Jingle Bells...

Did you believe in Santa?

I mean believe right down to your toes, to the point where you immediately dismiss that 8 year old who just told you Santa wasn't real as being high on crack, because any idiot knows that he is real.

Do you remember that feeling? That almost tangible feel of magic, the unquestioning faith in something unseen and highly improbable?

Everyone's Santa was different. One friend believed that Santa delivered gifts to the whole world in one night.

Another insisted that Santa only delivered gifts to one country, and his elves took care of the rest of the world.

Some were told Santa could only come when no one was looking, and others had Santa show up on Christmas day to hand out gifts himself.

Some Santas had their elves make all the gifts, other Santas went shopping.

Our Santa visited every house in the world in one night. He traveled via flying reindeer, and he entered our house through a window that we left open for him (we didn't have a chimney). He crept into our rooms and left a gift on the end of our beds for us to discover when we woke. He always had a bite of cookie and sip of beer before he left, and in the morning we would gleefully discover the half eaten remains of the carrots we left out for the reindeer.

Parents write the story of Santa. We weave it from our own experiences, adding in extra pieces that we find along the way, until we have created an intricate tale that explodes joy and excitement directly into the hearts and minds of little children everywhere.

Those of you familiar with my parenting style may point out that Santa is not exactly compatible with the whole "truth" thing I've got going on with the boys, I agree and seriously considered not including him as part of our Christmas traditions in order to keep the complete honesty intact.

But I remember the magic of my childhood Christmases - the wonder, the excitement, and I think that was in large part due to the Santa my parents created for me. I want my boys to have that, so in this case, magic trumps honesty.

There are so few years of Santa. By the time a child is able to really understand the concept, you've got maybe four or five chances to create that magic before they stop believing.

So we make reindeer food, and we receive personalized e-mails from Santa, and we ponder the possibility of catching a glimpse of a flying sleigh on Christmas eve.

And I watch them glow.

Magic. Totally worth it.

xox

Very Importaint Things My Three Year Old Has Taught Me Recently...

#1: It is entirely possible to exist on a diet that consist solely of toast and candy:

(actually, I already knew that one... did it myself for years.)

#2: You can make almost any animal into a loyal companion simply by lugging it around relentlessly:

Endurance is the key here people. You can not give up when the creature struggles, kicks, scratches, bites or pecks at your eyes. Just push through it and eventually you'll have a life long friend.

#3: Remember everything that has ever happened to you. Ever:

This is a vital skill for when you need to find your stuff:

The Attack: "Where's my truck?"

Me: "Ash, you have a billion trucks, which one are you looking for?"

The Attack: "The white one with the red roof."

Me: "Off the top of my head I can think of 6 white trucks with red roofs, can you tell me anything else about it?"

The Attack: "It's a big one, and I can fit lots of my little cars in it 'cause it's got gaps for them, and it drives really good down hills, and it's still got some dirt stuck on the tyres from when I drove it in the dirt patch. Oh, and I jammed Cinnamon's head in it one time and she died."

Me: "Oh, that truck. Yeah, ummm, I banished that one to the top of your closet."

#4: Scaring people is funny:

This can be accomplished simply by jumping out from behind a door while growling like a rabid monkey, or by strategically placing a giant inflatable Tyrannosaurus-Rex just inside a doorway so people pack themselves when they come around the corner. Either way: Funny.

#5: Be very specific when asking for what you want:

Use as many words as necessary. If you want a small grey possum with white on the ends of its ears and a black nose that has a basket with a green bow on it so you can carry it around and it can sleep in there, ask for that. It doesn't necessarily mean you're going to get it, but if you're not specific enough, you'll end up with a stuffed possum teddy in a box and you will throw a tantrum. Seriously, you will.

#6: Jump, spin and balance on random objects just for fun:

Even when you're supposed to be sleeping. Especially when you're supposed to be sleeping.

#7: Pick flowers to give to those you love:

This makes people happy.

#8: Underwear is overrated:

Declare your underwear wet or uncomfortable at 7am, ceremoniously discard it, and gleefully go commando for the rest of the day.

#9: Playing on other peoples competitiveness can get you what you want without upsetting anyone.

The Attack: *after looking longingly at Connah's cookie* "Can I play on the computer when I'm finished?"

Connah: *jumping up so fast he chokes a little bit* "I'm finished first! Can I play now?!"

The Attack: *Slyly shifting over to Connah's place* "Connah doesn't want his cookie, can I have it?"

#10: Get excited:

About pretty much everything. Going to the pet store? Found a ladybug? Time to take a bath? Celebrate by breaking into an impromptu dance. Squealing is optional.

#11: Look around:

Seriously, there is stuff everywhere that is worth seeing. Have you ever noticed how children have no concept of hurrying? It's because they are (usually) living completely in the moment. What possible reason is there to hurry when the most important thing in the world is what's happening right now? So stop and watch the sun rise. Literally smell the flowers. Take notice of what's around you and start actually living the life you have right now instead of constantly looking forward and just being dragged along for the ride.

There you go, the keys to happiness according to my three year old. Go forth and incorporate them into your life.

