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?

What does a Mum do with forty eight hours of minion free time?

Last week five of the minions went to Grandma's house for a big sleepover. 

Two nights. 

Three days. Almost. 

Oh em gee. 

My hypothetical "What I would do if I had two whole days of no kids" became a reality. I could have wet my pants I was that excited. The only times Doug & I have had more than twenty four hours minus our minions have been when we were welcoming another little one into our tribe & a few years ago when we celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary with a two night get away. Though Will wasn't yet a year old, so our packing list included a porta-cot & a baby.

Back to last week though. 

With a kick in my step & a tear in my eye I kissed Ben, Rianan, Jack, Blake & Will good bye, squeezing little bodies tight enough to last us all until Friday afternoon, before driving Clay & I back home to our quiet, empty house.

I had planned to sap every last minute out of my {mostly} minion free days. The to-do list was nearly as long enough to rival our weekly shopping list. Furniture to sand back & re-paint, toy rooms to set up & bedrooms to change around, endless uninterrupted hours curled up on the couch reading with a hot chocolate in hand, walk in robes to de-clutter & drawers to sort through, cafes to visit & movies to watch during the day.

So what did I do with my first three hours? Be prepared to be vastly disappointed...

Dishes & Facebook.

What is wrong with me. 

Without my little anchors I was lost. Adrift in the sea of freedom. 

Even Clay was misplaced by the stillness of quiet & solitude. No brothers around building wooden block towers for Clay to swipe with his chubby little hands & his doting sister no where to be found despite how extensive he searched & how loud he tried to call out. The one on one time with Clay was precious, but it was not the same playing peek a boo with just Mummy. Kisses goodnight for only two people instead of making our way around the couches to receive seven goodnight kisses. There was no one to chase around the house or to laugh when he flashed his cheeky, toothy grin.

But oh my, the house stayed clean. No need to enter the laundry or hear the chiming end to another load of washing. The dishwasher was run only once.  The broom stood idle & the vacuum gathered cobwebs & dust instead of sucking them up. The mop even had a chance to dry before the next use.

When Doug came home from work we were able to carry through uninterrupted conversations. This is unheard of. We went out to dinner {with Clay} two nights in a row. Two nights. Consecutively. 

Friday morning Clay & I didn't get out of bed until ten in the morning. While it didn't erase the duffel bags under my eyes, rolling out of bed when the sun was already high & shining bright certainly felt luxurious & indulgent.

The old buffet cabinet I planned to re paint is still sitting in the shed awaiting it's restoration, there were no barista made latte's, bedroom doors remained tightly shut, walk in robes looked exactly the same as they had Wednesday morning & no movies were watched, day or night.

However I did manage a few uninterrupted hours of reading before the change of pace kicked back into V8 Supercar speed.

It seems forty eight hours wasn't long enough. Then again, maybe it was. Our lives were never meant to be that quiet.

48 hours out of sync

I've doggone done it again. It's horrible to see you again Murphy, I wish you hadn't came.

Last week, in a quiet peaceful moment of reflection {yes sometimes they do occur here in the home base of House of many minions} I was taking a moment to be grateful for our smooth, drama lacking lives. Oh the kids certainly keep us on our toes, but drama from outside sources, stress causing situations, dread in the pit of your stomach anxiety...we had been flying under the radar.

Up until I went and acknowledged it. It was not said out loud, but still was heard by somebody, something, somewhere. God. Universe. Deity of smugness. 'I am so grateful we haven't had any drama for a couple of years' was my undoing. It was said with gratitude, with empathy for a few friends who haven't had a great time of late with situations largely out of their direct control.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Sunday afternoon we had some news that changes our five year plan. It's not bad, it's not good, it just is. While it's still at least a year away (no, not #7) it unsettled the rest of our evening as we mulled over all the what if's, what to do's, & every potential scenerio that could develop over the next few years. Discussing plans & emergency back up plans.
Right now it doesn't affect us immediately so we're putting it to the back of our minds, I'm sure everything will be just fine, but it was unsettling while the news was digesting.

Monday, which should have been Doug's day off but he had to go in to work - though only for the morning, was going smoothly. Up until Doug's car wouldn't start. A quiet coffee before leaving in the wee dark hours of the morning...with the ignition off & the car headlights left on.
Not so bad in the scheme of things, we altered our plans for the remainder of the day but this in itself, if it had been the only speed bump, would have been forgotten days ago. Instead, it would come back into play within the next twelve hours.

Why does everything go up shits creek at dinner time? 

