Don't mind the mess...

"Come in" she said, "don't mind the mess", as I step over the threshold to her home, drawing my attention to the suggestingly unkempt surroundings. My eyes flick over every surface as we proceed deeper into the house.

Though I'm not exactly sure what mess she is pertaining too. The haphazardly arranged toys that are within the confines of the baby mat, or the two mugs on the bench next to the kettle - clean & ready for expected company. Even the beds were made in the bedrooms we drifted past.

No piles of washing all over the couch with not-so-fifty-shades underwear & holey socks flauntingly visible, forgotten to be tucked deep into the mountain. Kitchen sink empty of breakfast bowls, no dried weet-bix or puffed up rice bubbles lingering on the table - or under the chairs. Either her children slept in their clothes the night before, or it is their pyjama's I can hear in the washing machine quietly swishing away.

The floors look clean enough to follow the three second rule {for dropped food}, curtains open & windows barely visible - not a smeared hand print or dried up cascading dribble to be seen. 

I think to myself, if this is classed as messy then my house belongs on 'Hoarding - Buried Alive'. Knowing that as I closed the front door to take the minions to school, I was closing the door on pyjama's left on bedroom floors, breakfast bowls un-rinsed & stacked next to the sink, with the dishwasher clean but not yet emptied from the night before. Wet bed sheets & quilts stripped & fermenting in the dirty laundry basket, the washing machine silent. The evidence of packing lunches on the kitchen bench remains & while the dining table is wiped of any solid food matter, cloudy streaks are easily seen & rice bubbles litter Will & Blake's chairs. Our floors, not fit for the three second rule, but clean enough for Clay to escape my hip on.

With that one careless statement, perhaps meant to clear her of any responsibility for a missed mirror streak or mote of dust I may see, but not notice - evaporating from my mind faster than a shopping list. The standard is set. The precedent of expectation which goes both ways.

Weeks later I open our front door to welcome her into our home. With a smile I say "Hi! Come in, don't mind the mess, we've been so busy the last few days I've not had a chance to clean properly." A partial truth. 

We walk down the hallway, past bedrooms & lounge rooms - doors wide open to welcome inspection. Small talk is made while we make our way to the kitchen, where two mugs await next to the kettle & a plate of {store bought} goodies already set out.

What she doesn't know is that I ran around like a blue arsed fly the night before - cleaning toilets, wiping toothpaste off mirrors & polishing windows until I could see my reflection. Washing piles thrown hastily into cupboards, floors swept & quickly mopped. That morning the kids were dropped off at school looking irritated & harassed - because I spent the previous two hours acting like a Drill Sargent. Make your bed! Put your pyjamas in the wash! Whose breakfast bowl is on the table still? Put it in the sink! Rooms tidy! Brush your teeth, make sure you rinse the bathroom sink after! 

Instead of walking each minion to their class, I kiss them good bye & head back to the car before the morning bell has even rung. Eager to gain an extra ten minutes to ensure everything is looking as clean & display home'esque as possible. Not a rice bubble in sight. Super House Wife badge on. 

This became the norm. Doug always knew when I had plans to catch up with someone the next day because the night before instead of sitting next to him on the couch, I would be mopping & folding as much of our Mount Washmore as I could before tiredness set in. 

Then a few months ago I called enough. Our house is our home, not an open door display house. I was sick of the falseness, the illusion, the expectation. I wanted to look forward to catching up with friends, not feeling annoyed that I had to sacrifice my quiet evening to make sure every surface was free of minion prints & milk spots. If a friend knocked unexpectedly on our door I didn't want to chat at the front door to hide the lunch dishes in the sink, the unfolded washing dominating the couch, unmade beds & the dozens of shoes almost certainly to be scattered through various rooms.

I also do not want other women to feel the same way. 

Now I'll still say "come in, don't mind the mess." But you will know see exactly what mess I am excusing. Whether it be the crumbs on the bench, the dining table I'm wiping down before we sit, the glass door opaque with hundreds of hand prints or the baby toys & action figurines that lay abandoned on the floor. The real mess. 

Pop over for a cuppa, come for the company. You're welcome any time, just mind the washing.

Defining the perfect mother

There is a woman that exists, though no one has ever found her or met her. Mothers everywhere strive to be her. They follow her examples, strive to achieve all this woman accomplishes. We measure our own successes & failures against the precedent of this infamous idol of perfection.

The Perfect Mum.

Last week I wrote a post My foray with postnatal depression & one common thread kept repeating itself from almost everyone who messaged, commented or spoke with me. 

I wanted to be the perfect mum.

So I pose the question here, what makes a perfect mum?

Is it the mum who stays home to raise her children - or is it the mum who returns to work to build a better future for her children?

