Shifting sands

Since the end of the school year I have been wondering how to get back here or whether to come back at all. The thought of starting fresh with another bright, shiny blog crossed my mind several times. In all honesty the only reason I'm not typing over there is due to the lack of inspiration for a new, bright, shiny blog name. Then I decided my fickle blogging intentions were rather comfortable right here at HomM HQ, plus we have history. Forty two months of history to be precise. Those months have carried our story, reminding me of all the blurry days between the years.

Those blurry days have revealed a teenager in the house, a pre-teen on the cusp of adolescence, a young baby grown into a pre-schooler & the whispering thoughts of another child into an almost toddling toddler. Plus a dog, a cat & a partridge in a pear tree...or four budgies in a cage, whatever.

The last update was all about Jack, how far he has come within himself since we pulled him from mainstream school & began our homeschooling journey.

Journey noun

Passage or progress from one stage to another:

the journey to success

 

 

We have very much undergone a journey, not only with Jack, but also within ourselves & our beliefs pertaining to education. Our generic acceptance was challenged. The further we wandered down the beaten track the more we questioned, with each fork in the road our status quo shifted a little each time. School is not a one size fits all. It's rarely a one size fits most. I'll get into that another night.

 

 

Going back over the last post & reading how the other (school aged) minions all happily went off to their first day back to school come February, or first day at school as was the case for Will, amazes me in how much our point of view has altered. A narrow perspective has been upgraded to a wide angle lens with a birds eye view.

 

Mid year we decided that instead of sending Clay off to kindergarten in 2018, he would never see the inside of a conventional classroom. Instead he would keep doing what he's always known & that is homeschooling with Jack.

 

 

As we made this decision the other kids, particularly Ben & Blake, continued to frequently ask to homeschool. The blanket response initially was "no" for a variety of reasons, including the (misconception) that I personally wouldn't be able to do it, as well as the perception that they had no 'reason' to homeschool & hence were better off at mainstream school. Oh how I was still so blinkered.

 

 

You know when you're meant to be on another path, but you stubbornly continue to take step after step along the well worn tracks you're eminently familiar with, so the universe decides to throw a little wild weather your way. Whether it be in the form of an earthquake, a mudslide or a tsunami.

 

In our case it was a six week meet & greet with Influenza B & Norovirus - a nasty & hideously contagious gastro virus that loves nothing better than to take out nursing homes & cruise ships in one fell swoop. Or put a household under quarantine. 

 

 

Once we knew what we were battling & the kids were looking at a minimum one to two week absence from school, we offered them the choice to 'mock homeschool' or have their school work sent home from their teachers to complete. With a unanimous vote to (trail) homeschool, off we went.

 

Life. Changing.

 

For all of us.

 

Five weeks later & in the final week of term three, following several (hundred) discussions as a family, with the children separately & between Doug & I, we made the leap & put in our application to homeschool all the remaining school aged children.

 

 

It's now been three (or four?) months, though it feels so much longer than that - in a good way. It feels like life as we've always known it. The kids are even happier, which I didn't think was possible given they were all pretty happy kiddo's before. The cooperation & teamwork between them is heart bursting to quietly watch. Hearing them discuss or explain whatever they are currently reading, watching, writing, working on, thinking through, gives me more proof, if it was ever needed, that for our family homeschooling is the absolute freaking bees knees.

 

 

 

The world is their oyster school & I can't wait to travel it with them.

 



It's not easy being green - part II

This time last year we were several weeks into the first term of school. While most of our school aged minions were happy & adjusting well to the new school year, Jack was waist deep & sinking fast. 

Drowning in negative self talk, nail biting to the point of bleeding, hair pulling, facial & upper body tics plus other anxiety related behaviour. There was sleeplessness, melt downs & mood swings, anger, tears - lots & lots of tears.  

In the morning, the closer it got to leaving for school the worse he became. Once we arrived at school he was compliant enough heading in to class. I won't write that he was happy enough, because he wasn't. More accurately put, he was resigned to it. Some days were better than others for him & I could usually gauge how stressful his day was based on how quickly he melted down once we got home. Or once he got to the car. 

So many days with so many tears of frustration, anger, self doubt. It was like the more he held it together at school the worse the personal fall out, or 'let go', was for him once he was in his safe space of being home.

We haven't even touched on the topic of homework. 

It's actually really heart breaking recalling how internally tormented he was, how different he was back then.

Over the years I had toyed mentally with the thought of homeschooling, it's always been on my radar since Ben approached school age. However with a reasonable selection of good schools around us in the suburbs that we lived in it was never more than a thought. Until it became a very serious consideration to try help our 'Jacker-knackers' come out of the swamp he seemed stuck in.