Blake & Will are crawling around & playing in the second lounge room, while Ben & Jack sit on the couch in there strategically building their clans on clash of clans. We pulled the homemade pizza's out the oven the same moment Will lets out a blood curdling scream. Dropping the pizza on the stove top I dash into the lounge to see Will leaning against the couch howling dramatically...not bearing any weight on his left leg. Possible bone breaking scenarios flash through my mind as I reach Will & scoop him in my arms. Ben says, without looking up from his tab, Blake did it. Problem is, Ben didn't look up from his tab a minute earlier either to see it happen. So Blake unfairly gets told off for rough play. (Shortly after I apologised to Blake for telling him off for something he didn't do & wasn't his fault. Just another mark against me in the tally of parenting fails)

Looking down to assess the potential damage to Will's leg & there is blood trialing down towards his ankle from his shin. How on earth....Oh god how bad....bugger, this definitely needs stitches. There is a small but decent sized gash near his shin bone, with a fair chunk of skin missing (to reveal the deeper fatty flesh. Vom.) A week or so earlier, a picture frame fell off the cabinet, breaking the glass. Obviously it was cleaned up. All shards of glass were collected & a thorough vacuuming to top it off. Well, I thought all shards were found.

Will, Clay & I go down to the Emergency department (in Doug's car) - where the staff were excellent. With Will's leg all cleaned up & both sides of his skin merging back together, we bundle back in the car ready to go home, excited show Daddy & the other minions his battle wound patch up {& have our dinner}. Brmmm, brmmm, brmmm, brmmm. Try again. Brmmm, brmmm, brmmm, brmmm. The dashboard display flashes check alternator with a picture of the battery. Don't have to be a mechanical goddess to know what that means. 

But wait, it gets better.

I phone Doug, who gathers the remaining four minions at home into my car to come rescue us. Not quite half an hour later, while still waiting for our knight in a Mitsubishi to arrive, I flick the ignition over again, just in case the car would start this time. I really wasn't expecting it to start. 

But it does. Stupid car couldn't have done that half an hour ago though could it. 

At this point Murphy was sniggering his dirty little ass off at us. Because Doug arrives not one minute later. After pulling Blake out of bed. Getting them all in the car instead of into bed.

I laugh. Doug rolls his eyes. We finally all get home.

I vow, for the second time, to never think how smooth, for the most part, our life normally is. Murphy's Law is listening just a little to closely to take any chances, regardless of whether my {slightly complacent} thoughts are whispered through my mind or uttered from my lips. 

Go away Murphy, it was not nice to see you.

Do your ovaries scream loud, do they ache & cry for more? Should you tie the tubes in a knot, should you tie them in a bow?

It's no secret I still consider my uterus a fully functioning organ I hope to use again in the near future. For the first time it's become a very realistic fact this may never happen...& it's cutting me up.

It's only been eight short months since Clay vacated the oven & already I'm suffering a serious case of belly envy. With several friends up the duff or in the midst of newborn haze, I get both my belly rub & newborn nuzzling hits, along with a good old whack to the ovaries & heart strings, every time I bump into these lovely ladies. 

Reading a pregnancy announcement with a photo of a positive hpt {home pregnancy test} (for those not in the ttc {trying to conceive} lingo), brings goosebumps & a fast trip down memory lane as I flash back to all those minutes spent in the bathroom during my own POAS {pee on a stick} past addiction. The stick being a pregnancy test strip, not a twig from the garden that will do nothing to foretell of any toilet bowl hugging, stretch mark itching, watermelon sized uterus to follow in the next nine months. Exposing the roots of my crazy I still have all our positive pregnancy tests from each of our minions. Including the double ups that were taken just to be certain the first test wasn't a fluke.

Then there is the guilt. With an innumerable amount of individuals, couples & families who are a hundred times more desperate than I am to feel their belly expand & fill with the nudges & stirring kicks of life. I feel like I should just be happy with our car full & ignore the sense that someone is still missing in our troop. I am deliriously grateful for our six crazy monkeys & would never think they are not enough or take our family for granted. Still I can't shake the yearnings for just one more. 

Of course, it takes to two to tango, & to say Doug is hesitant on expanding our tribe of minions any further would be a grossly dramatic understatement. A firm resounding NO can be felt even from here as I type out this post. I understand his thoughts & completely respect his opinion. Which is probably why I am so torn up, because I doubt we will ever have nine seats occupied at our dinner table every evening, despite how fiercely my heart screams for a child.

Last night as Clay was trying to get up onto his knees for the first time my eyes welled up & my chest began aching with pride & happiness. Along with despair & indescribable sadness that this may well be very well will be quite likely (even in written form I still can't put it as a final 'this will be') the last time we get to witness these first moments. Seriously, I am going to be a blubbering mess in the lead up to Clay's first birthday, even more so than with the other minions.  

Looking around our house I can easily imagine another bunk bed, another toothbrush at the bathroom sink, another body to add to the pile on movie nights. Responding with "we have seven children" when asked how many little people we have brought into this world. Seven just fits in my own little make believe world & its consuming far too many thoughts in my real world. 