Is it the mum who spends hours in the kitchen cooking every meal from bare scratch, with organic everything - or is it the mum who cooks quick nutritious meals in fifteen minutes flat?

Is it the mum who home schools her children - or the mum who drops her children off to school every weekday?

Is it the mum who bounced back to her former pre-baby svelte self - or is it the mum who still has her pregnancy weight five years on?

Is it the mum who breastfeeds her toddler - or the mum who lovingly gazes at her baby while he drinks formula from a bottle?  

Is it the mum who puts her own dreams & aspirations on hold as she dedicates her whole self to raising her children - or the mum who regularly takes time away from her children to do things by herself that make her happy?

Is it the mum who keeps her house clean & tidy what seems every minute of every day - or the mum who has a sink full of dishes & a thick layer of dust coating most surfaces?

Is it the mum with the perfect hair style & immaculately applied make up - or the mum with a hastily tied pony tail & baby vomit on her shoulder. In public.

Is it the mum who regularly sits down to do craft time with her children - or the mum who has an aversion to all things glitter & paint?

Is it the mum who always looks calm & serene - or the mum with the deep frown lines & stressed look upon her face?

Is it the mum who feeds & rocks her eleven month old baby to sleep - or the mum who follows a controlled crying routine?

I could go on. The helicopter parent, the attached parent, the free range parent, the authoritarian parent. All these labels confirm there is no perfect, ideal way to parent. At the end of the day every child, every baby, every tweenager & teenager need the same bone deep conviction - they are loved without reserve. Everything always comes back to that - a soul deep, universe wide love. 

So this perfect mum, this mythical creature that debilitates us, as she inspires us to reach further. I've never met her. 

I see her though. I recognise her, in every mum I know. 

Every mum I see holding her back straight as she pushes her screaming, tantrum throwing toddler through the shop.

I see her as she puts jars of baby food & cans of formula in her trolley. 

I see her in the mum who home schools her children. 

I see her on my way to school when she's driving to work. 

I see her in the mums taking their child to playgroup. 

I recognise her in the lone woman sitting quietly in a cafe.

I see her when she's pushing her child on the swings, kicking the ball at the park, building sandcastles at the beach. 

I see her when she's trying to reason with a defiant three year old, creating boundaries with a freedom seeking twelve year old, grasping for more patience with a sulky eight year old.

I spot her in waiting rooms when she is trying to stop her children from jumping on the chairs.

I see her doing the best she can, as she can, in that moment.

My definition a perfect mum - it's every one of us. 

Half a dozen facts from a Mum of half a dozen

You know how sometimes you imagine how something will be, but then it is completely different to what you expected or thought.

Like the other day when I was eyeing off the corner of Blake's banana toast. It was all thick & perfectly toasted with a melting glob of butter right on the edge. I imagined how nice that little piece would taste, how the butter would melt in my mouth as my teeth sank into the crunchy edge. I gave in & put that tempting little morsel in my mouth. Then remembered I don't like banana bread. It tasted nothing like I imagined.

Raising a large family is a little like this. Sometimes it is absolutely nothing like you thought it would be. So I thought I'd compile six fast facts.

{Image source}

1. Richie Rich

Minions are money sponges but they don't soak up every last cent. The perception that because there is an astronomical number of kids, the bank account must be astronomically low as well is not how it really is. We watch our pennies (dollars?), but with a budget in place everyone gets everything they need {& then some}.

Alternatively, the presumption that we must have a lot of money to be able to have a large family is about as accurate as the articles in an OK! magazine. Once someone said to me "Oh your husband must earn a lot of money, to have so many children & be able to stay home with them." Again, to afford big ticket items we plan ahead. Or use the credit card & pay it off. 
Though a spare money tree growing in the backyard wouldn't go amiss. 

{Image source}

2. Resentment, Schentment

The kids don't resent having a big family. They love having many brothers & sister(s) - even when it doesn't sound like it some days. 
When they play stuck in the mud & more than two get stuck there is still another sibling or two to un-stick them. Twister gets really twisty. Friday nights are like a bonafide slumber party with five kids in the same room all whispering & giggling. Backyard cricket means having a full team, with a bowler, batter, wickie plus fielders.
They don't know it to be any different, sharing a room with another sibling is normal, moving over to make room on the couch for another body is habitual. Sharing is just a given with most things. 
The sibling bonds between them are distinct & far stronger than any sibling rivalry.
I hope when they are adults & look back on these days of their childhood, they are still grateful for one another.

