Three Ring Circus

At 8am: Some of the kids (Ivy  included) have woken up with colds. Imogen will be staying home because she is too sick for school.

I realise that my quest to start the Christmas shopping is not going to happen.

It is cooler this morning and the sick children have begged off our daily morning walk, which I was kind of looking forward to but what is a girl to do? Break out the chocolate I say!

Ivy has a check up with the ENT doctor and I will begin my ‘negotiations’ to have her adenoids and her tonsils taken out.

Ivy finally has an appointment for the sleep clinic. It’s only taken ten months to secure.

The big kids have told me about three children in South Australia who are critically ill, two of whom are in a coma, because a highschooler gave them some ecstasy tablets and told them they were lollies.

I am very thankful that my children have had the knowledge of the devastation of drug use for as long as they can remember.

At 11pm (Don’t say anything - I know I should be in bed): Imogen is sleeping ok and I think her temp has broken. Ivy’s temp is going up and Noah is calling out in his sleep (asking for a book).

 Ivy is scheduled for adenoidectomy straight after the sleep study and if it shows that Ivy has apnoea, she will have a tonsillectomy too, although our friendly ENT doctor was quick to tell us that he felt she did not suffer from apnoea (yeah, like he has to sit up with her in the wee hours because her sleep is interrupted by gasping and hysterical crying) and there would be no need for tonsillectomy.

Can anyone say FIGJAM?

I now know that I hate predictive text on my mobile phone. When I tried to text David this afternoon, that… "Immy is sick" it predicted that I was trying to say…"Limbo is shmuck"

Is shmuck a word?

It’s hot, so hot today and the wind is blowing but it isn’t cooling anything much. Here I am on my verandah though. The washing has long dried and is folded beside me (get up Tiff and put them away) and I am watching Ivy and Noah play in tubs of water, naked, free and happy and I am happy too.

Their faces relaxed, comfortable in their natural form. The wonders of their play area spread before them in typical toddler style. So carefree.  Noah’s constant obsession with books has left us knowing that  Spot is on the farm, visiting with all his animal friends, today and that cats have soft fur and rough tongues.

How could I have denied myself these days with them? How could I with the other children? Those days are gone now, lost forever and where was I? At work, studying, who knows.

 What I do know is that I won’t be giving up my time with Ivy and Noah without a fight. It doesn’t matter how many people offer me employment. It doesn’t matter that I am losing my skills as a midwife and that I will have to retrain when the babies are grown.

All that matters is the here and now.

Ugh! The sunlight breaks through the window of their bedroom. Even though they have been extremely restless all night and kept the Mummy and the Daddy up until midnight,with smatterings of resettling thereafter, even though they are so tired their eyes can barely open a crack, once the sun is up so are they. This has gone on for days.

Someone please tell a higher power that we are more than ready for Daylight Savings in this house… Please!

 In the immortal words of Forrest Gump… "That’s all I have to say about that".

I remember the day you were born. The early Autumn sun creeping through the window of the birthing room. My heart full of hope for you, eager to meet you, look into your eyes.

I remember the day you were born. The room full with love. Time marched ever onwards as we waited for you. Longed for you.

I wondered how it would be, having a son after only daughters. I worried.

Your father was excited to have a boy, anticipated his life with you.

 I was supposed to birth you, feed you, nurture you. Supposed to…

I remember the day you were born. You didn’t cry when they pulled you from my being. You were so very still as the doctors worked around you. There were people and machines and noise but for an instant, there was just you and me.

I remember the first time, days later, that you looked at me. Those big blue eyes. I swam in their deep beauty, soaked them up. I touched your hand and your fingers curled around mine. A sweet moment between us, one to hold on to.

I remember watching your body fade, the whisper of death upon you. It was calling to you but we needed to say our goodbyes.

We christened you and for one last time you opened your eyes and took us in, as if to hold us close, as you went to a better place.

I remember we kissed you and told you of our love. We told you we were honoured to have met you but we knew you had some place else to be. We told you it was okay.

I remember the doctors stripping you down, leaving you naked without your tubes and wires. Just a boy. Flesh and blood. Unable to live without them.

I remember the day you died. It was sunny but in my heart the clouds were dark. I couldn’t hold you as you took your last breath in the late afternoon of Autumn. I couldn’t hold you because I had let you down. I could not give you life. I could only give you release.

I remember the day you died, my father dressed in a pure white shirt. It seemed out of place.

I remember family and friends helping your spirit fly away, helping us to let you go.

I remember the day you died. I held onto you for the first and last time. Your body still warm and although I willed your breath to come, it did not. I looked at you, at your features, without the tape and the tubes. I drank you in, hoping never to forget the weight of you, your smell.

I remember the moment that I gave you to the nurse. The last day I would ever see you. I wanted to run after her. I wanted you back but all I could do was cry and walk away. Leaving you with strangers.

With every breath that I have left in me I will remember you. I will honour you by loving your brother and sisters, your father and your cousins. I will remember the gifts that you gave to me and I will honour them by forgiving myself.

Today, as we remember all of the babies who have not survived this life, I will remember you, my son.

After my award day it just kept getting better! I was tagged! For a meme! Wow! I’m really getting into this blogging stuff now. I was tagged by Mad Goat Lady for the desktop meme.

I have had so much fun looking at new blogs this weekend. There are so many amazing people out there with wonderful, interesting stories.

So here are the rules:

My Desktop Free View Instructions:

A. Upon receiving this tag, immediately perform a screen capture of your desktop. It is best that no icons be deleted before the screen capture so as to add to the element of fun. You can do a screen capture by:
[1] Going to your desktop and pressing the Print Scrn key (located on the right side of the F12 key).
[2] Open a graphics program (like Picture Manager, Paint, or Photoshop) and do a Paste (CTRL + V).
[3] If you wish, you can “edit” the image, before saving it.

B. Post the picture in your blog. You can also give a short explanation on the look of your desktop just below it if you want. You can explain why you preferred such look or why is it full of icons. Things like that.

C. Tag five of your friends and ask them to give you a Free View of their desktop as well.

Here is a picture of my brand new (birthday) laptop desktop so there aren’t that many icons. The picture is of the second born of the two sets of twins, sitting together, watching the world go by.

Who will I tag? Who will play along?

Veronica from Sleepless Nights, giving the love right back.

Tracey from Why Bother, time to get you addicted to blogging, girl!

Full Plate’s MamaLee, who left a nice award congrats in my comments, thank you very much!

Trish from My Little Drummer Boys - the queen of memes!

and Elizabeth from The Whole Family. I only discovered her blog today and have enjoyed browsing through it.

Can’t wait to see them, girls.

The lovely Veronica from Sleepless Nights has given me my first blog award! Isn’t it pretty? It was created by Cellobella over at Sultana Blog I am so excited and I feel very honoured. It’s only been recently that I started to explore blogging communities and I have enjoyed reading new blogs and ‘meeting’ new people.

One of the best things about getting some love is giving some back!

So I am going spread the award joy to…

Trish from My Little Drummer Boys. She always finds time to comment and has been supporting my blogging since I started.

Snoskred from Life in the Country. One of the first Aussie bloggers to make me feel welcome in the community. (Edited to add, she has already been awarded by Meg, so she gets a double up)!

Jordan from Mamablogga. Her blog taught me alot about taking part in things. I really enjoy going in the group writing project that she runs.

One more,

Mad Goat Lady is another Aussie blogger whose blog I have fallen in love with. Her posts are thoughtful and I love her sense of community.

Congratulations girls and thank you Veronica! You made my day!

This weekend we are painting Immy and Maddy’s room followed by  AJ and Mal’s. The girls have decided on a dollhouse pink, with purple and green spots and silver swirls! It sounds magical and very pre teen. David does all the block painting and I get to do all the artistic stuff.

Speaking of artists, this morning as we were doing our chores no one noticed that a couple of toddlers were very quiet. Too quiet.

Anyone who has small kids, or kids in general, really, will know it’s not when they are noisy that you have to worry. When there is no noise -  that is when parents should be afraid…very afraid.

We pottered around, went outside (by that stage Ivy and Noah were out with us too) hung out clothes,played a bit…you know the normal run of the mill Saturday. it wasn’t until we came back inside to give them their morning nap that I discovered they had drawn all over their walls with purple crayon! Not only that but they had been creative in the hallway, the kitchen (specifically on the island bench), the fridge and on the glass sliding door!

This is not the first time I have noted their…artistic side. I caught Ivy decorating my dining area walls with red pencil and there are some scratchings down the hall, towards the bathroom. I suspect today’s sketches were done by the red pencil bandit too and probably the hallway drawings.

Noah is more a…tattooist, if you will, having aquired a green texta from somewhere and decorating Ivy’s arm and then his own with a purple (what is it with purple?) texta. He proudly showed me his wrist, telling me that he now owned his own "tic - toc" (clock).

After the first discovery I begged the children to pick up and put away all pens, pencils, textas and crayons. I did a sweep of all rooms and thought they had done just that but obviously, this morning, in our cleaning and moving around of the big twins’ room one lone purple crayon was dislodged and discovered by the wall artists. I don’t know if Noah actually did any of the drawing but I do know that he was there and he was probably egging Miss Ivy on. I can just imagine him grinning and clapping his hands at the naughtiness.

A bit like his father, really. Not a do - er but definately the one to plant the seed of mischief.

Most of it came off with a bit of vigorous scrubbing and the rest? David says it’s a good thing we’re painting!

My friend and I have decided we are going to write a book. She and I are both midwives and we are both parents to a large number of children. This is not going to be just any book. It is going to be a text book, directed towards medical students. It is going to primarily look at bedside manner and how to treat clients with respect. We think it will, not only be a best seller, we agree that in a few years time it will be a text that will be compulsory reading for med students, particularly future doctors who are thinking of practicing in paediatrics. It will be a text that is to be read first, before the "Westmead Children’s Hospital Paediatric Handbook".

I know, I can almost hear your eyes rolling out there. I know I go on and on about how bad the medical profession is up here but I am just going to have to get it off my chest again.

Sorry.

The first and most important thing for any doctor who thinks they are going to put their hands on any of my children (and this one is mostly for the ER doctors); Tell me your name! Introduce yourself. It’s not so hard…

"Hello, my name is….Peter Paediatrician, how are things?".

See? Easy, isn’t it?

Don’t come charging in, grunt in my general direction and then try to examine the baby. It just won’t happen. Call me strange but I would at least like the reference of a name when I am trusting you with my child.

Secondly, if I bring any of my children to a doctor it is generally because I feel they are unwell enough to need one. I don’t run off to the hospital or the paediatrician just because they have a sniffle. Don’t treat me like I am a paranoid woman, who has no idea. Hospital is not the most thrilling place in the universe and I most certainly would not be there if I had any other choice. The thought of sleeping in a Jason recliner for however many nights doesn’t really do it for me either so why you would think I, or any other parent, would race up to the hospital at the first sign of illness is beyond me.

 Don’t belittle the parent’s concerns by making benign comments like…"oh she looks alright to me…" or…"why did you bring him up here, he looks like he is ok from where I am sitting". Statements like this are generally made before examining said child, so how can you make a judgement call like that? Also, it makes the parent second guess themselves and they often start to believe that they have over reacted. Before you make observations like that, why don’t you stop and listen to the parents. They know their children better than anyone. better than you, that’s for sure. 

It’s the same with regular specialists (ie;paeds). If they turn up for appointments and the children are well (for the first time in months) please don’t make the parents feel as though they are supreme idiots by making sweeping statements like…" Oh, they are doing really well". How can you say that? You are not available to see them when they are sick but the distressed phone calls to your rooms should alert you that they are generally not well and this is a welcome break from the norm. The parents have worked really hard to get them better (without much help from you). How about a little support? How about some empathy for the ill health that the children have seen and the tough Winter the parents have endured? Would that be asking too much? Don’t blow it off like it’s nothing. That is so degrading.

