Qs & As of Mothering Mediocrity & My Mommitment Commitment

During the month of May, I've jumped on the Mommitment train. If you don't know what this is, the Mommitment Facebook Page describe it as a 'movement bringing moms together by asking for a commitment to try and show compassion and support instead of judgement and shame.' We mums give ourselves a hard enough time. We don't need to be brought down by Ms Sancto Judgy McJudge, and we certainly shouldn't be putting down anyone else, either. We need to cut ourselves a break. No matter who we are, where we are from, and however many creatures you have had burst forth from your chest cavity (or your girly bits for that matter) we are all bound by motherhood. There's no one size fits all. There's no perfect mother. Let's stop the school yard judgements, start recognising the unique parenting styles we all have and bask in the awesomeness of our own little creations. After all, we were blessed with the fertile ability to procreate - a 'luxury' not every woman can attain - so let's have each other's backs. It takes a village, people. Simples.

With five kids, I've had my share of criticisms and mothering eyebrow-raising moments. Sometimes, I've lacked effective parenting foresight. My five kids are unique. They have been raised by the same parents exhibiting the same love, rules, morals, values, affection, and expectations, and despite this I have five very, very different individuals. So very different that on many occasions, I question whether I am their biological mother.

One thing I have realised from sharing on my Cut My Milk Facebook page, is that I am far from being alone in this mothering gig, especially on my crappiest of days where I'm ready to run away to join a circus in the Bahamas (or Greenland - I'm not fussed, as long as I'm alone) or prepared to wear prison orange. Mothers like to hear that other mothers have hard days, that they have kids who can be freaking asshats over tiny first-world bullshittery, and who can find guiltless submission to a day's worth of Maccas because the thought of preparing meals for fussy eaters and cleaning up again and again and again is too much to cope with. 

So I thought I'd answer a few questions about my mediocre mothering awesomeness. If you'd like to - and I'd really, really love you to - answer the same questions and send them on to little ol' me to share on this blog. As they say, sharing is caring, and your mothering adventures could help another mum somewhere in the world.

Something we all love to share (and read) are birth stories. These are sometimes epic tales of torture and horror and one-upmanship... Yeah, you think that was bad? I was in labour for 72 hours without drugs and birthed my 5kg child through my nose.

How many kids do you have and at what age did you have them? 

What were their birth weight(s)?

How did you have them? Natural? At home? Drugs, drugs & more drugs? C-section? 

Some days, I have five too many kids. Some days. 

I had my son Campbell when I was 28 and my husband was 26. I was given birth dates anywhere between Christmas Eve 1999 and the 13th of January 2000. On the 4th of January, I was told he was 'a little tacker', that he was sitting up high in my belly and that I would probably meet him in two weeks time. With a few exhausted tears and a 'fuck that shit', I left the doctor's and waddled to the shopping centre. My waters broke an hour later, and after three more days, heaps of drugs, antibiotics, a broken venteuse, forceps, a crowd of obstetric students staring at a massive head tearing up my clunge, an unexpected 9lbs14oz, 57cm long, three month old-looking baby boy clawed his way out. I discharged myself out the very next morning without even knowing how to bathe my baby, and needless to say, we didn't go back to that hospital.

I was 30 when I had Ella in 2001. She was a pretty straight forward, drugs-a-plenty delivery, despite being sunny-side up and tearing me from chin to the back of my neck (you wanted that imagery, right?). She was a dainty 9lb1oz. I had uncontrollable fanny farting when the nurse stitched me up, her head mere centimetres from the action. You wanted to hear that also, didn't you? They say they've seen it all, but nurses still don't get paid enough.

Lily & Grace, Day 1.

No kisses for Lily.

My IVF long-shot twins were delivered by elective cesarean at 36 weeks. I was 37 years old. I measured 57 weeks pregnant. I felt 57 weeks pregnant. I was the guinea pig for an anaesthetist who was doing her first epidural. I hate this girl with a passion. Grace was yanked out first and a minute later Lily was out. They were 6lb and 6lb1oz. They spent their first two weeks in a Special Care Nursery & I couldn't kiss them without a mask on for the first few days as I had the flu. Swine Flu was the Disease du Jour & all precautions were taken. No, I just had the arse-end of a lurgy.

2kg of cheeks

Scarlett was a surprise. A wonderful scary surprise, and off the back of a miscarriage shortly before she was conceived. I was told that because of her thick nuchal fold (an ultrasound marker for Down Syndrome) and because I was over 40, the chances of having a child with Down Syndrome was quite high. I continued the pregnancy. Obviously. In 2012, a perfectly healthy, perfectly enormous 10lb12oz baby Scarlett was born by cesarean. My tubes were tied. Tight.

What is one thing you would have done differently as a mum?

