Over the Hump

My 5 year old looks older than his years.  A lot older.

Last September I was bombarded with people asking him was he all set for Big School.  He had just turned four.

In the supermarket his health was regularly asked after.  I made the connection after the fourth “is he sick?”  People assumed he wasn’t well and was off school.  He had just turned four.

Now that he is in Big School, last week a mum thought it was lovely he was in the classroom checking on his little brother.  Anther wide-eyed and taken aback reaction when I said that he was the actual Naíonán Beaga (Junior Infant).

My 5 year old could pass for a 7 year old.

He is in school as I write this.  Sitting at his bord (table) with the other paistí (children) learning how to count as Gaeilge (in Irish).

He cried a little going into his seomra ranga (classroom) this morning.  And Monday.  And Tuesday.  His hugs are getting tighter.  More frequent. 

He tries to hide his upset from his múinteoir (teacher) and classmates but doesn’t quite manage it. 

Today might be Wednesday, mid-week, but my 5 year old is not over the hump yet.

Unsolicited Advice

Daithí O Sé made headlines earlier on this year when he expressed his annoyance over the deluge of child-birth advice he and his wife, Rita Talty, were receiving pending the arrival of their first child.

The verbose Kerry man is not the first and he certainly will not be the last new parent to be on the receiving end of unwanted pearls of wisdom.

It is practically impossible for an “experienced” parent to keep their lips zipped when they see a gloriously heavily pregnant person about to give birth.  They feel the need to educate others about what is ahead and regale them with all they should or should not be thinking of doing.

I admit to being guilty of this crime at times too.

But I try very, very hard to keep my thoughts to myself when I see the glowing parents of a new-born.  I say glowing because we all know the grey, ashen pallor appears approximately 7 days following the birth shortly after the euphoria has worn off, beaten into whimpering submission by sleep deprivation, constant crying, leaking body parts (sorry!), the lack of showers and food, time for yourself and not to mention worrying about the baby.

Because I’ve been there.  I know.  Let them, the new parents, stay on cloud nine for as long as they can.  Try not to inform them it won’t last; that new-borns don’t sleep forever.  Resist advising them to take a photo of their beautiful showroom house as it stands because before long their peacefully slumbering baby boy will be running around trashing it.

Don’t tell them teething will be hell.  Hold back on what can be the nightmare surrounding introducing solids followed by constipation and more food splattered on the walls than is ingested.  Stay schtum on the pain of immunisations.

Refrain from insisting the enrolment of their baby in the nearest school first thing because current waiting lists are unbelievable.

As a mother of four boys, very different boys I might add, there are only a handful of things I have taken from my 8 years of parenting. 

Some of the gems that made things a tad easier for me are as follows. 

This too shall pass

It might not be a welcome statement, seem very helpful or even make a whole lot of sense when you are experiencing temporary insanity from lack of sleep, but it really is true. Even the worst day is only 24 hours long and taking that day one five minute segment at a time, will see you falling face down back into your bed in no time. Albeit perhaps for just three hours before you are forced out of it again, but before you know it you will be helping your child blow out the candle on their first birthday cake and marvelling at how fast time goes.    

Striking a balance

I’ll be completely honest.  This one flummoxed me and I felt inadequate for not having found mine so I decided it was another one of those media makey-uppey catch phrases. With four small boys running me ragged and no child care, I realised all I wanted was ten minutes to have an uninterrupted cup of coffee not half a day to have my highlights done.  Finding your balance can be reading a book, taking a shower alone, or even just pushing the trolley around the supermarket at your leisure without a little one keeping you company.  As long as it’s your time off and it happens regularly that’s balance enough for the moment.

What works for one child will not necessarily work for the next

A friend recently expressed her shock when neither of her children were born a blank canvass, as she had expected.  Like adults, children are hard wired in their own unique way, all of them possessing little quirks, likes and dislikes.  Two of my boys were dreadful sleepers and one gifted me a full night’s sleep at just 6 weeks old.  Three of them refused to nap in anything except the buggy and the youngest demanded zed’s in his cot.  One ate cardboard as if it was top of the food pyramid whereas his three younger siblings wolfed down vegetables.  Wouldn’t it be a boring world, after all, if everyone was the same?

Pick your battles

With my first son, I was a tad obsessive about his daytime naps.  They absolutely had to be at the same time each day and in his cot.  Upstairs.  When I finally relaxed and admitted a spell in the travel cot downstairs wouldn’t make me a bad mother I realised how miserable we both had been as slaves to a regimented routine that wasn’t working.  Once I allowed my son, not the clock, decide when he was tired he fell into his own routine.  And began to sleep at the same time every day.  When my second son developed a strong attachment to his Spiderman costume I told myself at least he was dressed and the padded muscles would keep him warm.