As a general rule, it is a good idea to build some kind of rapport with the client. It’s good to have a basis of trust when you are going to be either touching the patient or the child of the parent. Don’t come across as some kind of over the top salesman and expect that the client/parents will trust you. They won’t. They will think that you are just trying to placate them, telling them what they want to hear. They will get the impression that you are two faced and dishonest. The clients/parents will start to doubt you.

An ER nurse said to me a few weeks ago that the worst thing about doctors these days was their lack of bedside manner.

What do you think? Is it important to you?

Our Paed says I am too fussy about doctors that my expectations are too high. Maybe I am. Are you happy to go to any old doctor or do you like to go to someone who is actually interested in looking after you in a holistic way?

My friend Tracey has started her blog over here. She has written about amazing moments in her life and has invited people to tell her about their own amazing moments. I hope you’ll pop over there and have a read. She’s just new to blogging and needs a bit of love sent her way.

Amazing moments in my life:

* The weekend when David’s and my relationship changed from ‘just friends’ to something more.

* That first kiss.

* When David gave me Mosby, our first dog. A white ball of fluff, that fit in the palm of my hand.

*Finding two heartbeats on ultrasound after three years of infertility and two miscarriages.

* That first touch of my own babies’ soft skin, that earthy smell and the realisation that I was their Mummy.

* Graduating as a registered nurse.

* Lily’s birth. All that hair!

* The first time Imogen and Madeline met Lily.

* Building and moving into our first home.

* The first birth I attended. Placing my hands on new life.

* Letting go of my babies on their first day of big school.

* Graduating as a midwife.

* Every birth I have had the honour of being involved in since.

* Realising I did have the ability to love someone elses children.

* Standing on the scales and realising I had lost 58kgs.

* Those two blue lines on the home pregnancy test after two more losses and four years of subfertility.

* Renewing our wedding vows after 10 years of marriage.

* Finding out the baby was a boy.

* Labouring and birthing my son.

* Realising my baby was not going to survive and letting him go.

* Living through those first twelve months afterwards.

* Having a new understanding of my mother.

* Discovering I was pregnant again.

*Finding out that there were two babies, one boy and one girl. Hearing those heartbeats.

* Watching them win the battle of prematurity.

* Learning to enjoy life again.

I’m sure there will be many more.

Why don’t you write down all your amazing memories and then leave a comment for Tracey, linking her back to your post.

For weeks Noah has noticed the photo I have of William on my tallboy. Usually he will point to it and call the baby in the picture "No - No" (the name he calls himself). I would correct him and tell him that it was his big brother William.

Yesterday he came in for his morning snuggle. He pointed to the photo again but this time he uttered… ‘that’s my Yillium’ (William). The tears started to come but before one could fall Noah spoke again… ‘brudder’ he said. I reached up and gave him the photo, which he kissed and I howled.

He will never know his big brother. They looked so much alike at birth. I think they would have been good friends.

October the 15th is Rememberence Day for all the babes who have lost their lives through miscarriage, stillbirth and neonatal death.

Every year we are invited to go to the hospital, where William took his last breath, for a memorial service. It seems,like last year, that I cannot bring myself to go but I will never forget those five precious days that we were able to share with him. Five days of memories that have to last a lifetime.

See other Wordless Wednesday entries here.

Hi!

Come in, come in! Don’t be shy!

Grab a chair and a coffee, grab a biscuit or some chocolate if you like, go on, help yourself. There’s plenty to go around.

First time here? Yes, I know there are alot of them, aren’t there? Yes, it’s always busy, sometimes chaotic but each and every one of them is special, just as they are.

What’s that you ask? What are the best things about their ages?  Do I like one stage better than another?

Is there an age that isn’t a good age? All have their challenges, that’s true but every year a child is on the earth is a miracle in itself. There is good in turning another year older, for the child and for the parents.

Which age should I talk about? I could really go on forever but I know you’re only here for a little while.

The eleven year olds, who you can enjoy a  long conversation with? The kids who are changing before your very eyes from little ones into teenagers, reminding you how life is ever moving. Watching them grow is an amazing honour.

Perhaps I should talk about how nice it is to have nine year olds. A time when life is full of adventure and discovery and imagination. When friends are important but a snuggle in bed with Mum and Dad in the morning is still the most treasured thing. For everyone. When dolls are just as cool as an MP3 player. When toilet humour is the funniest thing you have ever heard. They really make me smile.

Or maybe I could tell you all the great things about having twins just shy of turning two. You’d like that? Okay.

I think though you should know a bit about their past, just so you know how far they’ve come.

They were born at thirty weeks. So, about ten weeks early. They were sick in the NICU for a while with breathing problems and your run of the mill premmie issues. We brought them home just before they were due.

For a long time they didn’t do much, so we had to take them to an early intervention centre to encourage them to roll and sit and stand. I think from about the time they were fifteen months, they just sort of took off.

So here they are. They turn two next month. They are smart and funny and cute. I love that they stumble in at dawn for a cuddle. That David and I are their whole world. It’s amazing how fluent their words have become, how in just two years, they have learnt to speak in sentences. The things they say make me laugh, in a way I haven’t in a while. When they say cute things, it kind of makes me tingly all over.

It’s a great age, don’t you think? When everything is wonderous and special. It makes you look at the world with a new perspective. They find joy in the smallest things. A bird in the tree, singing, a ladybug on a leaf. Paddling in water and turning it into mud and then stomping in it so hard it splashes up onto their face!

They really love life, enjoy it to the fullest. It’s so refreshing.

I love watching their personalities evolving.

I know the little man is social and easy going. He gets tired easily and loves his snuggles. He’s a routine junky and if it is different than the norm, he doesn’t cope well.He’s a bit of a charmer with the ladies, you know. He flashes those big dimples and you’re all his. You can’t help but love him.

I’ve figured out that the little girl is shy with new people. She needs time to work you out but once she has, she is loyal to the end. I know too that she is serious and a thinker but that she also has a cheeky side. She is spirited and hardly stops for anything, she moves all day, there are very few quiet moments for her, except when she is sick.

They both have a bit of mischief in them but then, I guess that is part of being two, don’t you think?

What else is good about this age?

They understand what you are talking about, can follow direction. That’s pretty cool…and it’s cute as well.

My two are really into books, well, the boy is and the girl likes to chew on them, so she’s interested  but in a different way! Oh, and they are starting to have favourite things like Dorothy the Dinosaur from The Wiggles. It’s so adorable, it makes my heart melt.

I am really enjoying this age.

Yes, they are my last babies, so you are probably right, I don’t want to forget a thing but; you know what? Watching them also reminds me of the others at that age. It makes me wonder about what their future is going to be like. Watching the twins at this stage reminds me of how much I love the others too, how much I have enjoyed their journey as well.

How old did you say your little person is? I’d love to hear all about your favourite things about their age. Have you got time for another cuppa?

This post was written as part of  Mamablogga’s Group Writing Project for October. Why don’t you give it a try?

Why would you take one husband, five children and two toddlers to Toys R Us when you are severly sleep deprived? Honestly. Did you really think that you would have time to look for birthday presents for the soon to be two year olds? Follow the kids around, making mental notes on what they are interested in, for Christmas gifts? You were dreamin’ love!

For a start, didn’t you realise that releasing children into a toy store is like letting mice run free in the pantry? They scurry every which way looking for their favourite tidbits. You should know by now that taking them to a place like that is going to bring about the "can I’s"

Can I have this $60 doll? Can I have this $80 game boy game? You will make yourself hoarse saying no, by the time the husband calls it a day.(Which is about half an hour into the excursion).

Another thing, expecting toddlers to stay strapped into a stroller when there are toys, from floor to ceiling, is unrealistic… very unrealistic. Especially if you want to leave unscathed by the high pitched squeal, that your son has aquired, along with his almost two year old tantys.

Taking a money stressed husband to a place where you hope to spend money is not a good idea either. It just makes him fidgety, with crazy eyes darting from one end of the isle to the other, looking for the closest exit and you will be bitterly disappointed by the outcome of the outing. Remember that word. Bit - ter - ly.

When you do unbuckle the toddlers, be prepared to run…FAST. That, or be prepared to buy all the things they can break in the minute it takes you to hunt them down. Please know that the latter is not the best option unless you are flush with cash because two toddlers, working together, can break alot in a small space of time.

When you find your toddler son in a hot pink, battery operated, car, do not

a) laugh at him,

b) show him where the reverse button is or

c) chase him

because he will

a) think it’s a game and push the accelerator pedal down as far as it will go, thus allowing him to ‘drive’ full force down a crowded isle

b) hit the reverse button and drive over the cranky husband’s toes. Making him more cranky and

c) create a riot of other shoppers, laughing, at the spectacle of two parents chasing after their runaway child.

Also, it will get you in trouble with the sixteen year old, assistant manager, who has no idea what it is like raising children, doesn’t really want to know because it is Sunday and he would rather be out surfing with his mates but his Mum made him get this stupid job so that he could learn about responsibilities and good work ethic. He is already in a bad mood and you and your ragbag children just made his day!

When the money stressed husband says it’s time to go, just go. Don’t try to talk him around to spending money on Baby Einstein bowl and cup learning sets because they are on special this week. It won’t work.

When you have your own thirty -  five year old tanty and get your way it’s not a smart move to then ask him for something else, like a coffee because you are dead on your feet from chasing seven kids. He will laugh in your general direction and continue to make a fast exit to the car park.

Finally, when you go to the toy store with seven children, remember to take some ear plugs for when you are exiting the shopping centre. These will save you from having to listen to all the whinging about how unfair it was to take them to the toy store in the first place and then not get them anything. (Even though they got almost half a day playing in said store and a nice lunch, instead of having to clean up the yard).

Note to self: better just to stay at home and blog!

P.S. When walking to the carpark and cranky husband spies a model helicopter in a hobby store, encourage him to go in and make a selection. His curiosity will spark faster than a grass fire and his demeanor will rapidly change. Remember this the next time you want to spend money and take him to the hobby store first!

I have always sung to my babies. Even now, when the big kids are feeling fragile they will ask me to sing them a lullaby. Ivy and Noah are no different, although they have taken longer to realise that I am singing to them. Tonight Ivy fell asleep in my arms, exhausted from a busy day. Noah was mucking around in bed, even though he too was tired. I snuggled down with him and he whispered to me… ‘Mummy, sing?’

So I did. The same song that I sing every night. The same song that I have sung to every single one of my children. The same song that was whispered in the night to me by my Mum and to her and to my grandmother. A song that I hope will be passed down to my future grandchildren. It is a song that my great grandfather used to sing on the radio. A song that connects our family.

Family.

Such an amazing thing. My father, who, as an adult, was obsessed with money and success, on one of his last days on this earth, before he gave in to the cancer that racked his body, told me that in the end nothing else mattered but family.

Something that I have always known, took him a lifetime to learn.

Recently, I have been in touch with a long lost relative. Liz. I haven’t seen her or spoken to her in fifteen years but we have connected again. She and I are the same age. She is married and has a beautiful little boy. I’ve been thinking of her alot and as I was singing my own son into slumber, I wondered if she knew this lullaby too.

Come cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear,

your head like a golden rod.

And we will go sailing away from here,

to the beautiful land of nod.

I’ll sing you a song as we sail along,

to a land that is blessed by God.

We’re off to that rare land,

we’re off to that fair land,

the beautiful land of nod.

When I was working,there was stress. Worry about how we would find babysitting, stress with working night duty and then staying awake all day to look after the babies, worry about how David could juggle his responsibilities at work and at home but there was no worry about money. Ever. If we wanted something we would get it. If we needed to go food shopping, consider it done.

It was just too much for me though, when everyone was sick all winter. I had a kind of mini mental breakdown, I guess. I just didn’t want to do anything. Except blog. Except to put it out there into a forgiving, guilt free universe.

I wanted William, I wanted what should have been. I wanted a beautiful birth, a  live baby. I wanted the nightmares, the insomnia to stop. I wanted normalcy.

Ok, so I also knew that I couldn’t change anything. Nothing is ever going to bring Will back. Nothing. So realistically, I guess I wanted to be able to enjoy my family again. I was scared that I would never feel that warm contentment with my children anymore. Especially with Ivy and Noah.