3. It's as easy as it looks...kinda

Raising six children is not as hard as it seems. The bigger minions can dress themselves, put on their own shoes, get their own drinks, brush their own teeth. The smaller ones all want to do this for themselves too, which if you play your cards right can work for you without tantrums. Encouraging the little ones to find their own shoes, put on their own pants (after laying them out straight) they brush their own teeth, though I do a quick all over brush either to begin or finish up. 

Our family size did not morph into epic proportions overnight, we've had several years to adjust & refine our routines. There is a lot of organization behind the scenes to make sure everything run smoother though & gets us out the door without running ridiculously late.
If I can do it, you could do it.

{Image source}

4. Supermum is about as real as Superman. She only exists in the movies.

By no definition are Mum's of large families Supermum's. We are no better than any other Mum, just as no Mum is any better than the next. We're all just doing what we must to get through each day, with the house still standing & every one alive, healthy & hopefully happy. There is nothing special about Mums to many. Our patience is not infinite. We are not saints. We lose our cool & get our shriek on. We are not immune to Mummy guilt either - but I'll cover that another day.

5. It is as noisy as you imagine

I'm not about to tell you otherwise, there is no argument here. Lots of people equal lots noise. When Doug gets home from work, when we're just about to sit down for dinner, or when someone comes over, it gets loud. Really loud.
Our meal times can look a little something like this.

Five kids all talking at once, plus a couple of adults (potentially with one trying to get the minions to quite down - without adding to the ear bleeding decibel levels by yelling to garner their attention & be heard). I've mentioned once or twice before that living large also means living loud. 

6. Loving them is as amazing as you think

Life with so many kids is as magical, chaotic, entertaining, constant & unending, crazy & eventful, amazing & awe inspiring as you believe.

Loving them is the easy bit. It's the dirty clothes & dirty dishes that's hard.

If I could go back I would put duct tape over the mouth of my twenty year old self

Ten years ago this {not so} little guy came along & transformed us from a twenty-something couple into a family of three. 

Before becoming responsible for my own offspring, I was full of ideals, opinions & thoughts on how I would raise our little angels. We hoped there would be more than one to call us Mum & Dad, of course it also went without saying they would be near perfect little angels.

We wouldn't be using a dummy, he would sleep anywhere, any time, with the ability to just nod off whenever the sleepy bug hit. He would eat all his vegetables & I would know how to deal with tantrums, toilet training & night terrors. 

From three months we would use cloth nappies when at home, to save money & make our contribution to saving the environment for the future of the baby {screaming} in my arms. When it came time for solids we would only be serving up home cooked lightly steamed vegetables & fruits. A new food would be introduced only after three days from the last, to ensure if there was any delayed reactions we would know the likely offender.

We would follow the {imagined} parenting handbook to the letter. In the event we couldn't find this handbook we would follow the advice of all those baby & parenting experts that are in every printed publication. At every health center. Stalking new mums in your local supermarket.

Then of course Ben came along & showed me that life wasn't meant to be like the movies or the glossy pages of a parenting magazine. He screamed. He ate baby food from a jar. By six weeks old he was sucking on that dummy harder than three year old with a lolly pop. My sanity depended on that sucker. I only ever used cloth nappies twice. In the same day, before declaring them too hard to deal with after Ben leaked poo all over myself & his legs for the second time in as many hours.  

By the time Rianan came along I had turned my jaded back on those experts & followed what I thought to be right for us. Plus Ben had well & truly broken us in, so while my ears weren't immune to newborn cries, they no longer drove me to a fetal position in the corner. Rianan also had a dummy & her bum never felt anything but disposable convenience.

'If it ain't broke don't fix it' became my motto. So we followed the same footsteps when Jack arrived. He too had a silicone sucker from the ages of ten months to sixteen months, because he wouldn't give up the milk bar. I hoped by introducing a dummy he would realize that the fake nipple I was shoving in his gob every feed time was full of warm milky goodness too.

For every opinion I professed, when my hips were still pre-baby width & I had no clue what I was spouting off, each & every one has been thrown back in my face courtesy of our minions. I am no stranger to humble parenting pie. 

I have done the exact opposite of everything I said before I knew better. Letting them finger paint yogurt on the windows then lick it off, watching the same movie again that has just finished because it stops a tantrum in it tracks, keeping them in night nappies for longer  because I can't be bothered to deal with wet sheets every night & every morning. Using food as a bribe, empty threats to discourage bad behaviour, ten warnings when I said three warnings & you're in time out. Hiding in the bathroom to eat chocolate in peace, because I don't want to share or deal with the tears that will follow when they realize the chocolate has been devoured by the Mum who doesn't share her treats.

To the kicker I have finally given in too...

As a Mama to four toilet occupying boys, I have given up the war of pee on the floor. I accept it is a daily unavoidable occurrence that comes with the male species. As inevitable as not saying no after one row of chocolate. 

