Who knew I had so much time on my hands to waste

It's not very often I say this, but Doug is right. I have little to no self control when it comes to technology & social media. I know I read a lot & my Facebook app is opened several times a day. Ebay is my friend & Pinterest an enabler. I don't watch tv, because I don't have time too. I'm too busy flicking through watch lists, re-pinning two-minute-hairstyles-for-long-hair & liking statuses.

On a bad day, it's really bad. A quick ten minute check of Facebook, follow a few links, catch up on a blog or two & hello it's time to pick the kids up from school. The floors still need sweeping. Dried weet-bix super glued forever more to the breakfast bowls. Washing to be pulled out the dryer {& dumped on the precariously balanced, gravity defying folding pile}. The coffee ring stains on the table next to the laptop & butt imprints left on the warm seat tell the tale of a less than arduous day.

This is only the beginning. A browse through Ebay, looking at furniture on the cheap I could revamp or fitbits to get me motivated on the whole 10,000 steps a day thing. Which isn't happening as I check out the local real estate to see what's happening on the market in the general area we live, before jumping onto a parenting forum & stalking the TTC* & HPT, OPK & BFP's** forums. We aren't ttc ourselves, putting a definite stop to my own POAS*** addiction, it's been years since I've stood next to a window, turning a pregnancy test this way & that looking for the faintest sighting of a second line. But I can & will stalk every other woman who is desperately hoping to see the feintest of feint second pink line that speaks to the whispers of life. Praying faceless strangers who understand their tight grip on hope can also see that miraculous second line, affirming it's positive status. There's nothing like seeing a photo of multiple positive pregnancy tests that go from 'just maybe' to 'you are thoroughly up the duff'. Gives me goosebumps & a fair case of envy every time.

At the end of the day, I like to finish up with a quick flick through Pinterest at 11pm, before turning out the lights...At 1am. After the muted glare from my phone has woken Doug. I'm thirty two years old & still shouldn't be allowed to control my own bedtime. Then of course, I can't sleep with my thinker set to 'redesign-the-whole-fricken-house' mode.  

I'm not starved for social interaction, I get my grown up conversation every morning & afternoon at the kids school & when Doug gets home from work in the evening. There's no coherent conversations in the morning between us. Given I go to bed at stupid o'clock & Doug gets up for work at ridiculous o'clock, our morning interactions are usually limited to Doug kissing me goodbye with sweet whispers of love & have a good day. In response I smear the dribble from the pillow all over my cheek, mumble something about putting the shoes in the shower before stumbling my way up from slumber to coherently forming sentences that bumble along the lines of "love you too, have a good day. See you tonight." By the time the kids are ready for school I am more than ready to start talking to people over the age of ten & stop saying things like "have you brushed your teeth yet?"

"Socks & shoes, guys, let's go, come on!"

"Ben, stop talking to Jack about your clash of clans base."

"Jack! get dressed!"

"Is your bag packed? Diary, lunch box, drink bottle, homework."

Once Ben, Rianan, Jack & Blake are at school, I return home with just two of our little minions & flick the kettle on, ready for some more social interaction. Because that ten minutes outside the classroom was only a warm up.

All is not lost, some days I don't even turn the computer on, & the days that I do, my hours are interrupted. I get up to do the basic daily essentials our big household & little people require. But many minutes, many times a day are sucked into that blue void. Because people.

We all have our vices. Since the age of sixteen months mine has always been that I talk too much. Now I get to natter away even when there's no one at the table with me.





The lingo
*TTC {trying to conceive}
**HPT, OPK &BFP {home pregnancy test, ovulation predictor kit & big fat positive's}
***POAS {Pee on a stick} a ovulation predictor or pregnancy test, either either

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. 

Fifty in two hundred days

Guess what today is? Other than five days before Christmas. Today marks House of many Minions 50th blog entry. 

I wasn't sure what to do, if anything, to note the occasion. Especially with all the horrific heart ache in the news. There's a blog post floating around in my mind, but it's too hard to put my emotions & thoughts into coherent words. Hold your friends & family close & your babies closer people, it's a big bad scary world out there.

I considered writing something with Christmas spirit, after all we are in the twelve days of Christmas. Should I mention surpassing the fifty post milestone at the beginning or end of the post, was it worth drawing light to at all? Then right before falling asleep, when all my brain suddenly starts kicking over & keeps me wide awake for a further two hours, I knew what to do...