For now I will just continue on as I have been - living in hope. It seems far kinder to my heart to live in hope for however many years it takes to accept that my Mama status is only applicable to six, than to cut the strings - or Doug's testicular tubes, & live a life dreaming of the what ifs & potential regret floating in the background. So many times I have read or heard first hand of hasty vasectomies or tubal ligations that were regretted three, four, five years down the track. I'm hoping after five years the intensity of my craziness will have dulled enough for me to see reason, or at least accept we won't be anticipating another little person in our family. With Clay off to school, no more nappies in the house, & hopefully enjoying full uninterrupted sleep most nights. Maybe getting out of this baby stage once & for all is what will kick me towards embracing the next stage of life. No more forty week count downs. The baby name books left to gather dust. 

With the age gaps between our kids ranging from seventeen months to two & a half years, I'm working on the theory that a five year age gap will be just what is needed to get used to calling our brood complete at half a dozen. After having less than three years between all the minions so far, to suddenly having a five year gap doesn't sound appealing to me. Especially when I've found the shorter age gaps the most enjoyable, & if I dare say it, easier, than the gaps over two years.

Some days I do wonder if I'm not half nuts & completely irrational, wishing for seven. Mostly in the moments when Will single handedly manages to dump a 750ml pump bottle of baby shampoo into the bath I was running for Clay, & then unravel a near full roll of toilet paper around the house while I was giving Clay the above mentioned bath, all in thirty minutes. With Will reminding me how impulsive three year olds can be, I question if I really want another baby. Because after the morning sickness passes & the belly grows fit to burst, after the newborn squawking cries transition into a normal baby cry, when they find their feet & their independence, they grow up. And there is a lot of growing up to do between the ages of two & twenty. Can we raise another person through that heart bursting, frustrating, awe inspiring, angst ridden, tears of joy & tears of despair, food devouring minefield?

It would be easier if my head said no while my heart said yes, because then I could find reason & agree with Doug. After all, just because I feel like eating chocolate all day long, I know that I can't. It would only cause stomach aches & nausea after the chocolate induced endorphins wear off. It just sucks that both my head & my heart are screaming "pro-create! pro-create!" Even though this would also cause nausea & stomach aches after the endorphins wear off.

I fear that for me (I'm certain Doug is terrified as well) 'just one more' will never reach a final number where the longing finally evaporates. 

If only it was as easy as saying the words "we're done. No more children." 

Curious minds

"Hello emergency services, what do you require, Police, Fire or Ambulance?"

We all know the saying "Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back." Ben is now also familiar with this adage. He also recently discovered what happens when you dial 000. 

For no other reason than childhood inquisitiveness. 

I'm glad he knows the number, I think I'm glad he has now done a one time only 'trial run'. What I do wish is if he had timed his call a little better, maybe during an hour of day when it wasn't bedlam & didn't sound like there were dying chimpanzee's in the house. 

It was nearly 5pm, time to cook dinner, organize baths & showers, tidy up from the afternoons events & invite chaos to reign supreme. On this day it was also the time motivation hit to vacuum the floors quickly. 

The concept of vacuuming quickly in our house is like mixing oil with water. It just doesn't happen. 

So, it was pretty close to pandemonium here. I was vacuuming, Rianan was either in her room tidying or playing with some friends down the road (I honestly cannot remember if she was here or not at a time that I'm certain will be seared into Ben's memory for life.) Will was watching 'Wreck it Ralph' {again} with the volume turned right up to 90, ten percent below full roar. Jack & Blake were in their bedroom under the instruction to put away the toys. In reality they were wrestling each other in a game that was yet to turn violent.

I'm over half way through my ridiculous idea to vacuum during crazy hour when the phone rings. Knowing Doug has recently finished work I presume it is him calling & let Ben answer the phone. All good, it was Doug who had a quick chat with Ben, who then relayed the conversation back to me after hanging up.

Our little bubble of disorder continues on. I look up to see Ben gazing intently at the phone that is still in his hands. I think little of it beyond he is investigating & familiarizing himself with the handset. Turns out I was somewhat correct in this assumption.

Two or three minutes pass since Doug's call when the phone rings again. I let Ben answer the phone again predicting it is Doug calling back, having forgotten something from the earlier call & continue on with the vacuuming while Jack & Blake are still shrieking in the background & the television is blaring.

Ben comes up eyes all wide, handing me the phone & says "It is the police."

"The police?" I question, thinking he is tricking me, or perhaps it is one of my Brother in law's who is a police officer. Why would the police be calling us?

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is the police, do you require emergency assistance?"