I would cry alot. Torn between what I wanted, needed almost, to bringing in an income and helping out with money (and in turn, decreasing David’s stress). 

David has always been there for me. When my brother died, he was there. He pulled me up out of depression and made sure I went on to become a nurse. When I wanted to do midwifery, he supported me all the way but when it came to money, I always felt that subtle pressure, that expectation. So when he said it was ok for me to stay at home, I felt bad. Guilty bad. It really didn’t matter how he put it, how he felt my staying at home would benefit him, ease the pressure at work, I still felt that I needed to work. Until the first bout of croup gave me little choice but to resign.

So, for the last four months I have been at home. I have been seeing some people and taking some medicine. I have started to feel better, about the role I played in William’s death, about my family and how important they are to me, about my relationship with Ivy and Noah and for a large part, I have let go of the guilt of not working. I see the importance of being at home and I am loving it.

Until today.

This morning was the first time in a long while that I have felt that pressure to go to work, that old guilty bad creeping in.

Ivy and Noah’s birthday is coming and then it’s Christmas.

I love Christmas but I don’t. I love to see the kids’ faces early on Christmas day. I love the joy that they get from the things they really want, being under the tree. I don’t like the cost, the stress of balancing things out so everyone gets the same.

I know the next few weeks will be a juggling act of needs and wants. David knows it too. This morning he is stressed. About money. About juggling in an off pay week. I know that if I were working, there wouldn’t be a week where we would have to stretch the budget to breaking point.

What do I do? Should I go back to work? What would you do?

Would I just be walking straight back into the same old worries and be just as stressed, if not more so?

Am I ready to be the stress juggler again?

Yesterday we made a day of going to Sydney. We left at 6am, dropped David at work and then went to Macquarie Centre to do some food shopping for our picnic. I had asked David only one question before we made our way to the shops. Would there be a place to park the bus? Of course there was, otherwise that would be the end of this traumatic tale of the (once city savvy) now country hick, who had a panic attack because the centre, that she once knew like the back of her hand, had grown to an enormous, mind boggling size. Oh the shame!

We parked in the minibus area and I unloaded the seven children, one of whom had the world’s most disgusting poo smell radiating from her lower half and another who had decided the car trip down would be a grand time to do the biggest wee of his life and soak through his nappy AND through his shorts. (I should have seen this as some sort of omen right then and there). Of course I had not packed any spares because that is just the way it goes… you never think to and that is when you need them the most.

On a little side note, I’ve proven this many times. For example the time we went to the paediatrician and Noah got car sick… you’d think a mother of seven would learn, wouldn’t you?

Anyway, we enter the shops after the standard "We already get alot of stares because we are a big family so please don’t do anything to draw more attention to yourselves with bad/odd/scary behaviour or we will never go out again" lecture. Our first stop is to the baby change room. It is modern and sparkly,with top of the range changing areas. To my left a fenced play area called to the kids while I cleaned up masses of… stuff you really don’t want to know about. Really. We were the only family in there. I mean, for about 30 seconds another child and her father came in but when he saw my gaggle he grabbed his daughter and ran for the hills. It was then I started to sweat. A feeling of inadequacy swept over me.

As we stepped out from the relative safety of the parents room, I tried to remember where the supermarket was. It was 8:30 in the morning, so it was still pretty quiet.

We wandered up and down levels and half an hour later we happened upon Woolworths. I see myself as a seasoned shopper, pride myself on it, even but this Woolies was confusing. I swear we only needed some BBQ chooks and some rolls and salad but an hour later we were at the checkout, ringing up our goods. It could have had something to do with the fact that five of the seven children were running all over the shop, overcome with it’s size and variety, or the fact that I spent a large part of  the time telling kids that, "No, they couldn’t have garlic pickled peanuts/caramel flavoured chips/bacon topped donuts and to please go and put them back where they found them".

More likely, it was that one isle of this store was as big as half of my local supermarket!

My heart was palpating now, the shops crawling with hundreds of shoppers and I just wanted to go to the bus and be on our way. I couldn’t find our exit though. We went from level to level searching for our original point of entry.

As we walked around and around…and around, dodging cranky, abrupt, city dwellers and trying to find our car park, I realised two things. Firstly, that I had gotten used to the country lifestyle, the slower pace and secondly, that I was very lost… in a shopping centre of all places! Me! Queen of retail therapy!

I had to call David, who directed us to our level, between his chuckles. The sunlight was wonderful, the sight of the bus better. We all piled in, a little stressed from our (my) ordeal but with nourishment(and a new pair of shorts for Noah) in hand for our picnic.

We met up with Trish and her boys and had a lovely day. The big kids played hard, the little ones harder. We ate and talked and had a wonderful day at Rouse Hill Recreational Park. The day went so fast and soon it was time to say goodbye to our friends.

On the way home the girls twittered about how cool the Sydney area was and were full of wishes to move. Not me though. I think I’m a country girl at heart.

Imogen amd Madeline have been invited to take part in a research study with the Australian Twin Registry. I mentioned it to them on the way down to Sydney, in the car. They were really excited to participate and I joined in with the conversation readily. From the back of the bus came a small, sad voice… ‘what about me?" she asked.

What about her? She is a singleton in the middle of two sets of twins. She is every bit as special as the other children but the world looks upon her differently. She is only one. What is so amazing about that?

When she was little Lily would tell me that she was the third twin. My heart would shatter into a million pieces. I felt for her. She wanted that same attention that her sisters got. She craved it. I could understand that.

Now she is feeling it again. it doesn’t matter what I say. I tell her that she is so special because she is one and that having one baby was extraordinary, in our house but she feels…different, left out, sometimes alone. We have had some sad days this year, Lily and I. Days when she is devastated that William died because, he was supposed to be her someone. He was supposed to even the score. He was everything she’d hoped for and in an instant he was gone. Days that I ache to hold her and tell her she is everyting to me but she pushes me away, is angry with me because I couldn’t provide her the one thing she wanted - a twin of her own.

As she gets older, I wonder how it is going to effect her teenage years. I wonder if she will seek attention in negative ways or if she will just withdraw more than she has already. I wonder if David and I have given her a good foundation to build self confidence in herself, so she feels special in her own unique way.

I know we love her. I know, if we could, we would protect her from that feeling of being alone.

Just wanted to remind anyone out there who actually reads my rambling that today is Delurk day.

Put a mad mother out of her misery and show her some love. Let her know you’re out there and leave a comment… (please?).

See more Wordless Wednesday here

Courtesy of Ivy, consumer of all (supposedly) inedible products.

*Disclaimer: I have older kids who have repeatedly been told to put their small things away. These have been confiscated, thrown away and/or donated to goodwill shops. I am as vigilant as a mother can be but the girl still manages to swallow things.

* Tinselpoo (festive Christmas edition 2006, self explanatory).

* Easter egg tinfoil poo (I can only assume that there was a secret stash of chocolate eggs involved)

* Scrapbooking metal letter "F" poo (don’t ask. I don’t know how it got in her mouth or how she managed to swallow it without injury or how it worked its way through her system).

* Tamagotchi battery poo (see above disclaimer).

* 1 Barbie handbag and 1 Barbie shoe poo (colour co - ordinated, at least…pink and brown go well together, don’t they?).

* Azure blue wishing stone x 1 poo… followed by…

* Azure blue wishing stones x 5 (!!!!!!) poo (David almost passed out when he saw that one).

I had no idea where the stones were coming from until I followed her into her sister’s room one day to find a small vase full of them. She was getting up onto a toybox and helping herself to what, I can only imagine, she thought were lollies, from the tall boy! (Quickly taken away and thrown out).

* Littlest Pet Shop bottle (please refer to disclaimer again).

* Moth poo (after a day in the backyard. This surprise also included a couple of other insects which were not identifiable due to their chewed up nature. Yuck).

* Birthday candle poo (following my birthday, stolen from the dish drying rack. One blue and one red).

There have been others but those are the most memorable. I have never had a child who ate so many weird things before. I thought she was slowing down/growing up/losing interest after the moth incident. We went a few weeks where there was nothing but…well…poo in her nappies, however, after the birthday candle poo I am thinking she was just giving her tummy time to settle after eating bugs. *SIGH*

I found a post on Sleepless Nights and Misc Mum about the Great Mofo Delurk on October the 3rd, run by Schmutzie over at Milk Money. (I have NO idea how to get buttons onto my normal page content so you can see it on my side panel).

Over the course of the week we had tried to find somewhere to stay in Coffs Harbour but nobody could accomadate a family as large as ours, without having to book out the whole resort (ok, that might be stretching the truth just a little) so we decided we would stay at Paradise Resort one more day. The kids were happy but David was nervous, having to do a flat run to home with no decent break in between.

Somehow the 12 hour drive in the daylight always seemed longer than when we travelled through the night. By dinner, it was obvious that Ivy and Noah’s 2 hour sleep at White Water World was not because of being worn out by all the excitement but rather a symptom of the croup that had invaded their airways. After over a week of perfect, stress free health the lurgy had found them once more.

Come morning, their temps were high and the purchase of baby Panadol had been made. Once it had kicked in and the babies had rallied, we walked along the beach in the morning sun, for one last time.

We ate outdoors at a gorgeous cafe that sold all day breakfasts for five dollars - toast, egg, bacon, tomato and sausage. Then we walked around Surfers Paradise.

At the beginning of our holiday Imogen and Madeline had mentioned they would like to have their nails done. So when we stumbled upon a little salon I booked them in. I was surprised to hear that Lily wanted hers done as well. I thought the tomboy in her would be fighting those ‘feminine, lets be pretty’ hormones all the way into adulthood but Lily was the first of the girls to slip into the beautician’s seat.

While all this was going on David was becoming increasinlgy worried about Noah, who was slumped in his arms in a febrile induced sleep and Ivy, who was becoming grotty and tired again, in her fight to fend off the illness. A decision was made that he and Mum would take them and AJ, Mal and Lily (whose nails were finished and beautiful) back to the resort.

Mum would learn just how heavy 11kgs of sleeping baby girl could be when walking one and a half kilometres back to the rooms. David said later that she had almost collapsed by the time they’d returned but the determined (stubborn) woman had kept powering on until the end.

While Immy and Maddy were being pampered I wandered down to a surf shop to look at a pair of Globe sneakers that AJ had mentioned he liked. I was gobsmacked when I found the price tag! I knew this time would come when no name shoes and clothes would become uncool and I knew that my wallet would take a beating but maybe I was hoping that it wouldn’t start quite so soon…

I bought them anyway because he had been so good and because I understood wanting to be cool and like the other kids at school.

When we got back to the resort we all had lunch and some time in the rooms. The babies slept and the rest of us packed. It was quiet and the kids were subdued, sad that our time in the sun was over.

David and I decided we would have one last venture down to the beach.  Mum begged off, she was exhausted from her morning stint of being the packhorse for Ivy.

We stayed until the sun started to set, the breeze cooling on our faces. I relished in our time as a family, having longed for the togetherness for a while. I looked around me as the children built sandcastles and played on the beach. Noah, now comfortable with the ocean experience, sat, not on a towel but amongst the sand, shovelling the grit onto his lap. Ivy ran as free as her spirit, Imogen in the sea, Maddy and Lily building a world together, AJ and Mal, soaking up every last moment of the day and David, who struggles so hard to find balance in work and family, now relaxed and happy.

As we were walking towards the boardwalk, leaving Surfers Paradise behind us, Noah, who was weak now from fever and allowing me to carry him back to the rooms, turned once more towards the beautiful setting where the ocean and the earth kiss and waved goodbye to the beach…

‘Bye - bye the sand’, he whispered.

The next day we travelled home. The twins horribly sick, the kids and the adults a little grumpy from the long trip, reality of the normalcy of everyday life hurtling towards us. I couldn’t help but wonder what our next break would be like. Whether it would all change now, with Imogen, Madeline and AJ racing towards that turbulent adolescent time. Whether, we would feel as close as we all did now.

Whatever happens, I will be forever thankful for our hoilday. Everyday a gift and a wonderful memory to tuck away for a time when I need some sunshine.