The school was great - it wasn't them, a school transfer was not going to fix this. It was Jack. No amount of meetings, compromise or additional help in any form was going to be able to fix what we were looking at. There was just so many areas, so multi-faceted, it would be impossible to ask a teacher to accomodate so many changes. Especially when our teachers are already stretched like an over used hair-band (& often doing an incredible job teaching a stacked curriculum to twenty odd students all of varying academic levels & backgrounds.)

After several weeks of researching, talking & sleepless nights, more researching & more talking, we made the decision to homeschool Jack.

Best.

Decision.

Ever.

The road we've traveled so far has not been without a few speed bumps & route re-evaluations. Especially with a pregnancy thrown into the mix. We completed our first year of homeschooling when Kade was eleven weeks old. It was not always easy, particularly in the last trimester when your body is all about growing a human & your brain is all about the sleep. Then we kicked off term four with a two week old. At least I could sit & feed, or stand & rock Kade to sleep while helping Jack. But the brain haze that accompanies the detaching of the placenta & the commencement of breast engorgement...the struggle was real. My brain was trying to nurture a newborn & support a nine year old with sensory issues, anxiety & still over coming the slathering of self doubt he was beginning to see past.

But my god. The changes we began to see, even just six weeks in. That was validation & all the confirmation we needed that this was right. 

The nail biting to point of bleeding & beyond began to ease, the nervous tics were dissipating, our mornings ran a lot smoother & after school was no longer filled with melt downs & homework battles.

The negative self talk-

"I can't do this"

"I'm so stupid"

"God I'm so dumb"

"Everybody hates me"

we even had "I wish I wasn't born"... 

*deep breaths, wipe away the tears.

I can't remember the last time Jack has spoken about himself like that. 

Last year when Jack was faced with a page of work that looked daunting, there was an immediate shut down response. It took a lot of coaching, coaxing & reassurance that I was right there with him to just get him to even consider putting a pencil in his hand.

Yesterday Jack opened up one of his English workbooks we're currently working through. He looked at all the writing, all the reading & said "Mum I can't do this one, it's too hard."

I came over to have a look & said, "you know what, I really think you can do it. I know it looks like there is a lot, but I think you should give it a go. Remember all the other times you have said something was too hard & we worked through it together? Then you realised it really wasn't that hard at all? I think you should just try. See how you go." 

Without any further comment, Jack put his head down & began to read. Then began to write. Ten minutes later he was finished & incredibly proud of himself. It may not sound like a lot to some, but to us it is huge. A complete contrast to seven months ago. 

Each day another brick is added to his wall of self confidence, it's slowly re-building but it seems we're getting a bit faster now. 

Part I can be read here

Being an adult is like looking both ways for cars...then getting hit by an aeroplane

After getting the itch to start blogging again late last year I intended to get this post up within a week or two, definitely before the end of January. Then January rolled in...& rolled out with February hot on it's tail. Each week I told myself I must to find the time to get re-acqainted back here. Then the days all blended into a blurry haze of summer heat, school holidays, back to school shopping & soaking up every drop of toilet training fails from Clay. 

In the end life just kept on spinning by while we kept up with each day - much like the last 18 months really.

Since that last post (was it really back in 2015!?!) There have been a few changes for us here at House of many Minions. 

- We bought our home. 

- Expanded our family by 4 furry feet. 

- Made plans for the future...then found out lucky number seven was on the way a little earlier than we planned.

- Started homeschooling Jack.

- Welcomed lucky number seven into our family. 

- Bought a camper trailer large enough to accomodate all nine of us (plus the two dogs) for many adventures & spontaneous weekends away.

- Seen Will off to his first year of school. 

- Realised life in the coming future with numerous teens & pre-teens is going to be much like raising over grown toddlers with a talent for food consumption of epic proportions.

It's a bit like when you catch up with a friend you haven't seen in ages & you're asked what has happened since we last caught up...everything & nothing. There's all these big life events thrown in with the spinning of day to day life. You quickly float over the mundane threads to try pick up the strands of glittery sparkle. 

The brightest sparkly thread that has woven into our lives is Kade, our seventh little minion.

After buying our first home 6 months earlier, Doug & I had this great big discussion on long term goals, achievements & where we wanted to be in the next three to four years time. This included having another baby, maybe late 2017 or during 2018...Seems this discussion was all the universe needed - just a few short weeks later two pretty pink lines threw all our well made plans into the air & changed our course to collect another passenger.

