The advent of a new advent

I grew up with Advent as a central part of my family’s Christmas. It was part of our cultural heritage and my memories of it centre on the four, weekly sessions of sitting around the advent wreath, Christmas music playing, dreamily burning little sprigs of pine on the available candle light so that the sweet smell of popping pine needles filled the house and we had to replenish our wreath for the next Sunday session. It was intoxicating. My sister and I also had the advent calendar with its little treats each day – a chocolate, a bouncy ball, a matchbox car (back when they still actually fitted into matchboxes; before the cars got big and the matchboxes got small).

I like traditions. I think they are an important part of remembering who you are, but in my attempts to continue the European flavour with my own children, I have come to an impasse. Each year for the past three or four, I have tried a different strategy – one countdown that we all share, one little treat for each person each day, a ritualised slow-reveal of a Christmas image – but each one has failed. Dismally. This year I decided to “downgrade” and went for the Aldi chocolate calendar for each child (so they each had something to count down on) and one carefully chosen Christmas book that we could share each day, to give us the quiet together time thinking about the nice Christmas messages that I hope I can reinforce for my children (I don’t think they are ready to burn pine responsibly yet). But even this has descended into a constant nagging about “when can I have my chocolate?”, “why can’t I have two?”, “How come his chocolate is bigger than mine?”, “I want to choose the book!”, “It’s my book!”, bla, bla, bla… The paper covering the books is wrapped in is ripped and thrown on the floor, the books are snatched, the quiet reading time is filled with cries of “get off my feet!”, “I’m getting squashed!”, “I can’t seeeeeeee!”, and invariably it ends with the book being tossed aside in preference for chasing each other with imaginary swords. It leaves me with the distinct feeling that their building expectation has little to do with the impending birth of Christ and a sense of reverence, and more to do with the impending day of “getting stuff” and a sense of entitlement.

In dismay, I asked myself this morning, what I am trying to teach my children about this time of year. And it occurred to me that they are learning three things with the advent tradition as it currently stands: 1) To be forever looking ahead at what tomorrow will bring; 2) That you get stuff for no real reason and with no real effort; 3) That Christmas is about the accumulation of stuff, preferably bigger and better than the stuff your siblings get. Perhaps it is just that my children are too small to be able to put the countdown into perspective, but I fear that if I allow these misconceptions to continue that they will never be able to.

And so, next year I will try a new approach – my fifth and final attempt. Should it too, fail, the tradition of counting down to Christmas will die and I will officially become as much of a Christmas Grinch as I am a Halloween Grinch.

Next year I will go back to the four Sundays before Christmas and frame them as a time to “prepare” for a celebration of giving and sharing. Sunday 1 will be dedicated to putting up the tree and getting out the dusty old carols to hum along to. Sunday 2 will be about preparing lists of gifts to give to family and planning Christmas craft projects for the weeks ahead. Sunday 3 will be dedicated to clearing out toys and selecting items to give to those less fortunate. And Sunday 4 will be about wrapping gifts, making cards, baking treats to share with neighbours. And all the while, I will be avoiding all shopping centres, Santa photos, catalogues and the like, while reminding them that I love and honour the Christ within each of their precious little hearts, and that I hope, with my love, that their light might grow to fill the world with joy… not just stuff.

I’ll let you know how it goes!

Sing a song of desperation…

A child who sings is a happy child. I get it.

A singing child is a happy sound. I get it.

But there comes a time when singing is neither necessary, nor appropriate nor, God help me, bearable any longer! There comes a time when the sound is no longer of happiness but of a droning, whining, screeching machine that quite obviously needs to be doused in oil or put out of its misery. And, ashamed as I am to admit it, that time comes at least eight times a day. In fact my day often starts with one of those times and the silence that embraces me at the end of the day when the singer has finally passed out is like heroin.

So I am begging for help here – how can I make my little girl stop singing? Not all together. I don’t mean I never want her to utter another sound. That would be just plain wrong. But how can I get her to stop narrating her entire existence in dubious attempts to reach angelic heights and harmonies? Seriously, it’s an ever-present narration of events both real and imagined… a Broadway musical contains more spoken words!

I have tried: “Darling, Mummy’s ears are tired. It’s time for some quiet now.”

But I’m met with: “That’s alright, I can sing them a lullaby!”

Dear God NOOOOOOOO!

So I try: “I think it’s time for the birds to sing now. Let them have a turn.”

And the reply: “They are singing, Mummy. I’m singing with them.”