"No. No we don't. I'm sorry, I think my ten year old son may have called you & hung up", I reply apologetically, while looking at Ben standing in front of me.

"Are you certain?" The stern voice asks me. "Who is screaming in the background?" she firmly questions.

Oh God. I'm embarrassed, rueful & slightly amused at the predictament all at once. Mostly embarrassed, & if I'm honest, feeling like a crappy mum. I should be cooking dinner, kids all settled quietly, as the older three taking their turns to have a shower. Instead I have let the minions mostly roam free within our four walls, loud as they want because they can't hear me telling them to quieten down over the deafening racket that results from the tv, the vacuum & their own shrieks. 

"That is my seven year old Son & four year old Son, playing in their room. Which they are meant to be cleaning." I confess while walking to Blake & Jack's room, as if being in their presence would allow the operator on the other end of the line to see for herself no one is being hacked to death. Which probably didn't allay her concerns any because they were still rolling around on the floor shrieking & screaming. 

I know, I know, Jack isn't seven years old yet he is still six for another two or so months. Neither has Ben had his double digit birthday, though we are in the countdown. Turns out that under pressure & interrogation I can't remember how old our minions are. All I can manage to drum up is their nearest birthday age. Another black strike. Especially when Jack pipes up loud enough for all to hear "I'm not seven, I'm six." Great, now she has caught out a lie, an inadvertent one, but a lie none the less in what is to her a serious situation. Thanks Jack for your helpful information there.

Still on the phone to the emergency services operator, standing in the middle boys' bedroom doorway & glaring at them, mimicking to be quiet, she still questions "So there is no emergency? You do not require police assistance?"

"No." I confirm, walking back into the kitchen where Ben is hovering. "We do not require police assistance. There is no emergency." Stating this clearly & firmly in case they need it distinctly stated for their records.

Obviously she is not yet convinced that all is indeed legit, because she questions what is going on again. "There is a lot of noise there, what is going on?" (or something to that effect.)

"I'm in the middle of vacuuming, our three year old son is watching a movie so the tv is turned up extremely loud. The other boys were in their bedroom which they were meant to be cleaning but were playing instead." I admit, trying to explain why an ordinary evening here is so loud it has the emergency services questioning the authenticity of my explanations. I also don't admit that Clay is asleep in our room. I figure it is useless information at this stage. 

"How many children do you have there?" she inquires. Well there goes that idea.

"We have six children."

Yep. This was a bit of a 'large family defining moment' for me. Perhaps I should not have been vacuuming at a time when I would normally be cooking dinner. But to be honest, it is not uncommon for the rest of the house to be that loud while the vacuum is going regardless the time of day.

"Would you like to talk to the ten year old who called you?" I ask her, thinking that by now she realizes it was a prank call, not an emergency after all & that she would like to have a quick firm word with Ben about the seriousness of calling triple zero when there is no cause or concern.

"Yes please."

I pass the phone over to Ben, who looks hesitantly between me & the phone. 

"Hello?" He says into the phone. A few seconds pass, "No." Then he passes the phone back to me. 

I later realize, that perhaps she didn't want to reprimand him at all, but wanted further assurances that neither himself or the other kids were in any danger or feeling scared for any reason. 

With the phone back in my possession, the operator & I round the call up with me stating I would be talking to Ben about this call & the seriousness of what he has done. Hanging up, I look at Ben & quietly tell him to go wait in his room, I will talk to him about this later.

Doug gets home shortly after our eventful conversation & I inform him of what has just happened. I'm fairly adamant that Ben will be grounded for life. No sleep overs, no electronics, no special privileges, no going to friends houses or birthday parties. A little over dramatic perhaps, luckily Doug took front point from here. 

Ben's curiosity has been sated & now understands while we are glad he knows how to call for help, it needs to be for a genuine reason next time. He is not grounded for life. But he did have to do three big jobs around the house & also has to do Rianan's daily chores for the next two weeks.

As for the rest of the evening, I spent it waiting for a police patrol to knock on our front door. Even now nearly a week on I still don't know whether to laugh or cry about the whole debacle. 

Oh & Clay slept through the entire house crashing noise. 

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.  

Momnesia ~ the barest bones of a memory

It happened again. It's not the first time & I'm sure it won't be the last time either.

I forgot my PIN number, right in the middle of paying for my items. As hard as I tried, I just could not remember those important four digits I've used several times every day for the last seven odd years.