At the very least you'll up your awesome level by several degrees.

xox

In Sickness and in Health... But mainly Sickness...

Doctors suck.

I don't say this in an off the cuff, blase kind of way, no, I say it vehemently. And loudly. Possibly coinciding with some sort of kicking tantrum.

I didn't really think a lot about doctors before I had children. I probably averaged going about once a year, so I had no need to think about them. I went, they gave me goods and / or services to attempt to make me feel better, I left. It was splendid.

Fast forward a few years, and I'm sitting in a doctors waiting room at least once a month.

First on my sucky list, is the Health-lines that you can call.

What is their purpose? To "assess your health needs, and give information and advice to help you decide on the best level of care".

This is usually information that you already know 'cause you've been googling symptoms for the last half hour. They always end the call by saying "If you are concerned at all, go and see your doctor." This completely negates any reassurance that they have given you, because it's obvious that they are just insuring that it's not gonna come back on them if they say you're child is fine and then everything turns to crap AND OF COURSE I'M CONCERNED OTHERWISE I WOULDN'T BE ON THE DAMN PHONE!!!!

So I make the call to the doctor.

Me: "I'd like to make an appointment with my child's doctor."

Receptionist: "I'm sorry, that doctor has no appointments available for the next 4 days, would you like to make an appointment for Thursday?"

Me: "Well, no. My child is sick now."

Receptionist: "You really need to book at least two days before your desired appointment date."

Me: "I didn't know two days ago that my child would need to see a doctor."

Receptionist: "Well, that's unfortunate. We do have an on-call doctor if you'd like to come in and wait for the foreseeable future until he's available."

Me: "That sounds spectacular. We're on our way."

Off to the doctors we go.

GP's are an important part of our society running smoothly. They preform the valuable task of evaluating the usually benign complaints of the germ-ridden, mucus-hacking masses that flock through their doors every day. They are educated, fairly intelligent, busy people, but some of them seriously need to get some fricken people skills.

I understand that they are trying to keep the appointments to a 15 minute maximum.

I understand that they have probably already seen this in 60 other children recently.

I understand that they may be answering question that have been previously asked.

I understand these things, I just don't care about them.

These are my children. I have been granted the privilege of raising them, which includes protecting them from harm until they are able to do so themselves, and since I am not formally trained in medicine, when they are sick that requires a qualified assessment.

However, handing over that responsibility - even momentarily - to a condescending doctor who rolls his eyes at my various enquiries is terrifying.

I have been told by one doctor, when I contradicted his advice, that perhaps I should "stop consulting Mr Internet" and leave it to the professionals.

Another refused to answer any of my questions, instead responding with various ways of saying "you're paranoid":

Me: "What symptoms should I be looking out for?"

Doctor: "There's no need to worry about that at the moment."

Me: "Well, you said if he gets worse, I should take him to the hospital, so what does "worse" actually entail?"

Doctor: "Don't jump to conclusions, I'm sure everything will be fine."

Me: "I'm not jumping anywhere, I'd just like to know what to look out for."

Doctor: "There's no need to panic, we'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

Me: "I'M NOT PANICKING (well, maybe a little bit now...) I JUST WANT YOU TO PROVIDE THE INFORMATION THAT YOU ARE APPARENTLY QUALIFIED TO PROVIDE!!! ARE YOU A PRETEND DOCTOR? DO YOU NOT KNOW THE ANSWERS? OR ARE YOU JUST BEING DELIBERATELY VAGUE TO ANTAGONIZE ME!!! AAHAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"

And then I kicked him in the face. Well, no not really, there were children present after all.

I have learned something throughout all my enforced thinking about doctors. They are human. They have bad days. They get distracted. They make mistakes. And I'm painfully aware that when one of my boys has a medical problem, a doctor is more capable at diagnosing it than I am, but if they can't / wont even answer my questions, I'm left with very little confidence in their abilities - are they having an "off" day? Are they going to miss the real problem because our appointment has run into their coffee brake? Have they recently broken up with their significant other and have Celine Dions 'My heart will go on' stuck on repeat in their head?

I don't know. I am trusting them with the health of my children, and I have no idea if they are even concentrating. And that sucks.

I know that there are good doctors out there, in fact, the one my boys are actually registered with is awesome. We just never get to see him because he's always booked for days.

So, I think the only option is to add an extra class to doctor-school about how to get some people skills. It could be entitled: "How to compassionately interact with a terrified mother who thinks her child may expire at any moment, without acting like an ass."

If I was a doctor, I'd totally take that class.

xox

(Picture courtesy of Connah while we were waiting for eleventy billion hours to be seen by a doctor. Yes, those are guns in his hands, apparently he was pissed off too.)

Party Time...

The Attack is turning 3. We didn't even attempt to have a party for him last year, as he was bang smack in the middle of what could politely be described as a "difficult phase". (Not particularly difficult for me, just for every other living creature on the face of the planet.) Jamming him in a room with 40 people all trying to talk and grin at him would have probably made his head explode.

With that being said, I still felt as though I had to make up for not throwing him a party last year, so decided to do a themed one this time.

This decision has become the bane of my existence for the past month.