I used to say my toilet would always be free of left over drips (& puddles) - both the seat & the floor. I'm not sure if it's because we have four stand-to-pee people (not including Doug, because he can aim just fine) but I have lost count of the number of times I have gone to the second {kids} toilet only to have my sock soaked in urine. Or even worse, get a wet bum.

 G.R.O.S.S.

At least most mornings, before anyone comes over, I remember to do the compulsory commode cleanliness check. In the event I haven't done the required checks & clean ups, I quickly race past, knocking our guest into the walls as I charge past them down the hallway.  

Because it's one thing for my socks to get wet, but something else entirely for someone else's.

If the last ten years I have taught me anything, it's to never presume you know what you're talking about. Especially on anything to do with birth, babies, kids & parenting.

Happy tenth birthday Bendjabum.

Mrs Minions money tips...A guide of what not to do

I'm often keeping an eye out for different budgeting tips, ways to save money or make it stretch further. After all, we're all aware that kids cost moolah, & with six minions to our tally, we're definitely stretching the wallet.

With ten years of working our budget around a single income under our belt we're no stranger to most of the saving tips, budgeting ideas & other such related topics that are all over the www. While skimming through one such article the other day I thought to myself, I could probably write something on what works for us with cutting costs or making that dollar stretch further than a maternity shirt.

Then I laughed, & I laughed some more. To the point I scared Clay a little, because after my little episode of hysterics he wasn't all that sure on being carried around in my arms, giving me a wide eyed, discerned look.

I am so not the person who can help turn your 'fiddy cent coins into one hundred dollar notes. My talents lie in finding more unnecessary, but at that immediate point in time {presumably} needed, crap to purchase. 

I am the queen of buyers remorse.

So instead of writing a detailed guide on how to save & spend wisely while to raising a big family, I thought I'd share my wisdom & first hand experience of what not to do. By not following in my footsteps I may just save you some 'dosh after all.

Do not buy a bag of grapes for $27.

Big error & oversight on my part. Do not pick up a bunch of grapes when they are $29.99/kilo & put it in your trolley. Those juicy suckers weigh more than you think. 

If you sign up to a direct selling company to save money & pay off debt, do not spend your profit back on the products you are selling.

I was so good at convincing people to buy Tupperware, I even convinced myself. Okay, not entirely true. I was not so great, but the other demonstrators around me were & had me hypnotized with their glittery words & inspiring examples of mushrooms staying fresh for longer than three weeks in the $60 containers. When I don't like mushrooms. Several years ago I joined up to get out of the house & to feel like I was contributing financially, with the goal of significantly paying off some debt & getting four digits in our savings account. This may work if you put your profits into your bank account or credit card account. Instead spending up big on the products you are selling...To earn more money. Go figure. 

Step away from the Ikea knick knacks

I love me some Ikea. There is also a reason I almost never go there. The last time I went I blew over my spending limit, even after I re-evaluated my intended purchases before heading to the check out queues. When walking through their expertly & effortlessly styled miniature rooms, walking past shelves & racks & center aisle displays of handy little bits n pieces that cost next to nothing, keep a tally of what you are mindlessly throwing into your blue Ikea bag. I tend to forget that the cushions & throws, container sets, cooking utensils, finger puppets, childrens' play food, plus five little stuffed toys & a circus tent will all add up to a triple digit figure. I see all the bargains & lose my mind a little. Step away from the strategically placed impulse 'snatch n grab' stands

Stick to the shopping list. Do not turn left, do not turn right, go straight to Go

Very similar to the Ikea advice, when you go to Kmart for birthday invitations & a gift card...Only buy the invitations & a gift card. If the budget blunders of Ikea taught you anything about my shopping habits, I don't need to expand it any here. Let's just leave it at that.

It's only a bargain if you need it. Or wear it within three years.

I recommend only buying clothes that you know with a 98% certainty you will wear. Especially if the item, or items, are quite expensive, even after taking 40% off the original price tag. There may or may not be a dress or two that cost more than I'd like to admit & never been worn. I take solace in the firm fact I am not alone here.

Fuel savings

Driving 30 kilometers out of your way to save 4 cents per litre is not recommend. It is false economy & legit fuel wastage. Instead, stop at the nearest petrol station on your route. Chances are their fuel prices are the same, & you'll save yourself ten minutes in time & dollars avoiding the detour.

There are more examples I could spout off here I'm certain. If I asked Doug to remind me of some spending shockers I probably won't be able to shut him up. 

So I'm not going too. 

Last words of wisdom to impart you with, 'Do as I say, not as I do'. You'll be fine. 