After the EFTPOS machine beeped & informed that there was an incorrect PIN entered, for the second time, I admitted memory defeat. The last thing I needed was to lock myself out of my bankcard at the first of many shops I needed to visit that day. As quietly as possible I muttered to the shop assistant that I had forgotten my PIN & would need to call my husband for him to remind me of those four essential digits that had escaped me. Imaginably, after this confession, she was thinking 'who on earth forgets their PIN number' or, 'it's probably a stolen card', while smiling politely at me as I bumbled my bankcard back into my purse & tried to make a hasty exit - as hasty as one can while supporting a baby in a sling who is squirming around trying to grab anything in reach, including other customers. As I temporarily walked away from the counter maybe she wasn't thinking of anything but her next break time & it is my own embarrassment filling the void of her unheard speculations. Either way I was blushing & flustered.

Sudden thoughts of early onset amnesia plagued me as I walked back to the car for my phone. (Funny how my thinker couldn't recall a simple code, but could easily recall many instances over the last few years where my memory just packed up & left. Ironic.)  Wondering when is baby brain more than a superficial forgetfulness & the beginnings of something more serious. My thought processes can be a tad dramatic sometimes, running away with a worst case scenario before I've even had a chance to think rationally. It's quite common for several possibilities, where there is a tragic end, to flash before my eyes at the beginning of any health related incident. Blake has bruises all over his legs, my mind jumps ten steps ahead & is suddenly convinced he has leukemia. Will develops a persistent & constant cough, this means he must have whopping cough & is going to infect Clay who is not yet fully immunised. Jack screams as though he's dying after falling off his bike, immediately my mind relays all the horrible bone breaking, skin shredded injuries he'll have. I like to think I'm not the only one who does this, that it is a parenthood induced condition. Hands up who else has a mind that fills with numerous potential nightmares when it comes to something horrible happening to your children...Or when they just fall off their bike. I love these little minions something fierce & would do anything to protect them, so if that means my brain is always preparing for the worst possible scenario, then bring on the gray hairs.

I digress, back to the shop assistant. She thoughtfully put my bag of unpaid goods aside & patiently served the next person while I made a hasty walk back to the car, fruitlessly unable to remember those damn four numbers. It seems under pressure I can remember all my past PIN numbers, Doug's PIN numbers, phone numbers from childhood friends twenty years ago & the due dates of our minions (which none of them arrived on, so are essentially useless numbers, only holding a sentimental value.) But I could not recall four numbers I use every day. Even cell memory was no help, my fingers couldn't do the walking (or the recalling) this time.

Getting Doug on the phone, I awkwardly ask him what my PIN number is. He says "Oh what, ****, that one?"
Even as he says the numbers out loud & I repeat them back to him there is no strike of familiarity. No flash of recognition. Clearly there is little hope for me. My memory, or lack there of, is on it's final legs, or on it's final cells. I blame the kids. They are all reasonably smart which they obviously, & figuratively, sucked my brain dry got from me. From Doug they got his sense of humour, which he still has in abundance. Unfair. You need your wits about you in this house & I'm at a clear disadvantage.

The precarious & inconsistent working state of my memory has long been a source of humour (or exasperation) between us, especially since Blake's pregnancy & has only spiralled downward with each positive pregnancy test there after. One of Doug's excuses reasons against having a seventh child is because he fears for the thin strands of cognizance remaining. Apparently the hiatus my memory took during our last pregnancy was at best amusing & at worse perturbing. Sadly I have no argument, even I was aware of just how ditzy & off with the fairies I was. Heck my forgetful state during Clay's pregnancy even exasperated me, at least on the rare occasions where I remembered what it was like not to feel the fuzzy & cotton wool filled haze of pregnancy brain. 

With Clay now six months old, I think this is as good as it's going to get any time soon. Especially with remembering everything going on with the minions. If it doesn't get written on the calendar, who has what excursion, on what day; who needs to be where at what time; doctor appointments for whom & when; what bills are due when, then there is every chance I will forget. Even written down isn't a fail-safe guarantee. Geez they're lucky I can remember their birth dates & most of the time, their names.

Maybe it's time I tattoo my PIN on my palm. It may not be subtle, but my memory needs all the help it can get these days. Plus I'm not sure I could handle admitting I've forgotten my PIN again to Doug & get away without a teasing.
 

　

Before the Minions

Very quiet & unexciting week here at HomM. Just to prove how mundane our week was, I present the top four highlights of the week -

1. The washing has been conquered! A fight was waged, & what a dirty battle it was. Alas I have emerged the victorious winner...this week anyway. I couldn't have done it without my illustrious sidekick, an appliance worth more than it's weight in Milo. 

2. Catching up with some friends over a caffeinated beverage, or four. It was deceptively revitalizing to get out of my own headspace & re-connect with others & find out what had been going on in every one else's lives. 

3. Enjoying an entire week of sleeping in our own bed, & not a fold out arm chair. Never again will I take for granted my own mattress, no matter how lumpy it seems, & the comfort it holds. 

4. Clay has a chest infection. Poor little mite can't catch a break - though he's proving more than adept at catching everything else. 

