn’t be a proper weekend without a drop to wash down the BBQ food so one final stop saw me picking up a couple of bottles of wine which were on offer.  One for me and one for the BBQ on Sunday.

I absolutely have to mention two local premises I had the pleasure of being in this weekend. 

I walked into Sew & Sew on William Street with a very ill Clarke’s Doodle sandal. The lovely lady within, immediately removed her work from the sewing machine and in less than five minutes she handed me back Lovely Liam’s as good as new mauled shoe for the princely sum of €3.

Delighted with myself, I popped it back into my mambag and collected a cappuccino before my hair appointment. 

I spent three glorious, that’s worth repeating, glorious hours in the luxurious care of Becky and Philomena in Hair by Audrey.  Absolutely pampered and very pleased with my new do!

And then, last night I attended a book launch in the local library. 

I was thrilled for Niamh Boyce, the local author, who scooped the Hennessy XO New Irish Writer of The Year 2012 prize for her poem Kitty, and this year, published her first book The Herbalist. ‎

 

Niamh reading an extract from The Herbalist

To see the crowds gathered; family, friends, contemporaries and well-wishers, just proved to me that community spirit is alive and well in Athy. 

Some might say there is a lot wrong with the town.  But there is a lot right with it too.

Time after Time

Two things hit me when I became a mother.  The first one was what on earth did I do with my time BC? (Before Children).  And the second, more alarming one was, this is hard!

Depending on what stage you are at in your mothering journey, you will have different answers, and indeed, different perspectives along the way.  I also think it is fair to say that whatever else might change, the demands on both you and your time, will not.

Your little baby starts by going longer in between feeds, and maybe even sleeping at night.   

It is time to become reacquainted with showers that last longer than three minutes.  Maybe even a phone call whilst you are enjoying a cup of coffee.  Bliss!

Don’t get too comfortable, however.  There are a lot more stages to come.  Least of all the crawling and walking stages.  It’s all onwards and upwards for growing little people who are intent on exploring this fascinating world that is just one big playground as far as they are concerned.

It is hard.  It is hard when little ones have no concept whatsoever of time. No concept whatsoever of your time.  It won’t matter to them that Mummy has a much longed for and well deserved night out planned with Daddy.  Teething, unexplained high temperatures followed by fevers are their scissors to your paper. 

Your precious night out is cancelled. 

It’s all a phase and this too shall pass will become regular mantras. 

What can be of great help through these challenging times is a good support network.   

No-one can know how you are feeling unless you tell them and there is nothing wrong in asking for help.  Even a walk to the shop for a pint of milk has its advantages.  Least of all for some much needed fresh air and a break from the confines of the house.

On the way there, you will always see someone with a line of kids in tow, looking fantastic and totally unfazed by the modern pressures of parenthood.  Think of the swan gliding serenely on the river with not a feather out of place.  Now look closely under the surface of the water and watch the frantic paddle paddle movement of her feet.

We all have a little bit of that going on inside.  Some of us are better at hiding it than others.

Many a banal and trite conversation has taken place beside the ride-on machines in the supermarket.  Those conversations can be a life saver.  A little light in an otherwise dark day. 

They certainly helped me.

Sometimes it can be easier to talk to a complete stranger over the heads of your children.   

And it can be music to your ears to learn that you are not alone.

It is nice to know, in fact it is important to know, that even on your worst day, someone else has been there and come through it.

And guess what?  You will too.

The Swop Shop

It’s all fun and games until someone starts crying!

“Hello?  Is that the Swop Shop man?  It is?  Good.  Do you swop boys by any chance?  Yeah, he’s four and a half years old.  Great!  He has red hair, just like his mother.  Does that matter?  Fantastic!  Ok, I need to swop my lad for a new one.  But he needs to be nice.  Not contrary and whiney.  I’ve used up all of my cross words with this boy see, and I’m afraid I’ll have none left for when the baby gets older.  No problem?  This is great!  Ok, so here’s the story.  I have recycling to do in the morning so can I drop my boy off at your shop on the way to do that and collect the new one?  How does that sound?  Will you make sure the new fella is clean and has his teeth brushed and all of that?  Yes, my chap is ready to be swopped.  That’s fine.  So I’ll see you in the morning so.  Perfect.”

That was a pretend conversation with a pretend man on my phone in a misguided attempt to get Oldest Boy, who, at the time, was only four and a half, to dry up.

 

He was young but not stupid and he certainly was not prepared to take my conversation at face value so he asked me was it a real man on the phone.  I confirmed that it was indeed a real man, and casually left the room. 

Almost immediately there was hysterical, panicked crying and he came racing after me screaming, “Mammeeeee!”

I half laughed and stopped to reassure him that I was only messing and I’d never, ever swop him.  Or his brothers, no matter what they might do.  It took approximately two minutes to allay his fears that he was not going anywhere and a further two minutes for him to put the fright I had just given him out of his mind. 

Then his life returned to normal.  I, however, continued to berate myself for the evening. 

There have been times when I yelled at the boys because they didn’t answer me quickly enough.  I get frustrated because they’ve made a mess and I have just swept the floor. I am truly sorry for the days where I neglected to eat and as a result was short tempered and took it out on them. 

It is not their fault, nor indeed do they care, that their parent is tired, cranky and needs a little time to themselves.  You are but a possession to them, a thing, a means to an end.

And in the midst of all the pressure we have to remember how important language is.  It is not what you say but how you say it.

In light of the recent disturbing childcare revelations, it serves as a reminder to us all, exactly how vulnerable our kids are.

Yes.  It’s all fun and games until someone starts crying.