Ahead of the trends

I heard someone remark today that large families are becoming the latest trend.

Right.

Let's just re-hash that. So people are having large families, that take a {horrifying, uterus screaming} four year minimum, because it is the latest rage. 

"Oh look, they have six children. Doesn't she look simply stunning with her three children hanging on her arms, look at the color co-ordination with those other three children running around her legs adding to the ensemble. I'm envious of the deep dark circles under the eyes & muffin top belly accessorizing her look. I must have a large family myself."

Said no one ever.

The only thing large families & the term 'rage' have in common are all nighter's. For vastly different reasons. I doubt an eighteen year old would find my 3am's as much fun as theirs. My perception of an all nighter these days is not the same one that comes to mind when the term rage is bandied about. Lack of sleep perhaps the only common denominator.

I'm sure it was just an ill thought through comment & if I'd had the opportunity to find out exactly how she came to this conclusion I would have loved to be enlightened on her thought processes & perceptions. 

As mentioned above, having a large family rarely happens overnight (except in exceptional cases usually with non-biological children. Families merging together, a group of siblings coming into the care of next of kin, etc.) Deciding to have a big family is not something that is decided on a whim. Some couples know they won't call their family complete with one, two or three little people, others perhaps find it to be a natural progression over the years & as the youngest child slowly grows. The size of a family has years of discussion behind it, not the simple minutes a whim decision brings.

I can't speak for others, but I can speak for myself & our reasons for having a large family had nothing to do with trends, fashions or popularity. I really can't see how anyone could base their greater than average minion numbers on any of those, which is why her comment has had me stumped all afternoon. 

Maybe she is confused with 'common'. In our friends & community circles or places we frequent, we often run into other families with four or more children. Perhaps this mind occupying stranger has also noticed more families that have a minimum 2:1 child to adult ratio than families of four or five. Could be the basis for her assumption is because the street she lives on has drive ways full of people movers instead of zippy little five passenger mobiles. Despite an afternoon of pondering I'm still clueless & no closer to cracking her comment open.

Who decides to commit to ten to fifteen years of continuous pooey nappies, sleepless nights & broken sleep. (That is just the 'under-five' years. I'm not going to touch the sleeplessness & anxiety ridden teenage years, the raising of six independence-claiming, know-it-all's that will span nearly two decades in the near future.) An intermittent eighteen months of toilet bowl hugging & parasite embryo induced narcolepsy. Then another inconsecutive eighteen months of back spasms, esophagus searing heartburn, fluid retention & leg cramps. Rounding off with four, five, six, seven jaunts through the labor & birth ward where the midwives know you on a first name basis on sight without glancing at your record. Potentially a week's worth of contractions & after birth pains. Months of cracked, tender nipples adding up to nearly a year. All based on a trend, a fad, a fashion, a rage, the in thing for 2014.

It's what all the hip people are doing. You'll find us in the kitchen serving up meals on nearly a dozen plates, or in the laundry putting through the eighth dirty washing load for that day. We're recognized by our little troops traipsing along with us & our great, big, minimum seven seat cars.

While big families may not be glamorous, unless your name is Brangelina, we certainly are fun. For every negative there is always two positives to cancel it out. The lines slowly emerging on my face are more from laughter, crinkles around my eyes that show a happy life. 

My wardrobe may not be full of the latest designs from the catwalk. I have no designer tags to flaunt. I've got myself something better & apparently it's the latest family trend.

Full arms, full heart & a full house. We hit the Jackpot.

Six sanity sapping suckers

I am certain we had a real life alien experience last night. I'm expecting another visit tonight too. When our own minions are returned to us & then to collect these hair pulling imposters that were left in their place. 

Unfortunately I don't believe in UFO's & the like. In consideration a conclusion has been drawn. I must be bat shit crazy to have convinced Doug to breed six of the little life draining, sanity sapping, energy sucking creatures.

Well, two of them at least, maybe three.

By the end of today I couldn't even get their names straight. Not that it really mattered. Jack, Blake & Ben were all behaving like a pack of wild orangutan's so names were irrelevant really. Lucky they weren't listening to hear me call them the wrong name. Every time.

The thought of plucking out my winter long leg hairs one by one was quickly becoming more & more appealing the longer the afternoon wore on. If someone had said that for a miracle to occur & our three boys to stop arguing with each other, all I had to do was pull out each toe nail...Pass me the pliers already. After all toe nails grow back over time. However, frown line wrinkles are permanent. Botox not withstanding. 

Today I am completely over hearing my own voice, over their shrieks, the words 'time out' & 'grounded' have lost all concept & meaning. Grounded, grounded, grounded, grounded, grounded, grounded...Semantic satiation in action. The sound of a dentist drill grinding against my teeth is more appealing to my ears at this moment.

