Three Ring Circus

 

Early morning risers, kisses and cuddles in bed as the sun breaks over the mountains.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Debriefing and discussions about dreams during the night, good or bad.

Shiny, clean faces, at the breakfast table. Easy conversation.

Laughing at jokes that aren’t quite funny. Great big smiles that show teeth.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Standing on the verandah, with little bodies close to my side, waving good bye to school children as they walk up the street calling ‘I love you’s’ until they disappear over the hill.

Morning stories, dancing to The Wiggles, new words, new milestones met. Bright blue eyes and faces turned to the sun as they venture outside. Wonderment as the fluff from a dandelion blower flies into the sky, caught by the morning breeze.

Free spirited, loving life play.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Morning naps, angelic, peaceful faces. (Is any mother not grateful for this?).

Bleary eyed babies stumbling out of bed to climb up onto laps. Nuzzles and snuggles and drifting off again with the warmth of their special person. Deep, sleep filled breathing that relaxes the soul.

Emerging sentences, new understanding, watching them grow and learn through play.

New foods, new experiences, evolving personalities.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Excited faces at the gate, in anticipation of the big kids’ return from school.

Excited faces at the gate, happy to be home with the little ones again.

Stories of their day, their worries and their hopes, what made them laugh and why they felt sad.

The house feeling full, the chaotic noise of seven, the push and pull of siblings.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Squeals of happiness, backyard games of cricket, swimming, playing -  togetherness.

Hugs for no reason, an arm around my shoulder, playful banter, exclaimations of ‘you’re the best, Mummy!’

Sharing bath time with the little ones, even though their bodies are changing. Willingly helping when they see I am flagging.

Excited cries of ‘Daddy’s home!’ Little ones standing at the door waiting.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Dinner compliments, voices too loud, spaghetti sauce chins.

TV wind down time, everyone squeezed onto one lounge, when there are two, dogs between legs with furry heads resting on pyjama clad laps.

Talking while the show is on, asking questions about when we were children, interested wonders of ‘the olden days’. (I am constantly telling them I’m not that old).

Bedtime kisses and last minute, trying to stall, anecdotes, needs for a glass of water and one last call to the toilet before bed.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Slipping quietly into each bedroom, looking upon them, hoping they have a good life.

Pulling their blankets up under chins, tucking soft toys back into the arms of their owners, turning out lights.

Standing in hallways, listening to the house sigh with peace.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

My children.

They lift me up, fill my day, make everything worthwhile. It’s the everyday things.

I’m grateful for them.

 

This was written for Mamablogga’s November Group Writing Project. Why don’t you give it a try?

I met him when I was seventeen. I was your classic loud, jolly fat girl. Hiding behind an oversized personality.

He saw beyond that.

We were friends first. Soon he knew all my secrets.

He listened but didn’t try to change things.

We talked until the sun came up. He was the first one to accept what I wanted for my adult life.

A family, not a career.

He was not like my father.

Not at all.

My life is so different because I met him and I am grateful for him. I thank the universe everyday for his existence.

Life was dysfunctional. He made everything alright.

We married and settled in together. We were young. Although he was worried about what his parents would think, he honoured our decision.

I became a nurse, he encouraged it, supported me.

We had twins. He took it in his stride. Even though he was exhausted he shared the load of bringing up two and then three little girls.

I became a midwife and he was there, helping me all the way.

He opened his heart and his emotions when William died.

He is so different from any man I have ever known.

We compliment each other. He is my night (knight) and I am his day.

I like to spend money, he likes to save.

I like to take risks, he likes stability.

Between us we have a wonderful balance.

It could have been so different, my life but not better. I couldn’t ask for better.

This was written as part of the November Write Away Contest at another of my favourite blogs, Scribbit. It’s my first attempt. Why don’t you give it a try?

After a few horrible days in the hospital Ivy is home. Re-intergration into the house has not been smooth but we’ll get there. Thank you to everyone who sent their well wishes. It meant alot and helped us to get through.

I know I am a little behind but I need to do a little bit of house keeping.

The 1st of November marked the beginning of NoBloPoMo, which I am taking part in. I haven’t quite worked out everything yet but I do know I’m supposed to post every day of November! So far so good, even if I did have to get the technical consultant/new sub editor to post for me.

The 1st of November also marked our official countdown to Ivy and Noah’s second birthday, which falls on the 30th.

It is one of our busiest months with dance concerts, camps away, end of school activities and that all important lead up to Christmas.

Today is David’s mum’s birthday! Happy Birthday Grandma, hope you have a wonderful day!

Now, back to our regular program!

She sits in the chair of the darkened room, hunched over the small, defeated, ball of her child. She worries over this baby because she is always ill.

The day has been a big one. Crying, clinging and high temperatures. After the first convulsion, the child, a girl, has not moved from her lap until the next fit exploded from her body and left her motionless once again.

She is scared and feels alone in the place where she is. She cannot think who to call for help, except for her husband, who is still two hours away from home. The boy child has pottered around for most of the day, seemingly unnoticed but she has seen him, her heart aches to pick him up and cuddle him. Kiss him and tell him she loves him but for now, it is as if she is bolted to the chair by the weight of the girl, unable to move for fear of another convulsion.

Another daughter has remained home today and she is grateful of the help. She does not think she would have survived this day without her there.

For all the world, she wants someone to take this out of her hands.

Finally the paediatrician calls and the decision is made to go to the hospital.

She has a dislike for hospitals, even though she works in one and her trust for doctors is little but the paed has assured her that she will spend as little time in the emergency room as possible and because the girl child is not recovering well from the last fit and because she feels as though she can do no more for her baby she admits defeat and takes her. For the first time in days feels relief.

The emergency staff are efficient and kind. There are people everywhere, movement and blurs of people striding past in their urgency to provide care. In one booth she and her baby sit; the child is still on her lap but she watches everything. For an instant she wishes she were on the other side, giving the care instead of needing it.

Soon the girl child is ready, is canulated and a drip has been started. During it all the girl only cries a little and while everyone comments that the baby is brave, she knows that the girl is beyond caring.

They arrive in the children’s ward in the early hours of the morning. The nurses are friendly and sweep the pair into their room to sleep for the last few hours before sunlight.

It comes too soon and the girl child remains silent and unmoving. Her eyes have a glassy, vacant stare. Her breath comes in quick, sharp gasps. The child only moves when the nurses come to check her drip. Then she screams.

She is still worried about her baby but now it is a shared concern as the paediatrician arrives and looks her over. Another night, more antibiotics. Another 24 hours and the girl will be fine, he soothes the mother. She looks into his green eyes (had she noticed that before?) and finds reassurance and a kindness for the girl child.

Friends ring and some come to visit. The day is both long and short at once. The girl child picks up when the boy and her daddy arrive but she tires easily and when they are gone she falls asleep.

She can see improvement though and feels in control again as she snuggles next to her baby.

Now another morning is here and the sun is shining in from the window. The girl child has woken, like the day.  Fresh and new.

She smiles for the first time in days and kisses the girl child, who responds with a hug.

It is going to be okay, she thinks as she feels her heart begin to beat once more, as she hears herself exhale from the breath she has been holding.