Happy birthday to me.

Happy birthday to me

Happy birthday dear 35 year old, worn out, saggy, baggy mother of way too many children (don’t you know what a television is?),

Happy birthday to me.

Hip Hip hoorayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!

Picture this, if you will, five children, two babies two parents and a senior (sorry mum) matriarch lined up on banana chairs. Towels down, sunscreen and swimmers on and a whole world of water before them on a perfectly sunny day. Not too hot and not too cold. Add to this scene the mother and her mother in "like totally dude", happenin’, surfy- labelled boardies and an equally expensive labelled shirt and you have the setting for the day.

The children scatter. The littlies to Wiggle World, where they can splash through musical fountains of water, stand under a flower shower or swim in the ankle high pool. The older children are thrilled with all they see and make their way to the various adrenalin pumping rides. The Rip, The Beach, The BRO (blue ringed octopus), the hydrocoaster and… THE GREEN ROOM!

A monsterous tunnel that throws you and three others into what appears to be a conical sink hole flipped on it’s side. As the occupants of the clover shaped tube slip from the top of one side, down and almost all the way to the top of the other side, the mother thanks her lucky stars that the boardies she chose are dark blue, so they will adequately mask the stain she will aquire when her children (or adrenalin junkie husband) push her onto said ride (and she knows it is coming).

The grandmother is forced to find a designated smoking area, such is her fear of these kinds of rides. She is also thankful that boardies mostly come in black and blacker because she has promised the children she will attempt at least one ride.

The adrenalin junkie father is overloaded by all that he sees and he takes a moment to recover from the expanse of gut wrenching, whirling,vomit inducing mechanical giants (that and the cost of the boardies) by reverting to organisation of posessions so the family is free to wander the park without having to worry about anything being stolen. Once he has calmed down, he attempts to feign amusement as he watches the toddlers spray each other with Dorothy The Dinosaur and Wags the Dog water guns (secretly he is wishing he could run wild and free with the eleven year olds and the nine year old who thinks she is eleven).

His wish soon comes true as the babies become restless and tired from morning beach walks and Wiggle overload. The mother finds herself in a banana chair, watching one sleeping child in the pram while the other is asleep, like a kitten, on her lap. The children come to drag the Daddy away. His fake protests fall on deaf ears and his poor acting skills do not convince the mother that he wants to stay to help out with the cherubs. She laughs and shakes her head. He pretends to be pulled away by the children but  once he thinks he is out of the mother’s line of sight she can see him scurry ahead of the kids.

After an hour or so he returns, saturated and happy. A smile splits his face from ear to ear. There is a sparkle in his eye that the mother has not seen for a long time. The children are beetling around their hero father, excitedly telling the mother and the grandmother of their adventures. They eat their lunch hurriedly and then all of them, including the fully adrenalised father, scuttle away again. The grandmother is almost chain smoking now, knowing that her number is up next. The mother remains on her banana chair, watching as the cherubs sleep and listening to the Wiggles music playing in the background, thinking of all the thing she would like to buy in the shop that sold her the board shorts.

The toddlers are blissfully unaware of all that is going on around them and continue to sleep for another hour before waking to consume a bucket of chips each and half of the mothers burger. They are back in Wiggle World before you can say ‘Captain Feathersword’ and the mother and the father are released from parental duties to ride the waves together (the grandmother thankful for an excuse to buy more time).

The father rides The Rip with the mother and two of the children, after making her stand under a huge Nickelodeon water bucket that spews massive amounts of H2O onto her head, soaking her to the very core. He then convinces her that The Green Room is not as scary as The Rip and leads her to the top of the ride. As they get on the cloverleaf raft, he turns to her and declares that he lied and this is by far the most petrifying ride he has ever been on. As she leans over to hit him as hard as she can the ride controller heaves the raft into the tunnel and the mother once again (amongst screaming her lungs out and holding on for dear life) thanks the surfy labels for the dark coloured boardies.

The ride lasts about 9 seconds but it is a few moments of absolute childlike enjoyment. The mother feels light and happy and free. For a day that she thought would be boring and of very little enjoyment for the adults, it has turned out to be the best day so far.

As the parents return to the banana chairs to find the babies pulling apart a garden, the other two big kids drag the grandmother off to face her fears. She returns later, shaking and wet but she has not let the children down and they see her as a hip, cool Gran with a bad ass attitude! They circle her and bask in her heroism.

The sun is starting to set and the family are one of the few remaining in the park, having had the most wonderful of times, they are reluctant to leave it behind. Knowing that the holiday is drawing to a close.

The mother shops her heart out and the family purchase photos snapped in an instant of time. Some showing children smiling and happy, some with looks of terror on their faces, some with their favourite Wiggles character. It is a day none of them will ever forget.

for the comment and to answer your question, yes. AJ was scared at first. He was afraid of the sharks but they had to watch a dvd on do’s and don’t’s  and he learnt that the only sharks in his part of the tank were ones that were deemed not dangerous. After that he felt alot better. I love the dolphin experience! The girls have done that one but when we tried to get AJ into it, we found it was booked out until November! Now they have a family experience and that looks great!

Monday was our decided vegie day.

A day of lounging around the pool, walking on the beach, kids club for the children… a chance to recover and recoop. While Mum, Lily and the boys slept in, The big and little twins came for a walk along the beach with us.

As we were walking, several Japanese tourists started noticing Ivy and Noah as the toddled on the  sand. Every so often one of them would sweep the babies into their arms and photos would be snapped by the hundreds. Okay, by the dozens but it was interesting to us that they were smitten with our blonde haired, blue eyed cherubs. We had experienced it before with Imogen and Madeline but not to the same extent. They all loved Noah and he was seriously posed, positioned and modelled in the photos, so as to show off his fair features. When they discovered that the little ones were twins there was more modelling to be done. Noah and Ivy took it all in their stride.

The day passed blissfully and slowly, the babies had a long morning sleep, the kids swam and ate and went to kids club. I did a bit of shopping for the children. It was a day of well earned rest and we would be thankful for it the next day… because the next day was White Water World Day! (Insert Dragnet theme here).

We needed to be at Seaworld by 9:30 so that we could book AJ in for a surprise! It was busy that Sunday morning and AJ was bubbling with excitement. It was the first time he, Mal and Mum had been. When we  finally got through the gates (David had a little trouble because the ticket collector didn’t believe that he, Ivy and Noah were part of our party - seeing as he payed the $64 per adult and $42 per child (I can’t bare to do the maths) he felt that he had a right to argue the point), we guided the gaggle to the booking in area where we had orginised for AJ to go snorkelling in Shark Bay.

His session was not for an hour so we sauntered through the park, stopping to look at the dolphins and the dugongs before making our way to the waiting area. I was not in a particularly good mood because I had forgotten my hat and had no sunglasses. The sun was very bright and the weather was already hot to my unaccustomed body. My mother had also decided that she was going to give up smoking and this was her first day of bad withdrawal symptoms, so she was grotty as well. AJ was sublimly happy though as he prepared for his dive.

Ivy and Noah were overtired and sick of being in the pram and the girls’ patience was wearing thin with all the waiting around. They wanted to go on this ride and that ride and see this and that. In the end I let them go to look at the polar bears and the exploratory pool. Mum took the babies for a walk and all was quiet for a while.

David bought me a hat and Imogen lent me her sunglasses (see attached picture for a good laugh). What is it with these large goggle - like sunnies? Where have the sleek styles of the eighties gone? Not a Blues Brothers’ style in sight! SO, with the sun off my face and out of my eyes, Ivy now asleep and Noah happy to sit with David we watched our now 11 year old foster son in the clear waters. His smile was worth it all.

After that was finished it was lunchtime, so we sat under a tree and decided what to do next.

The beauty of having such a big family is that they all watch out for one another but one of the hardest things, with such a big age gap in children is how to divide your time. We decided that we wanted to see the dolphin show at 2pm and so we let the big children go together on all the scary, high powered rides and David, Mum and I took Malachy, Ivy and Noah over to the little kids rides. We were to meet up twenty minutes before the show. The big kids took off to line up for the first ride and we had a ball with the babies and Mal.

We only had one incident the whole day and that was when Lily came crying hysterically to us post ride on The Pirate Ship. Apparently the ride controller had joked that he was going to flip the whole thing over and Lily, who had tried her hardest to be brave, so as to impress he idol, AJ, lost the plot completely and screamed for the ride to stop. Imogen, her protective sister, ordered the ride to halt and then promptly told off the young adult for scaring a little girl! I think the worst part of it for Lily though was that she had fallen from grace in AJ’s eyes. He called her a baby and stomped around the park as though his life had come to a sudden end because Lily didn’t like the ride. We soon calmed her down though and things settled quickly after that.

We made our way to the arena where the dolphin show was performed and grabbed a seat. Everyone was hot and bothered and so Mum saved the day with ice creams all around. Ivy and Noah enjoyed their chocolate paddle pop, right down to the very last, sticky, roll down your arm, dripping lick. I took photos as evidence. Now when Noah sees them, he growls in a low rumble… ‘I like de clocolate!’

Indeed he did.

The show was amazing! These beautiful, intellegent creatures stole our hearts.

We finished the day by going to the water park. Noah discovered he was not scared of this type of bottle (water) at all and had a wonderful time splashing his mother. Ivy found that things looked better from a different point of view and fashioned her new Cupid Girl swimmers. I only wished that I had brought mine because my pants and top were now virtually soaked through.

That evening, we went to dinner at a Japanese Restaurant. AJ and Mal were amazed with the acrobatics performed by the chef as he cooked in front of us. Noah decided that he would choose this night to declare his independence and refused to eat unless he was feeding himself. Ivy took a liking to pickled japanese vegetables and the waitress was so amazed that she brought her another bowl (complimentry). Mum had purchased another packet of cigarettes and although she felt beaten by her 40 something year old habit, she was smiling and relaxed again. David and I basked in the glow of a successful day…well, for a short time anyway, before Noah tipped his whole bowl of fried rice onto the floor.

I think we need to talk about what our needs are, regarding Ivy and Noah’s care. I think that you don’t quite understand what our expectations are of you. I want you to know because, I have come to like you, even trust your opinion and I would like to continue having you as Ivy and Noah’s doctor.

When we first met you, it was after a horrible, sickly Winter. I knew it would be like that because all of my children have not enjoyed good health, so I expected that the babies would be the same.

Our hospital referred paediatrician had been no help, was hard to contact and when we did manage to aquire an appointment, she belittled our concerns. When the twins were put in hospital, on oxygen for a week because we were unable to see her and I went elsewhere, she became angry and said that we could not give the babies ‘bitty’ care, that they needed someone, who knew their history and could treat them appropriately. So we made the decision to find a new paed, one, who could give us good continuity of care. When we asked around, the NICU nurses said you were wonderful. Good with the parents.

With regards to our needs; as I am a registered nurse, I am quite able to manage most things at home for a prolonged period. I am comfortable with asthma plans and medication and I am vigilant when they are ill.

I am not overprotective because we have experienced a neonatal death. I have eleven years as a parent of sickly children and I know how to look after them. I feel that I am looking after their health to the best of my ability. We are their parents. It is what we are supposed to do.

If we make a phone call to your rooms to let you know that the babies are ill, it is because we are starting to struggle. It is not just to say hello. Giving two children nebulisers every two to three hours is exhausting and you often start to second guess yourself, after a week of sickness, in the wee hours of the morning.

We appreciate it when you phone us back to discuss things, it gives us reassurance and helps us to continue on at home. That is basically all we, David and I, as the parents need, unless the children are desperately ill, then we will manage Ivy and Noah’s chronic illness at home.

On the Thursday and Friday of last week, the twins were very unwell and we phoned you as a courtesy, to let you know that we were starting prednisone. You called us back, which was good and asked us to call again on Monday. Sunday saw Noah in hospital and Ivy was very close to it, however we managed to keep her at home. We called you on the day you asked us to with no response. On the Tuesday, when Ivy was worse we called again.