The days are long but the years are short

It is the end of yet another 15 hour day and all you’ve eaten is a banana, 6 Haribo jellies and tanked up on two gallons of coffee.  You didn’t get near the overflowing laundry basket.  Again.  The slice of toast that landed sticky side down is still under the table and the bathroom beggar’s belief.  Will it ever end?  On days like this I look to my own mother for strength and to increase my morale.  She had twice the number of children I do.  She didn’t drive, was without a telephone and the internet hadn’t been invented yet.  She got through it and I believe, because I have to, that I will too.   

I am still learning to keep my mouth firmly shut even if I am not always successful in this department.  For this lapse I apologise, I really do because there is nothing worse than a “been there, done that” parent telling you stuff.  Because it is always their stuff and their stuff most likely will not make even the tiniest dent in your parenting experience. 

I offer you my final, and perhaps truest, piece of advice. Take what works for you and leave the rest.

I like to Break Shit

ANOTHER lovely ceramic bowl, one I had been using as a fruit bowl, died this evening.  I’ve had it a long time.

There are little ramekin bowls to match but they don’t get used much.  I like to store loose change in those.

Sometimes cups and the odd plate die in our house too.

This is not unrelated but I like to swear.  When I say like to I mean I can’t help it.

*yes, you can*

No, I can’t.

*yes. You. Can.*

Oh shut the fuck up!

See?

I experience a feeling of such release when I let loose with foul language.  It really takes the boil off my pressure cooker. 

And yes, the odd time I swear in front of the boys.  I am aware of this and working on not doing that at least. 

But something is well and truly lost when you just mouth the word or say it in your head.

Not the same thing at all.

See, I suffer from frustration. 

*Don’t we all, dear?*

Piss off you!

I get frustrated when I don’t get “me time.”  Who invented that anyway?  Weren’t we a much happier bunch without it?

But I need my “me time.” My downtime.  Alone.  With no-one at me, touching me in the slightest way.  If I see one of the boys even walking in my direction, my skin crawls with the need to be left alone.

We all need that space.  And if we choose to spend it looking out the window, so be it.  We need to do what works for us.

So when I am on the go all the time I get antsy.  I become short tempered. Cross.  

Miserable and I feel trapped.  I feel like I am being swallowed alive and I need to do something to release that feeling. 

Something for me.

So I swear.

And sometimes I break stuff.

Like ceramic fruit bowls.  Cups, the odd plate.

Not this one.  This one makes good coffee

I do not have butter fingers.  I am not clumsy.  I am human.  I am a mother who sometimes feels broken with the constant demands of her children.

I am a mother who swears and breaks her crockery.

And I fucking enjoy it!

Today

IT’S like that old expression; troubles come in three’s.  I’m not a bit superstitious and mostly I believe we make our own troubles.  I know there are some unavoidable hic-coughs like receiving the school books by courier and discovering the order is not complete.  Like your dog getting sick three times in two months.  And your car receiving its death knell.  (It is a teenager after all)

But have you noticed that nice things happen in threes as well.  And fives. And sevens.

They do. 

And they may not be mad, crazy epic things either.  Just the small things that make you sit up and take notice like the rainbow that stretches over the roof of your house and it is so clear, so bright it takes your breath away.  Like the seven fluffy little Wagtail birds that like to hang out in the garden.  Like that random chat with the lady in the supermarket/coffee shop/newsagents that was about nothing and everything but stayed with you for the rest of the day.  Like when your child tells you “you’re the best mammy in the world” as you say goodnight to them.  Like when your small boy brings you imaginary cappuccinos on a daily basis.   

Stuff like that. 

Today seemed to be teeming with feel good titbits starting with a lovely walk by the river with the boys and our decidedly perkier Juno dog this morning. 

Ours is a heritage town located on the River Barrow with a well-worn track that goes as far as you feel like walking from the centre of the town.  And indeed there were loads of people using it from joggers to cyclists and a random family with a dog.

After that, guilty conscience appeased because the dog had a walk, we dropped her home and drove to the glorious Delta Sensory Gardens, Carlow

Health & Wellness Garden

Giant Jenga anyone?

This place is amazing.  It is a veritable delight with something for everyone. We don’t go often enough.  Our last visit was approximately the same time last year and if it was possible, the gardens looked lovelier with a couple of new features.

The thistle fountain.  Bring a change of clothes!

The Music Room.  Also bring a change of clothes!

The boys loved it.  “Double thanks for bringing us here!”  “This place rocks!” and “I want a garden like this!” *that may have been me!*  

But the best feel good part of the day, for me at least, was bumping into one of my very early primary school teachers in the gardens.

I recognised her straight away and before I knew it, I was re-introducing myself.

