Starts whingy but...

In our house of four children it's hard to spend time with the kids one-on-one.

With every extra child we've added, somewhere in the equation someone is missing out. It's becoming more difficult to do things together that they'll all enjoy. With a two and a half year old we rarely find the chance to even play a board game. Even just the logistics of getting us all out of the house are difficult enough.

I am finding though that my littlest one is sucking all of the time away from anyone else, even my lap she claims as "just hers." I spend so much time with her - we read stories, we ride round the street on her scooter, she's even given up her day sleeps so she is often found in a heap crying at my feet whilst I prepare dinner. If she sleeps during a school pick up she is awake till nine pm hopping out of bed for the tenth time or needing to go to the toilet. I find myself becoming upset at her on those nights, I feel her taking more from me. The last few months she's even been sleeping with us for part of the night, I wake up next to her every morning. I will admit to you that she is still breastfed. (I hear my family cringing from here.) Nobody in my family really believes in breastfeeding beyond six months, or feeding at all. My girl is two and a half and I am struggling to give it up. I have been away from her for several days and I know we could do it. I just don't want to yet. At the same time I don't want to be the woman in The Slap feeding a four or five year old.

Not because I have an issue with that It's just that I think I'd want my boobs back by then.

At home I find myself resorting to some TV just to get some me time, where I am usually found mopping or hanging out laundry. "Me time" in the house is any moment I can have without a child clinging to me. I took up a gym membership recently which has been amazingly good for me, I am doing balance and yoga classes and some gym work. I finally got the two youngest children into care at the gym, which they love. It's funny but I avoided any kind of care for my littlest, why? I cannot even answer, I don't know why. I have even found myself without friends with children her age.

A long time ago I avoided coffee mornings with the mums from school just because it might be hard, then I found that it just stopped altogether. I didn't make enough effort, now we sit in a café usually just the two of us or with Eliza when she isn't at Kinder. I long for adult company for a group of Mums to chat with,I missed the boat it seems. I see them in the parks and at school, but they're all so clique-y. I am a little hesitant to just join in. I want to be one of the mums not really watching their child because they're engrossed in listening to one of the other Mum's talking about the sex she is or isn't having, more likely though they're talking about their renovation in which case I'd be glad not to have to listen.

I was meant to be writing about how I usually try to get away from my youngest at any opportunity, I love her to death but sometimes I feel crowded, squashed literally I spend about five hours each night sleeping in a 30cm space she has left me. I was meant to be writing about how today instead of getting away from her I took her out one on one, and I really enjoyed it. I took out the very one that takes most of my time, the one that I have a push and pull relationship with. I enjoyed it because, We weren't rushed for time, there were no groceries I had to buy or children we had to pick up or drop off. It was just our time.

I was meant to tell you how we walked to the Lebanese bakery for a pitta the op shop where she found some tiny crocs with butterflies on them, and our local café for a croissant and coffee she even scored a free fresh apple juice. We went to the toy store where we picked up some tiny animals for her, she took care of those little animals all day. She wanted mandarins so we bought some, she again scored a freebie her own mandarin. Round the corner from home she didn't forget that I'd promised a stop at the park, even though my feet ached from my new shoes I obliged, I couldn't let her down.

I realised in writing this that there are some things I am missing, that I am envious of, that there is a lot that I have given up. I also realise that this time is short lived and that it's been worth it.

going away

I don't really ever go on about how it is for me having four children.

I try to keep my posts mostly positive sometimes I share snippets of the difficulty mostly I share the happiness and joy they give me. I have been a parent for ten years I have been a wife for almost seventeen. Today I stepping away from my post to spend some time away with a friend for the first time in all those years.

I cannot express the sadness I have to leave my still breastfed almost two-year-old. I know that she will be fine, I intend to continue to feed her when I return in four days. This may seem wrong or insane to some to go away for a break. My own self is struggling with it all.

I give everything to my house I have neglected my idea of home.

I am going to miss my family and I am going to appreciate them more when I return. I am looking forward to quiet to sleep and the break from all the nagging I have been doing, to not have to look after anyone for these up coming days. I hope I learn something about myself and redistribute myself in different ways when I get back.

I leave here with no lists, no instructions... just trust that will be ok.

Happy Birthday Eliza

almost there, by various brennemans.

Our third born turned four this weekend, I cannot believe where the years have gone.

Whilst I am happy she is getting older I am feeling the memories of her babyhood and toddler hood fading, I wish I could remember it all.

The times that are clear are the ones where she was most mischievous. The time she smeared nappy cream all over her change table and blinds and hid behind them sleepless and victorious. The time she made her way out the window and down the street to a neighbor to see the chooks in her pajamas, the time she told me she hated the skirt I made for her, or when she pulled my string of  pom-poms down.