I present to you 50 things that make me, Me.

1. I got my first job at fourteen - washing dishes at a local popular beach side restaurant.

2. I was a hypochondriac as a child. Specifically for sprained wrists or ankles. I woulds sneak into the first aid box, grab a bandage & strap myself up then try & remember how I was supposed to limp to make it believable.

3. I spent my first year of high school at a private catholic school, where none of my primary school friends went. I begged my parents to enroll me in the local public high school, which they did at the beginning of the new school year. Of course by then all my friends from primary school had formed new friendship groups, so I was left on the outer, just like year eight again. 

4. I mispronounce & muddle up words when talking & look like an uneducated fool all the time. 

5. Following on from mispronouncing, I call vineyards vine-yards {not vinyards} & instead of pronouncing archives ar'kives I still say archives. It's a constant source of amusement for Doug. 

6. I broke my two front teeth at year 7 camp while ice skating. They are still a source insecurity today.

7. When we go out for dinner nine times out of ten I'll order either salt n pepper squid or chicken parmigiana. When you're on a good thing, stick with it.

8. I played my first game of netball at seven years old & still play now twenty four years on. With the exception of a few short breaks to grow a baby. 

9. My childhood was gaming device free. So whenever we went to my cousin's house I would beg them to play Alex Kidd on SEGA. I still love that game even though I haven't played it in twenty something years.

10. I attended five different schools - three primary schools & two high schools.

11. I have had four jobs in my life - dishwasher {working my way up the ranks to occasionally making the take-away baguette's}. As a pet shop assistant {it always creeped me out getting dead frozen rats out the freezer for our snake owning customers.} Then I worked at a well known burger & fries joint for two years before saying goodbye to work as a 3rd assistant manager for a variety store, working there for just under three years until I resigned at thirty seven weeks pregnant. Ten days later Ben gave me my current position that I have held for over ten years now. Isn't there some long service leave I'm past due for...

12. In year 9 I vomited all over my desk & the floor in morning home group. Cries of ewww, how gross, disgusting & exclamations of how they felt sick now, are still vivid. 

13. I married Doug one month before my nineteenth birthday.

14. I learnt to play the guitar for several years in my early teenage years. For some reason I stopped playing {& deeply regret it}.

15. I got my first body piercing when I was 15 years old, without permission.

16. I've had my tongue pierced, labret pierced & belly button pierced. 

17. I had my belly button re-pierced when I was 24 & still have it in today. 

18. Unless it's over thirty degrees at night I always sleep with the electric blanket on.

19. On our first wedding anniversary Doug & I won a thousand dollars at the casino on the

pokies.

20. I played soccer, netball, softball & tae kwon do in primary school.

21. I was never smacked as a child - at least that I can remember.

22. Unless I know you really well I can be shy & find it hard to make the first conversation.

23. From the age of ten to fourteen my walls were covered with Keanu Reeves, JTT {Jonathon Taylor Thomas} & Prince William. Don't judge me.

24. I kill plants, unintentionally. Despite my best efforts they always wither up on me, then I drive the last nail in the coffin {or pot plant} drowning them in love & water. 

25. Before our minions came along I loved horror & suspense movies. Now it is impossible to even be in the same room when there is anything remotely thriller like or suspenseful on.

26. I cry, easily & at almost everything. I also try to hide it.

27. I suck at long division & decimals. I never grasped chemistry either. However algebra & I are friends. 

28. I've never broken a bone, but I was bitten on the nose by a family friend's dog when I was two years old & still have the scars.

29. I love funky or pretty mugs, geisha doll & babushka doll images.

30. I'm possessive of my chocolate chip cookies & give Doug the stink eye when he gives one to our dog.

31. I dropped out of high school after year eleven, then later completed my year twelve SACE studies via correspondence when Ben was a toddler while I was pregnant with Rianan & during her first four months. 

32. I was twenty eight when I went to my first concert - You am I. I've since been to P!nk, Rihanna & Keith Urban.

33. I hoard interior design magazines like Pinterest pins. 

34. For nine years I was an only child, then my first brother came along followed by my baby brother eighteen months later.

