Tag Archives: Failing

How to Look Like a Terrible Mother

1. Make sure that your almost 3yo does not, I repeat, does NOT get a nap in the morning.  Because that would be crazy silly.  If you really want to look like a terrible mother, you will first need a terribly tired child.

2. Take your now terribly tired child to a birthday party.  In the park.  Where there is another birthday party on also.  Make sure your child does not, I repeat DOES NOT know that they are two separate parties, and then let your toddler eat all the other birthday party’s food.  Including cupcakes.

3.  Now that your child has stolen food and is terribly tired, leave your other children asleep in the pram watched by strangers whilst you take the toddler to play on the equipment.  Notice these strangers are taking photos of your sleeping twins and consider this their payment for babysitting.

4. After 45 minutes of swinging, sliding, whirly-gigging, and climbing, finally go over and say hello to the Birth Day mother, and the Birthday Boy.  Make sure you leave your toddler on the big slide by herself.  She probably won’t fall.  Whilst saying hello, watch your child run down to you, see a puddle and start jumping in it.  In tights and dress.  Find this both amusing and unworrisome – that way your toddler will know it is OK to just sit herself in the puddle and look dirty and drenched for the rest of the day.

5.  Sit your child next to a beautifully behaved, although also terribly tired 2yo (TT2YO).  This way you can’t make the excuse “Oh, but she is so tired.” An excuse like that will look pathetic next to the beautifully behaved, although tired, 2yo.  Make sure TT2YO is eating and interacting beautiful with all other party guests.  And then put a sausage on a piece of bread in front of your toddler.  Make sure she hates the thought of a sausage on her bread first, otherwise skip this step, and just sit her tantrumming terribly tired little self next to TT2YO.

6.  Ask your child if she would like some tomato sauce.  If you have followed all other steps correctly, she will throw a fit and kick her plate across the table in the process, whilst coming dangerously close to flicking the birthday cake off the table.

7.  Take her back to the playground to play, leaving your now awake babies to be cared for by other party guests.  Throw some food at them and run, it’s probably the best way to look neglectful.

8.  Whilst at the playground, notice pre-teen girls that are sitting halfway down the slide, barring the way for other, smaller children, to be able to slide down.  Thinking that this is rude, you first don’t warn your toddler that these pre-teens are in her way, and then watch her slide down on her back, feet first, to kick into the first pre-teen she comes across.  Only AFTER the kicking is done, tell pre-teens that they are going to have to abandon their attempts at slippery dip ownership and: “You’re going to have to MOVE girls.  The little kids can’t get past you.”  Watch the pre-teens scurry – it’s not really points towards Terrible Mother of the Year, but will make you feel powerful and in control.  Also, it will save your child from falling off the slide sideways – today we are competing for Terrible Mother of the Year, not Worst Mum of the Year.

9. When someone offers to let your other children out of the pram they have been locked into for almost two and a half hours, kindly refuse with no explanation.  This way you can look mean AND grumpy.

10.  Finally, when you offer your child cake, and she refuses, make sure you ask her a second time: “Do you want this cake, or not?”.  Hopefully, she will reply rudely, unhappily and LOUDLY: “OR NOT!”.

You can now go home, knowing that you both feel and looked like a Terrible Mother.

Yesterday was the first time that I truly felt overwhelmed by Roo’s behaviour.  We’ve had worse days (even in public) recently, but I’ve always felt like I could manage it.  I understood she was tired, and that it really wasn’t I hope that bad, but still felt so exhausted by it all that I came home and had a nap!  There were so many teaching moments that I just didn’t know how to handle.

Do you sometimes get overwhelmed by your toddler’s behaviour?

With Diary of A SAHM

Waiting to exhale

This post was heavily inspired by Kellie from The Good, The Bad and the Unnecessary and her post: If I met me now, I wouldn’t know me

October 2010 – The boys were 4.5 months old.

My sons (it still feels very weird to plural the word) are 16 months old today.  I don’t feel spun out by it.  I’m not surprised.  Of course it’s gone fast.  Speed of light, possibly even time travel fast.  But I don’t feel like I’ve lost any of that time.  Only that I could have spent more time alive in it.

I’m more sentimental about 16 months than I was Fraser and Oscar’s 1st birthday.  Or even their 1st corrected.

When I was pregnant with them, and they endlessly kicked and danced and bounced off one another, I would lie on the couch and watch Rory play.  Or sit with her and read or talk or just be.  And the time I remember the most is the two months before the boys were born.  It’s like my brain has stamped that time on my skin.

It was the last of the quiet.
It was stressful.  Pal had left.  There were numerous appointments, scans, check ups, needles, tests, visits with friends.
But it was quiet.
And I was acutely aware that I would never be getting this quiet time back.

I had two babies arriving.  Roo would grow and run and talk and blaze.  And she has.  More than I ever expected, that child has developed her personality and made her mark on the world, already.  No one will ever dismiss Rory.  She won’t allow it.