I would have taught them how to do chores from birth. Now I feel I'm teaching old dogs new tricks, and they won't do tricks for free. You've made a rod for your back, I can hear my Grandma call from beyond the grave. Shaddup Grandma.

How are you and your own mum similar?

My Mum & Me. 

I never wanted to admit it while she was alive, but I've noticed a few things that I do that I could see in my mum. The way she would stand in the kitchen (I now live in the same house I grew up in. It's not as cool as it sounds) and would lean over the bench with her head resting on one hand, and nodded and uh-huh-ed to conversations she wasn't really listening to ~ that's me. The way she rocked the Silent Treatment when she was pissed with Dad ~ me with my husband. The way she'd let her kids speak the way they did to her, chastise her over stupidly intolerant things, and get away with murder ~ me again. The way she'd do any thing and at any time for her kids ~ sort of me. 

What behaviour/quality/habit/quirk of yours would you love to see in your own children when they grow up?

I hope they develop their own sense of humour and sarcasm and I think they're already on their way to achieving these. I'd love them to want to learn, have the drive to succeed in anything they truly want in life, but with the understanding that nothing is set in stone, paths can be changed and these experiences are what shape us. I want them to have the same passion for learning as I do. I'm starting to see some of these things in them.

What behaviour/quality/habit/quirk of yours would you not want to see you kid(s) inherit from you?

Good God. How long is this blog post going to be? Where do I start?
I don't want them to experience depression and anxiety as I have. Unfortunately, it's starting to show in my teenagers. I don't want them to be stress-heads. I want them to be able to control their emotions, particularly anger (which is a by-product of anxiety for me). I don't want them to inherit my seriously poor housekeeping (again, already showing - monkey see, monkey do), my terrible management of all things financial, and what feels like a permanent 'KICK ME' sign attached to my back.

What advice would you give a soon-to-be mum about motherhood (assuming she wants your freaking advice)?

Of course, mums-to-be want unsolicited parenting advice! I could fill a toilet with all the parenting advice I've been given about how to raise babies, raise teens, raise husbands, and my personal favourites of all the things I'm doing wrong as a mother. You want my advice? You know what you should do? Listen to all the advice these well-meaning-heart-of-gold parents give you. Nod politely. Agree if you have to. Then do what you want to do, need to do and can do. Being a mum is not a one-size-fits-all proposition. Stick with your own beliefs, your own experiences, your own upbringing and don't be afraid to ask (the right people) for help and advice when you need it. There are very few things you can do to stuff this up. Feed, clean, clothe, love, keep them safe and healthy and keep yourself safe and healthy. Know your own body and stress levels. If you suspect you're not coping or have unusual or out-of-character thoughts, don't be too proud or too scared to get help. Postnatal Depression and Post Partum Psychosis are very real and very dangerous. They fuck you up. Trust me. I know. Get help.

Dry shampoo will be your best friend.

I learned by the fifth baby this handy dandy gem - don't be a martyr. Don't sacrifice yourself and your needs as a human. If you have a husband or partner, have them help with night feeds, nappy changes, and let you have rest. Rest doesn't have to mean 'sleep' -although that's a bonus - but time away from Groundhog Day is important. And I think it's only fair that both of you are just as sleep deprived as each other. Neither one of you has the 'more important job' to do the next day.

Great advice from inappropriatemoms.com

What advice would you have liked to have received before you became a mum?

Get sleep. Tell your own mum that you now really, really, really understand why she did what she did, and appreciate the sacrifices she may have made. I want to tell my mum so badly that I understand the heartbreak and pain I must have caused her on many thoughtless occasions, and that if my child did anything like that to me I would be devastated. Well, they have and I was.

Breast is not always best. 

You don't have to like being a mum every second of every muthafucking day. You don't have to take on board every piece of advice and opinions. Like the adage goes: Opinions are like arseholes. Everyone has one. 

Were you an insta-mum? Did motherhood come naturally to you? What did/do you find difficult about being a mum? What do you think is the best thing about motherhood?

Hell no! But I wanted this baby (my first) so badly, I was fixated on all the wonderful mothers in TVLand who found motherhood an easy and precious gift. I had been a primary school teacher and a teacher of the deaf and thought - no, believed - that if I could handle classrooms of kids and kids who couldn't hear, then becoming a mum would be a piece of piss. No. It wasn't. I hated his crying. I hated breast feeding. I hated my husband for going to work every day. I hated myself. I hated what I'd become. I hated all the mums at mother's group who gushed and gooed at their babies and loved every minute of being a mum. I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know what this small creature wanted, I didn't ask for help, I didn't want people to know I felt like I was failing. I'd never failed anything before. None of my friends had babies at that point and I felt hopeless, useless and alone. I wanted someone to take my baby away from me but I didn't want anyone to touch him. 