35. I find it exceptionally easy to devour a small tin of MiLo in one sitting...without milk. 

36. I used to wish my name was Sophie because it seemed like such a cool name when I was ten.

37. I grew up listening to The Cure, The Smiths & Morrissey, Smashing Pumpkins, You am I & REM. My parents still have awesome taste in music.

38. Though I'm right handed I can write legibly with my left hand, albeit very slowly.

39. My longest labor was four hours. My shortest labor was twenty minutes.

40. I was a painfully fussy eater as a child. I'm sure many family members can remember the holiday trip when I only ate buttered rolls for lunch. I also had a two hour stand off with my Dad when I was ten years old over a croissant that he wanted me to taste. By the time I caved & realised how delicious they were there wasn't any more left.

41. I'm not nearly as profound, insightful or funny as I wish to be.

42. We nearly became foster carer's before Blake was born. This is still something I feel passionate about doing when the minions are a bit older & we have a spare seat in the car.

43. Love Grey's Anatomy & the book series Outlander by Diana Gabaldon.

44. Ever since I learnt to read I've been a massive bookworm. My library card often had over a dozen Baby Sitters Club & The Saddle Club novels out at any one time. I still stay up until the am hours reading, though my tastes have changed a little since I was eleven.

45. I used to read oracle cards. Though I've not looked at them in many years, I still can't bring myself to pass them on or sell them.

46. I hate licorice. Always have.

47. After growing up right near the beach I could never move far away from it. The salt & sand is in my blood.

48. I have two tattoo's. One is my husband's name on my inner left fore arm & the other is on my upper left arm with our eldest three children's foot prints, name & birth date. Due to almost constantly being pregnant or breast feeding over the last five years I've not yet finished off with our youngest three children's footprints & details. I have no idea where I am going to get them tattooed either - I don't think my arm is long enough for all six.

49. 'My Girl' is still one of my favorite movies. I dare anyone not to shed a tear when Vada is crying "He can't see without his glasses on" at Thomas J's funeral. Heart wrenching. 

50. I put off starting this blog for nearly four years. Why? Because I thought I could never live up to the bar set by all the other blogs I read frequently. Nothing has changed there, but now it doesn't hold me back. I love my little space here & all the bloggy like thoughts that run through my mind at the most inconvenient hours. 

There you go, fifty random things about me to celebrate fifty posts. Now I'm off to make myself a cuppa & cuddle up on the couch with our minions watching Despicable Me 2. I'm avoiding the news today, my heart & my tear ducts have taken as much as they can possibly bear right now.

NaBloPoMo status failed

November saw me committing to posting every day over here at HomM. Over on the right hand side in the blog archives, under November there should be (30) right next to it. I'm only seeing (7). 

Fail.

When I signed up for NaBloPoMo  {National Blog Promotion Month} I thought it would be, well not easy, though maybe not as hard as folding the washing. Folding washing is a tortuous task. As far as I'm concerned it sucks hairy dogs balls. I'd rather clean windows. Hang on, that's not true, especially if you could see the present state of our windows & the height of our clean washing piles. 

I have a better analogy, I figured blogging everyday would be like cooking everyday. While it has to be done, some days you can choose to cook up a three ingredient spaghetti bolognaise (thank you Dolmio jar sauce) other days may find you serving up a roast pork with crackling, golden roast potatoes & crispy edged pumpkin, honey drizzled carrots, peas & beans tossed through melted garlic butter. With sticky date muffins topped with warm caramel sauce to pop that last button on your jeans.

For each day of November I planned to have proper posts where I would ramble about whatever hot topic was going viral, or about our minions as they are a constant source of inspiration & daily exasperation. A full roast dinner affair. Then those 'full bellied posts' would be interspersed with 'photo a day' snippets, or a recipe for muffins & cookies that find their way from the cooling racks to mere crumbs in ten minutes flat. Two minutes if I'm not watching those sneaky little hands. These would have been the 'three ingredient posts'.  

Then life happened & procrastination bit me on the arse, pigs might fly moments of rest found me on the couch instead of at the computer. Plus the kids needed to be fed fifty thousand times a day - not kidding. Doug expected to be able to wear clean clothes & I got sick of stepping on dirt & grit. Our exciting, riveting lives carried on full steam ahead NaBloPoMo or not. 

Unfulfilled plans & fabulous unexecuted ideas are no stranger to me. Failing to deliver on the daily blogging front is not even close to the first time I've planned to do something that never happens. It also will not be the last. The only times I planned to do something & actually followed through, without fail or procrastination, was giving birth to our six little squawkers. Not that there was any choice.