Thirty eight weeks & a car upgrade later, the newest member for the blue team declared his intention to join us earthside with a small pop of waters after dinner. Baby sitters were called, bags were thrown in the car, contractions were mild...until they weren't. My back felt like it was going to explode, my belly was having the mother of all period cramps, my mind was struggling to let go of inconveniencing all these people who had been called out of their homes so late in the evening. Then just after midnight our wriggly, cranky, serious faced boy arrived. 

Our little passenger is now fast approaching five months old & an absolute sleep depriving, time wasting, delight. He feeds like a sumo wrestler & can out-stare even the most seasoned pro in a staring competition. He thinks our bed is a hell of a lot better than his own & I'm too tired to disagree. Which means our nights consist of me creeping into bed a lot closer to midnight than conducive for optimal sleep, only to stumble out within the hour to collect Kade from his cradle (still in our room - these apron strings are a lot harder to sever this time round.) He'll latch on like starving man in front of an all you can eat buffet, before passing out in a warm, milky stupor minutes later. 

If I'm still semi conscious I'll put him back in his cradle...only to be summoned again within the hour. Rinse & repeat until the sun rises & the alarm declares the day must begin. The other alternative is to remain immobile all night long, as only a mother can, while the little bundle contentedly dozes the night through.

Right now I prefer some sleep over no sleep, so I'll continue to push Doug near out the bed while I play sleeping statues in the middle, with Kade taking prime position on my side of the bed.

We're surviving, I'm functioning - though that is up for debate some days, my coffee consumption is keeping the coffee bean business thriving & this too shall pass.

The missing sisterhood

Growing up I often felt I was missing out not having a sister. The fact that I was an only child for the first nine or so years didn't concern me half as much, but not having a sister - another girl to share rooms with, clothes with, secrets with & fight with, almost felt like a missing limb. Occasionally now I still wonder what it would be like to have a sister to go out to lunch with, to reminisce together over our shared childhood, to wet our pants with laughter remembering the time Dad singed his eyebrows off after throwing a cupful of petrol on the wood in the combustion fire & then lit it. It felt like a little empty spot not knowing a sisters bond.

Back in the days when children were still a hypothetical, I hoped that our first born would be a boy, followed by a girl & soon after another boy. Then, if we decided to swap our family sedan for a people mover to accommodate more than five people, I envisioned our fourth child would be another girl. The perfect double pigeon paired family. 

When half of my wishes came true, my envisioned boy, girl, boy in the form of Ben, Rianan & Jack, I was almost certain that we were well on our way to the doubled up 'ideal'. When the sonographer pointed out our fourth baby's tackle during the 20 week ultrasound, we were thrilled to have a (near) houseful of boys. Somehow I convinced Doug that five children would be brilliant & Will came along shortly after, irreversibly tipping the scales in favor of the meat & two veg.

When Clay announced his presence via two pink lines & morning sickness that had me head down in the toilet bowl most mornings, we were suprised but no less excited. With a pregnancy that was noticeably different from the last three boys I thought there was a good chance we would be seeing a little squidette on that black & white screen while my belly was covered in cold goop. It was standing room only when we went off for a private early gender reveal scan at 15 weeks, filling the room with ourselves plus the minions. After many ultrasounds I'm fairly well versed in making heads from tails & certainly know what a penis looks like via ultrasound - our boys were not shy when it came to the big reveal. Neither was Clay. Our newest little squid was not a squidette but, well, a squid.

If I said I wasn't quietly disappointed I would be lying. I was excited to start imagining what our future would hold with 5 boys -  soccer balls & footballs all over the back yard, muddy boots by the front door & a stack skateboards by the back door. (Which is exactly what our house looks like - the neighbour is continuously finding balls in her backyard & you have to work your way through the maze of scooters, bikes, skateboards, helmets & shoes just to reach our front door.) But my heart still quietly ached that Rianan would now also be joining the club of the Missing Sisterhood. 

It's hard to voice that disappointment, because it is not to say that our boys are any less awesome, any less wanted or any less loved. The moment I found out we were expecting another child I loved them, when we discovered their genders I fell in love even further & with each little kick, elbow jab, hiccup & body roll I fell even deeper. By the time they were born my heart was filled with so much love it frequently leaks out my eyes. 