Although those memories are clearest I will cherish even more the many we spent  nestled close with in my bed the feeds we had, the cheeks that grew  full and round, because of me. The memories that are being made everyday. The little felt cat we made together that she called Mr. Marbles and cuddles every night to sleep. The recent week she learned to click her fingers and consequently clicked them all the time.

The ever growing letters that fill her pages, the finger that brushes across them as she reads only what she can understand to me, the patchwork of colour in every drawing she makes. The ritual she has of making me drawings they fill jars, the fridge door, there are stacks to keep, the little piles I would never dare have her find in the recycling.

The nights I spent by her bed when she had croup, the fevers where she saw things that weren't there. the love of monkeys when she was two, the love of our cat who died when she was three, whom she still misses. The special place she held in her Granma's heart, they never had the chance to meet, but her little 18 month old hand reached out and touched her at the funeral.

The way she takes her balance bike everywhere we go. The way she never fails to tell me I really appreciate that you made me dinner Mum.  The bond that she has with people, the places she holds in the hearts of many that love her. Most of all the wonderful big sister she has made to her baby sister, their laughter together is  so warm and infectious they are growing into best friends.

I love her dearly and wish her a very happy Birthday.  Even as I return to edit this post a letter sat on my pillow waiting me, what a little treasure.

tinfoil hearts on the kitchen floor

title is obvious, by ines brenneman.

After making promises I realized I had not kept up my own regular postings. Oops!

I started this week with a big project last Saturday night. Six cushions in one night for my sisters' birthdays. I had a lot of silks and linens which were perfect for them, thanks as always to my seamstress neighbor's cast-offs. I called in my other neighbor, funkbunny, for some company and help. We are birds-of-a-feather and sewing together just works for us. We took only 3 1/2 hours, it was great.

I was a little sorry these had to be split; they looked great as a whole.

The next morning was Mother's day, it was lovely, three breakfasts in bed and lots of cuddles and a sleep in. Which was much appreciated after the late-night sewing!

My highlight was Beatrix's first attempt at mushrooms on toast, these were amazingly good. My little heart skips a beat now when she says "Mum I am ready to cook more." That's my girl, she was along time coming in the culinary area, but here she is, Yeahhh.

I couldn't ask for more.

Later that day I had eight children on my kitchen floor picnicking with some deliciously good (if slightly ragged) three-colour marble cake.

I was content. Feeding cake to this herd of small children, I felt eight little memories being made right there.

Later that day I went to a family gathering for Mother's day, pillows to give and food to share, children bundled into car we set off.

My plan had been that the sister would get two pillows each. My sisters decided instead to split them between two, and I offered to make another three more for the one who went home empty handed. It was easy to agree as two liked the same ones, besides three together looked better than two together and I was feeling a little generous seeing as it was Mother's Day.

It could not have made me happier. I was having a pass-the-love-on kind of day, and just like they say it came back to me...

I'd left a little earlier than my husband on Friday morning. We bundled the kids into the car, he waved goodbye (looking very cute in his shirt and tie, may I add). When I returned later that day my husband surprised me with tinfoil hearts on my kitchen floor.

I could see them when I opened the door sparkling and glistening in the rainy mornings filtered light. My first thought was that he'd eaten an Easter egg and left the wrappings all over the floor! As I drew a little closer, I noticed they were cut out tiny hearts, about fifty. My heart went all gooey. And then I thought how silly of me to think such a thing of him, I felt a little bad.

pom poms are meant to make you smile

teamwork, by various brennemans.

On one of my weekly op-shop trips I found a wonderful bag of tapestry wool, all made in France, and of varying colours, the whole lot cost me two dollars. My little heart instantly saw the pompoms of my childhood.

So to work I set, cutting out cardboard doughnut shapes. Each length of wool was eight metres, the thicker wool working out the best otherwise I'd suggest ten metres. Each one takes about 30 minutes. You can work with two metre lengths at a time, this is easier.

I get carpel tunnel so this was not a great exercise for me! Luckily Beatrix (my ten-year-old) had a friend staying the last two days, well these two were like Nannas on my porch chatting and giggling whilst threading the pompoms. I couldn't resist the urge to bring them tea and warm brownies.

Thank you Soule Mamma for these yummy brownies from Smitten Kitten.

Seeing as this pom-pomming went on well into the afternoon and early evening I easily whipped these up whilst baby napped and the rest of the crew were over the road first at one neighbour's baking cake and then at another's watching a DVD together, gotta love my street.