On the fridge there are three To-Do lists - one for the immediate do today/tomorrow, another is the must-get-done-soon cleaning/organising/decluttering list, the last is projects/plans I want to do when I get a spare day or two. You know, sometime before the year 2024. Midnight is also a popular time for inspiration to hit. I'll lie there thinking of everything I want to get done the next morning, freeing me up for the rest of the day - all in between school drop offs & picks ups, cutting crusts of sandwiches for three year olds, slicing fruit into baby friendly fingers, stepping on toys, picking up toys, putting away toys, loading the washing machine, turning on the dryer, mopping little boy urine up off the toilet floor, de-fusing toddler tantrums...where was I? Oh that's right, mentally composing a get-your-shit-together-in-the-morning list at midnight. Then 7am rolls around, & I roll over in bed wishing the kids didn't have to go to school so I didn't have to get up. That midnight inspiration flies out the window at the hands of 9am's procrastination. 

It seems when I decide to commit to something habits from my high school days suddenly plague me, many a night before an essay was due would find me furiously scribbling away trying to make hasty indecipherable notes transform into a 1000 word essay. If there is a deadline sudden onset of last minute-itis & procrastination fever would always strike...oh look a diary filled with poems & frivolous, fleeting declarations of love from 1998, let's waste five hours pouring over every page. 

As for unexecuted ideas, well there is an outfit of a creamy beige dress with purple tights that has never been worn. Though perhaps that is for the better. In store it seemed amuhzing however after getting home it seemed my enthusiasm had been left behind on the change room floor. Unless you count that in store try on, it has never been worn. I blame that purchase on those crazy post natal hormones & the fact my fashion choices were no longer dictated by the beach ball impersonating abdomen I had been sporting two months earlier. 

The list of fruitless intentions is long - 
- Packets of hair rollers used once in an unsuccessful attempt to create voluptuous waves.
- Untouched circular knitting needles & balls of wool to make beanies. Along with several patterns bookmarked or Pinterested. Because it seems easier to relearn how to knit a beanie on circular needles than to quickly crochet another one. Totally makes sense.
- While we're on the topic of Pinterest, my crafty/foodie/kids activities/decorating inspiration folders are bursting with tutorials & recipes I whole heartedly intend to use one day in the near future. Just like the other millions of time poor, inspiration rich Pinterest followers.
- Bottles of japanese rice wine, boxes of pastry mix, packets of lentils & split peas going dusty & out of date in the pantry from a recipe never cooked.   
- Old glassless photo frames sitting behind a cabinet, waiting for the day I wipe them down, paint them pretty & hang them up in an abstract yet totally pulled together look. {That I can never seem to quite pull together on the wall the way I saw in my mind or in someone else's house.}
- A $140 hair curling device I purchased after reading raving reviews, I have only used twice. Because when it comes down to sleep or pretty hair the sleep will win. Every. Single. Time.
     
Seriously I could go on. We're all the same though. There are so many 'things' we want to do - house projects to start or complete, recipes to try, places to see one day both near & far, Christmas shopping to do, friends to catch up with before another year is celebrated out with the new one cheered in. 

I'm not sorry I couldn't keep up with everyone else participating in thirty days of blogging, one month soon I'll commit again with the hopes of being able to stick to it. Maybe I'll be successful next time & you'll get the roast dinner posts along with the simpler posts of photos & food in between. 

Oh, & if the mention of those delicious sticky date muffins had your stomach growling & your taste buds craving that caramel gooey goodness, I promise I'll put the recipe up this week. Pinky promise.

 Then again life may happen.

Post script from Doug, when informed of my intentions to blog every day during November "if you planned to blog everyday we would have all starved to death & I would have been wearing the same undies for ten days straight. I'm glad you didn't."

Well, I didn't think it would have been that bad. Ben knows how to make toast & macaroni.

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." 

Troublesome tresses

At some point point in our life I think we've all experienced a horror hair cut. A tale to tell from the tress tamers. I think I can tick the boxes for just about every hair disaster. Dodgy color jobs, perms that look nothing like I hoped (more than once. I've learnt my lesson now. My hair does not do permanent curls. Or if it does hold the curl I look like a poodle hitting the 80's flashbacks hard), fringes too short, home trims, tresses tangled in styling devices, a styled cut left faaaar to long between upkeep cuts. I think the only box left unchecked is searing my hair off, Literally. (ff to 1:05). 

