My boys no more

I recall Mia Freedman writing about her boys, and at every stage of their lives she felt like she was losing a big love as they grew into the next version of themselves. I nearly met her last year when a recruiter offered me a role that would inevitably mean I would have needed to step into her shoes as she stepped back from her other precious baby, Mamamia. As much as I thought it would be too much, so did she and I didn’t score the interview, someone with tenured magazine experience rightly did. But I would have liked to meet her, I think we would either instantly hated each other seeing the flaws we detest in ourselves clearly in the other, or be drawn together in empathy for being more emotional about this life than the Sydney delusionists like to deal with. 

My boys are now young men, more than a head taller than me and my husband at 14 and 16. This site was a dedication to them, a log of their childhood and our family’s misadventures. It is hard to believe this adventure that, at times, felt like it was dragging on forever, is nearing its end. I can now see myself saying goodbye to them at an airport more clearly than I can remember the long nights feeding and reading novels on my phone from 3-5am.

Like my older neighbour Jackie said to me “Don’t wish the time away, it goes by in a heartbeat.” And like parents before and after me I never quite understood, until now when it has nearly passed, and indeed in what feels like a blurred flash. 

I am still working as hard as ever and I am feeling the regret already, if only I had spent more time with them, if only, if only, if only. All is not lost though, not yet. My 16 year old is becoming this deep, calm and interesting human that is suddenly interested in novels, not just sport! So we are discussing literary greats and novelists that I love. I have dusted off my library searching through the bookcase for old penguin classics I have scattered amongst modern favourites like Khaled Hosseini, Margaret Atwood and Liane Moriarty. 

My youngest is going through the “my parents suck” phase so he’s not as vocal, but I can still sneak in big hug while he watches his phone over my shoulder, or a kiss goodnight as he moves his playstation headphones off one ear. He is also playing guitar and I sometimes hear my favourite foo fighters riffs resonating through his often closed door. He is learning ‘Come Alive” I hear because of me. 

One thing (I think) I am proud of is both are still very honest with us, so honest I sometimes squirm! I am hearing about all their exploits and new “interests” if you know what I mean. Our dinners out have become hilarious and known for Mum asking questions she shouldn’t and finding out more than what she bargained for. It often ends in hushed voices and everyone laughing either from embarrassment or bewilderment, but these nights are so precious right now and the best fun.

It is a new phase and they are definitely feeling a lot less like my boys, but while I miss their innocence and naivety, I can’t help but watch on with wonder as they form into adults, with their own opinions and ways that are wholly separate from Mum and Dad. I know there will be another phase soon and this one will be gone as quickly as the last. Luckily I can bottle some of this pure joy here, so I don’t forget who they were and are becoming.  

As is the case with every parent, we’ve not been perfect, but all I can hope for is that we’ve done enough to set them up for a long life of learning and love. 

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Make it go away Mummy

This past week has been surreal, in fact if I think about it this past year has. Something changed though last Wednesday when my son was diagnosed with pneumonia. I can’t yet put my finger on it but I suppose this post is a way to help me do that.

I feel a bit broken to be totally honest, just watching this little human that just happens to be the centre of my universe, cry out in agony while I know there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it or fix it, is soul destroying. And watching his eyes, that have seen only two years of this world, staring at me, questioning why they are in pain. It is the closest thing to hell on earth.

I can’t imagine what parents who have kids that are seriously ill have to go through, if this is what it feels like when your child has something that modern medicine can fix. I think it’s the helplessness that's the killer. I want to run out and study medicine, but I know that wouldn’t solve everything and would probably reveal how little we actually do know. Basically I need to be Samantha Stevens, when the pain hits I just wiggle my nose.

Witches aside for a moment, this got me thinking about resilience. Our children are going to face pain, and lots of it, and most of the time all we will be able to do is sit by and provide comfort and support. So how does one prepare to be useless in the face of your children’s biggest crises? How do you stop shutting down inside to cope with our own pain at having to watch our angels get attacked and have to fight for themselves?

Unfortunately I have no idea, lately if I don’t run around keeping busy, staying numb, I basically want to scream, “Why does he keep getting sick? Is it my fault? What can I do differently? Surely there is something that can be done?” Our doctors have answered these questions for me and they go something like “He’s in the normal spectrum of illness frequency for his age, it is not your fault, if he didn’t get these infections now he would get them at school, no his diet is good, he’s active and you are using probiotics and supplements and washing his hands, no there’s nothing more than antibiotics if it’s bacterial, immunisation against some real nasties but mostly it’s viral and he will just get over it in 7-10 days, summer is better”. This doesn’t stop my incredulous reaction when after maximum of two weeks good health another feral virus mows my boy down. It also doesn’t stop me blaming myself for pretty much the whole sorry situation.

