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,