That's it, see like I said, B. O. R. I. N. G. 

We also had exciting plans this weekend - including a night minus five minions, to celebrate our twelfth wedding anniversary. But once again immune systems have tripped us up.

Given this week was uninspiring & a little lean on blogging material, in honor of our wedding anniversary I'm going to take you all back to the very beginning before we were a family of eight & our names didn't extend to Mummy & Daddy.

It was the summer of '69, sorry had to be done - whenever I hear 'it was the summer...' my mind jumps ahead & breaks into the Bryan Adam's classic. But I digress. Our story really starts back in the summertime of 2000 during December, when a friendship was struck up over a common commodity, sunburn, short change & a little yellow scooter. I don't think either of us imagined just what destiny had in store for us when we first started chatting over that counter. But boy am I glad that our fates intertwined. 

I was on my way home after a day at the beach & stopped in at our local petrol station to fill up the fuel tank on my bright yellow moped scooter. Doug's familiar face greeted me as I went in to pay & hang around for our customary chat. The difference this time was the painful scorching sunburn I was sporting on my upper legs all the way up to my bathers. To this day Doug can still clearly remember the moment I showed him half my butt cheek. In my defense it was simply to show just how bad I had unintentionally gotten burnt, moving a portion of my bikini to flash the white skin compared to the fiery red skin.

The next visit that clearly stands out in both our memories is the day I was twenty cents short when paying for my fuel. Forgetting that I only had the handful of change on me & no bank card I filled up my scooter, coming to a grand total of $2.80. Yep, the small size of the fuel tank meant that a) I had to fill up frequently, & b) I had ridiculously low running costs. Walking up to the counter, smiling sheepishly as I emptied out my coin purse & explained I was a smidge short, asking was there any chance Doug could lend me the twenty cents & I'll bring it in sometime over the next two days when I was sure to need petrol again. To this day it is still a running joke between us how I flashed him some leg & bought my way out of paying for my fuel. Nice to know my legs are worth so much. 

The weeks went by & our friendship continued to grow. Then the beginning of February 2001 saw me hospitalized with pneumonia & the day I was finally discharged the only person I wanted to see was Doug. From that point, each day that passed found us spending more & more time together, when inevitably our friendship turned to romance at the end of February when Cupid struck his bow.

Even now, just as it was back then, one of our ideal ways to spend time together is with a bag of hot chips down the beach watching the sunset. We spent so much time together down at Silver Sands beach, sitting on the tray top of Doug's Holden ute, often with his dog accompanying us. More accurately, JoJo was accompanying Doug & merely putting up with my presence or glaring at me through the back window, where she was relegated to the ute tray after I took 'her' front passenger seat

It's a little cliched, but I soon knew that Doug was 'The One'. Even though I was yet to hit my twenties. We just clicked on so many levels & I can't describe it beyond it was a soul deep knowledge, the jigsaw was complete we just had to paint the images together. (Sorry for the sap.) He was the first person I thought of when I woke in the morning, & the last person I would think of at night. For me there was no doubt that I would marry this man. Evidently Doug felt the same, proposing a few months later on a large rock one afternoon while we were walking along the beach. When I saw him go down to one knee, take my hand & begin talking about the future we would have together...The memory still makes my heart flutter just as much as it did that day. Pretty sure I was saying Yes even before Doug had finished asking me to be his wife.  

Fourteen months later & to the lyrics of 'How do I live' by Leann Rimes, we said "I do".

These last twelve years have been incredible & beyond belief. We've had our roller coaster moments of euphoric highs & devastating lows. We have a magnitude of memories together, from our early friendship & blossoming romance, to our honeymoon of spa baths, chocolate m&m's, monopoly, champagne & chinese food. From six positive pregnancy tests & all the experiences the following pregnancies & births held for us. To just this week, when we've both been grateful to be back in each others arms again after a stressful experience.

Twelve years of unconditional love...& I owe it all to that glorious, life changing summer.

Vitamin D...& washing

We have broken free!

Clay & I have been home for 4 days now, & I could somewhat say that it's almost as if we never had our nine day hospital sojourn. Now that we're home life has just about settled back to business as usual. Doug is back at work, Ben, Rianan & Jack are back to school, Clay is healthy & happy, Blake & Will are no longer miserable little zombies. Everyone is sleeping in their own rooms, no longer playing musical beds as they sought reassurance & comfort from the parent & siblings who were still home & not holed up in a 8 x 5 beige color schemed, temperature regulated room complete with a double glazed window.

I tell you what, you really do lose all sense of time & passing days when the only sense of daylight you receive is through said window. I am certain that my Vitamin D levels are horrendously below recommended levels, based on the fact that I hadn't felt the sun shining on my face or the wind wrapping itself around my hair for nearly ten days. If I had been sporting a tan I certainly would have lost it last week. As it stands my skin is a healthy pale white, correction - last month it was. Now it's just a shade above translucent. 