Today is Thursday and we have still had no response. I would have liked to discuss a few things with you regarding medications but as you have not been in contact with us, I have had to make my own decisions on these. I find this quite stressful and worry that I will be doing the wrong thing for the children. It would have been good to run these things by you.

I find it very hard to trust doctors. As you know, the services in our area are poor and to find a good general practitioner is near impossible. Our last GP has just left the practice he was in and so we have to start looking again. You have known Ivy and Noah now for over twelve months, you know the family history and our concerns. We feel that we have built up a good rapport with you and we are guided by your opinions.

Our expectations are that you will be there for Ivy and Noah’s health and for us as their parents. Our only ask is open, honest communication when we need it. We value this the most.

I understand and am thankful that Ivy and Noah’s condition is not life threatening however, constant chronic illness is tiring and often hard to control. It would be helpful to have a good support team, something that is strongly recommended by Westmead Children’s Hospital. We also understand that you are extremely busy and that we are not the only family that you are looking after.

Thank you for everything you have done for us, to date. I hope that you understand our needs a little better now and that you will be able to support these.

Kind regards,

Ivy and Noah’s Mum

Sunday morning came and we woke early to give the birthday boy his presents. He opened them with much anticipation and was pleased with all he saw. Because it was only 6am and because it was a gorgeous morning we decided that a walk along the beach was just what the doctor ordered. The only problem was that Noah was afraid to walk on the sand and equally afraid of the waves.

We carried him at first, while the others, including the daredevil herself (Ivy Hazel), walked along the shoreline, with the waves lapping at their feet (and Ivy’s knees, skirt - when she sat in the waves, and top of her shirt - when she thought it might be good to lie down in the waves (we rescued her clothing at that point)). Noah’s eyes darted all around him, following the waves as they kissed the sand.

Eventually we put him down between David and I, holding both his hands and walked (pulled) him along. He cried and tried everything he knew to get us to pick him up again but eventually and reluctantly he toddled in between us, his little heart could almost be heard, it was that loud and fast. His eyes wide with the unknown. Just as he was getting used to it a rogue wave splashed onto his feet and he pulled his feet up, dangling, with the full weight of his body, from his arms, shrieking.

He had no problem saying sand. In fact, I think it was the only word he chanted for the first fifteen minutes as we taxed his fears but when the water paddled onto his toes the first descriptive word for the ocean was… ‘bottle’ (?) We have no idea why he called it that. At first we thought that it was a comfort word but in later days, when he had become accustomed to our morning beach walks he still referred to the waves as bottles. Go figure.

We are not cruel parents, although some of you might think we are. We just wanted him to overcome his fears or it would be a very long week.

After a while, we picked him up and carried him to the mall for AJ’s birthday breakfast at a place called Charlie’s. If you are ever in Surfers Paradise, try it. We all thought it was lovely. A nice atmosphere, the staff were great. Unlike some places, they didn’t even flinch when we said we needed "a table for ten, including two highchairs, please". Prices were reasonable too, although if you ask David, he would beg to differ.

Post breakfast saw us do a little shopping and AJ picked up a Roosters towel, the girls some more swimmers and Lily some thongs (Lovely patriotic green and gold thongs, with green stars and AUS printed on them) and a gold and diamonte shell trinket (in typical Lily style).

We walked back along the beach repeating the same routine with Noah. The only differece was this time he would let the tiny waves touch his feet, uttering… ‘gone, gone’ as they moved back into the ocean.

The morning was SO traumatic for the child, that once the adrenalin had stopped coursing through his veins, he promptly fell asleep, to recover.

There were so many emotions charging the air that morning. Happiness for AJ, sadness for him too, that his day was not spent with his birth mother.

Wonder that Ivy and Noah could be oceans (pardon the pun) apart in their personalities, when they had shared so much from the day they were conceived. She, so bold and confident in herself, he, fearful and unsure, both beautiful in their own right.

I felt relaxed walking along the beach. We had gone there to renew our wedding vows in 2003, 12 weeks pregnant with William.

When he died I had an Angel Reading done and in that reading, the lady said that when William wanted to send his love we would see white feathers. I don’t know if all that stuff is real or if I look for signs because I want him with us so badly but since his death I have seen many white feathers turn up just when I need them most.

This day, as we walked down to the beach we found one. It was comforting to see it.

I felt contentment for the first time in ages. Everything seemed as it was supposed to be that morning as I watched all the people I love most in the world walk along the beach in the early morning sun.

I walked down the aisle, held your hand and promised my life and my love to you.

14 years ago we were both so young, babies in this world but it felt as though we had been together for a lifetime, that we were meant to be together.

14 years ago we did not know the challenges that would be given to us. We were so niave in our love, we thought it would all be so easy.

People said we had married too young, said we would grow apart.

Instead we have grown together, in love and life. Just as we promised 14 years ago today.

Sorry for that brief interlude. We just had a major reality check in having to take Noah to hospital, with Ivy riding on his shirt tails, with asthma. (Did I mention I love living in a place that is hot in the day and freezing at night?) Anyway, enough of that…

‘Everyday is better when you are on holidays’ : a slogan I saw often in sunny Queensland.

It was true, everything was better.

Even though the resort had not been eager to clean up the pool poo, even though the prices were high for everything, even though our rooms were small, compared to our house, everything seemed to take on a shiny glow of vacation beauty. Ahhhh, holidays, that ultimate escape from reality!

That first night we walked into Surfer’s Paradise, along the boardwalk, to the markets, had some dinner and milled around. Everyone was exhausted, so conversation was minimal. All except David, Ivy, Noah and I slept like logs but it was all good because, when you are on holidays, it doesn’t matter when your babies sleep on top of you all night and when you wake up and you can no longer feel your arm from the shoulder down because a large lumpy boy’s head has been there for hours, it’s easy to spring from your bed to face the new day. YAY!!!!

The kids wanted to go to the kids club, which suited the adults well because we had not planned anything much past getting across the boarder and into the resort. So off they went and we sat down in our room to discuss the days ahead. The babies didn’t like that idea much and started to ransack the room, calling housekeeping twice before we unplugged the phone and changing the time on the clock radios before they discovered the empty cupboard!

Oh, what fun two babies can make for themselves with an empty cupboard! Oh, the amount of coffee and conversation that you are able to have when babies discover said utility. Bliss on a stick…until one of the babies slams the other baby’s fingers in the sliding door… Oh, the howling that came from that baby, so loud, I’m sure they could hear us in reception, three floors below.

When all was calm again, Ivy and Noah rediscovered their ’sunnyglasses’ that Gran had bought for them the night before. For the next hour I had to put sunnies on, take sunnies off, admire child with sunnies on, take photos, play referee when Ivy decided that she liked Noah’s sunglasses better…in fact, wanted both pairs, one for her eyes and one set for on top of her head, like her big sisters’ wore them. It was okay though. It might be the same stuff, different day (or in this case place) because EVERYDAY is better when you are on holidays! (She says through a gritty smile).

After lunch, we went shopping. We would have been there sooner, except that David and I had a fight about who he should trust. Me or the Navigator (Navwench - the other woman in David’s life). Somewhere in the midst of our…heated discussion, we became seriously lost in Southport suburbia… he should have listened to the navigator, I’m sure I told him that! Never listen to a woman who has shopping on her mind, she just can’t think straight!

Okay, it was all my fault but don’t tell David that I admitted defeat, I’ll never live it down.

The whole shopping experience was not how I anticipated it. It was good, don’t get me wrong and I am sure if I were an eleven year old pre - pubescent girl looking for swimming costumes I would have been in heaven. We found some nice things and all the girls walked away happy, AJ had a haircut, David found new phone pouches and Navwench holders, so he was enjoying himself. It was just that I didn’t get a chance to do anything for me and so I was a bit miffed. The kids and David were happy though. My Mum was a little hot and tired but it was still okay.

I think we went back to the resort for a swim and dinner and an early night because the next day was going to be a big one…we were off to Seaworld for AJ’s 11th birthday!

In case you were worried about our sleep that night, Ivy and Noah slept very well, we had worn them out, finally.

We booked into reception and investigated our space. The kids claimed that the heat and travelling had overcome them and that a swim in one of the three pools would help to rejuvinate their weary bodies. So with barely time for the adults to catch their breath (and oh, how I wish we had, in hindsight), we wandered, sauntered, scurried down to the pool area. The five big children were in faster than you could say… ‘are we there yet?’ David, Mum and I found some chairs around the paddle pool.

We dressed the twins in their new swimmers and went to put them in only to discover that some kind child had left two big floaters in there!(Does anyone remember that movie scene in Caddy Shack where Bill Murray picks up a thought- to- be poo from a drained pool, take a bite and after everyone has thrown up, declares it a chocolate bar? This was not one of those moments!)

In my teenage years we jokingly called them aquabogs (riding the waves of Bondi Beach). That is exactly what these things were! I saw David visibly recoil and we stood there disbelievingly for a while. (I think this was our first inkling that our resort had gone down hill somewhat, since Accor sold it). I urged David to tell reception and asked Imogen and Madeline to take Ivy and Noah in the bigger pool. They thankfully obliged their, now, disillusioned mother.

The little floating boats didn’t stop some kids though. Before too long several toddlers were swimming amongst the effluent! Ewwwww!!!!! I had to look away. Finally someone came to clean up but it was too litlle too late for me. There was NO way I was going to let my easily diseased babies into the paddle pool that day!

I know, I know, accidents happen and the average child’s bowel relaxes about ten minutes after entering into water but gross, people! Where were the parents? Couldn’t they have gone and said something to maintainence? Had it cleaned? I know it’s an embarrassing situation but to just run away?

Dear God, what has the resort world come to?

We packed the bus and made our way to bed. Some settled earlier than others. David went to bed at 8:30, knowing he would be driving the first shift of the trip. I went to bed at 11:45, once everyone was asleep. The first alarm sounded at 1:30 am and after David’s  morning coffee ritual, we piled into our overloaded bus and started our journey at 3am. As we were slowly creeping out of our stone encrusted driveway, lights lowered, so as not to wake the neighbourhood, I felt for all the world like the Von Trapp Family Singers escaping to Austria (think Sound of Music, people). I also realised how loud everything sounds at that time of the morning. We sped along the freeway and by dawn we had passed Taree and were in dire need of petrol and coffee. After finding nothing open we were finally able to refuel at a truck stop - the only bus amongst these giant beasts, the children were in awe of their size. With everyone now awake we continued on to Maccas in Kempsey and a stop at The Big Banana, thinking that we would make one more final stop before crossing the boarder into the Sunshine State. We were making amazing time, the kids had been fantastic travellers and we had only eaten half of the lolly container when everything came to a grinding halt!

Just outside of Ballina a truck had driven off the road and into the river and traffic was stopped both ways. We sat for ages before we decided to turn the engine off and hop out of the bus. The kids climbed in and out, through the bus, the only place left that went unexplored was the roof and if David and I were not vigilant parents, I’m sure they would have made their way up there too, the babies became ratty and bored. They bucked and arched and wriggled and screamed when release from the confines of their carseats was not instant. My mother decided it would be a good time to start a game of Eye Spy. David walked up to the scene to find out what the deal was only to be told the road was closed indefinately. Great. Me? I have never been a great traveller and so I was bored out of my scone. I attempted to liven up the game of eye spy but no one was impressed when they couldn’t guess that the thing starting with ‘E’ was an elephant. They said there was no elephant in or outside of the car and therefore, I was disqualified! No respect, I tell you!

An hour (the other half of the lolly container and several packets of chips) later our road was finally opened and we pushed through to arrive in Sunny Queensland ( a beautiful 24 degrees) at about 3pm…

To be continued…

Well, we’re home. We did it. Ten people on a week long holiday, travelling in one bus, over nine hundred kilometres to take up residence in three rooms of The Paradise Resort, Surfers Paradise, Queensland… the Queenslanders never knew what hit them!

I’m going to try to tell you all about our adventures but there have been SO many, I might forget some. Lots of photos to share as well.