The best thing about motherhood? I know this sounds cliché, but you really would take a bullet for your kids. You feel their pains. You want to be there for them through anything, but you know you need to let them make their own mistakes and experiences. It's pretty awesome knowing you created these weirdos. I don't always feel I'd do this, coz some days I just want to throw them into next week, but I'm fairly sure I would take a bullet for them. I think I would. I want to get a tattoo of their names all up my arm. Doesn't that count as devotion? 

So how about you?
Would you like to share your mothering thoughts on here? Add them to the comments below. They don't have to be long winded like mine...

Let's spread the motherloving love around the world.

Confessions of a mediocre mummy

I'm at a point in my mediocre parenting that I'm starting to question things I know that I know, and second guessing every move I make, when it comes to raising my kids. You'd think that when it comes to the fifth kid I'd be pretty much on top of things - milestones, language development, potty training, yadda, yadda, yadda. The books tell you, in one long-winded breath, that there's no 'one-size-fits-all' rule to raising a child, yet you must follow these steps and these steps only or risk being branded an incompetent and neglectful parent.

The Feral Five. Campbell, Ella, Grace, Lily & Scarlett. All at 19 months.

When Campbell was born, in all his 9lb 14oz 57cm glory, I freaked when he sneezed, changed his clothes at the slightest dribble, worried if he slept all night, stressed if he didn't sleep at night. Has he had enough tummy-time? Does he need more tummy-time? Was that a squint? Why is he crying? Why isn't he crying? I panicked if his dummy dropped to the floor and I didn't have a sterile replacement. Everything had it's arse boiled out of it in the name of hygiene. I breastfed because I was told to, used cloth nappies because I was told to, did everything I was told to do (however, nobody told me not to have a Thai Green Curry or seeded fruits when breastfeeding, but that's a whole different, and messier, story. Ok, I'll tell it, but quickly, K? So, I'd gone out with friends for the first time since having Campbell, and demolished a plate of Thai entrees and a mean Green Curry. I didn't drink, coz I knew booze plus boobie juice does not result in good mummying, according to the books. I only needed to feed Campbell twice to get the results - one cranky baby who cried all morning, looked at me with a 'Why, Mummy, why?' look, frowned, and with relative ease exploded up and out of his onesie. I kid you not, that khaki coloured baby shit oozed out at his toes and his collar. It was in his hair. And the smell? Dear God.) Anywho, back to the blog…

Ella was different. I was fearful of nappy rash, so I changed her often. I didn't breast feed, but felt the guilt. Breast is best. Breast is best. It was promoted on large posters in feeding rooms at the shopping centres. It was even written on the formula tin. When she sneezed, I didn't just think she was getting a cold, she was getting a cold because I didn't breast feed. Even today, a part of me believes her allergies, asthma and eczema are because I didn't put her on the boob. But she's alive, and I'm alive. And that good, right?

Then, the Wondertwins. Yeah, we sterilised things for a bit. For a few months, we even sterilised the dummies, but once we saw them grab the other's dummy we gave up on that one. Did the cat lick that one? Just run it under the tap. Nappy down to the knees? Maybe time to change them. A comfort bottle of milk at bedtime? Will they go to sleep? Yes? Then a comfort bottle of milk it will be. 

Along came Scarlett.
I tried breast feeding. I got through 9 motherfucking days! 9! I think it was the sleep deprivation that ended it. That and the pain. And the big boob thing, trying not to suffocate her in the process. The first bottle of formula introduced us all to the first full night's sleep. I don't wanna brag, but I will. Since she was about 2 weeks old, she has been a perfect sleeper for 98% of the time. But the mere mention of that will now make her wake screaming every night from now on. My trick is to give her the evil bottle of warmed milk, followed by a dummy or two (one for the mouth, one for the hand), lie next to her and let her fall asleep in my bed. It's peaceful and relaxing and calming for both of us and I like it. The books say a big HELL NO to that practice, and I'm not having much luck with the putting-her-in-her-cot-while-she's-awake biz. Not that I've tried all that often. And I know I'm just making an enormous rod for my already fucked up back, but it works for me. I move her to her cot and we both sleep like husbands until the alarm bleeps at 7:45am. I'm not complaining about that.

But…
The books say Scarlett should be self-settling by now. Dummies should not be cleaned by the cat's tongue. Scraps of food and crumbs should not be eaten from the swept up dust pile in the corner of the room. The dog does not make a good babysitter. Older siblings should not put a leash on her and pretend she's their puppy. She should be saying a few words by now. She's 19 months. She can say 'Mumma' when prompted. And 'Dadda'. And we can hear the vowels & syllables in her attempts to say her sisters' and brother's names when prompted. But she will not initiate speech, except for shouting "Maaaahhhhh!" throughout the house as she looks for me. She can meow like a cat, quack like a duck, pant like a dog, can understand practically everything I say, has a good vocabulary of signs and an even better grasp of the grunt.

Oh, that fucking grunt.

Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh. UGH UGH UGH MAAAAAHHHHH!! Ugh ugh ugh (signs 'more') ugh ugh (points to banana) UGH UGH UGH! I model the spoken word, she signs it. Don't get me wrong - I love that she knows words in sign language! But I want her to stop that fecking ugh ugh ugh grunt before I go out of my ugh ugh ugh bloody (signs 'mind').

I'm slightly nervous and already pissed off based on the conversation I've already had in my head of what the maternal nurse will say about her language development. I do that sometimes - get angry with things that haven't yet happened and very well may not happen. At the Wondertwins' 18 month old check up, we discussed their language, or rather their lack of the 'English' language. Gracie expressed herself with a few Auslan signs and Lily could count to five in Spanish and say various other words learned from Dora The Explorer. The discussion then turned to the amount of television a toddler should watch, and that Gracie needs a 'real' language - oh no you di'int...

And finally...
Confession time. The Wondertwins, at age 4, can't break the dummy habit. They are entering dangerous Suri Cruise territory. I have tried everything that the books say to do, that Elmo says to do, and even things the books says not to do, such as bribery and anger. They will - yes they WILL dammit - be leaving these wretched things for good ol' Saint Nick in a few week's time. So suck on that girls.

By the sixth kid I should be a pro. Right?

Sixth kid? Not on your nelly.

Happy Awesome Chick's Day

Happy Mother's Day to all of you mother's, step-mothers, mother figures, grandmothers, mothers without mothers, not-quite-yet-mothers, working mothers, stay-at-home mothers and mothers of pets-that-act-like-children. 

Actually, fuck Mother's Day. Let's call today 'Awesome Chick's Day'. 

There is such a big emphasis placed on how wonderful and rewarding it is to be a mum (I didn't say that) and a day has marked in recognition of all the marvellous, caring and hardworking mothers out there around the world. I can tell you I am not one of them. Yes, I take the title of 'mother', but I don't see myself as an outstanding example of one. I complain, I nag, I argue, I bitch, I yell, I cry. I'm impatient, easily annoyed, and take pills each night to 'balance my emotions' while I rear five kids. I think I may be allergic to my kids. I come out in a light rash and nervous sweats just thinking about a whole day alone with them. I wish I were somewhere else most of the time and I often wonder what my life would be like if I could turn back time.

Then I look at them and I think I have five kids. They are alive. They are fed. They are (relatively) clean. They have picked up a few manners along the way, as well as a few choice words. Sometimes they show respect. Sometimes they show each other love. All in all, they are good kids. Which, I guess, does make me an ok mum. I'm no June Cleaver or Carol Brady. My house doesn't sparkle with the pride of a stay-at-home-mum and the scent of natural lemon. I see myself as a blend of Lucille Bluth from 'Arrested Development', Debra Barone from 'Everybody Loves Raymond' and Roseanne from...well...'Roseanne'.

In honour of some hilariously funny, hilariously annoying and model mothers that have graced our television screens and movie theatres, I give you some of my favourite mothers and their pearls of motherly wisdom:

Lucille Bluth in Arrested Development (Jessica Walter)
Lucille:   Get me a vodka rocks.
Michael: Mom, it's breakfast.
Lucille:   And a piece of toast.

Lucille:  I just went off my post-partum depression medication.
Michael:  You're still taking that? You had Buster thirty two years ago.
Lucille:  And that's how long I've been depressed about it.

Edina Moon in Absolutely Fabulous (Jennifer Saunders)
Edina:  Oh, darling, Mummy loves you. On the day you were born I knew I wanted you...
Patsy:  However, the day after...

Peggy Bundy in Married With Children (Katy Sagal)
Peggy:  Kelly, it's time we had a little talk. There is a thing men will want you to do when you get married; it's called work.
Kelly:  I'm scared; hold me Mom.
Peggy:  Once you do it though, you'll never have to do it again and there will come a time when your husband comes home smellin' like beer and wantin' some lovin'; you'll follow that fat butt up the stairs because you'll know that no matter how disgusting the next five minutes may be, it's still better than work.
Kelly: Thanks, Mom; you're so wise.
Peggy:  Well, you can't sit on the couch twenty hours a day and not learn something.

Lois Griffin in Family Guy (Alex Borstein)
Meg:  Wow, Chris, did you lose weight? You're wicked skinny, I'm jealous.
Chris:  Thanks Meg. I'm jealous of your moustache.
Meg:  Mom?
Lois:  Oh, it's fine, Meg. It makes you look dignified.
Meg:  But, Mom!
Lois:  Now I love all of my children equally.

Roseanne Connor in Roseanne (Roseanne Barr)
Darlene:  Yo Mom, the lunch lady at school's been sick a few weeks, I think she's gonna die soon, you interested?
Roseanne:  Let's see. Serving crappy food to ungrateful teenagers, how would I know I was at work?