In the aftermath of an attitude stand off between Ben & Jack I devoured an entire twelve pack of fun size mars bars. Three minutes flat the bag was empty & my food remorse was high. I needed the sugar high more than they did.

In light of the fact listing children to the highest bidder on Ebay is both frowned upon & illegal, my next best course of action was putting the main offenders to bed ninety minutes early. Not that this bolstered any parenting strong hold. 

The little turds are still awake. 

Two hours later. 

I'm sure I'll love them again tomorrow. In the mean time I'm off to have a bath. These legs are in need of some serious attention with summer pending & I need some intense relaxation. A hot bath with a good book I can lose myself in is just what the quack ordered.  

Breaking the fairytale

Four days ago Ben lost another tooth, one of his premolars. While he was excited to lose another tooth, especially as it was a simple & near bloodless self extraction, he wasn't as excited after the event as he has been in the past. In point, one crucial childhood folklore wasn't even mentioned once the tooth was put safely away so it could be easily scooped up & put under his pillow come bedtime.

Fast forward to yesterday when I realized that small, oddly shaped, scrap of eraser was Ben's tooth - still sitting behind the fruit bowl on the bench. Even now it is sitting there. He has not once mentioned the tooth fairy all this time.

I'm a little bit devastated & a whole heap in denial. Surely Ben still believes? 

**Little eyes look away now...
...
...
...
...
...
...
The Santa talk is more intimidating than the puberty or the birds & the bees talk. (I mean with all the children we've had, our kids know at least the basics for each of their ages.)  But coming clean about who is responsible for all those gold coins, chocolate eggs & over flowing stockings is daunting & mournful. It's also another step towards recognizing & acknowledging Ben is definitely leaving behind his childhood & beginning to enter a new stage of awareness. 

We haven't officially had the 'Talk' yet, holding off because I didn't want to launch into shattering the illusion prematurely, if he (we) had just purely forgotten each night to leave the little bicuspid for the life sized, blonde haired, spectacle wearing tooth fairy. Honestly, I don't even know where to start when breaking the news that it's all a fabrication. All my mind imagines is the resulting broken heart, snuffing out the last sparkles of childhood magic. Because it doesn't just stop with the tooth fairy, no that is just the beginning. After confessing we are her imposter, we stomp on the illusion of the big eared, fluffy, cotton ball tailed, chocolate coma inducing bunny. Before wiping out all wonder & innocence with the declaration that the jolly fellow is all parental fraud. Albeit inspired from Saint Nicholas, which gives us back a little bit of credit. 

Nope, I just can't do it yet.

I can still easily recall all the anticipation & excitement I felt the night before Easter or Christmas. Imagining an over sized bunny jumping silently from house to house, straining to hear the bells of a sleigh before drifting off to sleep, of waking up in the middle of the night to my Christmas stocking resting at the end of my bed, feeling very full & heavy when nudged with my toes. I just can't break that illusion with our own children yet. 

I know it's coming, if it isn't here already. I would much rather our children, when the time comes for each of them individually (& they will be expected to play along with the myth for many years to come yet) that they find out what the deal is from us, rather than by friends, or cousins in my own personal experience. I want them to hold on to the magic of belief just a little bit longer, because it feels like once that is gone their childhood is over. 

Always looking for a silver lining, we still get at least ten more years of creating magic & manifesting the illusion for our younger minions. My days masquerading as the tooth fairy are far from over yet. I have hidden away every single tooth lost so far, though I haven't gone as far as to separate them according to which minion they sprouted from. I have no idea what to do with all these teeth, at the end of it all I'll have a purse full of one hundred & twenty (120!) teeth. Seriously. Multiple Google sources inform me that children loose twenty teeth by the time they reach twelve or thirteen years of age. Multiply that by at least six minions...What on earth am I going to do with one hundred & twenty pearly whites? The first step will be getting a bigger purse - I'm guessing something like a duffel bag should be sufficient. Just another quirk to being a large family, you need an entire wardrobe to hold (& hide) all their baby teeth, the corner of a small draw just won't cut it.

I guess I could make a (plaque) mosaic wall art...a necklace is just to damn grotesque. Or maybe I'll just keep them all hidden away.


**Towards the conclusion of this post, it was confirmed, as best as possible while other siblings were still present, that the tooth fairy is still expected to collect Ben's tooth. She just had a week long holiday, because even the tooth fairy gets a holiday every year. 

Cookbook junkie I may be, Foodie I am not.

I have a confession.

