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Escape from Buggy-traz….

I can usually be seen huffing and puffing, pushing my big red double buggy which accommodates my two youngest children, most weekdays, as I head down to the school to collect my junior infant.

Yesterday my mam timed a visit perfectly with collection time, so I decided to leave my baby with her while I went to pick up my son. My two year old asked if he could come along and decided he wanted to walk. I thought it might be a good idea to give him a little practice at it, as I’m hoping to move him to a buggy board type thing soon.  The whole excursion reminded me why I usually restrain him!

 

To somewhat very loosely paraphrase Daddy Pig in his consideration of muddy puddles, “to be at one with a two year old who is free, one must think like a two year old who is free”!

1.   Two year olds are fast, very fast.  Within a micro second of having walked out the front door he was off, insisting there was no need to hold my hand because he was a big boy and there were no cars coming.  I ran most of the way to school in a sideways crab like fashion trying to near pin him alongside the wall while dodging parents and little girls on their scooters who had just left school.

2.   Two year olds are like magpies, well mine is anyway…except things don’t need to be shiny.  All manner of things can grab his attention.  One minute he was belting along the path on the way to collect his brother, the next minute he spotted dog poo, then a worm, then a paw patrol scooter.  The first two he stopped to examine, the last one made him turn in the opposite
direction and run after the child on it!

3.  Two year olds are at the perfect height for parked car wing mirrors and older kids school bags. Both of which he managed to run into on his journey.

4.  Two year olds have an uncanny ability to choose the place of maximum potential audience for a meltdown.  After his collision with the second school bag of a dancing junior infant girl (their school finishes five minutes before my son’s school and is located directly beside it) and my insistence that he was holding my hand the rest of the way, I could sense one building. I started to wonder how many people around actually realised he was mine and, if it all kicked off, could I stand on the periphery with folded arms (once he was safely within the confines of the school playground of course) and pretend to look around for his mother.  Thankfully the crisis was averted -  he spotted a crow.

5.  Two year olds see. Two year olds want. Two year olds go and get. When we arrived at the school he spotted his big brother waiting in his line.  Normally the teacher allows the boys to go to the person collecting them one by one as she spots them.  My two year old bulldozed through the crowd of waiting parents and launched himself at his brother. Quickest pick up ever!

 

We ran the whole way home

 

What’s that in the toilet?

Over the years my children have put various items down our toilet.  Mobile phones, plastic bath ducks, Iggle Piggle and one of my husband’s ties (which was used as a fishing rod) have all met their watery end at the bottom of our lavatory. We had a new one today though.

There was a lot of activity going on in our bathroom this morning and not just the usual meeting of minds that regularly takes place there, when one of my younger kids needs to do a poo. In a house where most of the children have no mute button, silence is always treated with particular suspicion. Upon further investigation it appeared that there was every reason to be suspicious.

My five and two year olds were found examining the toilet bowl where some mushy type something or other was floating in the water. “What’s going on?” I asked “Whats that in the toilet?” Two guilty heads looked at each other. “It’s a breakfast waffle” my five year old replied. “And how did it get there?” I asked. “It popped out of the toaster and landed there” he said. “So it popped out of the toaster, flew up the stairs and landed in the toilet? I asked. “Yep” he replied nodding his curly head in earnest honesty. “It’s in the toilet” my two year old added, just in case I wasn’t clear.

“Don’t worry mammy” the five year old said as I muttered in disgust “I got most of it out with daddy’s toothbrush”…….

One of those nights!

My baby is a terrible sleeper, I mean absolutely shockingly bad and the last few months have involved me functioning in a sleep deprived stupor with several moments of confused dreams versus reality. In fairness none of his older siblings slept either as babies so I can’t claim that I didn’t know what I was getting into but that doesn’t make it any easier when you’re going through the torture that is sleep deprivation.

Yesterday, exhaustion was really catching up with me so I set myself the target of hitting the sack before midnight and preferably by 10:30.  That
is no mean feat in this house! The baby is the only one who tends to wake up at night here, except for bouts of illness, so with no homework or school to get ready for the next day, there was never a better opportunity to catch up (a little bit anyway), on much longed for sleep .