Barbara (David's mom):  Listen to me. I don't want you butting in, telling me, how to raise my kids! Take a look at the two little whores you raised!
Roseanne:  Oh...uh, I'm in this now... You know, if your kid wasn't here, I would take the opportunity to remind you that people who live in glass whore-houses shouldn't throw stones. It's people like you that give white-trash a bad name.

Marion Cunningham in Happy Days (Marion Ross)
Marion:  Your father once even sent me a five-pound box of candy on Valentine's Day anonymously. He was a devil.
Howard:  I never sent you a five-pound box of candy.
Marion:  You didn't?
Howard:  No, I didn't.
Marion:  Then I must have married the wrong man.

Kitty Foreman in That 70s Show (Debra Jo Rupp)
You know I love my family, but sometimes I just want to get in the car and run them all over.

All families are embarrassing; and if they're not embarrassing, they're dead.

Claire Dunfry in Modern Family (Julie Bowen)
Claire:  If Haley never wakes up on a beach in Florida half naked... I've done my job.
Phil:  Our job.
Claire:  Right. I've done our job.

Luke is already the best at something: Being my son. It sounded a lot less lame in my head.

Alex, honey, when you're out shopping, you might want to pick yourself up a training bra. I know you don't need one now but your little boobies are going to come in soon. Mommy loves you, kitten!

Morticia Addams in The Addams Family (Carolyn Jones)
One house. Three children. So many windows.

You've had your shots? Measles, mumps, rabies?

Endora in Bewitched (Agnes Moorehead)
I detest sounding like one of those mothers who thinks they know it all. But unfortunately, I do.

Samantha:  That's what I like about your visits, Mother. You always bring a ray of sunshine into my drab existence.
Endora:  Well, that's what mothers are for, dear.

Lucille Ball in I Love Lucy (Lucille Ball)
Lucy:  Budget my time? You mean like I budget my money?
Ricky:  Heavin forbid!

Francine Smith in American Dad (Wendy Schaal)
May be blonde with great cans, but I'm pretty smart when I've had my eight hours.

Estelle Costanza in Seinfeld (Estelle Harris)
George doesn't work. He's a bum.

I go out for a quart of milk and I come home and find my son treating his body like an amusement park!

It's rude not to serve cake!

Marie Barone and Debra Barone in Everybody Loves Raymond (Doris Roberts & Patricia Heaton)
Marie:  Debra, I don't know why your rolls are all left. I liked them. The burnt part gave them some flavour. Don't worry about those pots and pans, honey. I know how to do those.
Debra:  Well, cleaning is cleaning.
Marie:  You'd think so.

Robert:  Hey, Ma. I told Nemo you were hurt so he threw in these breadsticks for free.
Marie:  These look old.
Frank:  You are what you eat.
Marie:  Robbie, give your father his order of miserable bastard.

Sophia Petrillo in The Golden Girls (Estelle Getty)
Fasten your seatbelt, slut puppy. This ain't gonna be no catwalk!

Sophia:  My God. That's the cutest baby I've ever seen.
Dorothy:  Ma! It's a pig!
Sophia:  Hey, you were no looker when I brought you home from the hospital either. I brought you anyway!

Mama Fratelli in The Goonies (Anne Ramsey)
Kids suck.

Irene Walsh in The Goonies (Mary Ellen Trainor)
Irene:  Brandon, I want you to keep your brother inside. I don't want him to catch a cold.
Brandon:  He should be put in a plastic bubble.
Irene:  I'm serious Brandon! That's not funny. If he takes one step outside and you'll be in the deepest, absolutely the deepest, shi, shi, shi...
Brandon:  Shit Ma!
Irene:  I don't like that language, but that's exactly what you're going to be in.

Caroline Butler in Mr Mom (Teri Garr)
Jack:  My brain is like oatmeal. I yelled at Kenny today for colouring outside the lines! Megan and I are starting to watch the same TV shows. And I'm liking them! I'm losing it.
Caroline:  Honey, I know what you're talking about. I've been there myself, alright?
Jack:  Well, if you're so unhappy, why don't you say something about it?
Caroline:  Because I wasn't unhappy! Look, maybe I was a little confused, maybe I was a little frustrated, but I knew what I was doing was important, because it means something to raise human beings. What saw me through was pride. I've pride in this house, I've pride with my kids, and I've pride being Mrs Jack Butler! Where are you going?
Jack:  I'm goin' downstairs to sleep on the fat couch if I can get through the door.
Caroline:  Yeah, well be sure to take pride in some of the FAT, Porky!

Kate McCallister in Home Alone (Catherine O'Hara)
Kate:  How can we forget this? We forgot him?
Peter:  We didn't forget him. We just miscounted.
Kate:  What kind of mother am I?
Uncle Frank:  If it makes you feel any better - I forgot my reading glasses.