The good news is that David, Mum and I all survived to tell the tale and we have our sights firmly set on Fiji for next time (it must have been ok, if there is going to be a next time)! I must say though, that I am glad to be home, where the babies can roam free. The big kids will all go back to school for the final week before the school break begins. My plans for next week? To relax and have a holiday from my holiday before the holidays begin!!

that the Tregenza clan finalised the last arrangements for their first holiday since before Ivy and Noah were born.

Bags packed and ready, swimmers, boogie boards and sunscreen. The house is… clean, tidy, I can at least see the floor and the washing is mostly done. The nappy stash is all clean and dry and waiting for (now sposied) baby bottoms to return home, hopefully with a healthy tan line. Our dogs, cat and bird will all be in the company of David’s parents very soon. The older kids are bubbling with excitement and the babies are taking a nap. I think we are just about ready to go. WOOHOO!!!!!!!!

When I come back, I will entertain you with tales of a nine person family in Queensland and so, my friends, I hope you all have a wonderful week.

Can anyone say ’sugar filled car trip to Queensland’?!?!?!?!?!?

See more Wordless Wednesday photos here.

Wow, only four days left until we go on holidays and I think I have totally lost the plot! I seem to be running around in circles and not getting much done at all. With every good intention of leaving the house in a clean state, I think my efforts have made everything worse. In clearing up I seem to have uncovered alot of other ’stuff’

You know, STUFF. Things that have been put in a safe place away from sticky toddler hands, stuff that has been shoved in obscure places, by children who can’t be bothered walking the twenty metres to their bedroom to put said stuff away, shoes that have been missing for weeks, socks, that have been missing for so long that you have thrown the ‘odd’ sock away in despair because it hasn’t been paired up for ages and you think the washing machine must have eaten it.

Despite the washing machine spinning for most of the day, I still have mountains of ‘dirty’ clothes and towels that have been discovered in bedrooms when children have been made to clean up, with threats of not going on vacation. Suddenly, I understand why the kids never have any undies! Can you say ‘ewwwwww’? It is a sound I have uttered a hundred times in the last twenty four hours. Perhaps I need to be more vigilant when it comes to cleaning up of bedrooms.

I still haven’t packed for the babies or for David and I,  let alone all the medications that I need to drag along just in case. In between cleaning the loungeroom, washing and reading to Noah and Ivy (Noah follows me around crying…’No - No, the book!’), my plans for being meticulously ready by Thursday are rapidly becoming a thing of fantasy.

This morning, my thoughts are this; pack the bags, get everything ready for our break and if the house isn’t clean by Thursday, so what? At least it will be a familiar sight when we arrive home!

A friend phoned me last night. She asked me if I imagined my life would be like this, when I met David, when I was 17. She asked me if I ever imagined I would have so many children. The simple answer to that is; no.

I knew that I wanted kids from a young age. When we talked about children, David wanted two and I wanted four. The only thing we could agree on was that we wanted an even number of children so nobody was left out. I certainly didn’t think about the logistics of being a mum.

So what is Motherhood to me?

It’s all those things that everyone said it would be, it’s sacrifice, it’s full on, it’s the hardest job I have ever done. It’s wonderous and amazing and brings me so much happiness. It’s love and contentment and brings a fullness to each and every day in mind, body and soul. 

Mostly though motherhood is about learning.

As a mum, you are always teaching life skills but as a mum, I am also the perpetual student. I learn new things every day. About myself, about my children and I am still learning life skills!

When I first became a mum to twins, Imogen and Madeline, they taught me about selflessness, about the big picture. They taught me about patience (It took three years to conceive them) and understanding. I think they also taught me about time management and the importance of boundaries. On a funny note, they also taught me never to carry two babies upstairs, naked, when they have gastro…very messy!

Lily came into my life (about 9 months after the above bout of gastro). Lily taught me to really enjoy motherhood. She taught me to appreciate all the little things. When Lily came into my life, my father told me I was stupid for having more children, that I should be concentrating on a career, a house and having all the finer things in life. It was Lily’s birth that gave me the strength to stand up to him, tell him that family was more important to me than anything else. Although she was a surprise, she was a Godsend.

AJ and Malachy came into our home when they were four and three. I am not their biological mother but they are still my children. Through the boys I know about compromise. I know about overcoming terrible situations, adaptation, about hanging in there when you want to give up. I know about a longing to protect and a different kind of love, one that I have sometimes had to work at but one that is very much alive.

Four years after Lily, our first son, William, was born and died five days later. From Will I learnt about absolute devastation, a love that is so strong that I can still feel its presence every day. I learnt the beauty of letting go, I learnt to find and rely on my mother strength and I learnt that I could keep going, fuelled by the love of my children.

My last set of twins, Ivy and Noah, were born at 30 weeks in 2005 about a year and a half after William’s death and after a very scary pregnancy but it is with these children, my last, that I have learnt some of the most valuable lessons. As a mother to these precious miracles I have learnt to hope. Over the last twenty one months, they have taught me to feel joyous about motherhood again, at times when I felt there was no joy left in me. I have realised that I am a mother first and foremost and that, even though it can be a difficult, exhausting, sometimes thankless job, motherhood means everything to me.

It’s my life.

Oh, and I also learnt to appreciate my own mother much more than I ever did as a child.

This topic was published as part of MamaBlogga’s Group Writing Project. The theme is motherhood. It’s my first attempt.

Why don’t you give it a go?

For Father’s Day this year, I bought something a little different for Dave from The Dad Shop, this really cool Australian online store that sells things for men only. I found a coffee appreciation course (any man with seven children already appreciates coffee, I know but this was sort of learn your different kinds and how to make it properly type appreciation). That isn’t even the gift I want to tell you about but he liked that one too! Anyway, the present was a remote control jousting set of knights! The big seller for me was the slogan… ’settle your fights the old fashioned way’.

Now, David will never admit to this but way back in our "first married, no money" days we aquired an old Nintendo TV console. We had two games, Mario Brothers and Doctor Mario (they came with the console). Most nights when we had limited funding to go anywhere and there was little else to do we would play that darn thing until the early hours of the morning. I would win most times and David would spend his evenings frustrated that he couldn’t get Mario to jump at the right time. Okay, maybe I embelish…alot and maybe it was the other way around but selective memory is a wonderful thing and that’s how I like to remember it, ok?

So, when I saw this present, I knew it would be an excellent opportunity to compete again. I knew David would rise to the challenge and I was right! So far every night he has challenged me to a tournament and I’d forgotten how good he can get at things like this. The truth is, I suck at jousting but to prove that chivalry isn’t dead, my dear husband let me knock him off his horse and didn’t even complain when I ran his knight over several times!

Note to self: Never take a toilet break unless there is someone to guard the pantry.

see more Wordless Wednesday photos here

at 4am in the morning is very strange.

Noah has learnt alot of his body parts and this morning he was running through them all…

N: ‘nose’ (points to nose and makes a kissing motion),

Me: ‘nose, that’s right. I kiss the nose’? (kisses nose).

N: ‘eyes’ (points and makes kissing noise),

Me: ‘eyes, that’s right, I kiss the eyes’? (kisses eyes).

We run through cheeks, chin and mouth, all of which are rewarded with a kiss on the indicated part. There is a momentary pause and I can almost see his mind ticking over, he starts to chuckle and then says…

‘BUM’! (points to his behind and makes the kissing noise)!!!!!!! Followed by wild fits of laughter. When I say, ‘No, I no kiss the bum’, that induces another fit of the giggles!

Toilet humour for the (almost)two year old!

Happy Father’s Day for yesterday to all the Dads, new and repeat offenders. Hope you all had a lovely day. To my sweet, wonderful Davey, the best father I have had the honour to know. You mean the world to us.

David has been a dad for a long time now. When he became a father, he didn’t get the gentle introduction to parenting in just one baby. He was handed two girls approximately one month after Mother’s Day 1996. Was he overwhelmed? Yes. Was he shocked at how full on fathering can be? Yes. Did he complain? No. He just dug in and helped 50/50. He took on all the aspects of parenting newborns and he did it well.  When Lily came into the world two years later she became his world and he hers. Four years later he lost his first born son and was devastated, rocked to the very core of his being. Now with Ivy and Noah, he has undying patience and love for them both. He has taken two boys who are no relation to him, except through me, into his heart and home and loves them like they are his own. He is a good man and a wonderful father.

He deserves to be celebrated and celebrate we did.

Traditionally we start the morning off with breakfast in bed and then presents. At lunch we had a picnic and for dinner, his favourite - spaghetti bolognese. While the other children and David were engrossed in parcel unwrapping, the babies were off making their own fun with the discarded packaging. Tiny shreds of paper were scattered from one end of the bedroom to the other (and all so quietly too)!

Do you know how hard shredded paper is to clean up from carpet? Especially when the offending distributors follow you around taking your sweepings and re distribute them?

AJ was missing from the morning’s festivities as he had gone with my mum and ‘Grahampa’ to see the football for his birthday present. He’ll be turning 11 in about 13 days. Mum picked him up on the Saturday and he stayed the night with them too. All parties report that they had a ball! That’s good because AJ has been a little quiet and withdrawn of late.

The girls have been playing with their Barbies again in the last few weeks and Saturday was Barbie fasionista day. The girls took scraps of material and fashioned formal gowns. I think they had a nice morning just relaxing  and pottering around the house. After AJ left we made our way down to Sydney to see David’s parents and sisters. It was nice to have everyone together.

The babies made their way through the weekend with varying degrees of asthma but at the end of the day we did make it.

We saw the paed this morning and despite his frustrating lack of response on the Thursday he rallied well and took very good care of Ivy and Noah (and their mother). He made sure that we had enough scripts to go away with (only 11 days to go) and said if we run into strife to call him and he will phone diagnose. (Sometimes I think he has found my blog and my posts of doctor frustration).  Anyway, you’ll all be pleased to know that Noah is over the hump. Ivy? Ears, nose and throat all infected again, chest as well. We are on another course of Erythromycin, Ciproxin and Hydrogen Peroxide,hope it does the trick!

How very softly you tiptoed into my world.

Almost silently.

Only a moment you stayed,

but what an imprint your tiny footprints

have left upon my heart…

For Charlotte and her beautiful Mummy.

Happy 3rd birthday, sweetheart. Hope you are dancing with all the other angel babies today.

There is horses flu everywhere in NSW. It started up here in the boonies, apparently. Horses all over Australia are being quarantined so as not to infect the rest of the equine community. It leads me to wonder what it would be like if you were standing next to a horse, with the flu, when he sneezed… gooey springs to mind, wet, ummmm… green?

Here is a joke as told by a 3rd grader (column 8, Sydney Morning Herald) ; Q:Where do the horses go when they have the flu? A: They go to the horse - pital!!!

It seems there is alot of that going around, the flu I mean and sneezing. When you are the mother of atopically challenged children, you don’t hate Spring but you don’t love it either. The weather here has been the typical asthma inducing type, gloriously and unseasonably warm in the day, with hot gusts of wind and freezing at night. Out of the seven children, four are currently dealing with their asthma. For the older girls, it’s more a case of compliance to their medication and upping the dose accordingly but for Ivy and Noah it is a series of nebulisers, preventers and then prednisone when things get bad…and nebbing two cranky toddlers every three hours is about as bad as it can be (for me) before we seek hospital admission.

Although, I am slowly (so slowly) coming to the realisation that gaining admission to hospital in the boonies is harder than it is in the big smoke.  Personally, I think it has more to do with paeds than with anything else. When Imogen and Madeline were little and I was inexperienced in asthma induced problems, I would ring their paed (a wonderful female doctor) and she would see me. In later years, we had a standing letter for the hospital and if I phoned the doctor she would more often than not meet us in the children’s ward. She was, in my opinion, a true paediatrician. Not only did she look after the girls’ well being but when their parents were getting a touch of the crazies, she could see it and would use her ‘assertive practitioner skills’ to guide us into hospital, so that we could have support too. She was a Godsend. Fast forward eleven years and my how things have changed!

Now, you can’t even get in to see your paed. You have to beg the receptionist for five minutes of his time. When you make a mercy call in the morning, if you are lucky, he will call you back at dinnertime…when the babies have really lost the plot, are crying at the top of their lungs, other children are scattered throughout the house in varying stages of undress, showering or getting redressed, because, on top of everything else, you have agreed to let the school aged children go to the fundraising disco, which has been scheduled for, you guessed it, dinnertime.