The evening went a bit like this
9:00 p.m. My teenage daughter suddenly decides she needs to know all about quadratic equations, now, not tomorrow or the next day, but at this very moment in time.  Her life practically depends on it (I suspect a maths test is looming that I haven’t been told about – it couldn’t possibly be the Junior Cert because that’s a whole five weeks away!)

10:00 p.m. The two year old comes down the stairs.  He has decided it’s morning time

 

10:15 p.m The five year old calls to say the two year old is
in his bed…..again

10:30 p.m. The five year old comes down the stairs….just
because

10:45 p.m The nine year old comes down the stairs because he
has a cramp behind his knee

11:00 p.m The eleven year old comes down the stairs to
remind me that I have to sign the note for for his school tour (have I
mentioned my primary schoolers have no school this week)

11:30 p.m. Husband goes to feed the dog, forgets he has already put the alarm on, opens the back door, baby awake!

12:15 a.m  baby fed , changed and finally settled, I fall into bed exhausted

1:10 a.m baby awake again, wants a quick feed and cuddle

2:25 a.m. Five year old comes into the room.  Says he has been burping a lot and needed to say excuse me. Apparently he couldn’t just say it to himself. He needed someone to hear it or else it would be bad manners. I look at him bleary eyed. Its 2:25 in the morning, far too early or late to consider the whole “if a tree falls in the wood and there’s no one to hear it” philosophy

2:30 a.m Baby wakes….. repeat 1:10 a.m.

3:00 a.m Two year old appears convinced the Gruffalo is
after him

3:25 a.m Two year old reappears to tell us he loves us, and he loves food and he loves the fridge apparently. He also thinks he might need a wee

3:45 a.m. Baby wakes , just to check I’m still about

4:30 a.m Nine year old appears, cramp behind his knee again and he wonders if we know whether or not he will be going to his friends for a
sleepover this week

4:45  a.m. Baby wakes – weak with the hunger!

5:30 a.m. Baby wakes to check he hasn’t been abandoned

6:25 a.m. I wake to hear the two year old singing in his bed “We dig for diamonds, we dig for gold”, a song from Ben and Holly ………and a new day
begins!

 

Darkness into the light

A man called to my house today looking for sponsorship for a walk he is doing.  A “darkness into the light” walk in aid of Pieta House.  He didn’t go into any particular reason behind his decision to take part in the walk but it was clear that he felt passionate about the worthwhile cause behind it. The poignant symbolism of the “darkness into the light” walk is not lost on
many.   I have seen so much activity on Facebook in recent weeks with wonderful people working so very hard to raise sponsorship for the same cause, some in the name of a loved one tragically lost to suicide. It is a worst nightmare for many of us but a living heart-breaking reality for others.

Very few of us will go through our lives without being affected either directly or indirectly by mental health issues.  Whether it’s ourselves, family members or friends, depression in its many forms, is indiscriminate.  It doesn’t care about your age, your culture, your beliefs, your wealth or your social status. It doesn’t care who depends on you, who loves you or how much you appear to have – and it lies.  It tells great big whopping lies. It tells the person in its grip that things are hopeless, that they are worthless, that there is no escape. Depression convinces a person that there is something to be ashamed of in how they’re feeling.  Depression is ruthless

In seeing how many celebrities are now speaking about their own personal battles with depression I hope that this will somewhat lessen the
stigma associated with depression.  I hope it will give our young people someone to look at and realise that depression can affect anyone, at anytime. I hope it will give them the strength to reach out for the help and support they need. I hope it will help others realise that they are not alone. Too many beautiful souls have already left this earth before their time.

 Well done to all those due to participate in the “darkness into the light” walk and run. I hope you raise a fortune!  A truly and exceptionally worthy cause ~ Jen

Morning Chaos!

The mornings never quite go as I’d like, or hope.  While I have visions of six children and a baby in his highchair sitting around the breakfast table laughing gaily as they eat breakfast in a relaxed and cheery fashion the reality falls very short of this.  It takes five or six attempts to gently rouse my children from their deep slumber every school morning, the sort of deep slumber that never seems to occur at the weekend, before the fishwife in me leaps out and starts roarin, “GET UP NOW OR YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE!” We’re not off to a good start.