I am enamored with cookbooks & the anticipation of cooking. I would love to say I am a Foodie, passionate about passion fruit, organic quinoa, farmer fresh vegetables, grass fed beef & free range chickens. Loading photo after photo on social media sites of home cooked meals made from scratch (not a jar or sachet in sight. Boasting hand made passatta & home ground almond meal) that would leave Maggie Beer in awe. But that would not be true or accurate. I love the thought of lavishly presenting our family with a feast of dishes every evening, reminiscent of any rustic Jamie Oliver three course spread. I even have three Jamie Oliver cookbooks in my collection of paperback heaven to help me fulfill this dream. But my lofty ideals fall short more often that not. I can cook, I can cook well. I just can't reach the state of perfection & full-bellied nirvana I fantasise of. While Foodie I am not, family chef I am.

The only prerequisite any cookbook that fills my shelves must meet is the recipes cannot exceed more than half a dozen steps & all ingredients can be sourced at any major grocery store. I don't have time to spend mincing prawns, combining with spices (that can only be found in a small specialized delicatessen that does not bode well for a time restrained mum with at least three little minions in tow who would love nothing more than to touch everything in the lovingly presented displays & shelves filled with exotic food stuffs.) Then spooning the delectable but fiddly prawn mix onto wanton wrappers, before they dry out & stick to my fingers making wrapping them up a task in advanced origami. Then to steam, no more than two at a time, in a bamboo steamer. Not to forget there is still two side dishes to slave through yet. At this stage in our lives we need not so much five star gourmet, but five step gourmet. 'Good food fast', 'Midweek Mains', 'Fast, fresh, simple', '30 minute meals' are just some of the tittles that match our current culinary conditions.

Cookbooks are the only books I still buy in non-digital form. It's well known that I am an avid reader, staying up until the late hours reading e-book after fictional e-book. But when it comes to recipes & food inspiration it must be on a glossy page, not a touch screen. Plus, trying to wake up the tablet touch screen with food covered hands is always an inconvenience. It's so much easier to glance at an oil splattered, flour doused, well loved cookbook. 

Every week on a Monday night I sit down with a small hoard of cookbooks & magazines to plan our dinners for the week. Don't get too carried away, I only pick two or three meals from the taste bud taunting pages, the remaining four dinners are assigned from frequent rotation meals I can cook with my eyes closed (or on the minions) & my arms occupied with a six month old baby. Lasagne's, Stir-fry's, Roasts, Pasta dishes, Meat & Veg.

With the meals decided, the shopping list written out, & the shopping ordered, my motivation & inspiration levels are high, amped up from perusing pages of delicious, mouth watering dishes. Then the lead up to dinner time arrives, coinciding with the disappearance of my motivation & time. Instead of the dukkah crusted chicken breast served on a bed of wilted greens & char-grilled vegetables I was dreaming of the earlier, plates are served up with grilled chicken breast sans dukkah. The vegetables are not so much char grilled, but steamed. & the wilted greens, they are wilted...by the end of the week at the back of the fridge, unless I remember they are there & throw them in a stir fry.

Serving up our meals on rustic wooden chopping boards or large funky hand painted platters goes out the window (the idea, not the food). Serving up from gorgeous fancy tableware only results in mine & Doug's food going cold as we spend ten minutes dishing up for the minions. Requests for more of this, less of that & none of those coming from every chair. Or if we let them serve their own dinner they are more successful in turning the table into a scene not unlike a Pro Heart inspired commercial, with less food on their plates & more food on the table. If I needed any more reasons that center piece dishes served up in the middle of our table is just not a good idea right now, the fact that every meal see's our dishwasher loaded to capacity is just another strike against banquet style platters. The less I have to wash by hand the better. So for now, while the kids are young, the serving platters remain in the cupboards & dinner is dished straight from stove top to plate to table. Fast. Simple. 

Don't get me wrong, I love cooking, I enjoy baking. There is a huge sense of satisfaction obtained from the kids claiming "These are the best cookies ever Mum!" or the feeling of fulfillment when every morsel is devoured. But at the moment, often it feels like more of a chore, lacking the sense of comfort & joy I used to get. At the end of the day with the clock ticking down, I just want to get in the kitchen, get dinner cooked & serve a meal that is nutritious, tasty & pleasant to seven individual taste buds. This goes for snacks too. Every week I plan to bake cookies & muffins, but every morning sees that planned baking time eaten up with something else that is not baking, & often not important. I've been waiting for the motivation to come back, but it needs a little nudge along.

In the event of procrastination, take action. Tomorrow, I bake! 

Common Comments...

Every time we go out, I guarantee that we will get at least one comment on the size of our family. 