It's the potential dream that disappears, saying goodbye to a future that once was possible, now will not be. In the scheme of things it is really quite trivial, especially when you put it next to infertility, miscarriage & stillbirth, cancer, or any other life impacting & heart breaking experience. Though it may be trivial, it still impacted my life, my childhood & friendships. Enough for it to roll around my head for weeks now & to put all those thoughts & feelings into words here. Knowing that Rianan will not know what it is to have a sister. That she might try to seek out that missing limb in close friends, to elusively search for a sisters bond she'll never have. Speaking from experience, it won't measure up or be the same. It was only when I reached my late twenties that I stopped looking to fill that phantom void. That I realised it was simply a dip in the surface & not a desolate space that needed to be filled. 

I may not know what it is to have a sister, or to be the mother of sisters, but my life is not lacking in richness, short of love, or devoid in any way. With a husband who loves me, flaws & all, who gets me & lifts me up in every way, with six incredibly special & unique children who drive me to be better, to do better each day. To have seven people who own my heart. That is lucky enough. Then top it off with beautiful & enriching friendships with women who make me laugh, make me cry & I can be myself with. There is no missing limb. I hope that Rianan, as she grows up surrounded by her brothers, knows that it is a blessing to be a sister even if she doesn't have one herself. And that she doesn't need to fill the shoes of a non existent one either. 

Things I Know - Fillings shoes & a link up party #TIK

Kids are weeds. 

Seriously.

They absorb everything around them.

They attempt to devour all & any food sources faster than others surrounding them.

They thrive with sunlight, fresh air & love a good play in water.

They grow faster during childhood than at any other stage of their lives.

Weeds. 

Kids.

Growing is their super power. Enough said.

It seems that no sooner do our minions fit into their clothes & shoes, they are growing out of them again. I am not opposed to handing down shoes between our boys. If there is any wear left in them, that is. Our boys play hard & ride harder. Of course brakes are on the wheels on the scooters & bikes that pave the way to our front door. Apparently, brakes can also be found on your shoes. 

We have so many pairs of shoes in our house I'm a little afraid to go around & count them all, to be honest. The boys have more shoes than I do & Rianan has three times as many as Doug. With the new soccer season starting, several growth spurts since the end of last season, we're about to add even more shoes to the footwear count. 

While we're on the topic of chuck taylors, for the next two weeks I'm stepping into some big boots to fill. Ann, from Help!! I'm Stuck!! has asked me to host her "Things I Know" link up party while she is away, kicking up her own feet on holiday. 

What things do you know this week? 

Link up below & check out some of our other bloggers this week too. Love what you read? Share it. 
Have something to say, then comment away. I love hearing from readers, I'm sure other bloggers feel the same too.

There are no hard & fast rules for #TIK link up, old post, new post, bring it on.

Happy linking!

An InLinkz Link-up

Making men to be proud of

Violence against women. It is not a new concept brought about with the advancement of technology or time. Through out the centuries it has been there. Hidden. Eyes averted. Not our business. Whispered through gossip circles. Advised to keep your nose out of it, if you know what's good for you.

I would have thought abuse against women would lessen as the younger generations grew into the men of today. That they knew better than to rape or sexually assault a woman - unknown to them or their own partner, a person they are meant to love & respect. That they knew better than to slam a woman against the wall. To bash her self esteem into shattered pieces with their caustic words & disgustful stares. I thought our generation of twenty first century men were better than this. 

So grossly disillusioned.

Headlines, recent & past, prove that too many men today still see nothing wrong with abuse towards women. Verbal, physical, psychological. The bruises are there. I imagine they never truly heal either.

I'm not painting all men with the same misogynistic brush. Many are gentlemen, fine men who would never hurt a woman & would stand to protect them in any situation. Fine men any Mum would be proud to know they helped raise, nurturing them from little boys, through the hormone driven teenage years, to see the young man emerge they are now.

But the men with hidden monsters. The ones who have less commonsense than our early homo-sapien ancestors, the men who see it as their right to treat women as less than any person deserves...What went wrong? Are their parents proud of these young men they helped shape into the perpetrators of today? Was there a turning point during their younger years that sparked the threads of aggression & dominance over females. Nature or nurture? 

What is equally scary as their potential to ruin lives, is that these men are completely normal in appearance. They have friends, they go to work at their every day jobs, they care for their parents & treat their pets as family members. They don't go around drooling & grunting, dragging their fists along the ground. They are educated men in today's world of privilege & freedom. Would it be easier, safer, if we could see the fault lines in their personality as easy as we can see the clothes they are wearing?

Raising our own five young boys, the future male generation to come, I constantly question if I'm doing it right. What are we doing to instill the right values, morals & respect towards all women with our boys. They love their sister & their Mum. They love their Grandma, Auntie & all other female family & friends of all ages. Not once have they shown persistent signs of aggression, disrespect or arrogance towards any female. Surely so far, so good, right? 