Ellen Griswold in Vacation and Christmas Vacation (Beverley D'Angelo)
Sit down and shut up! Move outta that seat and I'll split your lip!

I'm sorry. This is our family's first kidnapping.

I don't know what to say, except it's Christmas and we're all in misery.

And finally (I don't want to get in trouble for missing this gem again!)...
Jeanine Stifler in American Pie (Jennifer Coolidge)
Stifler's Mom:  I got some scotch.
Finch:  Single malt?
Stifler's Mom:  Aged eighteen years. The way I like it.

I love screen mums. And I know I have missed other brilliant and inspiring mothers in this somewhat extensive list of my faves. A special shout out must go to Shirley Partridge (The Partridge Family), Elyse Keaton (Family Ties), Norma Arnold (The Wonder Years), Mrs Gump (Forrest Gump), Lindsay Bluth Funke (Arrested Development), Marge Simpson and Agnes Skinner (The Simpsons), Elliot's mum, Mary (E.T) and Pamela Voorhees (Friday 13th). Have I missed any?

Linking with Deb's Listmania at homelifesimplified.com.au


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Playing happy family

I have a 13 year old:

an 11 year old:

2 of these: 

and one of these:

I have lots of photos of each, but none of all. So when the opportunity came my way to get all of them in a photo together and incredibly cheaply, I grabbed it with both hands and strangled the life out of it. The catch? The photo op was in Euroa, 200 kilometres away. The problem? Getting a photo with all of my adoraferals in it. At the same time. Together. After driving for 3 hours to get to the photographer. Together. Did I mention for 3 hours, in travelling time, each way, together? As much as I was looking forward to finally getting a picture of all my shitlings looking like they actually like each other, I was browning my knickers thinking what I would be like emotionally and psychologically after the event. I had promised my husband I would bring all of them home from our day trip, and preferably in one piece. He didn't specify what one piece he wanted returned. A little bit of my mind was left in the next suburb, only minutes after we set off from home.

With ten minutes to go before we were to leave home, Campbell was still in bed. Ella was still complaining she had nothing to wear, even on her fifth change of clothes. Scarlett had delivered her morning mud bath in her nappy. Grace had chocolate eyebrows and Lily had changed from pretty to prostitute.

I had asked for something simple - everyone could wear a plain t-shirt with denim jeans or jeggings, and add to it their favourite colour ribbon or headband or shoes (providing it was what I picked). Everyone would match. Or close enough.

Campbell eventually surfaced wearing a dirty black and brown Metallica t-shirt that smelled as bad as it looked. Ella picked a maroon tee with a great oily stain in the middle of her stomach and a tear down the side. Grace wore a pink striped top with a bright swirly floral patterned skirt. Lily put on a thick pink sweatshirt with denim shorts over white floral tights and pink and blue polka dot socks and purple high heels from the dress up box. Hobos and hookers.

Me: For the love of God, put on the bloody clothes I gave you.

Campbell: Fuck this. I don't even want to go.

Me: Watch your language. Clean is all I ask. Not hard.

Campbell: I'm not going.

Lily: But I look pretty. 

Me: True. But waaaay too pretty for these photos. Let's save that outfit for the shops.

I fucking hate Dora.

Grace: I want Dora dress.

Me: Not today.

Grace: I WANT DORA DRESS.

Ella: I can't do this. I have absolutely nothing to wear. And I'm not being in a photo with Campbell unless you pay me.

Me: I'm not paying you.

Ella: Then I'm not standing with Campbell.

Campbell: Fuck you. That's it. I'm not going.

Me: How much do you want?


Dress code gone, but clean clothes agreed, we set off. Three suburbs away, two children crying, one complaining of starvation, one asleep, one who can't hear a thing anyone says, and me close to tears of nervous exhaustion, Campbell turns to me and says, "I don't know how you do it."

Professional photographers are the ultimate illusionists. From the couple of photos I've seen so far, no one would believe the sibling hatred, the impatient sighs of having to stand too close to another, the smells, the tantrums of a three year old who refuses to look at the camera as her face is too tired to smile, the constant nose picking of the other three year old, and the distractions of ducks, dogs and sticks. Hundreds of photos were taken in the hope that a handful will give me the images I want.

A nice, normal, loving family.

Jessica at Angelic Angels Photography, you're worth your weight in gold.

The Adoraferals by
Angelic Angels Photography

My bucket list - in reverse

My Listmania exercise for this week is to write a 'Reverse Bucket List' - a list of all the awesome things I have already done - to celebrate my life. That's a very interesting task for a person with depression. In the wrong frame of mind, I will tell you that nothing interesting or awesome or successful has happened in my life, and that I am just going through the motions until the end of this perpetual nightmare. I know perfectly well that my life has been filled to the brim with wow factors, amazing experiences and personal triumphs. And when we link our blogs on Deb's Home Life Simplified website, we will all see that it is not simply moments of perfection, but more of personal bests and dreams that have come true. One person's 'normality' may be another's person's 'celebration'. 