If you say you are not coping and that your week is like a living hell, the new age paed will be encouraging of your feelings of self doubt by belittling them and cussing about how horrible his week has been. (Of course it is impossible for a lowly SAHM/midwife to have a worse week than a doctor). If you then concede to being able to cope at home for a few more days on the understanding that you will be able to see him first thing Monday morning, you can then expect to be told that his schedule for that day is ‘disasterous’ and he can only squeeze you in at 8am (breakfast time and leaving for the bus time).

Unless you throw a mother (pardon the pun) of a tanty and tell the doctor that you are not going to make one more decision regarding the health of your babies because HE is the doctor and should be ‘guiding’ we parentals (medical training or no), do not expect the millenium paed to aquire ‘assertive practitioner skills’ anytime in the forseeable future. You see, he does not want to make the wrong choice at the risk of being sued. AAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!

While I very much like our paed, I find him very frustrating…hang on, there is a common thread here. I find all doctors frustrating! Well, what do you know? Is that what they call an epiphany?

your almost two year old daughter comes out from rummaging in your bedroom, exclaiming, ‘Hat! Hat!’ looking like this:

Yes, that is her 21 month sized head inside one of my bra cups. That leads one to hope that she has an exceptionally large head and that I have a small bust but this is reality people and we all know the truth (sadly her normal sized head still had room in my ample cup). In a few short years I will be able to tuck them into my nanna undies…

1. Do not feed your babies pumpkin, sweet potato and carrot mix for dinner and then take them out Father’s Day shopping the next day. That is a very bad move. Post - pumpkin - poo is bright orange and runny and will squelch out of nappies and onto the stroller. Pumpkin poo is also very smelly and will not please the nostrils of the shoppers and staff in Big W. You will need to make a hasty exit if one (or in this case both) of the babies decide to do their duds whilst in the shopping centre. Also, Huggies wipes are severely inadequate to mop up said poo.

2. Five point harnesses are useless and are not a safety feature on your stroller or your highchair when you have almost two year olds. They are pointless (and hard to clean post pumpkin poo blow outs). It doesn’t matter how you attach the shoulder straps, ’norties’ babies are alot smarter than ‘nineties’ babies and they will wriggle out of them. ( An anonymous contributor suggested that the shoulder straps should go once around the neck before joining to the belt. I’m a little skeptical about this proposal but I have to say, as time passes, it is becoming a seemingly plausable idea. The same contributor just asked if I could swipe restraints from the hospital and use them… for him, me or them?).

3. It doesn’t matter how many times you ask a baby to get down from the top of the outdoor table, remove him, beg him, he will not learn that what he is doing is dangerous until he falls off and bangs his chin and draws blood.

4. There is no point in making a chicken and cheese sandwich for almost two year olds. By the time they are finished disassembling them and eating the parts that they want and throwing the other parts to the dogs, you come to the realisation that you may as well have just given them bread and butter.

5. When you have toddlers in the house, it is wise to invest in at least one dog otherwise you will spend all of nap time cleaning up after meals.

At least, that is what he looked like at 4am this morning when he was in my bed trying to evict my eyeballs from their sockets. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a blue and white striped Bonds suit and the most devilish of grins, dimples included.

Why, oh why won’t my babies sleep through the night? When I took them home from the NICU the nurses commented on how lucky we were to have NICU trained babies. ‘They’re in a good routine’, they said, ‘they’ll just wake and feed, wake and feed’, another commented.

Look, don’t get me wrong, that is great when you bring them home, newborn from the hospital.When you are happy to baby gaze and you want to feed them every three hours, when you are floating on the pink fluffy clouds of euphoria. The trouble is, they can’t seem to break that routine and they are ALMOST two!!!! Two! Those pink, fluffy clouds are looking awfully grey and stormy, right about now.

For goodness sake, I am so sleep deprived! I can’t think straight anymore. Give me a break!(Please)

Here are some hints for Ivy and Noah (and any other babies out there who refuse to sleep through the night);

Do NOT come into my bed unless you want to snuggle down and sleep. If you want to seek and destroy, then do it in your own room. Mummies and Daddies need to sleep, otherwise they get cranky in the day. You, know, that time when you want them at their best, so they can dote upon you?

If you wake up very early in the morning, it will not put you in good stead to demand a ‘bockle’ (bottle) and then hit me in the face when it is not forth coming. No amount of hitting will get me or your father up in the freezing cold to get you a drink.

If you wake up in the middle of the night, do not get out of bed and wake up your brother or sister as well. We will be alot friendlier if there is only one baby to put back to sleep. Two wailing babies is just asking for trouble.

If you have to wake up can you please do it half an hour BEFORE we go to bed, not half an hour AFTER? If you haven’t guessed by now, when parents go to bed, they are exhausted and are asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Half an hour in is serious REM time and you are interrupting the most restful part of the night.

Finally, if you do happen to wake several times during the night (and expect us to get out of bed to resettle you), when Mummy says it’s time for a day sleep, know that she means it. Know that you running around in overtired hyperactivity mode makes Mummy more tired. Mummy saying time for sleep is not an invitation for you to start up a conversation of babble with your sibling. It is not the time to do a poo in your clean nappy and it is not the time to chant some baby mantra at the top of your lungs. Sleep means sleep (and time out for your worn out caregiver…often a first opportunity to shower and have some nutrition for the day so that she has the energy to bend to your every whim).

P.S. Another little hint; even just one night of full sleep will do wonders for the Mummy and the Daddy. Take that into consideration when you go to bed tonight.

With every good intention of getting the washing under control on the first full day of being at home in over a week I knuckled down and did this:

I found this site http://www.simpsonsmovie.com/ (in between loads, of course) and turned my mug into a Simpsons character.

What do you think? Pretty lifelike, hey?

More blogs that I’ve discovered that are a really good read…

http://twinkies.bastetweb.com/ a blog about life with twins.

http://smilingmom.com/  

http://whoorl.com/

http://www.aweekinthelifeofaredhead.com/

http://www.notesfromthetrenches.com/

http://rocksinmydryer.typepad.com/

http://joyunexpected.com/

http://nelsongaggle.blogspot.com/

 funny motherhood inspired blogs.

A friend of mine (thanks Mel) just sent me this link http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=130144061675&ru=http%25. OMG! It is seriously the funniest thing I have ever read but sounds scarily like when we all go shopping! You have to look at this one. It belongs to this blogger http://mom2my6pack.blogspot.com:80/

20 days to go until we leave for (not so sunny) Queensland. It would be flooding, wouldn’t it? In our choice of destination. UGH. At least there are 20 days for it all to dry up and it WILL dry up or there is going to be trouble! Now I’ve said that, I’m not exactly sure how much trouble I (squishy, jelly bellied, 30 something woman) can inflict on an entire state but it sounded good, threatening, scary, don’t you think? No? Oh well. Maybe I’ll just take it out on David, afterall, Queensland was his choice and the floodgates haven’t opened in Fiji, now, have they?

Seriously, we are looking forward to it. 20 days is not long to have to wait. We just have to get organised and that is going to be the hard part, I think.

Yesterday we went to AJ’s semi final match against Singleton. It was a close game and after full time, it was 1 goal to each side. So we went into overtime. Again, no one got a goal (although it was SO close on many occasions and had all the parents on tenderhooks on the side of the field). Finally we went to penalty kicks and, although AJ’s team, The Bellbird Bombers, played a mighty game, they lost to Singleton. The boys were devastated but we were all proud of them. They worked so well as a team and played like champions! I know I couldn’t run around kicking a ball for almost two hours without needing some kind of medical assistance afterwards. AJ rallied well and is now looking towards the next season when he has been promised a place as a midfield player, instead of a sweeper (which he found incredibly unfulfilling).

Before the game, we stopped to get some supplies and I picked up a Cadbury’s Dad bag for Dave as an early Father’s Day present. As we climbed back into the car, Noah, who had noticed the purple bag started running through his food mantra. "Gubem, narnar, hartee," and then we heard

"clock - o -lart"!

Clockolart! He had identified the purple Cadbury’s symbol as chocolate!! As we approached the field both our chocolate junkies were complaining bitterly because the sweet had not been forthcoming. David bribed them into the stroller with the promise of some choc buttons and with that the fun began. I’ve never seen chocolate disappear so fast. By the time I called it to an end, Ivy and Noah had consumed a whole roll of the buttons! When I said enough, they cried and whinged and begged for more! The only way to stop it was to redirect them to the playground, with the big girls. Oh dear. We had such good intentions when we started parenting eleven long years ago.

Today is Sunday, a day of rest. It’s a TGIO day. Thank God It’s Over. I’m talking about Star Struck. Tuesday and Wednesday rehersals, all day Thursday, Thursday night (it was a fantastic show - I highly recommend it for next year), home at 1am, then back on the bus at 8am for a matinee and a night performance, home again at close to one then back again for a Saturday night show. To say that Imogen and Madeline are exhausted is an understatement. They had a ball in the performances, of course, but the mornings were reduced to a series of bickering (amongst themselves) and tears from being so tired and overwhelmed. As much as they enjoyed themselves, I think they are glad for it to be finished with for this year too. This morning they have dragged themselves out of bed and are quietly slothing around the house…well, not now, now they are cleaning out the bus with the other kids, in preparation for our trip but they were very slow to get started today. For early risers, like Immy and Maddy (think 5:30 am since they were toddlers) a 9:30 wake up is a BIG sleep in. 

I think it will take a while for them to get back into the swing of things but what an experience for two 11 year olds who live in the boonies! Lily is going to try out next year so we might have three little performers in the house. Until next year, Star Struck!

Today is Poo Day. My most hated of days and probably the most disliked day for most cloth nappy users. Actually, now I think about it,most days are poo days in this home, where one child is forever on antibiotics and number 2s are frequent, to say the very least. At least she’s regular. Regularly defouling my nappy stash! A good argument for toilet training is Poo Day.

Now, I’m not sure how other MCN mums do it but for me, it’s a put - it - off - until - you - absolutely - have - to kind of thing. The non poo nappies usually just go in with the regular wash or go in as a wee only wash but the poo nappies go in a bucket until I can face them…or until the smell coming out of my laundry gets too funky. Don’t get me wrong people, I do wash them every few days, I’m not that gross!

Anyway, today is the day and it seems that for every pooey nappy I clean and load into the machine, Ivy pumps out one more to counteract my productivity.

Of course, every MCN user has some tools of the trade. There is the poo stick; not to be confused with the wooden spoon (eww), used to scrape the offensive pat into the toilet, it’s a cloth nappy mum’s best friend (or worst enemy, depends on how you look at it, I guess). There are the buckets - used to store the soiled nappy until poo day, then there are gloves (for those who worry) and soap (for those who don’t). Some mums have a thing called a ‘little squirt’ which is a spray hose thing that attaches to the toilet to spray the poo off and into the bowl. I couldn’t bring myself to buy one with visions of my two spraying loo water all around the laundry. Who knows what they might have done!

Gross, I can hear you all whispering, how can she do that?  Wouldn’t it be easier to wrap it all up into a disposable and throw the whole lot out, especially with two little monkies pumping out effluent? Yes, quite frankly, it would and I have BTDT for the first nine months of their lives but variety is the spice of life and why not add something else to the mix to give me a whole lot of curry?

It all started because our ’sposie’ just wasn’t holding overnight, we were getting all sorts of disgusting blowouts and it was causing Ivy to have nappy rash too. After that, it was for the cuteness factor. I love a squishy round clothed bum! Alas, it has become a bit of an obsession. It’s the colours and the different types of textiles that can be used that gets me in. They kind of become like some weird collectors item, some of them, prizes, almost. The harder to get ones, at least. (Insert Homer Simpson drool here). Also, there is just something about a clean pile of nappies that makes me feel like the ultimate mother. (I know, I am a very sad person, with no life).