This lady had a huge impact on me in school.  I couldn’t have been more than ten years old and I can still remember her lessons.  She favoured talking to her students instead of reading from books.  She didn’t sit behind her desk, but liked to lean against it as she chatted to us.  She engaged with us all and I feel that was the secret of her prowess.

I still remember her telling us all to express our dissatisfaction with service or an item in any shop because if we didn’t “things will never change.”

Like my time in primary school, I could have stayed there today chatting to her well into the afternoon.  If it wasn’t for a pesky child demanding that we go now, I probably would have.

It has been a week with definite signs that summer 2014 is closing its doors.  It is now autumn. 

School is back next week.  Already there are yellow, red and orange leaves on some trees.  I have started my take-out coffee cup collection for our annual conker, acorn and beech planting.

The boys have mentioned Christmas more than once.  I have packed away the shorts and t-shorts as they boys have requested long sleeves and pants.  I may or may not have wrapped a scarf around my neck a few times these past couple of weeks.

And we’re making the most of it.  Making the most of the last few days before the school gates open for 2014/2015.

Thank you for reading.  If you enjoyed this post, you might take three clicks out of your day to vote for me in the Irish Blog Awards 2014 for Best Blog Post.

To see what you are paying for, as it were, here is a link to the post that is up for nomination. You can vote by clicking here scrolling to Wonderful Wagon, clicking that and then clicking vote.    I hate asking but I'm a cheeky devil!  And thank you!  Very much.

Nanoo nanoo Robin Williams

He must have been so tired.  He must have been under so much unwanted pressure.  He must have felt so burdened.

I’m talking about Robin Williams and his tragic death.  Death by suicide as was reported by the media and as a result splashed all over Facebook, the television and internet.

Robin Williams never made any secret of the fact he struggled with depression. 

With that comes a deep knowledge that everyone else is affected by it too.

Imagine the stress of that.  Depression affects family, social groups, the workplace, the economy, everything.  Those who are depressed are cognizant of this; of being surrounded by people watching, asking after them all of the time, being concerned and worrying incessantly.

It can become a burden.

Imagine the strain of that.

Every time Robin Williams was interviewed he was lauded as a genius, an amazing person, the funniest person alive, a force, inspired, and a brilliant artist, gifted. 

Maybe Robin Williams didn’t want to be all of those things.  Maybe he just wanted to be.

Every time he was interviewed it was mere minutes before he morphed into one of his characters.   He was never himself.  For long anyway.

Maybe he felt he couldn’t be.

Good Will Hunting saw him act in a state of unusual sobriety, a less manic, less crazed persona.  It was a different Robin Williams to the one we had become used to; the fireball of energy, unable to sit still and relax.

It must have been so tiring having to live up to his name all of the time.  Feeling like he had to prove himself to everyone, to always be the funny man, the life and soul of the party.

Robin Williams was also a husband, a father, a work colleague, a friend and last but not least, an actor.

It was said on social media he had reached an unbearable level of sadness and couldn’t deal with it anymore.

The opinion of one in thousands of people discussing his demise.

This is mine; I think Robin Williams was tired in the end.   Of it all.

RIP Robin Williams. 1951 - 2014

The Day my Dog Cried

IT WAS AS IF she knew.  Bags were being packed.  Running gear was driving her crazy with the prospect of a run but then it was being put away.  Toothbrushes were flung into another bag alongside mobile phone and DS chargers.    But she wasn’t interested in any of that.

It was the suitcases and the harried activity that had piqued her curiousity.  Something was afoot and she wasn’t sure that she liked it.

Probably the most disconcerting thing of all was when her food and a large blanket were put in the car.

Then her lead was plucked from under the stairs and she could hardly contain her excitement.

She knew it!  Something was definitely afoot.  Still not sure what exactly but the lead always meant a run somewhere.  She jumped into the car without a backward glance. 

Bitch! 

She was off to doggy camp for the week.  Because her humans were going on holidays.  

Without her.  But she was oblivious to this.

The boys had expressed mild distress about their pet going to the kennels.  Would she be okay?  Are there other people there?  Where will she sleep?  Who will feed her?  Will she be fed?  What will she do all day?

I was glad I wasn’t the only one with concerns.  The dog had been sick – a kidney infection – and was very out of sorts.  She perked up considerably after three days and some anti-biotics.  She had been glued to me that week.  Even slept by my side of the bed.  I couldn’t go upstairs or to the bathroom without her shadowing me.

But now she was going to a strange place because her humans were off to the beach. 

It was time for her to go and on Mister Husband’s return I asked him how she went.  What’s it like down there?

“Oh, a proper Auschwitz,” was his reply.  And when he saw my face he said, “She’s grand.  It’s fine.”