As the kids trundle down the stairs some more happily than others, there is shoving and shouts of “leave me alone” and “maaaaaaam he’s annoying me!” Meanwhile I’m rushing around the kitchen calling random children’s names to come and collect their cereal toast and juice.  My ever independent two year old insists “I do it mineself”. I can see what’s going to happen but I can’t stop it….

I mop up the orange juice as quickly as I can before he takes notions of “jumping up and down in muddy puddles” and move quickly to console my snot filled nose bubble blowing baby boy who is grizzling miserably in his high chair. Like his father, he is not a great patient! Next I move on to trying to cajole the troops up the stairs to clean their teeth before they head to school.

It is quite incredible the amount of distractions that can be encountered en route to the bathroom.  Several more fish wife impressions later they’re down the stairs and almost ready to leave the house.

My final morning battle begins and a disagreement ensues as to whether or not a coat is necessary.  My insistence it’s freezing is shot down as ridiculous, but, as I am mammy, they have to do what they’re told.  To the tune of “hurry, hurry hurry” most of the kids put on their coats and get ready to head out the door.  In scenes reminiscent of Home Alone 2 I do a head count and realise there’s someone missing.  It’s the curly haired one.  I turn around to find him coatless, standing about three feet away from the coat rack , holding his hand out.  “Why are you not wearing your coat” I say, in a less than calm fashion. “I’m getting it” he replies, “I’m just using the
force”. I look at him for a few minutes incredulously…….…….before I burst out laughing.  Ah well, at least the tension is gone and tomorrow is Friday!

 

 

How to beat those homework blues!

The longer evenings are here but school’s not quite out for summer. With another two months plus for the primary schools still to go, homework is still very much on the agenda. Doe eyed children gaze wistfully out the window these evenings, in between giving their brothers and sister a sly dig, longing to be free with their lightsabers and dreaming of a galaxy far far away.

To help make homework a little less stressful and hopefully get it finished that little
bit more quickly I am sharing my top five tips for taking on the time of day
that we all dread…….

1.   Make sure the kids have a snack, get changed, use the bathroom etc, to ensure whatever little opportunities to escape the task in hand that might be proposed by unwilling participants, are taken care of in advance!

2.   Decide prior to beginning, who is doing their homework where, before any arguments start.  If, like me, you have more children than tables, some of your kids may need to share a homework space.  Use the force, or your mammy inside info if you prefer, to know which pairings are likely to result
      in least distraction and prove to be most productive.

3.   Make sure the homework area is as clutter free as possible. A clear desk leads to a clear mind (and those of you who know me can stop laughing now).  It will also help you avoid being called 20 times in the space of 5 minutes to locate a “missing” maths book which is just buried beneath the weekend newspapers!

4.  In this house, stop – starting homework doesn’t really work. Where possible try to allow for a straight run at the homework.Set a realistic target time for the amount involved and don’t  allow your child to go over that. Explain in advance that you will be stopping them after 45 minutes, 1 hour or whatever time you have set and stick to it.  Kids can take as long as they’re allowed to especially if you have daydreamers.  Setting the clock gives them a timeframe to work within.

5.    Positive reinforcement. We hear this term brandished about all the time but it can be a very effective tool when trying to encourage your children to get stuck in and get it done, properly! Whether it’s a comment about how well they are working or the promise of playing outside when they’re finished the carrot definitely works better than the stick here. Even if you feel like banging your head off a wall with frustration about how things are going, try to keep things positive.  It can mean the same thing effectively but
it’s the way you phrase it that matters.  “If you finish that in the next fifteen minutes you can go outside and play with your friends” is much more likely to motivate your child than “you’re not going out with your friends unless you finish that within the next fifteen minutes”.  The latter sentence just
associates yet another negative with homework.

There are some days when even the best laid plans go awry so don’t lose heart. A little consistency can really help, especially when it leads to everyone getting
a bit more of their evening back! #allinthesameboat #homeworkbattles #mamatude

 

 

Family pet

Our dog will be sixteen later this year. He was our first “baby” and is called Rodney (we’re huge Only Fools and Horses fans here!). He is a black and white border collie cross with two different colour eyes. He has an incredibly gentle nature which is tested on a daily basis by an over enthusiastic two year old who tries to use him as a horse and a five year old who tries to coax him into his bubble car. He greets the children excitedly every day when they go out the back to play with him and they in turn never fail to include him when asked about the number in our family – ten of course!

