For the people who think their kids are better than mine…

… I don’t agree.

I think most of you have kids with issues, too…

I don’t always like your kids either…

I definitely don’t think you deserve the perfect parent award…

I think you duck it up just as often as I do…

I just think my kids and I are more real than you.

Because you see…

my kids have another house to live in, but they still choose this one…

My kids have another parent to choose, but they still choose me…

My kids have issues, but we are aware of them and we face them head on…

Now…

How many of you can say the same??

So whilst you sit in your castle and mutter concerns over my parenting and my kids… I’d really love to tell you something important… I truly, genuinely, don’t care.

I love my kids. I like my kids. I actually like the craziness of each of them, the real ness and the quirks. But most of all, I absolutely love the fact that my kids feel safe enough to be real. To tell me the truth – even when I don’t want to hear it. To tell me their thoughts and fears and all the things I really don’t want to know. They know they can tell me. They trust me with their fears as well as their dreams. With their truths and the chaos inside their heads. They know that no matter what… and they actually know this deep in their souls… they know that I might not like their choices, the path their on or even the person they’re angling to be right now… but I respect their right to be themselves… and I trust their ability to make those choices and to learn and to grow from their mistakes… and above and beyond it all.. they know there is nothing on this earth they can do that will stop me loving them unconditionally.

So you can judge and you can sit in your alabaster tower… but I’m here with my kids and I hear them… truly hear them… can you honestly say the same? πŸ˜‰

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Hot!

Bothered. Tired. Sore. Grumpy. Busy. 

These are the words of my day. 

I am swallowing razor blades. I am also noticing a decided correlation between the insanely busy work periods in my life and illness. Perhaps I should coincide those times with insanely social periods…

The sudden heat is also murderous. 17 last weekend, 37 this… 

My house has no screens… So it’s either die of heat exhaustion, or be eaten my insects. And no insulation…

But my kids are home again. Nine sleeps was so long! Cannot believe they were gone so long…. The house feels normal again now they are back πŸ™‚

Waking up grumpy

Blergh. That is my mood this morning. Hopefully, caffeine will fix it.

I’m not a morning person – although, I’ve been waking up early (or woken up) every single day for close to 16 years now. Still…

Last night, I had the joy of a child in my bed. So angelic. Peaceful. Gorgeous.

Until the feet found my back… and the hands my face… and the burrowing started (he actually burrows under me)… and then he was hot… and then he was cold… and another trip to the toilet was essential… and is it morning yet (at 5am)….

Sigh…

Then the next one came in… at least it was light by then… Mummy, I feel sick… still… really sick… I think I’m going to vomit….

Sigh…

Out of bed. She wants yoghurt… but I thought you wanted to vomit?… Yoghurt will make me feel better…

Hmmm….

Can I have chocolate? Or a candy cane? It’s 7am!!! But….

Silent FFS….

Everything aches. I think he kicked every bone, muscle and whatever else there is in my body. My neck is cricked, my head is thumping. The kids are loud. They have found a whistle. Where the f&*% did they find a whistle???

Caffeine! Caffeine will solve all ills. And I might wake the teenager… the sadistic part of me thinks she should share in my misery… πŸ˜‰

Sand in my hair

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This is my Sunday mornings for summer… The one three hour time slot at the moment when the world simply has to stop and I can just enjoy the salt, sand, surf… and time with my children. Real time with them. Salt water cures.

Hormonal children….

The erratic moods of an 8 year old baby dragon are exhausting me. I keep telling myself this is that last big hormonal spike before the teenage years… I’ve been here twice before…. but couple it with the moods of a 15 year old princess, and my patience is almost completely spent.

The questions seem innocuous enough. Would you like chicken for dinner? What would you like for breakfast? ….. the world stops spinning on its axis. The ice caps melt. Volcanoes erupt. Desert storms. Tsunamis. The world will never be the same again….

I do not have the energy for today.

Done.

And I shall rip out your heart in 5… 4… 3…

So said my son – 13 today.

Thirteen years ago, he was ripped from my stomach (well, cut actually…) and today, he moved further north to remove my heart. I thought I had built enough walls…but is it possible to build enough walls against your own children?

“I wanted to see the other kids, I just didn’t want to see you. I was only coming for the presents and you didn’t buy me any of the things I want, so why come?”

This is not the child I raised. I have no idea who this is…

And that is the problem… I can’t accept who he has chosen to be. I don’t know how to reconcile this attempt at manhood with the little boy from a year ago…

But he knows exactly how to cut the deepest. So effortlessly.

Avoiding my calls and texts all day… finally answers… shreds my heart… and he’s gone again.

Done.

As simple as that.

So many things are simply Done of late…. Done. Done. Done. What are you gonna do? Done.

Tattoed thoughts…

Β 

skinThis is one of those memes I see every so often – what if everything you ever said was tattooed on your skin? Easy if you bite your tongue… but what if it was everything you ever thought? What if you woke up tomorrow and every thought you had, suddenly scrawled across your skin?

When I look at this picture, I wonder how many people would take the time to read the words. I also doubt my body would have the space to fit all the words I think.

But if it did? If the words I thought formed word bubbles above my head? What then?

I think I would become an expert at meditation. I would need to learn to still my thoughts completely. Or perhaps I would just allow my brain to go into overdrive – a thousand thoughts at once… each half formed… all spinning around my head – a swarm of angry bees.

But… would we censor our thoughts? Or attempt to… Or would it be akin to an eye roll? Hidden by large sunglasses. Our bodies suddenly cloaked in fabric. Gloves. Hats. Masks.

I have met so many people who have told me they wish they were more like me – that they could say what they think… I always look at them, somewhat stunned, considerably bemused, and mention that I rarely say what I actually think…. So I do wonder, if the words spilled themselves across my skin, what would I do? Would I allow the words to flow? Use the opportunity to finally say the thoughts aloud? Would I finally find courage to be truly me? To have my truths exposed and my heart truly known? Or would I hide behind the cottons and wool?