I told him his back pedalling came too late.  “You wait till you’re in your nursing home.  You’ll laugh then, I tell ya.   If you are on an anti-biotic I’ll tell them they have my full permission for one person to hold your nose and another to force open your jaw.  How about that? And I’ll tell them you love suppositories, too.  Yes, I will.  Plus you reckon ammonia is great for softening the skin.  No need to change those incontinence pads.”  I pointed my finger at him.  “You. Just. Wait.”

And then we drove off to our rented holiday home.  Smallest Boy got upset a couple of times and asked to come home and to get our Juno girl. 

We assured him she was okay at her doggy camp and he would see her soon.  I sent a text to Dougie in the kennels on Monday morning and his swift response assured us that she was indeed fine.  She had made friends with an identical twin – the only way to tell them apart was by their red and blue collars.

That seemed to put their minds at rest and they proceeded with the job in hand which was to enjoy their holidays.

They did and before we knew it, I was telling them tomorrow was the last day. Lots of “aawwwws” ensued but there was no denying it.  All good things must come to an end and then we were at the gates of the kennels and she was at the other side.

Crying when she saw us.

Did you know dogs could cry?  I knew they could howl in anger, fear and excitement but up till then I didn’t know they could cry.  She didn’t shed tears or anything but she whined.  And whined and keened and licked whatever part of my hands she could get at through the wires.

Then the gates were open and she was jumping up on me, licking my face, my hands, still whining and keening. 

The car door was left open and she darted in to say hello to everyone else.

She spent the two minute drive home with her head stuck out the car window, sniffing the air and when we arrived home, she was the first one out of the car and up to the door.

We went in and she has remained stuck to my side ever since.

Dogs can cry.  Who knew?

I certainly didn’t.  

Joy Pockets for July 2014

WE are smack bang in the middle of July.  Into our third week of school summer holidays yet it feels like they have been off much longer.  And not in a bad way.  I am really, really enjoying the time off.  So I thought I would document some of my joy pockets for July. 

The weather.  Isn’t it great?  Already we have been blessed with long days filled with hazy, warm, buttery yellow sunshine.  The water sprinkler got put through its paces so vigorously it is in a cracked heap on the grass.   We are a short and t-shirts house for the last 6 weeks or so and it is great.  Really cuts down on the washing and gets Vitamin D onto Irish skin.

School Holidays.  I love them.  It’s crazy but it’s true.  We seem to be busier than ever but in a different way and we still manage to get everything done because we are not clock watching.  The first person to wake does so around 8 o’clock.  It’s not me.  And by the time everyone else is up, pancakes are made, orange juice is poured and everyone is full and happy.  Ready to meet the day.

Verruca(s).  A strange one, agreed.  But my joy is we have managed to banish verrucas on two boys all within weeks of each other.  We began the gentle treatment in February of this year and saw great results.    

The swimming pool.  What goes hand in hand with good weather?  Besides ice-cream.  The swimming pool.  Or any kind of pool.  We have been going to our local leisure centre every day and loving it.  Such is our enthusiasm, we wore still wet swimming gear on a visit this week. 

Alex and Ani bangles.  Just click on this link for gorgeousness.  Be warned – I went in to buy just one and ended up putting another aside.  They. Are. Gorgeous. And I. Want. Them. All.

A certain inner calm.  Which is probably linked to the school holidays and kicking back a little.  I cannot tell you (because you probably understand) what it is like not to be tied to a clock each day.  Not to be cooking meals all the time.  We take each day as it comes and enjoy it. 

Summer reading.  I love a good read.  Our second boy has discovered the joy of reading lately.  He is reading for pleasure and not because it’s homework.  It’s great to see.  I have my own library for our week away but I am waiting on two more.  It’s hard when they are sitting there, looking at me and I want to keep them for reading on the beach. It’s like having biscuits in your press; you know they’re there but you shouldn’t.  You can’t!   

Pop Up Races.   A novel and fantastic idea, the brainchild of two brothers who take their 5k pop up race to a number of different towns each week.  You can register online  or sign up on the night.  They have been in Athy twice now with a fantastic turnout each time.  The 5k route takes place along the banks of the scenic River Barrow.

My boys. Not just a Joy Pocket for July but for all year round.  Yes, it’s hard being around them all the time.  Yes, it’s frustrating and boring.  *she said boring* Yes, she definitely said boring.  That’s because it is boring.  But I am aware of how lucky I am to be with them every day.  After all, no-one else can wipe backsides and serve up fresh pasta with an out-of-a-bag-sauce like I can. All joking aside, now that I am out  the other side I can finally see how quickly time really does pass.

And with that in mind, I am determined to enjoy the rest of the school break because after all, when else am I going to get a proper chance to just kick back and enjoy life as it happens?