Game Set Match

I’ve gone down the path of: “Can I hear what your talking voice sounds like?”

She’s on to me: “But singing is so beautifuuuuuuuulllll.”

Not right nooooooowwwww it’s not!

 

So you get the general gist. I’m running out of ideas. She’s even figured out that if there is silence in the court and “the first one to talk is the monkey”, then she has a free pass to sing. I’m rapidly approaching strategies that are likely to kill every fibre of creative expression in her little 4-year-old being and I’d like some alternatives before I fall into “JUST SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”. Or worse: my sarcasm and snide tongue might emerge and then no eye will stay dry.

 

Please help me tame this beast. Show me how I can teach it that a mouthful of spaghetti is not the time to break into an aria; that when the baby is asleep, yodelling will be met with distain; and that when it is time to get in the bloody car because we are already late, I will not join in with a rendition of your impromptu version of a meal-time prayer. Sometimes we all just need SILENCE!

 

2 years in a nutshell

The writing Bug has bitten me again. Hard.

Actually, truth be told, I never got rid of the Bug, I just tried to turn it into something else. But as I have learned over the last two years, you can try on a whole lot of outfits and at the end of the wardrobe, you will be what you are which is what you always have been. Embracing it is, by far, the hardest easiest road.

So here I am… all Bugged up with nowhere to go…

I still don’t have the great swathes of time that the Bug demands, so, in precisely the same way as my children, my husband, my dog, my garden, my all-together-too-many-projects and my own-little-self do, IT WILL JUST HAVE TO GET USED TO IT! This is life at present – it is a long endless interminable challenging phase and Bug will have to ride it out with the little morsels of attention I can afford it.

The two years since my last confession has included:
1) Some hard-core grappling with and healing from childhood trauma – big and exceptionally challenging.
2) Another baby – the Huge One aka The Boss.
3) Swimming “coaching” without the “coaching” but working one-on-one with some fab young people and, naturally, facing A LOT of my own baggage from that part of my past!
4) Life in the Zone – a program designed to engage, equip and empower young people to make healthy choices for their future – writing, refining and facilitating it in high schools around the place.
5) Embarking on iDAPT programs – a similar gig to LITZ but with wider applications – written by one of the most extraordinary women I know and the woman who saved my life during #1.
6) And all the other stuff – school, garden, book club, charity initiatives, tutoring, and dreaming about writing.

Oh yeah, and raising a family… and starting a Psychology degree… And resurrecting my picture book manuscript that now has an EXTRAORDINARY illustrator on board… I think that’s it… Shit… Where’s my diary?

In a nutshell, it’s great to be back.

Now, for the opinionated stuff…

Stay tuned.

Nx

I think I might be back…

Hello??

Is anybody out there??

Do you all still exist out there some two years on??

I have grown a lot, changed a bit… what a ride it’s been…

 

Yibede-yibede-yibede-that’s all folks…

I’m done.

So long.

Fare well.

Nadine.

To those of you even vaguely interested

I’ve been gone… for a long time.

I’ve been doing… a lot.

What I’ve been doing has been… challenging.

I’ll be back… soon.

I just have to… clear my head of the stuff I want to write about but cannot write about here.

I miss you… lots.

Nx

Oh the grind

I know I said my blog was changing. I know I said it would no longer be just a litany of reasons why motherhood is so damned hard and so damned exhausting and so damned infuriating, but how was I supposed to know that my toddler would choose to grow down instead of up? Nobody warned me about regressive behaviour! Nobody told me that my Little Lion would REFUSE to be anything but a baby. And I mean that literally.

He refuses to speak. Instead he says “me-me-me-me” in varying high-pitched tones, expecting me to spend my life trying to interpret his constant pretend conversation. What a fun game!

He refuses to walk. Instead he crawls through the mud in the back yard until he is close enough to me to moan, “me-me-me-me-carry-me”. We went through five outfits the other day, simply because he refused to walk. Ain’t that a fun fun fun game!

He refuses to eat. Instead he whines “me-me-me-me-feed-me…” every single meal, expecting me to sit between him and The Blossom, alternately shoveling mouthfuls and cursing the mess my two babies spit and toss on the floor. What a fabulously fun game!

He refuses to go to bed. Instead he screams for the bottle he gave up nearly six months ago and the sleeping bag that he hasn’t used in more than a year. He expects me to sit in his doorway until he falls asleep and screams the house down if I so much as go to the toilet. And did I mention the frequent night waking? And the fact that Mr D has been completely barred from helping because only Mummy will do? What a top-shelf-fabulously fun game!