Ohh back to the pompoms, so pleasing, some feeling so full and round and soft. I enjoyed seeing them pile up and then line up, enjoyed looking forward to them ultimately being a garland for my bedroom. Anticipation builds.

I strung them, we hung them, and we admired our work. Even baby said "cute."

Well little did I realise Miss three Eliza Lou didn't think too much of this whole whooo-haaa. When we'd all finished fussing, she secretly went into my room and pulled them down.

When I first found them gone and then found them impossible-to-fix tangled up and shoved under a pillow, I was so upset and cross at her. I just couldn't understand why she did it. I sat her down, sat her down for the longest time out she has ever had, ever. I felt she needed to understand that she could not ruin something another person had made. Not just that I'd made, but that Beatrix and her friend had made.

I was really cross.

I felt really disappointed in her, I am still trying to understand whether there was a reason or not. At some level, though, I am now thinking have I taken this all a too seriously and too much to heart. They're just pompoms for goodness sakes. Pompoms are meant to make you smile.

Drawing on nature

fig III / lactic, originally uploaded by various brennemans.

I excitedly snapped the first figs from their little branches today, careful not to get that sticky milk substance on my hands, it's like glue. Living in a very multicultural suburb in Melbourne's inner North, fig trees are in every second yard. Hanging over back-lane fences or along the railway lines pomegranate, quince, olives, persimmon, all are also wonderfully abundant this time of year. Circe my seventeen-month old shared a back-yard fig with me today, both her first and the season's. They have been a long time coming and are smaller than usual although still plentiful.

While out there eating it, I noticed only today that my amazingly tall corn (I mean it stands at probably 7 feet tall!) has several stalks which are producing beautiful pink silks. If anybody knows why I'd really love to know. The seeds were from Diggers, I noticed that the upper flowers are also pinkish on these stalks. I am very proud of one particular stalk which has 7 ears of corn, yeah. Circe will be so thrilled just these last two days she has a new word, "corn." Thankfully she is dwarfed by my super corn and will not be able to yank out the corn before it is ready, like she does with the tomatoes. I cannot wait, however, to hold her up to it so she can pick her own. It doesn't get better than that.

After the lovely fig-morning, there was some protest today about going to kinder. A sore tummy and a sad look on Eliza's face tugged at my heart strings. It was gloomy outside and Circe too was looking sleepy, easy decision really to stay at home.

A quick feed for the little one, some snuggles and right to sleep she went. I made Eliza a bed on the floor in her room, drew her curtains gave her a hot water bottle. Lots of cuddles and the glow of her owl lanterns sent off to sleep, too!

Two children asleep, and my house was quiet and peaceful. I could have done one of many household tasks, instead I sat with watercolours, pen and my moleskin, not even a cup of tea. I drew and painted for an hour, a lovely way to spend the quiet time I do believe.

doing it

On my way home from the school pick-up I stopped in at the art store. I told the kids I needed some paint. To my amazement my two eldest children were bewildered, what kind of paint?  Paint for me to paint, I said! "You are going to paint?" almost in unison. Yes, I am. "Wow."

I think they thought it was a myth that their mother painted. I mean there are some paintings in the house that I'd done five or ten years before. I had always known they were interested  in me taking it up again, I just  didn't foresee their excitement. They wanted to know what I was painting, for whom I was painting, everything.  I think Eliza  thought it was like cooking she wanted to know if she could help. That I did I foresee and had bought her a tempura block and paper of her own.

My seven year old asked me "Mum what did it feel like when you picked up a paintbrush again for the first time after so long?" as he was snuggled in a chair, reading Diary of a Wimpy kid in the sun room as I painted.

I was taken aback for a moment, what a profound comment.  "It felt like I'd never stopped," I told him, "a bit like learning to ride a bike." "Ahhh," he said, he completely understood. Whenever our kids say something really clever like that my husband and I run off at the first given second to share with the other the little insight.

Phoenix, my son was around two when I was last working toward a few exhibitions in cafés. I asked him if he remembered that, he said he could, that it was in the café that is now run by "some different people." I liked that he was in there with me, that we were just talking, it was nice.

I began to think of how important it is for your children to see you as someone other than a mother or a father, for them to see you step outside your usual role, especially if you have been a stay at home parent for as long as they can remember.

I know that for me growing up with a stay at home Mum, I was always amazed when my mum did stuff that was a little off kilter, a little unexpected. Like  when she would change a fuse wire, put together my new bunk bed when I was five, carry a burning roll of newspaper in her hand when we needed something from the garage, we had no electricity out there. (This particular memory makes me laugh and think why didn't we just have a torch?)