Our boys have some amazing male role models in their lives, starting first & foremost with their Dad, who is an absolute gentleman. He shows myself & Rianan absolute love & respect, never raising a hand or his voice. Words of aggression or disgust have never been spoken & directed at us. The same can be said for the Uncles, Grandad's & close male friends in our lives, I could not ask for better men for our boys to look up to & to imitate. 

What happens to make some men turn ugly?

Did Vincent Standford, the man accused for murdering Stephanie Scott have a loving childhood? 

What male role models did Oscar Pistorius have in his life as he grew into the man he became? 

What leads a man to the justification or to their perceived right to sexually assault a woman. To physically attack her or to take her life. How have they come to the conclusion that to speak words of disgrace, of ugliness & despise to their partner is okay?

I used to think as the generations moved forward, that acts of violence against women, racism, homophobia, bigotry was a dying concept. Instead, it seems that the only change is now we cover it more freely in the news, or openly carry on like ignorant idiots instead of waiting for the door to close to keep it in the privacy of your own home. It is still commonplace to witness hateful attacks on strangers for their life choices. Instead of stepping in & standing up for the victim, people are watching the attack through the screen on a mobile phone before uploading the recording to YouTube. 

I want to think Doug & I are doing enough, over & above, to make sure our boys will grow into men we will be proud of. Who would never abuse women, in any way or form. Or any person for their lifestyle choices, their appearance or for the way they were born. I look back at our parenting over the last ten years, & I look forward to how I anticipate we will continue to raise our minions, it seems that we are on the right track. Our boys are pretty damn great now, surely if we continue in the same flexible way our boys will turn into men who love their partners with gentle affection & not harsh words or vicious actions. 

What can the parents of today do, or not do, to help the future men & women of tomorrow? Is that even a question to pose? Because at the end of the day there is no reason, no excuse or past event big enough to justify or slightly condone this behaviour or attitude. Every person is responsible & accountable for their own actions. The one true freedom we have is to make our own choices & follow through with our own actions, accepting any consequences that may follow. 

Making heroes, not monsters. Nature? Nurture? None of the above?

Boys & their toys

Have boys, they said. 

It'll be fun, they said.

{ok, we didn't get a say in the whole boy:girl ratio, but work with me here}

Boys are awesome. Our boys are awesome. They are loud. They are hilarious. They are adventurous & cute as puppies when they are up to no good. You know that saying 'silence is golden'? Nuh-uh. If the house is quiet it's a telling sign they are up to no good...True. ALL true.

Another truth about boys - they make your toilet smell like an alley behind the local pub. No lie. 

We do toilet checks on the hour every hour - or after each pit stop, to comply with standard OH&S recommendations. A wet toilet floor is a slippery toilet floor, & no one wants to land in someone else's pee. Or even your own pee.

I was aware that the younger (& not so younger) male species may need reminding to refine their aim. I was prepared for drips on the toilet seat & few a strays on the floor. What I was not prepared for was the proverbial showers that would dry in yellow droplets all over the seat & lid. Neither was I expecting to regularly find Lake Bonney on our toilet floor. I kid you not. I had no idea that so much wee could come from such a small person in one trip.

With four boys taking regular jaunts to the lavatory, one of whom has a low capacity, hyperactive bladder meaning he is nearly always busting straight off the mark. Some days I clean the toilet floor more than I load the washing machine.

Over the last four months or so it seemed to exacerbate, likely due to the school holidays & with now four boys using the commode on a rotating door basis. Fed up with having to resort to a towel to clean up the initial mess, going through rolls of toilet paper & bottles of disinfectant on a weekly basis I called all the boys to a toilet door meeting. Mum was serious.

Rule #1
When you go to the toilet, hold your penis! 
Many times I had busted Jack just thrusting his hips forward & then refining his aim as he went. Which was never successful, & often by the time his aim was on target he'd run out steam, so to speak. By then it was too late.

Rule #2
Put the toilet seat UP!
You can't drip wee on the toilet seat if it isn't in your way. {I didn't bother asking them to put it back down once finished. I learnt long ago to pick my battles & right now putting the seat down is very low on the list of parenting warfare.}

Rule #3
Watch where you are weeing.
How do you know if you are meeting water with water when you are staring at the ceiling or looking over your shoulder? 
To reiterate - hold & watch, from beginning to end.

Rule #4
If you make a mess, clean it up. If you need help, ask.