He will  not consider the potty where some six months ago he was absolutely interested. He couldn’t stand a dirty nappy and he told me what he was doing when he was doing it. Now he lies and says he hasn’t done anything when the whole universe can smell it. When I check and correct him, he claims that more is coming, and when I finally take charge to change him, he screams like I am about to rip his legs off. What a top-shelf-fucking-fantastically-fun game! Especially that he can’t start preschool until the nappies go.

So I am looking down the barrel of an eternity with a petulant, frustrated, button-pushing, heart-breaking, tantrum-throwing ‘Baby’ who is, on some level, choosing to stay “just little”. Why???? I am tired. I have nothing left.

I know he has had a rough time at daycare – we took him out four/five weeks ago and we thought that had made all the difference. He’s home with me. He goes to Nana’s. He is happy – or at least that’s what we thought.

I know he has developed fears – we have done and are doing everything in our power to allay those fears, but I draw the line at having every fucking light in the house on all night. Fears are a normal developmental stage, I get that, but surely not to the point where he doesn’t want to be a big boy any more?

I know that having a sister is a hard thing to come to terms with, but she’s been around for over a year and she occasionally needs her nappy changed too! Get the fuck over it – she’s here to stay so you can stop shoving her, smothering her, lying on top of her, trying to pull her arms off… and copying her, for God’s sake!

I praise grown up behaviour. I point out all the benefits of being big. I give him options. I give him control in every area that I can. I try to listen. I try to be patient. I reinforce our boundaries with a kind-but-firm touch. But sometimes there is just no more fuel in the tank, I’m afraid. So now I just want to cry.

What can I do? How can I make the idea of being a big boy even vaguely appealing to a Lion who roars that he is “NOT A BIG BOY! I BABY!” What have I missed?

Because I’m going fucking nuts here…

Today, in the rain

Today I ran a hill in the rain.

It was hard

And it was cold

And it was liberating

And it was exhilarating,

And never again will I shun

The tiny needles of water

That pierce the eye and make the world seem new.

Today I ran a mountain

And will never be the same.

Gorilla Parenting (it’s not a typo!)

Last Sunday night I was in an ordinary place. The Little Lion was troubling me, I was feeling responsible, fragile and overwhelmed and every one of my buttons had been pummeled to the max. So I decided a nice glass of godly nectar and some mindless wildlife documentary would help soothe my soul.

Sure.

Within the first five minutes of the documentary about mountain gorillas, I was so shamed by their superior mothering skills that I had to turn the TV off and go weep in the shower.

I’m not kidding. I was put to shame by a gorilla. And not just any gorilla. A MALE GORILLA! Yep. One of those chest-beating, tooth-baring, grunt-making, harem-keeping, male-archetyping silverbacks.

His daughter had been badly injured in one of his battles for superiority (typical), she had been saved by watchful humans and, after being suckled back to health, mum abandoned her for a better-looking silverback (hussy). So what did dad do? Took her on, of course. Here was a big, hairy brute hugging, grooming, nurturing, playing and sleeping with his little girl as much as she needed whenever she needed.

Did he ever complain that she was taking over his life? No. Did he bemoan the loss of his personal space? No. And for how long do baby gorillas maintain complete and unconditional dominion over their parents? At least five whole, long, exhausting years.

I know, there are attachment parenting advocates who would be smiling serenely right about now, wondering what all the fuss is about. But seriously, WHO CAN DO THAT? And how, pray tell? How?

So here I am after two and a half years hoping that LL gets his toilet training shit together so I can ship him off to the most beautiful preschool in the world ASAP! I am beating myself up for having had him in a daycare situation that was less than ideal, but now that I’ve taken him out, I’m wondering how I’m going to make it through to October when he is (hopefully) going to start at that most beautiful preschool in world. Oh he’s great and I love him and all, but there is only so much tractoring I can do before wanting to dig my own grave.

I kid you not, I have been stewing over this bloody perfect gorilla father all week.

And I have come to the conclusion that there are a few external pressures that we humans experience on a daily basis that gorillas generally don’t have to deal with and that’s why he gets to be a fountain of self-sacrificing patience and I get to be crabby cow – washing for a start, they don’t have houses to clean, meals are generally “eat what you can find” affairs, nappies don’t exist, nor do appointments, bills, groceries, and and and and and and…

So I’ve decided that I’m going to live a week of Gorilla Parenting. There will be no cleaning. There will be no cooking. There will be no washing and the children can run like little heathens though the mud. I’ll try to maintain basic personal hygiene so that Social Services don’t come a-knocking, but we’ll graze on whatever is handy, we’ll play and rumble and lounge and bask in the slowness of each day. We’ll laugh and sing and climb and swing. We’ll cuddle and snooze and just be.