Roo at 16 months old, just a few weeks before the twins’ arrival

And so, that last month of quiet, Roo was 16 months old.  It was peaceful, it was joyful and it was so precious.  I wish I could bottle that time and show it to her when she is older.  Explain to her that though she may not remember, she and I had that time.  We had each other and the whole world revolved around us as the air got colder and the wind got wilder and the tension built and Winter was all of a sudden upon us.

And now, my twin sons (still weird) are 16 months old.  It is not quiet.  It is not peaceful.  But there is no tension building, no wind of change and the days are getting warmer rather than colder.  Summer is coming.

And I feel that I am here, in this life, living it, playing in it, crying at it, like I was then.  Because in between the then and now, I feel like I coped on the sidelines and watched the world happen – doing what needed to be done.

Oh, I loved, I laughed, I cried.  I lived.  But I wasn’t living IN it.  I was living in some far off land called Copetown, off the coast of Survivalville and probably very close to Lost In Space.

Fraser & Oscar, 6 months old.

I feel immersed in my life, now.  I feel like I’m a very active member of it.  I feel like I have come up for air, exhaled and found that I like the fresh breeze enough to stay.

I am losing weight, I am laughing more (yes, it’s possible), I am able to walk with my children, every day if I wish, and I feel connected, wired into my world.  I am socialising, I am walking, I am talking, I am blogging, I am studying and I am washing.
I will always be washing.

Benjamin Franklin got it wrong.

Nothing is certain but Death and Taxes.  And Washing.

There will always be ups and downs.  It won’t always be closer to Summer than Winter.  And there most definitely won’t always be bluebirds on my shoulder.  But at least I’m here, feeling it, meaning it, wanting it.  This life I’ve been given. These children I’ve been blessed to give the world.  These children who have hung the moon, yet exhaust me, emotionally and physically.  Mentally drain me.

I think the point is to have good drainage.  Don’t you?

Cupcakes galore!

Today I’m linking up with Help!Mum for her Morning Tea Recipe Swap, so head on over and check it out. Also, help me win some Bondi Chai because I love Chai:

Morning Tea Recipe Swap @ Help!Mum

Chocolate Cupcakes & Vanilla Cream cheese Cupcakes:

Photobucket
Obviously served with Whipped Cream (not butter, read on) and Strawberries. Also, check out the lovely shadow of my hand. Classy.

First, slice some strawberries and sprinkle with caster sugar.  Set aside until you are ready to serve.
Chocolate Cupcakes: using the Quick and Easy Chocolate Cake recipe from allrecipes.com.au

Ingredients

1 cup sugar (I used caster sugar, but normal white would be fine)
1 cup self raising flour
2 Tbsp Cocoa Powder (I used about 4, but I like my chocolate as dark and chocolatey as I can get it)
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla essence (I used a liberal splash of Kahlua, because, well, I could, but you could also use coffee.  In the words of My Bestie Amelia “coffee just does something to chocolate that makes it really yummy”)
1/2 cup of milk
75g butter, melted

Directions

1. Put patty pans in small muffin/cupcake tin
2. Put all dry ingredients in a bowl and mix well to remove all lumps.
3. Add eggs, vanilla (or Kahlua or coffee) and milk, mixing well.  Add melted butter and stir until mixed and glossy.
4. Use a well-filled ice cream scoop to put mixture into patty pans – I find that that it puts just the right amount in to the pan so as not to have overflowing cupcakes.
5. Bake in a moderate oven (I use 180 Celsius in my gas, fan-forced oven) for around 15-20 minutes.

Vanilla Cream cheese Cupcakes (adapted from My Bestie Amelia’s Cream Cupcake recipe)

Ingredients
2 eggs
1 cup of sugar
250g Cream Cheese (softened)
Vanilla Essence (just a splash)
1 1/4 cup of sifted self raising flour
Pinch of salt
Milk

Directions
1. Beat eggs and sugar together until light and fluffy
2. Add softened cream cheese and beat until smooth
3. Add vanilla
4. Add flour and salt and mix until fully combined.
5. If your cupcake mixture is too thick or dry looking, add splashes of milk until it is a smooth yet still dense consistency.
6. Bake at 180 degrees for 20 minutes, or until brown on top.

Serve with whipped cream and strawberries.

**Note** Whilst whipping cream, it’s probably best to keep an eye on things.  I turned my cream to butter by walking away from it and completely forgetting. Mmmm, sugary butter.  Delicious.  NOT.  I had to send Pal down for more cream, and honestly, he was not happy about it. AT ALL.  I think he thought I was a good baker before we married.  No, honey.  I was not.  That’s why I married you.  A baker.

A Confession

I hate admitting it, but sometimes I get overwhelmed. I hide in the bathroom. I hide in the pantry. I hide in the laundry or at the clothes line. I hide in my room. I hide from my husband. From my children. From all the responsibilities that I have assumed in such a short time. From the past year. From the past two years. From the past five years and beyond. I hide out as long as I can. As long as it takes for Roo or Paul to call out “Ma-ham, Muuuuummmmmmaaaaaa”, bringing me back down to Earth, back to our house and to my job. “Mother”, “wife”.