They love to find him asleep in the morning time and take turns to give him a doggy treat or some warm milk on the colder nights before they go to bed themselves. He has worn birthday hats at their parties and has his own Christmas sock complete with embroidered name.  He is a much loved part of our family.

But he is old.  These days I can see that he doesn’t have the energy to play with the children as he did before. Now, after a comparatively short while running around with them, he escapes to his kennel to rest and, try as my two year old might, cannot be coaxed back out. His breathing is louder and more laboured, and he’s definitely more grey around the temples. He has been checked over by the vet and is in good health – for his age. Sometimes during the day when I see him lying in the sun, a little bit too relaxed, I bang on the window and disturb the poor fella, just to check……to check what I know is possibly not that far away.

Rodney has met every single one of our children as they came home from hospital. He accepted his fate, as over the years, he moved further and further down the pecking order. He has been through everything with us as a family, playing excitedly through good times and sitting quietly by our feet through the sad ones. My back garden looks as if we own as race horse rather than a dog and we curse him daily for that but my children have learned a lot through having a family pet. They have learned responsibility, compassion foranimals and to always check where you play for dog poo first (definitely the worst part of having a dog!) They have also learned a special type of love.

While my older children are aware and fearful somewhat of Rodney’s advancing years and we’ve tried to prepare them for what might not be too far away, the younger kids remain oblivious.  I know when the day comes there will be heartbreak in this house, after all Rodders has been there their entire lives.  While it seems strange to be considering his obituary just yet, I feel compelled to try protect them from what’s coming, but I can’t. I can’t even bear to imagine him not being here myself. Seems daft, he is after all an animal, not a person, but he’s our Rodders, a plonker in his own right, but still our gorgeous black and white sixteen year old puppy dog.

 

 

The Plague

It’s been a long week. The plague – aka a vomiting bug, hit this house and still hasn’t left yet.  I am drowning in bed sheets and towels and every time I turn around another ashen-faced child is looking at me saying “maaaaam – I don’t feel very well”.

In spite of strategically placed basins at bedtime and constant checking, not one child has so far managed to make it to the bathroom, or even the strategically placed basin. Middle of the night showers, floor scrubbing and bed changing have been a frequent occurrence this week and no amount of open windows, air freshener or scented cleaners can convince me that there’s not a smell of vomit lingering upstairs. School pick ups have been more than slightly challenging, trying to work around AVTs (anticipated vomiting times) and it has been a lonely week as a house with a vomiting bug most definitely makes us personae non gratae among basically, just about everyone.  Not saying I blame them, but, I thought the close friend of mine who did me the enormous favour of collecting my junior infant from school one day this week and basically catapulted him in the door and ran away screaming might have slightly overreacted to the risk involved….

 

I’m clinging on to the hope that having taken almost everyone down at this stage, it will be gone soon, or at the very least, those yet to get it, have a better aim than their predecessors!

Supermarket Sweep!

Few expeditions test our skills and patience as a parent in the same manner as a trip to the supermarket with our children does.  An outing anywhere there are trolleys, treats and queues is not for the faint hearted but it’s a necessity for most of us at some stage during the week. Recently I’ve realised however, that a trip to the supermarket can also teach you a lot about the type of parent you are and those around you. Taking the familiar titles we hear frequently brandished about here are a few of the types I’ve seen in action in recent weeks

1.    The Tiger Mum
Determined that no opportunity will be missed to educate and further her child’s development she can regularly be seen in the aisles asking her two year old to add up the cost of a bag of carrots and two avocados.  She also encourages her little one to repeat the name of every vegetable in three different languages, loudly so that everyone can appreciate how wonderful her child is and more importantly how wonderful a mother she is.  Tends to have very well behaved kids, in the supermarket anyway.

