Hello there poppets! / L Plate Mama

The black dog was nipping at my heels when I got back from the UK, with very little light finding me. I didnt want to write. And then when the sunshine glimpsed from the heavy grey clouds I was deep into my studies, and then Christmas was here rushing up to meet us, practically running at me headlong. And now I am here. In the waste land of the year,  in between Christmas and New year.  Where no one knows what day it is, and everyone eats too much. But it's worth marking. This time. As my youngest has finished kinder, and is off to school in little over a month. I will have no children at home with me. My little companion will be learning and making friends. I'm so happy for him. But God I am I going to miss him. A big fat tear is rolling by cheek as I write. It is the closing of a chapter, and it has been a great chapter. My Moo is such a good soul,  and it has been delightful this last year.  Before that his strength of character was not always such a delight, ...

What I've learned... No, it's not all going to be ok. Bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to greedy awful selfish people. There is darkness and there is loneliness, there is guilt and fear. There's the feeling of deep dread when everything is going well;  the paperthin impermanence of the present. The blink and then it's gone moments of bliss, happiness, perfection. But what good does it do to hold on to the dark. It's not a talisman that will ward off the awfulness. It doesn't stop the lowness, the bleakness, the dread. It shuts out the light. The small incremental moments of contentment. The light through the trees, the crunch underfoot, the spring sun on your skin, the giggle of joy that escapes from a loved one, the taste of fresh strong coffee, the feeling of clean sheets on bare skin. The thousand acts of kindness,  grace, fun and goodness carried out by all the complicated humans around you. And dogs; the innate goodness of canines g...

Sunday mornings these days find us braving the elements on the edge of a soccer pitch. I’m there, rugged up, shouting encouragement, suggestions/instructions and empathising. One of the other mums turned to me to say that I was giving her anxiety with my commentary. As much as her words have stayed with me they haven’t had the traction they once might have. I am mother’s daughter, and there are somethings I was never going to do quietly; cheering on my kids in sport was always going to be a noisy affair. My brothers played rugby briefly (forgive me bros if it was longer…), and I have clear memories of mother screaming from the sidelines, memories tinged with teenage embarrassment. I checked in with Chops that he was ok with my vocal encouragement, he just looked at me blankly, “yeah its fine Mum, just don’t shout at us telling us off”. And that’s not what I do, not then anyway, shouting telling off is nearly always saved for within our own four walls at the end of long days… or ...

Yesterday I thought I might be finally beginning to master this parenting business. Two kids activities with no essential items forgotten, dinner prepared and ready to go when we got home, reader done, kids fed, clean and in PJs. I'd even made friggin muffins with moo. Just a few more minutes until storytime and bed. And then Nits. I was calmly having a general head scratch and I found a creepy tiny little critter. Checking Chops he was definitely infested. We rugged up and piled in the car to the late night pharmacy.  Being our first case of nits I put my itchy family in the calm lovely sales assistants hands. The 10 minutes formula in hand we headed home, discussing the finer details of nits while I squirmed in my seat. The process of removing nits is long. And gross. And sort of fascinating.  After I de-nitted us, stripped and remade the beds the boys didn't get to bed until 9pm. I sat down on the couch, and the Bella-dog started scratching furiously...

Sand encrusted plastic construction vehicles, cricket stumps and pansies greet visitors on my porch. On my entrance table is a Spiderman DVD case, keeping the company of a papermache icecream in a paper waffle cone.  There are dinosaurs in my laundry, broken goggles on the washing machine. Cogs, cables and metal innards have been abandoned on the rug; reminants of the new-tech spinning top milarkee. Captain America has fallen in battle beside the bookshelf in the hall. On the top of bookshelf is a misshapen pottery Christmas tree, overlooked in the post-yuletide clear up, and a set of baby-sign cards that haven't been needed for 3 years. A polar bear captain with his pirate cat firstmate reign in the bathtub. Foam bullets can be found under every conceivable piece of furniture, testimizing my capitulation to indoor warfare.  In an usual display of collaboration a duplo, wooden block and magnet city has risen in the front room, with tiny rooms packe...