Once it become apparent that our admission into the pediatric ward was going to last longer than 48 hours, I imagined all this time I would have on my hands to blog, to read, to just relax. Clearly I had some rose colored glasses on, as very little of the above happened. Those imagined hours were replaced with standing watch over Clay, eyes switching between vigilantly watching Clay & the monitor filled with important & informative numbers. The reality was far from relaxing. I thought our hospital stay would inspire a myriad of blog posts full of deep & meaningful insight, with the occasional recount of a humorous experience here & there. (I underestimated how uncomfortable it would be getting ready to sleep for the night when you have a nurse sitting just inside your door not three meters away, their entire shift dedicated to your room. Or waking up in the middle of the night to help Clay get through a coughing fit that caused the monitor alarms to sound off while trying to discretely wipe my dribble soaked cheek in front of said nurse. Yep, there ain't no wakin' up glamorous here. I'm just grateful that the pregnancy induced snoring has stopped.) I thought I would be able to read almost to my hearts content. Normally I finish a book every three days, thereabouts. The book I started on day two, I only just finished it the other day - eleven days after laying eyes on that first paragraph.

Instead my days were filled with re-positioning Clay while he was asleep because his oxygen saturation levels had dropped below 93. We found changing the way his head was positioned was the best way to bring those numbers back up, if only for the next ten or so minutes until they dropped again. Unfortunately there wasn't much more we could do for his high pulse & respiratory rate, that was in line with the level of care Clay needed beyond the support he already had. We just had to allow what we already had in place time to help Clay recover until he could be detached from each device. For the first five days nurses or doctors were in every hour or less - either for an alarm going off due to one number or another going too high or too low, coming in to chart Clay's obs, or for thrice daily reviews. When I wasn't wrapped up in all of Clay's tubes & wires (either mentally or physically) I was worrying about what was going on at home, talking & messaging with Doug, or Skyping with the minions.

The brief yet long enough experience of juggling a baby who had an oxygen stats sensor, Hi-flow air tubing & a drip, then for a few days adding in respiratory & cardiac patches & a nasal gastric feeding line, gave me a brief but intense insight to the struggles & heart ache so many families go through as part of their daily life. It's heartbreaking when your little baby is so unwell that they just sleep for hours on end or can only manage to stay awake for half an hour before getting tired, too tired to breathe easily which then creates a cascade of fluctuating numbers on that attention grabbing monitor with its flashing lights & pinging alerts. There is so many others for who that is just the beginning of their health implications. I've never underestimated how intense their experiences of having a home away from home in a pediatric hospital ward would be. How distressing it is to see your baby, your child, so unwell. Where the most you can do is hold them while the medical teams do their best to help. Sometimes you can't even hold them though, as it causes too much over stimulation on their little systems or gets in the way of the access required by the medical staff. Trying to comfort them while gently rubbing their head, encouraging them to suck on a pacifier to try gain comfort from some silicone instead of their Mother's arms. 

...& I'm crying again.  

Our temporary walk through their neck of the woods just gave me an even deeper respect for everyone who manages oxygen tubes & feeding lines, living their lives with daily hospital visits & admissions (brief or extended). My hat goes off to all the families who have to spend so much time apart, divided into two halves as one parent stays with the sick child & the other parent juggles life at home with the other siblings.

Doug certainly didn't have it easy either. Ben, Rianan, Jack, Blake & Will were all desperately worried about Clay. Plus this was the first time that we had all been apart for more than 24 hours due to an illness, & previously the longest I had spent apart from the other minions was three nights, when Blake was born back in 2010. With our time apart reaching eight nights it's no wonder they were all highly emotional. There was no chance in hell they were going to go to school, & I agreed with Doug on not forcing the issue. It was only just yesterday that my brain came back online & the internal dialogue that keeps me company decided it was safe to return once again. Prior to this, any time I thought of blogging, mentally I was met with the sound of crickets chirping. So I doubt the kids would have fared much better than I with any intense thinking & attempts at learning. Times tables, dictionary meanings & spelling words temporarily lost their importance last week. 

The Gods of inconvenience & misfortune were not holding back on Doug last week either. On top of holding down the fort at home, comforting tear streaked little faces & worrying about Clay - three days later Blake & Will crash completely with a horrible cold (we suspect the same one that struck Clay. Luckily their bodies are bigger & were able to support them while their immune systems fought the hard battle) That first night when they became sick Doug went to bed anxiously coming up with plan A, B & C for if he would have to take either Blake or Will into hospital at 2am. Thank goodness for the staff & Doctors at our General Practice, who got Doug & the five other minions in the next day at the last minute. They checked over the two sick ones, looked over the older three just to be certain, & reassured Doug that all was ok & they should be fine to rest & recover at home.