If I EVER had my own classroom again, this would be on my door.

We spend so much of our time and energy on trying to be the best, to win, to perfect, to achieve, to travel to exotic places, to be rich, to be popular and in doing this we lose sight of all the brilliant things we do have and have done.

I still want to be rich, though.

So, here's a list of stuff I've done in my 41 years that I think were awesome moments in time and that you should think I'm awesome for achieving.

• I was one of the school captains of my primary school.

• I won the Drama Award in Year 12. I think that might be the non-academic version otherwise known as 'Student Who Consistently Brought Fruit For Recess Award'.

• I won a trip to Disneyland when I was in Year 12 (a competition on the TV show 'The Wonderful World of Disney') and despite having to take my family including my Grandma, I had an awesome time. A highlight was when my Grandma, little sister and I went to Mexico and my Grandma - bless her - wouldn't buy bottles of tequila with worms in them for me as I was a minor in the eyes of the States. She got nervous buying the alcohol and thought she was aiding and abetting a 'minor' and abandoned ship. Yes... bless her.

• I became a primary school teacher, teacher of the deaf, and started my masters degree. 

• I performed in some local theatre company's performances. I wish I could do that again. Something I thought I was really good at. Sigh.

• Won a Logie and was nominated for Best Supporting Actress in... (oh, wait, sorry that hasn't happened. Yet.)

• Moved with Tim (my boyfriend) to Shepparton in country Victoria and taught at a Deaf Facility and as a Visiting Teacher for Hearing Impaired Students across the north-east of the state.

• I married my best friend who also happens to be a spunky superhero who looks after his massive brood and works stupidly long, unrewarding hours to do so while I get my hair done, sit around drinking coffee with my friends, the house gets cleaned by a housekeeper and the children are picked up from their private schools by their nanny. Ummm, no.

• I watched my Mum die. I know that doesn't sound like an uplifting and wonderful bucket list item, but I feel that I am truly blessed to have been there in her last moments. 

• I had five amazing, beautiful, loving, funny, annoyingly feral children - who I adore more than anything I have ever known, and who I would like to strangle more than anyone I've ever known. 

• Driven across the Nullabor and back from Melbourne to Perth with two smelly obnoxious 9 and 10 year olds, two cantankerous 15 month old twins and a husband. An award would be nice.

• Driven from Melbourne to the Gold Coast and back with two smelly obnoxious 11 and 12 year olds, two cantankerous 3 year old twins, a 5 month old baby who will not be driven at night and a husband. Seriously, give me an award.

• I started a blog and a Facebook page so I could stand naked (metaphorically) in front of the world and share my life and fears.

I haven't travelled across the world, taught in a remote African village, or been part of a touring circus troupe, and it is very easy to envy everyone else's lives, but I think I'm quite happy with what I have achieved. The moments above have been melded together with hilarious friends, memorable - yet fuzzy -nights out on the vino, tears of laughter and of heart-aching sorrow, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. 

Except to have been rich. 

That would've been really really sweet.

Blogtag

Okey doke, I've been asked to join in a game of Blogtag, by a fellow blogger, Tamara at tzookeeperswife.blogspot.com. The idea is simple - answer the following questions for my peeps to learn more about me, then I tag ten other bloggers to do the same. Unfortunately, I'm such a noob in the bloggy world that I only know a handful of bloggers. I've popped their links below. Have a perve into their world, I'm sure they won't mind new stalkers.

1.  Where were you born?  I was born in a small hospital in bayside Mordialloc - a southern suburb of Melbourne, Australia. I haven't gone far. I live in the next suburb. Boring! 

2.  Were you named after someone? My parents would never admit it, but you've got to see the coincidental link of the thousands of little Lisa Marie's born from 1968 to the early 1970's. Sure, they liked Elvis Presley, but not enough to spell it the same way. I'm Lisa Maree, distinctively different, ok? You ask your friends named 'Lisa' who were born back then and I'll betcha their middle name is Marie. I'll stake my kids lives on that.

3.  If you have children, how many do you have?  God help me, I have 5. I have a 13 year old boy, an 11 year old girl, 3 year old twin girls and a 9 month old pink surprise.

Jasper the Wonderdog.

4.  How many pets do you have?  Currently, we have 3 cats and a dog. I say currently because if that bloody dog keeps digging up my garden he can keep digging the hole for himself. Not long ago we had guinea pigs but they met with a very unfortunate (and unintentional) demise. I felt bad for ages. I didn't mean it. 

