I have a personal trainer. It's such a treat. An expensive treat, but I think I deserve it (3-children-in-3-years syndrome). Aside from the obvious advantage of accountability, which I really, really need, she makes me feel valuable. OK, I'm a "client" and she has to keep me coming to keep getting paid, but when you're a mom looking after everyone else's needs, it's really cool to have someone looking after yours. She customises my exercise routine for ME. She is 100% focussed on me. She takes me seriously if I say "I'm buggered" (which is frequently, but getting better), she's careful about my caesar scar, she's upped my cardio work (at my request), and through it all, it seems she likes me. Pretty cool, eh?
See. Money can buy you friends...
Wednesday, January 25
Saturday, January 21
Friday, January 20
a little low
Been feeling a little low the last few day... Considering drugs (again). Anybody got recommendations or referals?
Monday, January 16
Ant is 4 months old (on Saturday)
Things I love about you at 4 months:
• The way you LOVE your bath. You get so excited when I take your clothes off and then kick great big kicks and splashes in your bath chair. And squeal with delight. I don’t have to entertain you at all.
• You’re not self-conscious about your mullet hairstyle. I’m learning not to be too.
• You smile so hard sometimes it looks like you might just smile right out of your skin. Sometime you smile and hold your hands up to your face and curl into a ball and roll away. Then you look back with this “is that cute enough for you?” look. Yes. Way cute. Way too cute. Oh, and the way you smile behind your dummy. And sometimes your open-mouth, tongue-quivering smile pops your dummy right out, and you don’t care.
• The way you huff and puff when you see your bottle and grab at it with both hands.
• That you’re sleeping through. From 7-ish to 5-ish. AND you usually have a big sleep during the day. Like somewhere between 2½ and 3½ hours.
• The way you try to copy my mouth movements, especially when I say “hello” (show us tongue, baby) and “baba” (movin’ that bottom lip, babe)
• That you blink with surprise when I make loud kissing sounds and zurbits. And then grin.
• Your giggle (with a little hiccup at the end) when I kiss your neck (I have to search for your neck in amongst your many chins)
• That you’re fascinated by your brothers, and they make you smile without meaning too.
• You complete us. Five is a good number, for us. (“We live in Glen-da-vaar. Timmy and me live in Glen-da-vaar. And Mom and Dad and Ant all live in Glen-da-vaar.”)
And what I don’t like so much
• That you’re all alone in your big-boy room. You don’t get to share it with a twin brother. The first time you went in there, I felt so lost and lonely for you. You didn’t seem to mind, though.
• That you’re still “spitting up” (plain old VOMITING, great milky vomits)
• That you’re pretty used to having a bunch of smiling faces around you. So when I’m making supper and the boys are bathing and you can’t see me, you moan. And perform.
• That I’m back to work and I’m leaving you behind with Granny. I feel like I’m missing out. Why couldn’t Granny and I had you together during my maternity leave? You know, tea and boiled eggs on the beach, just the three of us.
• The way you LOVE your bath. You get so excited when I take your clothes off and then kick great big kicks and splashes in your bath chair. And squeal with delight. I don’t have to entertain you at all.
• You’re not self-conscious about your mullet hairstyle. I’m learning not to be too.
• You smile so hard sometimes it looks like you might just smile right out of your skin. Sometime you smile and hold your hands up to your face and curl into a ball and roll away. Then you look back with this “is that cute enough for you?” look. Yes. Way cute. Way too cute. Oh, and the way you smile behind your dummy. And sometimes your open-mouth, tongue-quivering smile pops your dummy right out, and you don’t care.
• The way you huff and puff when you see your bottle and grab at it with both hands.
• That you’re sleeping through. From 7-ish to 5-ish. AND you usually have a big sleep during the day. Like somewhere between 2½ and 3½ hours.
• The way you try to copy my mouth movements, especially when I say “hello” (show us tongue, baby) and “baba” (movin’ that bottom lip, babe)
• That you blink with surprise when I make loud kissing sounds and zurbits. And then grin.
• Your giggle (with a little hiccup at the end) when I kiss your neck (I have to search for your neck in amongst your many chins)
• That you’re fascinated by your brothers, and they make you smile without meaning too.
• You complete us. Five is a good number, for us. (“We live in Glen-da-vaar. Timmy and me live in Glen-da-vaar. And Mom and Dad and Ant all live in Glen-da-vaar.”)
And what I don’t like so much
• That you’re all alone in your big-boy room. You don’t get to share it with a twin brother. The first time you went in there, I felt so lost and lonely for you. You didn’t seem to mind, though.
• That you’re still “spitting up” (plain old VOMITING, great milky vomits)
• That you’re pretty used to having a bunch of smiling faces around you. So when I’m making supper and the boys are bathing and you can’t see me, you moan. And perform.