Usually they are all along the same boring & standard lines,

"Oh you have your hands full" - Well, yes, but I would have my hands full with only two children as well, it's all relative. You adapt to what you have. When it was just Ben & Rianan I also felt like I had my hands full, with a toddler & young baby.

"You must be a busy lady" - We're all busy these days. My days are filled with young family life, yours are filled with working full time, caring for elderly parents, house renovating, studying while working, etc, etc.

"All boys? Oh, just the one girl. Poor thing" - I beg to differ. I think Rianan is incredibly lucky to not only have siblings (do not take that comment the wrong way, I have nothing at all against having just one child, by choice or circumstance.) Rianan is also blessed to have many brothers to grow with, to learn from, to protect, & to have for protection. I believe that having Ben & Jack close in age she has developed more confidence, determination to stand her ground & is not afraid to play with boys or shy away from rough play. Having younger brothers has also brought out her caring & nurturing side (in Ben, Jack, Blake & Will as well since the arrival of Clay) 
It would have been great for Rianan to have a sister, but I don't believe she is at a loss for being the only girl among all the boys.

"Gee I could never have that many kids" - This one is hard to respond to, especially if it's from another Mum. Kind of falls into the category of "You must be super-Mum". No, I'm not. I still have lots of struggles, days where I lack faith in myself to raise these little people into well rounded, aspiring, positive minded adults. I still loose my patience. I yell. I get frustrated.

"Don't you have a tv?" - Actually we have three. The number of televisions we have does not impact or influence our decision & choice to have a larger than average family. Usually this comment is immediately followed with...

"Don't you know what causes it?" - Initially I used to find this comment both mildly embarrassing & rude. Having more than two children does not give you the right to ask about or comment on our personal life. Some days when I've been a little fed up with the comments & the stares, especially if it is said with a hint of disdain, or malicious sarcasm, I have replied in an equal tone "Well what would you rather be doing?"    

It's not often that I get annoyed at the comments, I get that we are in the minority. In fact less than 5% of the Australian population have four or more children. While one & two child families account for 40%, dropping down to 15% for families of three children*. For some people we are an anomaly. Most of the time I just shrug & smile the comments away. A friendly good-natured laugh with some generic chit-chat & we're on our way again. 

What I really don't want to happen with these comments is for the kids to misconstrue them, to perceive that they are a burden to Doug & I because all these strangers keep saying how I have my hands full, that I must be busy because we have lots of kids, & it's their fault that I'm busy.
That we simply have so many kids because we don't know what causes it. Surely we didn't have six children because we wanted to. When the truth is we chose to have each & every one of our children, very much loved, very much wanted.

I've noticed that it is often the older generations who look at us with a wistful smile, remembering their own childhoods or raising their own family. We feel normal when talking to these people as they tell us they grew up with several other siblings, or had eight children themselves & now have an awe-inspiring number of grandchildren & great grandchildren. 

Sometimes I bring these comments on myself. When I'm at the shops with just Clay & the friendly shop assistant makes general conversation by asking if he is our first. I love the emotions that flit across their face as they digest the news that Clay is not my first, but our sixth child. Or if I take just three with me to a doctors appointment, leaving another three with Doug. A fellow patient will ask about one of the children with me, often leading to the option whether to disclaim we have three other children at home with their Dad, or should I just avoid the entire conversation surely to follow & not mention anything. 
For the sake of transparency & honesty here, whether I admit that we have more children at home, or leave them to believe their own conclusions based on the number I have with me at that time, all depends on how nicely those three with me are behaving. If Will is playing quietly with the toys while Rianan is reading a book next to me, & Clay is observing quietly from my arms, I'll let them know that we actually have another three boys at home. However if Will is trying to run around the waiting room & Clay is squawking while being held, then usually I bite my tongue. Because if I inform them we have more children then who knows what they'll think. Plus, if I'm chasing down Will & trying to keep him to our little area, I do not have the patience, the time, or the desire, to talk family life with a stranger, who is most likely judging me, judging us, based on what they are seeing directly in front of them along with the information that there is more (surely unruly & horribly misbehaved) children else where too.

I prefer to flip those stereo-typical judgements on their head - not give them verification.

I'm grateful that in our community we are reasonably well known, & in a good way (I think, haha) for having six children. Instead of having to just nod & smile, or come up with witty comebacks, I get to have a normal conversation with the people we run into. Our children are not just a number in a longer-than-standard line of minions, but individuals to these people who see us. Not a group to gawk at & subtly try to count with their finger, then conferring with their friend while staring.

Families come in all shapes & sizes. One parent, two parents. One Dad, two Dads, two Mums, one Mum. One child, twins, triplets, three children, four children, a dozen children. Regardless the size, we are all built on the same foundation, love.  

*Based on figures from a census of families in 2011