Kids are hard enough to look after when they aren't well, let alone when their world is upside down, so it was a new & unwelcome experience for all of us - Me dealing with the guilt & heart ache of not being able to look after our other sick little ones, Doug for having to look after Blake & Will who really were quite sick, along with everything else that was going on, without me there to back him up. While Skype is fabulous at helping to bridge the gap between distances, it doesn't even compare or come close to being there. Seeing a little face crumple, or sick bleary eyes from a toddler hot with a fever & not being able to do anything but try & come up with what feels like empty words. It's enough to make me cry all over again. 

But the Gods were not yet done with Doug. On day five, in the middle of washing a load of vomit covered blankets & pillow cases from Blake & Will who were up all night coughing & gagging to the point of regurgitating, the washing machine began bleating alarms & flashing error codes. I'm surprised Doug didn't pack up & volunteer himself to the nearest loony bin - 'cos at that point I sure would have. Luckily we have an over abundance of blankets, kids clothes & towels, because that is the only reason they survived without burlap bags & rope drawstrings through the following four days with no washing machine. 

Not so lucky for me though. 

Since Doug had to go back to work the day after Clay & I were discharged, & our new washing machine has only just recently been delivered, I'm now wading my way through piles of towels, sheets & pillow cases, darks, lights, jeans, socks & underwear. I think I'm slowly winning the battle - the tides have turned & our clean washing pile is greater than the dirty washing pile. 

Right now, if I could have one wish, given that we are all healthy & together under the same roof again, I would wish for a Rosie robot from The Jetsons. She could be my washing fairy, or washing robot, whatever.

Fairies & robots aside, I'm just glad I got the blogging mojo back.

...Plus a new washing machine.

Unsung hereos

Behind the scenes there is someone who helps me hold it all together, who without him life wouldn't be as amazing as it is.

Someone who sacrifices so much for his family. Sanity being one of them.

But seriously, Doug is my co-hero, my co-pilot, the man who helps hold everything together when I don't have the energy to some days. He is my day off, he is my motivational speaker, he is my calm when I'm feeling anything but, just as I am his.

Working over fifty hours a week & still each night when he comes home...he keeps going. Instead of going straight to the couch he goes straight to the kitchen to see if I need a hand with anything for dinner. Instead of wanting space from the demands put on him, he scoops up Blake & Will tickling their feet while they giggle & shriek upside down. Instead of retreating somewhere quiet to have some downtime, he talks with Ben & Rianan about their day, their friends, what or who they played with after school. He listens to Jack get excited about his soccer match & the many slide tackles he did - in detail. He'll take Clay who is squirming & grizzling on my shoulder, so I don't have to juggle & multitask with one arm trying to cook dinner. 

Then there's the days where instead of cooking dinner all I want to do is sit on the couch & not have to do anything. With a tribe of kids to cook dinner for though it's kind of a necessity. Feeding seven people also means that whipping up a quick meal for two is impossible, & take out becomes as expensive as a trip to Bali. I'm willing to admit there are evenings when Doug walks in the door & instead of being greeted with the smell of dinner cooking, he walks into the chaos of a routine gone AWOL.

Rather than throwing his arms up & walking back out the door, he rolls his sleeves up & gets the pots & pans out. Within thirty minutes dinner is ready, the kids have done their delegated jobs, I've come out of the fetal position in the corner & some order of balance has appeared.

Someone else to pick up the balls that I dropped, to put the wheels back on that fell off, to pick up the tools when I feel like I'm done with the day. To receive as much recognition as I do, but doesn't.

Doug is who the kids go to when they want an extra cookie after dinner, who gives up watching the news to listen to the kids while we eat dinner. The one the kids ask for another piece of chocolate - because they know Mum rarely shares hers. Doug is the parent who can bring the kids into line when they get hyped up & my voice no longer has an impact. Doug is the parent who takes the kids out in the mud, gets the pencils & sits down with them designing super race cars & mega spaceships. Doug is the 'fun' parent, especially when I'm all 'activity' worn out.  

Doug does almost as much of the parenting, the caring, the cooking, the discipline, the cuddles, the teaching, the cleaning, the guiding of values & morals. But because he is rarely seen by others in this role (for working many hours) he is often unnoticed. Not that he needs me, or anyone else, to validate his worth & efforts. 

Occasionally Dad's are overlooked, just because the Mother is (usually) the primary caregiver, so presumed the 'primary parent' in all aspects & the one who is acknowledged for raising the children. 

This is to all the unseen Dad's, the Dad's of one, the Dad's of many. 
To Doug, the Daddy to our minions.
For all the unsung heroes.
Thank you.