We went back to basics, even though we had covered all of these back at the beginning when they first began running around in jocks. With these rules {verbally back in place} I was hopeful. 
Hopeful my days of soggy socks from stepping in some one's wee were over. Wiping seats, behind lids, walls & floors with disinfectant could be done less than five times a day. Minimum.
For a few days it helped. Lake Bonney never returned & but for a few splashes here & there, it seemed they were taking their responsibilities as boys seriously. Then every now & again I would find a puddle returned, or the beginnings of a yellow shower over a seat that hadn't been lifted. I was able to rule out Ben from the offending list. That still left Jack, Blake & Will. It appeared each of them were guilty, in random order, of breaking one {or all of} the toilet commandments.

Through constant reminding & follow up checks, we're slowly getting to a clean & visitor safe lavatory. Most of the time anyway. If they make a mess they do clean it up - to the best of their ability. The seat & lid now both stay down, so if they need to pee they lift both instead of aiming over the seat. Every boy is holding their hose & watching where they are aiming - a big win.

Seriously, I never imagined getting boys to use & leave the toilet in a clean state would be such an on going drama. We were not lazy with their toilet training or have low standards of personal care & hygiene. It just seems that they are too busy & find the need to vacate their bladder a time consuming interruption to their days. So it was done as quickly & as haphazardly as possible. After all there are soccer balls to kick, bikes to jump & scooters to ride. Who has time to go to the toilet anyways.

In a predominantly XY gene'd large family two toilets are not a luxury.

They are a necessity.

A new era - The first week of school

Next week marks the beginning of a new era for Blake, venturing off into the big wide world of school for the first time. He's ridiculously excited to be joining the bigger minions in the 'big school boy' category, & I hope just as ready. As for me, as excited as I show for him, on the inside a small part of me is aching, dreading letting go that little bit more. 

With having prepared {nearly} four little people for their debut into school life, I thought I would share a few tips that have worked in our house & helped make the transition easier - for both of us.

Lunchboxes & drink bottles

With shelves & online stores bursting with a wide variety of lunchboxes & drink bottles, the choice can be overwhelming. From plain old school style lunchboxes to lunchboxes consisting of several separate compartments, lunchboxes filled with little containers, along with a range of insulated lunch bags - all ranging from five dollars to fifty dollars.  Confusing much?

We've tried all of the above over the years & the best advice is to choose one that will be simple & easy for your child to open & close. Remember to check any smaller containers as well. What looks the most appealing may not be the most practical. Once you get home, let them practice using their new lunchbox & drink bottle. Also name anything & everything - especially if your choice includes smaller containers. {Remember to stick a label on the lids too!}

The first Good-Bye

Oh it's an emotional one. 
Regardless of how you are feeling, show enthusiasm & confidence in your child on that first {& subsequent} morning. It's likely they will be looking to you for cues on how to respond to this new experience & if you're showing hesitation they will pick up & mimic this. Hold it together until you're out of the classroom. Then put on your over sized sunnies & pull out the Kleenex, keeping the tissues close by...all day. Especially if you're tear ducts are like mine & prone to leaking for the smallest of reasons.
As for when to finally say good bye & leave the classroom, watch their teacher for cues. Usually I've found teachers like the parents to say their final good bye's within five to ten minutes of the bell. As much as I might like to prolong that final moment, sometimes hanging around too long can cause tears {from both of us}. If the bell has gone, your child is all unpacked, settled & waiting for their school day to start, be ready to say good bye. Then do it & leave. 

Lastly aim to be a few extra minutes early. This is not a morning you'll want your child to feel rushed or add any extra pressure on to. There's plenty of time in the future to arrive just as the bell is ringing over the coming months & years.

Routines

Even though Blake is familiar with the morning & afternoon school runs, we have been talking about what he needs to do in the morning to get ready & what will happen once we get to his classroom. Not in great detail - covering getting dressed into his school uniform, making sure he packs his hat & can put on his own shoes. Once at school he'll need to unpack his school bag - putting his lunchbox away, drink bottle on his table, his hat into his named tray & then lastly putting his bag in his allocated space. Knowing what is likely to happen on the school mornings eases the change of routine, helping the unfamiliar to feel more familiar.

We also make sure he knows where the toilet is, what to do if he feels lost or scared, who to ask for help & where he can go to find help. With older siblings at the same school we have also talked about not wandering around the school yard to look for them in case he gets lost & to stay with his class for recess & lunch {at least for the first week}.