5.  What was your worst injury? Which one should I pick? I'm naturally accident and illness prone. I guess the worst one was when I was being a suckhole in my high school trampolining class trying to get an A++. I had a great routine - bounce, pike, tuck, twist, front, back, backflip onto neck. I had landed too close to the not-so-bouncy edge and couldn't get enough lift to finish the flip and ended up sandwiching my legs to my torso splintering my L4 and L5 vertebra. I remember the other girls' laughter being overshadowed by a panicky teacher who saw my lips turn blue on my limp body. Ambulances must not have been invented then, because in her wisdom my teacher carried me off the trampoline, lay me in the back of her station wagon and drove me to the hospital. I was immobilised for a week, started walking gingerly the next and was sent home with only a month off school. Not bad considering my mum was told to prepare for the worst. 

6.  Do you have a special talent?  Uuummmm. No.

7.  What's your favourite thing to bake?  You mean other than rip open a frozen packet of something or empty a jar and throw it in the microwave? Occasionally, I get to make a lasagne. Baking this reminds me of my mum. And it's something that all my kids will eat without complaining. I also make a mean raspberry and white chocolate muffin. Del-lish.

8.  What is your favourite fast food?  Nothing's faster than a Duramine tablet. But when I've actually eaten, I love pizza. That's been my problem. I love pizza. And McDonald's. And KFC Zingers and chips. And a Whopper with cheese. And a souvlaki. See what I'm sayin'?

9.  Would you bungee jump?  Nope. I've seen the When Crazy Shit Goes Wrong TV shows. And besides, when I fall to the end of the rope, my boobs would keep going down and it would get ugly. Then I'd end up on Tosh.0. No thanks. I have my dignity to hold onto, no matter how small it is.

10.  What is the first thing you notice about people? Eyes and smiles. I think you can read a lot about people by looking in their eyes. Sincerity, sadness, secrets...

11.  When was the last time you cried?  I just wrote a blog post about my history with depression and this brought up many things I'd not thought about in a long time. Beautiful responses made me cry with a feeling that I am loved.

12.  Any current worries?  I worry about stupid little things. I worry about my kids at school - the amount of homework they get, problems with peers, etc. I worry that one of my twins may be turning into a psychopath at age 3. I worry that I need to nip that in the bud quick smart. I worry about my family in general. I worry about what people think of me. Stupid little things.

13.  Name three drinks that you drink regularly.  You've caught me in a transitional phase. Two weeks ago, I would have said Pepsi, Moscato and Margaritas. I'm trying to be really good and now I would say mineral water, water and Margaritas.

14.  What is your favourite book?  I don't get much time to read - other than children's books and the serial sagas that are on Facebook. I really like 'Little Children' by Tom Perrotta and 'The Lovely Bones' by Alice Sebold.

15.  Would you like to be a pirate? I don't know...I think they'd all smell like Russell Brand looks.

16.  What are you favourite smells?  A baby fresh from a bath, newborn baby breath (it's like jelly beans), mandarins and passionfruit, Christmas - everything about it, from the roast pork cooking to the plastic trees.

17.  Why do you blog?  I use my blog Cut My Milk as a form of therapy. A friend had told me my kids do too much funny shit to not write about it. I thought they they were just annoying. Writing down what the kids have done and how I'm feeling actually makes the event not as stressful.

18.  What song do you want played at your funeral?  U2's 'One'. That or Taylor Swift's 'We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.'

19.  What is your least favourite thing about yourself?  I have a mean temper. I need a label that warns people: 'Keep away from naked flame, unreasonable children, garden digging dogs and bitches.' I'm also very self critical. Combined, I usually have tantrums about something stupid I have done.

20.  What is your favourite hobby?  I like making sock monkeys. Can Facebook be considered a hobby? God I'm boring.

21.  What do you look for in a friend? They must be uglier and stupider than I am. Actually, my friends are my friends because of their sincerity, humour, honesty, generosity and their inner and outer beauty. And they know how to drink. That's what I would look for.

22.  Name something you've done that you never thought you'd do? I had five kids. I was told I wouldn't have any, and now I have five. I never thought I'd become obese.

23.  What are your favourite things to do?  I love to sleep. I love getting lost in a great movie.

24.  Any pet peeves?  I hate hearing people crunch food with an open mouth - it's like fingernails down a chalkboard. Cupboard doors not being shut. Toothpaste in the bathroom sink. Glasses not being stacked the 'correct' (my) way in the cupboard. I'm not only boring - I'm anal.

Gus & Scarlett, just before she went
all Alice Cooper on him.

25.  What's the last thing that made you laugh?  My baby Scarlett trying to fit the cat's head in her mouth but coming away with a mouthful of black fur. It was more the cat's reaction that made me laugh. He just lay there and let her, but had his eyes on me the entire time. I don't have smart pets.

Maybe you know too much about me now. Maybe you're questioning whether you want to come play in my sandpit after all. I hope you do. Toodle pip.

tzookeeperswife.blogspot.com.au

sewensow.blogspot.com

vegetarianmamma.com

losingmylemons.com

marmaladestationery.blogspot.com