Several years ago I wiped the slate clean. Literally. I crossed off a 'to do' on the bucket list & shaved my head to raise money for cancer research. 

Since then I have not let a dye or a strand altering chemical within fifty yards. I have also been on a mission to have long hair again. Mission accomplished. I'm not rivaling Rapunzel, but my hair is still short enough that I don't sit on it, but long enough to get tangled up in my bra strap hooks every morning.

It's almost a waste though, because my signature look, & I use that term loosely (more appropriately lazy look) is rolling the mane up in a top bun. Messy if I can pull it off. Whenever I try to do the effortless just flipped my head upside down & 'ta-da' instant gorgeous, chic, messy bun it never, ever looks effortless. It looks like a flock of birds have made a nest on top of my head. So I spend time {I don't have} every morning trying to get it to look semi presentable - if I can reach somewhere between birds nesting & ballerina-bun-face-lift look then I call it safe for public viewing.

If it was four inches shorter (this is a PG rated blog so pick up your minds from that gutter you're rolling in) it may be more manageable but I refuse to cut it. It takes F.O.R.E.V.E.R for my hair to grow, except when I'm pregnant & temporarily turns into Cousin Its', well, cousin. After having no more than 3mm of hair, seven years & three pregnancies later the ample length is back (minds people, pick 'em up) & due for a cut, desperately. The problem, besides having six children that I do not want to take with me so time needs to be juggled precariously. Also, going to the hairdressers for a trim inspires anxiety of epic portions. Watching those scissor wielding, chatty, distracted, snippy hands come closer & closer to my hard won for coiffure & I'm sweating

We all know "just take a centimeter or two off the ends please" is hairdresser speak for hack it all off.  

Lacking the aplomb to bring sharp devices within fifty yards of my person, a top bun works just fine. It also keeps my hair off the dirty plates as I load them into the dishwasher, out of the urine being emptied from Will's potty into the toilet, getting yanked as it gets stuck under my arm or giving myself whip lash whenever I go to turn my head whilst driving. Who else has long hair with a mind of it's own? Tell me I'm not the only one with tomato sauce tainted, urine soaked tresses?

Despite the hassles long hair can bring (because the ick factor of dipping your ends in urine is higher than a sky scraper), regardless that less than half my hair sees the light of day trapped on the top of my noggin, or that my arms fall off whenever I blow dry, straighten or try to get some curls to hold, I refuse to cut it. 

Since seeing the shocking split ends earlier this week, the time has come to find some of that courage that has seen me through six labor's & births & prioritize some time without the minions to get myself within the presence of a scissor wielding, instruction following hair dresser. I'm hoping that getting this all out there is the motivating force I need.

If I have not reported back sans split ends before the first sunrise of 2015, you have permission to inundate me with images of the most heinous & horrifying hair styles you can find.

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.

Sunday (non)sleep in

Our last few days have been occupied with playing with friends both near & far, while our nights have been filled with sleep overs. 

Pass me the coffee & sugar please.

No, it wasn't that bad. Everyone went to sleep before eleven pm & while Blake stayed true to normal fashion of waking with the sun, everyone else at least got another hour of snooze time. So it wasn't ridiculously loud, ridiculously early. 

{Everybody dance now...}

{Artist : Minion #5 aka Will} 

 {Hazards of having long hair & the reason I keep it up in a top bun 98% of the time} 

{A day out at the movies & a pair of new wheels, from an awesome Uncle} 

{The proud new owner of above skates}

This morning, with only our little people filling up the beds, I thought I was graciously lucky enough to have had a little sleep in...Until I compared the time on my phone, which I had first looked at, to the time on the big clock in the dining area. 

I forgot daylight savings began in the early hours of today. 

For those overseas, daylight savings is where a handful of states in Australia move their clocks forward one hour on the fifth of October. Then come fifth of April next year we move them back an hour. 

Confusing perhaps, but getting that extra hour of daylight in the summer months is worth any disorientation as our body clocks adjust to the change.

The best bit, come April fifth, I get an extra hour's sleep that morning. 

Awesome. 

Cookbook junkie I may be, Foodie I am not.

I have a confession.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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