The only rub is that gorilla mummies have lots of other gorilla mummies around to hang out with, to share the gossip with, to co-supervise with, to parent with. Gorilla babies have other gorilla babies to play with, to learn from, to be distracted by, to explore with.

Yep, I need a harem. So, who’s in?

Every Australian Counts – but what can I do?

What can I do? How can I help? I have so little time, I have no skills, I’m not a sales person…

The NDIS is a cause whose time has come, but to get government to take this crucial step in overhauling a disability services system that is catastrophically failing so many Australians, we need numbers. We need people to put up their hands, to say “I support this idea”, and all that means is adding their name and email address to the website. So, here are a few ideas of things that you can do to help get those numbers. Whether it’s an email to friends or a morning tea, an article in the school newsletter or a presentation at the P&C meeting, every little bit helps.

The Little Things that make a difference:

• Write an email to everyone in your contacts list asking them to log onto the Every Australian Counts website, to register and then to pass this email on to everyone in their contact list.
• Put up information posters on your local community notice boards in libraries, shopping centres, scout halls, community centres, coffee shops, etc – don’t forget to ask management for permission!
• Use the local community groups you are involved with to best advantage:

 – Collect registrations on the EAC postcards at your playgroup, sporting club, school P&C meeting, church group, etc.

– Put an article in the newsletter.

– Combine fundraising efforts with “awareness raising” – A bake sale that raises money for the club where each item sold has an EAC registration card attached.

– Encourage each parent to register on the EAC website on the permission slip for the school disco

 
• Use the opportunities your work place presents:

 – Leave registration postcards and information in the common room

– Send an email via the intranet

– Arrange a workplace morning tea and ask each person to register as they arrive/leave

– Place an article in the weekly bulletin

The Medium-Sized Things that make a difference:

• Hold a stall at your local markets with information fliers, T-shirts, bumper stickers and registration cards. You can get them by contacting your state coordinator.
• Engage your local media with your personal story:

 – a letter to the editor, a feature story, an opinion piece, etc

– select a section of the paper that you feel is relevant to your story, for example, if your daughter is a disabled swimmer, contact the sports editor; if you are a student at the local university, write for the education section; if you are a disability services provider, approach the community news journalists, etc.
• Arrange to give a presentation at your local community group about the NDIS and You – the key here is to personalise the message so you become an inspiring ambassador. Many schools, charity groups such as Rotary and Lions clubs, church groups and youth groups are interested in hearing from inspiring role models with an urgent message.
• Create an NDIS Team to participate in local events like fun runs, triathlons, bike rides, swim-a-thons, etc… or Join the Sydney City to Surf team – NDIS NOW!

The Big Things that make a difference:

• Make a presentation to your local council:

 – Contact the community liaison department and discuss the best forum for this. It may be at a council meeting, at a public forum, or a private submission to the General Manager and/or the Mayor. Be clear on what you would like them to do: host an event; to be included in the program for an even already planned; awareness raising through rates notices mail out; letters of support to local members of parliament

• Letter box drop of the houses in your local area
• Organise an event like a family picnic day, a concert, a celebrity soccer match to promote the EAC campaign and to engage the local media
• Approach local sporting heroes, celebrities, radio station hosts, etc for their support:

 – Just like the council, make sure you are clear about what you want them to do to help promote the campaign –  Airtime on their radio program; endorsement of the campaign in media appearances; Mentioning the campaign website in interviews, on air, at concerts, etc; Wearing the EAC t-shirt or badge at events

• Approach local companies for support:

 – Again, be clear on what you want – Website links to the campaign website; Banner displays in shop fronts or offices; Branding (like the pink ribbon campaign) on selected goods; Post card display on shop counter… (the key with these big strategies is not to bite off more than anybody can chew. Gauge your level of influence carefully – if you have known the store manager personally for years, ask for the world, but if you’re cold-calling, keep your requests modest – you can always build on a counter-top post card display, but you can’t turn a flat ‘no’ to a ‘yes’). 

No matter what you choose to do, do it with passion, with enthusiasm and with belief. No matter how you choose approach spreading the word, make it personal. No matter what level you feel you can contribute at, know you will be helping to bring about a change for the better in the lives of millions.