After school

In that first month of school commencing, we always keep our after school activities & errands to a minimum. Ideally we head straight home from school, with a snack ready & waiting for them - muffins, a fruit platter with a small bowl yogurt, dip with crackers & vegetable sticks. Get into the habit of unpacking bags from that first day -  encouraging them to pack & unpack their own bags. It fosters a great sense of independence as well as setting strong habits that you'll be grateful for in a couple of years down the track. Consider bringing dinner time forward a little earlier than usual. The first month of starting school has always been a big shock to our minions little bodies & often I would find them flaked out on the couch before dinner was ready. 

Communicate

Never be afraid to talk to your child's teacher, about anything. Whether it's about something that's happening in your lives at home - trivial or important, positive or not so positive. Knowing what is going on in their little students lives is helpful. Address any concerns relating to your child early, if something isn't working well or your child is having trouble adjusting let their teacher know so you can work together to help your child. Same goes for any positive feedback, teachers love to hear good news!

Hopefully some of these help you, or inspire other ideas to ease the transition into beginning school for the first time. Over the coming weeks your ears will probably fall off with all their tales about their new school adventures, who they played with, which lessons they had, when they cried after falling over on the pavement. That's another heart wrencher, the first time they hurt themselves & it wasn't you who cleaned up the scrape & wiped away the tears.

It's a new chapter that brings a lot of changes, but the best part is watching your child learn, seeing them form & grow new friendships, watching their self confidence soar with their new independence & skills.

Now we just have two more to go. 

Six reasons why six is better than seven

The problem with letting the cobwebs come take residence here, when you notice the days on the calender flicking by, it gets harder to open the next post up...

Where in my washing basket have the last twenty two days gone?! Apologies for the unintended hiatus. 

Twenty two days & not a word, no "Merry Christmas", no "Happy New Year". Just dust & cobwebs. 

**Ten minutes later...

How do you start a post after falling off the face of the cyber world for three weeks? With an explanation for why the desertion? {Christmas, school holidays, procrastination, too many kids to hear myself think} 

Or should I mindlessly type about our Christmas & New Years? {both were good, kids were spoilt & deliriously happy with their gifts, the days were blessedly uneventful & filled with smiles & memories}.

Maybe I should pose the question to you - how was your Christmas & New Years celebrations? 

Perhaps it's best to just close my eyes, pinch my nose & dive straight in.

Why six children is better than seven

- Six is an even number. This is the golden rule, always finish on an even number. Supposedly so no one is left out. I can attest that is a load of soggy weet-bix. Even or odd, someone is left out. Not always, but still often enough to hear "Muuuum, Ben & Jack aren't letting me watch" or "Muuuuum, Rianan & Ben aren't letting me play" every ten minutes for the last four weeks. Even numbers do not bestow miraculous sibling contentment. But I'm meant to be presenting the positives here, not arguing against myself. So, Six is awesome because it's not odd.

- There is still a {teeny tiny} range of normal cars to choose from. By normal I mean not a child care bus & still has eight seats. Hyundai Imax, Kia Grand Carnival, Toyota Tarago, Mitsubish Prado, Toyota Landcruiser, plus a few imported cars like the Elgrand & Delica. After this it is a mini bus for you & your small army.

- Packets of muesli bars, chips, muffins, even picnic dinner sets all come as a set of half a dozen. One for each little person. The picnic sets can even be color assigned for each minion. Perfect. 

- When holding hands to cross a road or walking through a busy event, everyone pairs off nicely. {There's that even number thing again}. Leaving one or both parents with two arms free...To carry all the extra bags full of food, drinks, hats, sunscreen, spare socks, undies, clothes, a random shoe & a token teddy, plus all the other useless paraphernalia that you need to drag along everywhere you go. 

- Dining tables. A variety of choices for eight seater dining tables. Long ones, square ones, round ones. Seats, benches, seat & benches. Same for couches, eight people will fit on a big modular couch, or two long couches. That seventh kid would just have to sit on the arm rest. (Joke. The floor is just as comfortable I'm sure.)

- In a four bedroom house six children with two to a room is a perfect fit. Who could argue with that logic?

Did it work, have I convinced you that six is the new seven? 

No?

Me neither. 

Even though on paper six children fits into our life {& house} nicely, my maternal body clock driving all these crazy baby growing urges apparently can't read or listen to logic. These ovary clenching, love filled sighs for one more little minion have me packing away the outgrown newborn clothes & toys to the back of the cupboard instead of selling them or passing on to someone else who could use them. Because I'm still hoping {against all hope, reason & logic} that we'll use them...just one more time.

*This is not a pregnancy announcement. Before you all start rubbing my Christmas belly & high fiving Doug. 

The mother of all tantrums

{Don't let his cheeky face lead you into 

a false sense of security.