• That I’m back to work and I’m leaving you behind with Granny. I feel like I’m missing out. Why couldn’t Granny and I had you together during my maternity leave? You know, tea and boiled eggs on the beach, just the three of us.
not a good night
I think in the past week, my nearly-three-year old sons have woken me about twice as many times as my 4-month-old-and-sleeping-through-(until-5am) son. It's infuriating. I remember a time when I just finished rocking and singing Matt to sleep (at about 7 months) when Tim woke up (after sleeping through Matt's controlled-crying) to be rocked and sung to. I banged my head against the wall. About 5 times. Making very sure to bang it where my fringe would cover up the mark, so I would still be able to say: "my twins are just super" and "we're coping really well" to anyone who asked.
Last night I sent Gareth to Ant (woke at about 10.30 for help with his dummy). Matt woke at 11.48. Gareth grunted: "is it Ant again", to which I huffed: "no, Matt". I managed to trip over Ant's car seat and ram my shoulder into the bookcase taking the corner too early on the way there, and stand on a cockroach and a pram on the way back . I can't see at that hour, not even by the light of my screensaver. Matt said to my "what IS all this crying about": "I just need the door open, mom". For heaven's sake.
So, this morning I'm grumpy. I'm grumpy from not enough sustained sleep. I'm grumpy because I have to work and I really don't want to. I'm grumpy because I've committed myself to gym (and paid for it) and I really don't want to. I'm grumpy because I have no energy. None at all.
There. Parenting isn't for sissies. Life isn't for sissies. Now get over it.
Last night I sent Gareth to Ant (woke at about 10.30 for help with his dummy). Matt woke at 11.48. Gareth grunted: "is it Ant again", to which I huffed: "no, Matt". I managed to trip over Ant's car seat and ram my shoulder into the bookcase taking the corner too early on the way there, and stand on a cockroach and a pram on the way back . I can't see at that hour, not even by the light of my screensaver. Matt said to my "what IS all this crying about": "I just need the door open, mom". For heaven's sake.
So, this morning I'm grumpy. I'm grumpy from not enough sustained sleep. I'm grumpy because I have to work and I really don't want to. I'm grumpy because I've committed myself to gym (and paid for it) and I really don't want to. I'm grumpy because I have no energy. None at all.
There. Parenting isn't for sissies. Life isn't for sissies. Now get over it.
Wednesday, January 11
Mirrors and lights
Children are mirrors.
Listening to Timothy praising Matthew on his drawing yesterday really reminded me of this again. Gareth and I are often surprised at how much they pick up, especially when we don't think they're listening... We're having to be careful about what we say, especially about other people, but also about ourselves. It's going to come out. Really. Like "Dad, you've got a hairy bum." Seriously, it's going to crack Ali up.
I've been thinking about 2005 (because I'm at work and reading blogs with such thought-lines). Of course, it's all about children. Nothing else of any significance happened to us last year. Just children. I've learned to take (perhaps CLAIM is a better word) more credit for how my children are turning out (both positive and negative).
they're sharp because i am
they're affectionate because i am
they yell because i do
they have issues with food because i do
they ask questions (all the time) because i do
they share because i do (and perhaps because i demand it, too)
And Gareth, of course he has some part...
they tickle because he does
they laugh (especially Tim) because he does
they're into routine because he is
they love to learn about animals because he does
they have hairy bums... ok that's getting into genetics and stuff. we won't go there...
You know, once I get over the hang-ups about myself (work-in-progress), this could be really cool. It's a pretty amazing way to get to know ourselves. Very cool.
And I leave you with:
“I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise.” -Dawna Markova
It's a big ask, and is elegantly phrased. I think it's the first sentence that really gets me. Besides I don't have a fear of falling or catching fire. Perhaps running out of petrol or getting a flat tyre, but not falling and fire. Thankfully.
Listening to Timothy praising Matthew on his drawing yesterday really reminded me of this again. Gareth and I are often surprised at how much they pick up, especially when we don't think they're listening... We're having to be careful about what we say, especially about other people, but also about ourselves. It's going to come out. Really. Like "Dad, you've got a hairy bum." Seriously, it's going to crack Ali up.
I've been thinking about 2005 (because I'm at work and reading blogs with such thought-lines). Of course, it's all about children. Nothing else of any significance happened to us last year. Just children. I've learned to take (perhaps CLAIM is a better word) more credit for how my children are turning out (both positive and negative).
they're sharp because i am
they're affectionate because i am
they yell because i do
they have issues with food because i do
they ask questions (all the time) because i do
they share because i do (and perhaps because i demand it, too)
And Gareth, of course he has some part...
they tickle because he does
they laugh (especially Tim) because he does
they're into routine because he is
they love to learn about animals because he does
they have hairy bums... ok that's getting into genetics and stuff. we won't go there...
You know, once I get over the hang-ups about myself (work-in-progress), this could be really cool. It's a pretty amazing way to get to know ourselves. Very cool.
And I leave you with:
“I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise.” -Dawna Markova
It's a big ask, and is elegantly phrased. I think it's the first sentence that really gets me. Besides I don't have a fear of falling or catching fire. Perhaps running out of petrol or getting a flat tyre, but not falling and fire. Thankfully.
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