Anyway, Poo Day Thursday is now almost done. (Thank goodness) The second last load has gone through and I am starting to assemble the dry ones, ready to be warn by Poopeye and Pooperella once again. Ahhh Poo Day. It’s enough to give anyone the s****!

Well, Immy and Maddy have spent the last two days in heavy rehersal for the perfomances of Star Struck. Maddy is singing in the choir and Immy is in the dancing section. Tomorrow they have to be on the bus into the Entertainment Centre at 6am. They have a technical and a dress rehersal and then it’s their first performance!!!!! A BIG day and night. We are all going to watch them tomorrow night (yes, the babies too). I am really looking forward to it. Some of you might remember some months back when Mum and I made lots of costumes, well, it was all for this. Immy says she is not as excited as last time (when it was postponed) but is just as nervous. I think, come tomorrow they will both be really excited  by it all. I am so very proud of them. I’m sure they are going to shine! They have two performances on the Friday and a final performance on Saturday night! They might have lost a bit of their spark, come Sunday. Wish them well. Break a leg, girls!

dedicated to people who love to blog! I have been scrolling through different sites this morning, instead of doing the washing and instead of making lycra boots (I know Mum, I’ve left it to the last minute again!). There are awards and things called widgets, that I don’t understand and there are tags and contacts. My head is spinning. I have SO much to learn! I thought though that I might link you up to some favourites of mine.

This one; Playgroups are no place for children is so funny. Particularly this entry! So funny and true. Followed quickly by this one. Even David was laughing. It was this blog that I found out about blogging communities.

This isn’t a blog but it’s a cool site for those looking for something different for your kids; Babyology It has alot of good sources and links to other good sites. This site Blurb is really cool and I found it on Babyology. It lets you download a program to design your own book. You can put photos and text in and when you are finished you can send it off to be published. I am in the middle of making one up for Ivy and Noah to include photos and thoughts on the first two years. I think it’s a great idea because all my photos are on disk now and I rarely print them off. I’m thinking they could be good for Christmas pressies too, for relatives.

Finally, here is a link to my friend, Trish’s blog. I love reading all about what they get up to.

So if you haven’t started yet, you should seriously look into the world of blogging. Maybe start up your own. Send me a link! I love to read!

What is the Noah - ism for glasses? :Eye - ses, of course!

He is becoming so aware of his surroundings now, noticing things and naming them. It is really interesting to watch. Maybe it’s because I am older and have a better understanding of the different developmental milestones or maybe it’s just because Ivy and Noah are my last babies and I don’t want to miss a single thing, who knows but every new day is an adventure, a new discovery.

Noah was sitting in front of his bedroom window this morning, just watching the world go by, silent and still. Very unlike Noah. When he heard me come into the room he turned to me and pointed outside… ‘rainging’ he said. Just like that. It was raining too, pouring infact, so much so that the scene outside was quite blurred through the rain on the window. Our backyard is starting to resemble a swimming pool again. I hope it stops soon. Imogen and Madeline are in a school production, held every year up here in the Hunter region, called Starstruck. It was supposed to be on in June but was postponed because of the flooding. The performances are all set to start again this week. On Thursday. It would be a shame if it had to be cancelled because of more poor weather. Praying for sunny days here.

AJ’s soccer team made it to the semi finals this weekend. Unfortunately the team lost this round and so his next game is in Singleton. I really hope they win this match. They have played extremely well all season. We need good weather for this too.

For those lovely friends who have been worried about the babies with their gastro, thank you. It means alot to know that you all care. Noah turned the corner on Friday and Ivy, although still not 100% is alot better and they are both eating and drinking now. Maddy and Mal seem to be the only ones who avoided the bug this time around. Fingers crossed that is the last we see of it for 2007.

When gastro has seeped into the very pores of the house and you fear that there is no light at the end of that proverbial tunnel, who do you call for help? You call the two grandmas, of course.

On Thursday, when I was fearful for my son’s life, my mum, "Gran" (or Gan, if you are Noah) came for a ‘visit’. She sat with me and listened while I blubbered about how worried I was. She rocked the little girl, who was also very sick, in the rocking chair, made cups of tea and was generally a shoulder to cry on. She looked after me, mothered the mother. When, in the early afternoon hours, I decided enough was enough and took Noah up to the local hospital (I know, I said I wouldn’t but some fools never learn) she stayed at home and waited for the big kids to get back from school and calmed them. After almost a week coping on my own, she was some welcomed adult companionship. There was no hesitation about coming out to help, even though we had poo and spew from one end of the house to the other.

The next day, having picked up the scent of a family member in need, "Grandma" (Mamar) David’s mum came to my aid. Even though Noah was feeling slightly better and ventured off my lap to move over to hers, my arms were now full with the very sick little girl. More sitting and rocking, more cuddling of babies, more cups of tea, food, washing on and off the line, conversation and reassurance. Even after sage warnings that the gastro bug was a nasty one and she would catch it, she still made her way up to the boonies.

Quietly and efficiently these women work their magic. They are just there when you need them the most. We are very lucky to have them in our lives.

When I took Noah up to the local hospital the doctor came in and looked him over and declared him ‘not sick enough for hospital’. I was upset, to say the least that we were being turned away. Noah, who was a semi comatose ball of lethargy on my lap did not have a heart rate high enough (it was only 149 bpm) his tongue and mouth weren’t that dry, his eyes weren’t sunken enough and vomiting three to four times a day for four days was just not enough. I felt that we had hung in there long enough and the fact that Noah hadn’t moved from my lap in over twelve hours was a bad sign, that and the fact that his temperature was high and his hands and feet were deathly cold (a sign that the body is peripherally shutting down, keeping circulation close to the major organs) but not bad at all, according to the doctor. So, with a bottle of hydrolyte I left the hospital, feeling for all the world like a paranoid mother. When I arrived home the paed called and we discussed things. His cries of ‘for the love of God, don’t bother with the local hospital anymore.’ did not fall on deaf ears this time. Never the less, we pushed through the night with sips of water, terrible stomach cramps and tired, fragile babies and parents… and we made it - just.

Ivy was not in good form today but again, we will push through the night and hopefully tomorrow will be a better day.

…in this world that is worse than gastro. It is called PMD or Pathetic Male Disease. It only afflicts the men (boys) of the household. What it means is that when they do catch a cold (or in this case gastro) they catch it FAR worse than any woman (girl) ever could (in their humble opinion). Such is the nature of the disease. When it rears its ugly head it gives them liscence to moan and groan loudly, lie in bed, when everyone else has to get up, hover closely to the matriach of the household and look pathetic. In baby boys’ cases, this insideous illness turns ordinarily independent boys into quivering lumps of human flesh who cannot possibly walk anywhere for themselves. They can no longer talk, only point and grunt to the object that they require (This applies to older boys and adult men too). When boys are struck down with this it makes them grizzle loudly and whinge at everything, no matter what the matriach of the house tries. Men who come down with this bug make an overstated point of soldiering on, even though they are obviously dying, so that the women of the house will praise his ability to go on.

While many women believe that this disease is confined to the male population in their home only, it is believed that PMD is a worldwide phenomenon.

Take heart ladies. Most men who are afflicted with PMD turn out to be very good caretakers if the matriarchs ever contract anything!

Today, with the thought of having to transport vomiting children anywhere, I am thankful that I have a bus with vinyl flooring.

Also; David’s take on how to effectively establish communication with the paediatrician - "Ring early, ring often!"

*** WARNING, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SICK OF HEARING ABOUT THE SICK*** (hey, I just realised I can use colour on this blog!)

It’s very early on Monday morning and I know now that Lily’s vomiting was not just a random act of kindness, in wanting to paint my bathroom. In hindsight, it was foolish of me to relax after a respiratory illness as bad as the flu that has just swept through our house. It was foolish and complacent (there is that word again) of me. Did you know that some viruses can cause respiratory infection AND tummy upsets? Adenovirus springs to mind and, obviously, in this house, influenza too. I have had personal experience with my friend adenovirus. Imogen aquired it some years ago and after a particularly nasty ‘cold’ with asthma involved, it travelled through her system, into her gut and…well, you can imagine the rest. So, now gastro has come to reside in this house. As far as I can tell, it comes in varying forms of disgusting. From the throw everything up and feel better in 24 hours to the nauseated feeling of something isn’t quite right that lasts for days and everything in between. Yuck. If there is one thing I hate more than snot, it’s vomit and if there is one thing I hate more than vomit, it’s diarrhoea. Somebody get me a bucket…

When David discovered Ivy had…soiled her bed in the wee hours of the morning he rapidly made his way to go to work. He washed and dressed (while I cleaned Ivy up - he did strip the sheets for me) and while I was dirty (pardon the pun) that he was about to make a clean (oh I crack myself up) getaway, I also had to laugh because his running commentry really lightened the mood.

Ivy and Noah were sitting on the bed, carrying on with their regular banter of babble, squeals and screeches, when Ivy made a rather loud rasberry "thbrrrrrrrr!" sound. David pipes up …’it was like this’ he explained in a high pitched imitation of Ivy’s voice. Then Noah let out an almighty blurt "Thbbbbrrrrttttt"…"more like that, actually," said David, "I’ll tell you how it really happened". Narrating on his son’s behalf. I fell about the bed laughing, the babies staring at me as if I had forgotten to take my crazy pills this morning. Seeing my mirth, he made to leave and I grabbed him and said, "You think you’re going to work and leaving me with the gastro kids, think again Buster!"

His reply to that? "Buster thanked the mice for the wonderful party… and then he ate them" (apparently an old family saying) and with that vacated the quarantined house. I live in a crazy world people, how is one supposed to stay sane?

…until our holiday but who’s counting and wasn’t the weather beautiful today?

Today I was supposed to move all my scrapbooking stuff into Ivy’s old room, wash mountains of sheets, make some lycra boots, clean up my room and rearrange the loungeroom. I was supposed to go food shopping, weed the garden and wash down the stroller. Supposed to.

What I actually did was two loads of sheet washing (which the lovely Maddy hung out for me), a load of school uniforms, I scrubbed down the stroller and while I waited for that to dry, I got in the car with the family and went food shopping…for picnic yummanas. Then we went out to Hunter Valley Gardens for a picnic and basked in the late Winter sun, ate antipasto on paper plates, munched on TOOBS, watched Ivy try to play football and Noah being pulled around in his blue carcar. After we had had our fill of all things delicious we went for a walk and found ourselves in front of the Ice Cream Parlor at Oscars.

For those of you who don’t know, I am an ice cream addict (self confessed). I have lovingly passed this trait onto all of my children (even the non biological kids). The (almost) hardest part of the day was choosing the flavour…the hardest part, really, was having to share with Ivy the ice cream hog!

Did I tell you all that we put Ivy in the big bed? Yep. And, did I tell you that she slept through the night for five nights in a row? No? I didn’t tell you? That’s probably because I was sleeping or catching up on sleep or dozing, dreaming, napping, snoozing, catching some zees, anything you can imagine (don’t get too carried away, people, remember we are parents of seven children and we really are tired) without a baby in the bed. Did I also mention that five nights is just enough time to become complacent and expect that she will continue to do so? Wrong! So wrong. You should NEVER become complacent! Because just when you are least expecting it, she will throw you an all nighter, just to put you back in your place. If you do relax then you can also expect that her brother will wake up too and together they will make your night almost too much to bare, add to that an early morning (4:30am) vomit (picture the toilet literally painted in spew, walls, door, floor, sink…anywhere else BUT the toilet) from Lily and your night is set! Oh and don’t forget to have one of Lily’s best friends sleeping over for the night. PERFECT! That’ll teach yer, yer pesky parents!

Seriously folks, five nights is a cause for celebration in this house!

In other baby news, did you know that it takes Noah roughly 10 seconds to steal the "helpme" (torch) from his sister, even though she is waving it from side to side and screeching at the top of her lungs, and when you need two hands to push - pull the tape measure in and out of its casing, your mouth is a handy place to hold your father’s mobile phone, so that your brother won’t take that too?

Hmmm, that’s about it for this week. Let’s see what mid August has to offer!

"Hartee" means hot tea. How cute! My little man is growing up!