She always told me how her father could fix or make anything. I was always in awe of how she talked of his skill. I'd like to think my kids see me as multi-dimensional, as skilled.  I may not carry a burning torch, but I am hopefully paving the way to doing something for myself, that all the pieces will come together to form my venture and my future.

cranky pants

apron string, by various brennemans.

I felt my motherhood mojo slipping away from me today. Forty degree heat for two days in a row is too much. And any night where the temperature does not dip below thirty is just awful.

I woke this morning feeling the way my husband looks every morning, bedraggled. He is a night owl, and often doesn't get to bed till two a.m. I feel like that that is his choice to some extent, his own fault if he's tired when the kids wake us. I, on the other hand, had good excuses for the way I felt. I've been getting to bed after midnight just to have some time to write to sew, to facebook, to blog.

The older kids have been getting to sleep as late as 9.00 or 9.30 these last few weeks, during school holidays. My ten-year-old lingers, trying to stretch it out, asking questions, wanting to talk. Now I love you honey but I am sorry, I don't want to see you at night. I have seen her enough all day. Does that make me a bad person? I mean aren't I entitled to be me, someone other than a mother, at night at least? If I went to bed when they did then I just wouldn't have any time to do the things I want to do.

This morning after Aaron left for work I wondered how long could I lay here, under the sheet? Would I move when I heard a chair drag across the terracotta floors in my kitchen, or the tinkle sound of plates being shuffled in the cupboard? Would that be too long, of course it would, but gee I wanted someone else to be me this morning: Someone else to take the baby off the chair for the fiftieth time, someone else to then take that chair and place it up on the table, someone else to turn to see her find another chair moments later.

My husband and I used to do the bargaining thing where we'd mumble from under the pillow "You go. I got up to give such and such medicine," or "No, you go, I was stuck in Eliza's tiny Ikea bed till five a.m. and couldn't stretch my legs out."

But that was then. Things have changed a little. Eliza, she's had a star chart for sleeping all night in her own bed, several weeks full of those now. In a rare streak none of the kids have been ill for a while. The husband snores happily. But I've had Circe teething, and I am still feeding her most nights, I am even sometimes going to Eliza when she calls out.

Then I am waking most mornings to them all, whilst Aaron sleeps an extra thirty minutes. On weekdays he even keeps the sleep face on while walking to the station in order to continue to sleep on the train, no fair.

I am mad, I know. I think I have reason to be and I hear you all nodding.

We have one designated sleep in day each his is Saturday mine is Sunday. He can sleep through anything. I can't. He gets two hours. I get less. He even gets in after me on a Sunday for another sleep! I am insane, I have been being really rather courteous. I am not too sure why when I am not getting eight hours yet in one chunk.

This morning I woke at five a.m. to feed Circe and then was back in there at six to give her another little cuddle. I'd also gone and given Eliza some comfort after she cried out at two a.m., only to be told that she didn't want me she "wanted Dad."

By ten a.m. when Circe began to look tired, worn out, irritable. Just like me. I wasn't the one on the floor whining, crying and intermittently sucking my thumb, not yet. I wanted to join her, but I knew we'd need to push on. I was looking after two other children today, and I knew she really only actually has one sleep these days. A quick mental calculation while dishing out the waffles showed that she if she slept then would be up at twelve if I was lucky and then be up for seven hours. The way I felt today a seven hour stretch of crying just seemed unimaginable. Her crying, me doing it seemed about even odds.

The last week or so she has gone from being relatively easy to being a lot of work. Ohhh the crying the second she's put down. I get afraid to let her see me when there is a period of quiet. When I can hear her in the other room with the others and they are rolling around and she is giggling I just want that to last, just till I finish these dishes.

I have been being a little selfish of late I think after almost sixteen months I can begin to be, actually on the whole after ten years I think I ought to be. I try to sew whist she naps, It's really hard to stop when she wakes from a nap, I want her to just play by my feet with some dominoes till I just hem up this dress.

I think the internet is a curse. One of my favourite bloggers, Soule Mamma, is always knitting with a child nestled to her bosom, he is not teary and crying or pulling thread from the machine like my little pitiful monkey who just wants Mum to look away from the sewing and give her all of her attention.

I can't even talk on the phone.

I know the time will come when the two of us can each do our thing, she some colouring and pasting me some sewing or just some dinner and some dishes so the house doesn't look like a bomb site. I know that she will someday move away from me, that like Eliza who is eager and ready to go off and be left alone at kindergarten on Friday this week. My last and smallest baby will let go of my apron strings and go off into the big wide world of friends, teachers kinder and school. I will then have all the time in the world and will probably pine these days of being needed and wanted.