2.       The Helicopter Mum
 
      Dives sporadically in front of oncoming trollies and keeps her hand on the side of own trolley occasionally catching her knuckles on the treacherous shelves littering either side of the aisle, ensuring her precious offspring come to no harm throughout the perilous task that is doing the weekly shop.  Wide eyed children look all around behaving impeccably. They have no alternative, mum is by their sides every second of the way, warding off dangerous old ladies who might come over and admire or speak to them.

3.       The Attachment Parenting type Mum
 
This one is very easy to spot.  She’s generally in the organic section singing to her children.  Difficult to tell how well behaved her children are because she’s still wearing the seven year old in a sling.

4.  The Free Range Parenting type Mum
Basically this is the anti-helicopter mum.  She can be spotted strolling along while her children run, no gallop, up and down the aisles, discovering themselves as they play piggy in the middle and donkey with tins of beans and a chocolate fudge cake.  She is not stressed by events.  She is at one with the supermarket. Her children’s behaviour could be described as wilful or
playful if you were feeling particularly kind.

5.       The bit of every type mam/mum/mom
 
      This is majority of mums/mams/moms shopping. Slightly, (ok a bit more than slightly) frazzled, dishing out orders and threats to her various children, placating toddlers on the verge of tantrums and willing strangers not to engage with those already mid tantrum.  She can be observed expertly manoeuvring the trolley single handedly, up and down the various aisles, knowing exactly what she needs without having to refer to a list, while answering the twenty questions per minute directed at her by her children looking to purchase various items. She smiles weakly and knowingly at other “bit of every type mam/mum/moms” hoping the baby won’t wake up for a feed before she’s finished and willing the queue at the checkout not to be too long. Her children’s behaviour depends on the humour they’re in!

6.       The Dad
     
      Immediately identifiable by the dazed and confused look on his face. A supermarket’s dream, he can be seen regularly referring to a list drawn up by his other half, without which he would spend twice the amount and bring home half the essentials. He can also be heard asking of his children, “how many of you did I bring with me again?” His unease in the unfamiliar surroundings is palpable. His children’s behaviour is typically supportive.  They know this can be an overwhelming experience for him.

     Who would have thought shopping could be such an eye opening experience!

Miscarriage

Finding out you’re pregnant is often one of the most exciting times in a woman’s life.  From the time the test confirms it, our heads are filled with dreams, ideals and plans about how life will change and immediately we mentally prepare for the nine months ahead. Impending parenthood beckons for the first time or again, all going well – but sadly, sometimes it doesn’t.

It’s estimated that roughly one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage, though it has been suggested that the rate may well be higher taking into account the fact that many miscarriages occur before a woman even knows she is pregnant. With statistics like this it’s not surprising that most of us will know someone who has been affected by miscarriage or maybe will have been through it ourselves.  Even armed with the numbers, if it happens to you it can be one of the saddest and loneliest times.  A dream shattered, a
heart broken, a baby lost.

I have been pregnant eleven times.  I have seven children.  Nothing could have prepared me for the first time I had a miscarriage.  I was young, with
a toddler already and it was the furthest thing from my mind.  I will never forget hearing the sonographer confirm that there was no heartbeat. I will never forget moving into the doctor’s room to discuss whether or not I wanted an ERPC or to wait for “nature to take it’s course”.  I will never forget that surreal feeling leaving the hospital and going home to my toddler daughter, looking at her knowing the sibling we thought she would have earlier, was not to be.  I will never forget the emptiness I felt the next day when I woke from the anaesthetic after the “procedure” and I remembered my baby was gone.

Future pregnancies were overshadowed by my real fear and knowing, that something could go wrong and in between the births of other children, it did indeed go wrong three further times. People often don’t know what to say to you at the time and even well intentioned comments and remarks can
really hurt.  I just wanted to have someone to talk to and recognise that I should have had that baby.

That’s one of the difficult things about miscarriage, people deal with it differently and it can be hard for the person looking in to know what to do and for the person going through it to know if their reaction is “appropriate” almost.  There is no right or wrong way to feel.  There is only the way you do feel.

 

Four different angels hang on our Christmas tree every year, alongside individual decorations belonging to my seven children. Our eleven precious decorations take pride of place and make us smile now instead of cry. I know what a lucky woman I am.  My beautiful rainbow babies came but, the four who started their journey and never completed it, live always in my heart.
~Jen