All I know is I am tired and sad and feeling incredibly sorry for him and myself. I want to take the pain away, I want to wrap him in my arms and shield him from this torturous world. He, of course, is managing having one of the most serious respiratory conditions around like a champion, and other than needing a little more sleep and cuddles, is being his normal cheeky and charming little self.

If only I could be so brave and strong…but maybe screaming when you feel helpless is the best reaction. Aurora, Emma’s mother in Terms of Endearment is her and my hero, and she’s screaming, as is perfectly appropriate when you are watching someone you love more than life itself work through pain.

So if you don’t see me here as often, it’s cause I’m off somewhere helplessly screaming loudly or more often, quietly on the inside.

How do you handle it (or not) when your child is in pain?

©MyIdeaLife, 2011, All rights reserved.

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Mummy #FAIL

The baby chokes
So Crash*, my 8 month old just choked on some bread crust that I shouldn’t have let him have and so as to save his own life he spewed all over himself, me and the floor. Now any normal person would put this incident down to experience and move on, doubtless not trying it again until the little chap could chew. Me well today I wasn’t normal.

Boom~ warned me not to give Crash the bread and I shrugged off his caution. He gave me that annoying look, you know the one your mother always gave you when you were a teenager. His face quite clearly stated, “you’ll see” as if he was this wise old man.

I secretly was a little worried when half the crust disappeared into Crash’s mouth and I tried to extract the offending piece with no luck and so the almighty spew. Boom came rushing in and kindly didn’t say ‘I told you so’ and took Crash away to clean him up as I mopped up the floors and myself.

Cloaked in chores
Dejected I raced to the laundry in search of chores to hide my shame in and found a load of washing that should have gone out an hour ago, yay! (You won’t see that very often, that is, me getting excited about washing). So off to the yard I go to dwell on my failure. I was in a deep tailspin and bracing myself for the lecture I was going to get from my “perfect” husband.

Empathy and husband in the same sentence – it’s a miracle!
But there was no lecture and then a rare moment of empathy that I was so grateful for I ended up crying while pegging up his undies. He even took some of the blame – this was mercy indeed and I knew I didn’t deserve it. Then I realized something that rarely occurs to me – maybe, just maybe, my husband really loves me????

You see my abnormality this particular day was being too hard on myself. If my hubby could forgive me, surely so could I? So I stopped and thought through why I was judging myself and I realized it was wrapped up in the pressure placed on women still to be these perfect earth mother, domestic goddess-types.

If cleanliness is next to godliness, I’m clearly destined for an eternity of flames
That’s not me, especially the domestic goddess part. To be fair being pregnant and/or breastfeeding for the last two-and-a-half years has probably exacerbated my sub-standard approach to home management, but as my Mum will tell you I’ve never been a fan.

It’s ok!
But tonight I’m done with feeling guilty for just being imperfect me. From now on my new favourite phrase is going to be: “It’s ok!” It’s ok if Bang^ wants to wear his Thomas winter PJs under his Bob the Builder summer ones and not his designer outfit to Mother’s Group. It’s ok if I don’t feel like seeing the dirt on the floor and let Crash crawl through it. It’s ok if I’d rather spend an hour on Twitter than doing something “productive”, why do we always have to be so productive? We’re not friggin’ factories! Who was it that decided incessant activity was the stuff of halos anyway?

WORLD FIRST: Mother decides not to feel guilty - is promptly ousted from village.
I’m going to relax in my failings, I’m going to rejoice in my hatred of cleaning, maybe I’ll even have a drink too many and do some swearing to add to my transgressions, but I’m going to give myself a break, I’m going to forgive myself for almost choking my baby, I’m going to let myself off lightly for not having any inclination to re-arrange the pantry, I’m going to sit here and write because that’s what makes me feel whole. I’m a bit of a #FAIL as a housewife, home economist, whatever label you want to place on it and you know what – It’s ok because I like being an un-domestic goddess (even if it means a little shaming in the village square).

P.S. This is not an overly elaborate way of saying it’s cool to be lazy either…no seriously, it’s not!
^Bang=my 2yr old. *Crash=my 9mth old. ~Boom=my 3.5 35yr old hubby
© 2011 My IdeaLife, All rights reserved

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