Even if he is a little bit cute.}

Once again brought to you by Murphy's law. Does he even spy & eavesdrop on anyone else, or am I just lucky?

I was mentally composing a post on how my mothering skills are so brilliant, that without even trying Clay no longer sleeps swaddled up*. He simply holds a corner of his wrap in one hand & sucks the fingers of his other hand, soothed by the sounds of his siblings screams & the front door right next to his room crashing closed every two minutes, he peacefully drifts off to the land of Zzz. There was no forethought, no plan or decision made to stop swaddling Clay. Just a natural progression that evolved from Clay turning into a little houdini & me not re-wrapping every thirty seconds.

In this post there may have been sentences how my awesomeness is so awesome that we have even managed to stop swaddling when some of the other minions were babies without any major disruptions to their (or our) normal sleeping patterns, setting a new pb record for three babies in a row now. I know, right? I hate me a little too.

The un-swaddling process with Rianan & Jack was such a production that was fraught with anxiety & scouring outdated parenting magazines by torchlight at 3am for that one miracle tip that would make all our dreams finally happen. Literally...Please. With Ben it was a non-issue - he just didn't sleep to require any elaborate ten step process to ditch the muslin wrap. Then along came the fourth child who just raises himself. My skillz are so stinkingly sparkly that I don't even have to try anymore. As if my maternal ego needed to get any bigger, Will & Clay come along breezing their way through our family dynamics, cementing the theory that after three children status level Effortless Expert is applied.

When really I should have just shut the hell up & been eternally grateful for Clay's placid & easy going nature.

Not thirty minutes later from declaring {in written draft form} we're acing this baby raising gig & feeling a little clever, the tantrum of all hell breaking lose tantrums occurred. You can put the voodoo doll & pins away, karma found me swift & proper. 

Venturing to the shops with four of the minions, we enter into the first of two shops. A knick-knack el cheapo store, to buy a present for Rianan's five dollar secret santa classroom exchange. The standard disclosure was uttered to Blake & Will as we entered the store - do not touch anything, stay with me. Will was adamant he was not going to hold my hand, squirming away the minute there was any skin to skin contact. 

Always under-estimate a three year old. When you think they will listen, never expect them too. When you think they will follow the examples of their older siblings, do not presume they will. 

That was my first mistake, having faith where none should be. Will touched, he picked up, he knocked boxes off shelves in an effort to put the one in his hand back on the shelf. He wandered up & down the aisles, around the corners blocking the path of other customers, spinning sticker stands, & presenting me with cards we didn't need. As quick as possible our secret santa purchases were made & I took my little hot handed boy out of there. 

Stepping away from the store entrance & in an open aired environment to help dis-spell the intensity of any imminent world ending cries, I tell Will I am now holding his hand while we walk around the car-park to the next store. Cue EPDPT {Epic Public Display of Preschooler Tantrum}. Instant psycho killer attacking me screaming, beetroot purple face, spaghetti legs & twisty, verge of dislocating the shoulder body drops. This continued on for twenty minutes. I kid you not. 

We were a sight to shame even the most sympathetic grandparent & been-there-done-that-glad-it's-you-not-me fellow mums. 

Nothing but the freedom to walk to his own beat was going to mollify Will. Shame that the only choices I was willing to concede to were hold my hand or go in a trolley. Only I got to suffer the consequences. Putting on the I'm-ignoring-my-screeching-child mask, not daring to make eye contact with anyone over 4 foot tall & not a genetic link to me, I dashed around the store scooping items off the shelves, throwing them haphazardly into the trolley in between attempts to calm Will down - who was having none of it. Calming words were met with Will screaming louder & kicking his little legs back & forth against the trolley harder. Thank god the trolley we chose had a fully functioning seat belt with all three prongs intact...& that Will hasn't grasped the fine motor skills yet to get that sucker undone. 

Through the entire time Will did not fail in his pledge to set the bar higher for the next tantrum to end all tantrums. Meanwhile Clay just took in the front row experience from his familiar perch in a sling across my chest, with Rianan & Blake walking & chatting as if this was an everyday occurance. Thank god it's not, my nerve endings couldn't take it if it was. 

Consider this post my formal written apology for having gotten too big for my $8 Kmart ballet flats. Even if the intended post prior to Will's cutting me back down to size was tongue in cheek & highly over exaggerated. What I should have simply written is that Clay is sleeping really well at the moment though this is sure to change in the immediate future & Will, what can I say? He is three years old. 'Nuff said.

But that would be boring.

*Swaddling : to bind an infant with long narrow strips of cloth to prevent free movement of their arms or disturbance from the startle reflex.

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