The Jack & Jill Foundation

lilyobriens.ie

I GIVE OUT.  I give out a lot.  I could say, “Doesn’t everyone?” and throw in, “so do a lot of mother’s,” but I am not using my “position” as a parent to get out of this one.

I try to see the good in every situation, in every day and in people.  It’s not always easy. Sometimes it’s downright difficult if a tad impossible. 

But I try. 

At the back of it all, however, I am always aware of one thing; I’ve got four fine, healthy, hale and hearty boys.

Countless people, those older and wiser than me, have often commented whenever I complained about my boys wrecking the house or running riot somewhere they shouldn’t.

“Wouldn’t it be worse if they weren’t able to?” they say.

Yes, it would.  It would be unimaginable.  I cannot imagine it.

Yet there are parents out there who are not imagining it but living it.  Their kids are not so hale, not so hearty.

Their kids are sick.  Perhaps terminally so. 

My hale and hearty kids have never known an honest days illness in their lives.

For this I am eternally, absolutely grateful.

During the summer I entered a competition in conjunction with the RTE Guide and Poolbeg Publishing House inviting parents to submit a 500 word original story.  Twenty of which were to be selected and compiled in a children’s book entitled Once Upon a Bedtime with all proceeds from sales going towards The Jack & Jill Foundation.

I was delighted to learn that my story, Declan the Fire Breathing Dragon, was one of the winning entries.

I was always aware of The Jack & Jill Foundation but on a peripheral level only.   Thanks to my healthy kids.  Parents at the school gates mentioned how they would have been lost without the respite they received.  The care and support offered to and provided for those children with severe neurological and developmental issues.

That’s the medical bit.  But there’s more. CEO Jonathan Irwin highlighted how truly heart-breaking illness can be for families on a radio talk show recently.

“It’s a desperate world.  You cannot be in it.  You’re exhausted, you’re traumatised, you get no sleep.  An awful lot of partnerships and marriages that might have had a little crack in them break up.  It completely destroys the childhood of the siblings, and it doesn’t stop there; it ripples into the grandparents, the uncles, aunts, friends.  Everything.  It is a most negative influence all for this little person who means you no harm at all.”

And still I did not fully grasp the extent of their reach. The medical support provided is vital for the families of sick children.  But there is also the emotional side of it.   Most of us expect and take for granted the fact that we can escape every so often.  Even if it is only a quick catch up at the school gate.  What happens when you can’t even snatch those few minutes to yourself? 

The last few minutes of the interview brought it home for me.

“We [The Jack & Jill Foundation] bring the gift of time to get your hair done, to go to the supermarket, to take the children to a match or to a pantomime or on holiday because without it [time] I don’t know how people survive.”

Neither do I.

Once Upon a Bedtime is on sale now in bookshops nationwide RRP €14.99

Today I am Grateful

ON A DAY when a small four year old warrior lost his battle against cancer, I am grateful. 

On a day when there is usually a good chance I will let a few roars at the boys and issue the usual empty threats, today I will give hugs and smiles.

Today I will let them jump in every single puddle they meet on the way back to the car.

Today I will let whoever has the tap on full blast in the bathroom, enjoy the hand washing without stressing about the mess.

Today I won’t care about dirty faces and hands and how it will get rubbed onto school uniforms.

Today I am grateful that the seven year old went swimming this morning and his older brother will be playing football after school.

Today I am grateful that my smallest boy opted to eat only his Yorkshire pudding at dinner and two small pieces of chicken.

Today I am grateful that my house was too warm and I needed to turn down the heat.

I am grateful that my Junior Infant still wants me to walk him into his classroom each morning. 

Today I am grateful for the large pile of toy cars and wooden building blocks that litter the floor.

I am grateful for the rain.  For the roast chicken dinner in my belly.

Today I am grateful for my hale and hearty boys who run and shout and fight.  Who hug and kiss and thump and punch.  I am grateful for their noise, for the constant demands.  I am grateful for their washing, for their laughter.

Today I am grateful for life.

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