Other times, I pretend to be so asleep that I can’t be woken. So that Paul will give the boys a bottle during the night without bothering me to breastfeed. So that for once, it’s not my responsibility, my turn, my life.

I can’t always hide. I can’t always get away in my head. I can’t always fix it by singing a fun song to the children (thank you Yo Gabba Gabba for your catalogue of feel-good tunes).

Or with a hot sugary tea and piece of chocolate (Harry Potter vs. the Dementors style).

I can’t always laugh away the sense of drowning in a small town life with three beautiful children that are meant to make it all worth while. And they do. 9 times out of 10. The other time, that other awful time, I wonder if I wouldn’t be better off away from here. If my children wouldn’t be better off with a mother who wanted to be here 10 times out of 10, rather than only 9. A mother who cleaned their home top to toe. Who found activities and kept them busy all day. Who structured their days and kept them fed with the most nutritious food (no more chicken nuggets and baked beans, sorry kids). Who dealt with tantrums swiftly and kindly. Who never yells. Who never fights with Daddy. A mother who gets showered and dressed and made up with hair done and shoes on every day. Who bakes and whose baking is not only scrumptious, but never fails. I wonder, frankly, if they’d be better off with Mary Poppins. And then I remember that Mary Poppins isn’t real, and that at the end of the day she’d leave my kids via a magical updraft and a talking parrot of an umbrella. So perhaps they’ll just be stuck with me instead, seeing as I have neither an endless abyss of a nappy bag, nor a talking parrot umbrella that niftily knows when and where the wind will hold my weight. Also, I don’t dole out spoonfuls of sugar with medicine, sorry kids.

I wonder sometimes if perhaps I wasn’t meant for this life. Or not meant for it yet. At 27 I’m not a particularly young mother, but it’s not like I had a career to speak of yet, an exciting life lived, I’ve never been overseas. But I have three children. Three children 2 and under. I really don’t think about it much, other than in terms of logistics (car seats, prams, nappies, food). But when I do I realise what a huge undertaking it is. How much is expected of me. That’s a classic hide-in-the-pantry moment right there. Hopefully with some of my deplorable baking. Even bad brownies are delicious when you are hiding in a pantry away from three babies. And Roo, even though she’s 28 months old, is still a baby in so many ways. And the boys, my precious twins, my tiny babies, were newborns for such a long time. They fed every hour and a half for the first four months at home, day and night. Then by 5 months it was 2.5 hours. Then by 6 it was 2.5 during the day, every 4 overnight. Its gradually gotten longer and longer, and by the grace of god I am finally so much more than a jersey cow to them. Now they feed every four to five hours, with solids in between and only once or twice overnight, if at all. It’s a long time which has passed insanely quickly. I feel like Stephanie from No Ordinary Family (how metaphoric is her superpower by the way!). I just go about my day and the world seems to fly by me as if I move at super speed.

But it seemed like such a long drag at the time. It seemed as if Oscar and Fraser would never get past their newborn-ness, that they would never grow and develop into infants, rather than teensy babies. And yet last week I saw Fraser claw his way to stand against the couch, and today I saw him cruise along reaching desperately for his sister’s Ariel barbie, put there so as to be out of his reach. Two days ago saw Oscar clap for the first time, out of the blue and unprompted, before his big brother has even thought about the idea of clapping. He was so proud of himself (and happened to be applauding both mine and Roo’s taste in boots). All those hours of “If You’re Happy and You Know It” do pay off, apparently.

I guess I’m writing this because I want people to know that being overwhelmed as a mother is such a common feeling. I get called a “super mum” so often, and I always feel like such a fraud. Like they don’t know that I give my child tomato sauce and chocolate and lollies, and sometimes even *gasp* cordial in her water. Like they think I spend my days in a pristine home, with perfectly ironed clothes and never a washing build up to be seen. Like they think that my children are blessed with this amazing woman who cares nothing for the world she left behind because of her children’s smiling faces. I feel like they are talking to someone behind me. Because I’m not a super mum. I have one super power – resilience, like most mums I know. Resilience is the key for me. Its the key to everything. If I stand strong and firm 9 times out of 10, then that 1 time will be forgiven by my children and by my husband. If I get through early childhood, childhood, tween years, adolescence and beyond. If I can make it through all of that, then maybe, at some point, along with being a mother and a wife, it might be time for me to just be me for longer than five minutes in the pantry. Maybe I’ll even go for coffee with friends. Go back to uni. Finish that degree that I started when I was a teenager full or academic promise (look at me now, teachers, I’ve got so much more in my hands than a book, something just as precious, just as challenging, but much less exalted).

I’m not a super woman. I’m pretty ordinary. I just got dealt a hand and now I must play it. At times I must bluff my way through. And I don’t need to win the game, I just need to leave the table breaking even.

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