Planning parties take up time. (I know, who would have thought?) I don't really have a lot of spare time, and when I get some, I like to use it for very important things, like thinking up extravagant unicorn scenarios to use in my next facebook post. But I was committed - birthdays are important, and celebrating the date of birth of one of the most important people in my world had to take precedence over unicorns.

First, the theme itself. What is Ash into? What does he like? What does he enjoy doing? Ummm, cars, cars, and playing with cars.

OK, "cars" is the theme. Do you know how hard it is to get anything car related without Lightning McQueens ridiculous grinning face all over it? It turns out: Very.

The Attack also very much likes small creatures, especially birds, so I got some chicken and quail eggs (thank-you trade me) and set them in the incubator so that they were due to hatch the day of the party. (Yeah, didn't really think that one through did I? Hindsight is a great thing...)

Invitations, party tableware, 200 balloons, flags, signs, food, a cake (thank-you mum!) party boxes, and a marquee were organized, and we were mostly good to go. But what to do with 16 children for two hours? I doubt they are going to want to stare at the 3 x 2 meter road play mat that I painstaking drew and then painted to hang on the wall. Even if it did take me three days to do.

So, things for kids to do revolving around cars? Fishing for cars? No. Pin the tail on the car? No. Musical cars? No.

Coin cars, peddle cars and an electric jeep (thank-you dad!). We got 50 billion tyres (thank-you Craig!) and built a mini race track in the back yard. FYI - tyres are dirty. And lugging around 50 billion of them gets old really fast. But everything was set up with about 6 minutes to spare before the children started to arrive.

My months worth of planning and organizing basically boiled down to a two hour play-date.

A chick and a quail hatched during the party, which was all adorable and fascinating until the chick tried to kill the quail, so an emergency chickectomy had to be preformed. We pulled him out and stuck him in the brooding box, only to discover that the heat lamp wasn't working properly, so I had to make a lightning trip to pick up another lamp before the chick froze to death. Moral of the story: Don't time your hatch for a day when you are hosting a birthday party. This can cause death.

It rained. Now, normally I'm all for rain. It should rain every day - pouring rain, thunder and lightning, hail, bring it on. Just not on the day that I have 40 people over to play in the back-yard.

Fortunately, kids don't care if they get rained on, so while all the adults stayed huddled in the garage, the kids played outside and got absolutely drenched. I'm expecting thank-you notes any day from all the parents who's children got hypothermia.

It has been pretty full-on, and I've had a few people comment on how Ash probably won't remember it, so I should wait until he's older to do stuff like this. That bugs me, so I need to explain.

Ash may remember, or he may not. That's kinda irrelevant. I am trying to create magical childhoods for my boys, and that means cramming as much fun and joy and possibility into their teny little selves as I can. And that is sometimes hard. And exhausting. And it is every day since the day they were born.

If they remember, great, if they don't then that's great too, because I know that it's all still there helping to make them into the awesome people that they will become.

Ash had a fun, exciting day, and that was the whole point.

Connah, however, also had a fun, exciting day, so much so that he has requested a dinosaur themed party for his birthday in a months time.

So it begins again. If anyone can help out with a giant dinosaur nest, or have any spare prehistoric bones lying around looking for a home, let me know.

xox

The Cotton Wool Club...

So, it's rant time again. Hold on tight, cause this might get offensive. In fact, if you're the type of person to get easily offended by other peoples opinions, you might just want to move along right about now........ We good? OK, let's go:

*This rant was sponsored by all the people who have implied that I am paranoid and / or that I wrap my children in cotton wool - without you, this never would have been possible.*


"My curfew was the street lights, I played outside with friends all day long, not online. If I didn't eat what my mum made me, then I didn't eat. Hand sanitizer didn't exist, but you could get your mouth washed out with soap. I rode a bike with no helmet, and the neighbors pool had no fence around it. And I survived. Re-post if you appreciate the way you were raised."

I have seen this quote in various forms splattered all over the internet in the last month, and every time I read it, it creates this visceral response:

Seriously? SERIOUSLY!? You survived? Well how fantastic for you. Want to know a secret?

Thousands didn't.

Children have very little fear. It is our job to protect them. It was not great parenting that allowed the authors of those posts to grow old enough to appreciate the way they were raised, it was luck.

Pools are now fenced because children died. Bike helmets are worn because children died. Supervision is required because children were abducted. These risks are admittedly quite small, and if you wish to take them with your children, then that is your choice, but it is callous to belittle or patronize those who are not willing to take those chances.

Car seats for babies and children were not mandatory until the mid '80's. Most people my age were either on an adults lap as babies, or roaming around the car as toddlers. We know how dangerous that is now. We learned, and we adapted. These changes have saved lives. How is that a bad thing?

Our society seems to believe that "wrapping children in cotton wool" is one of the worst thing a parent can do - kids need to be resilient, they need to "harden up" and apparently the only way to achieve that by exposing them to unsafe and / or emotionally upsetting situations.
Allowing children to be physically unsafe is only ever worth it if nothing happens to the child. Ask a parent who has lost a child in a car accident if they plan on using safety restraints with any future children, and I doubt the answer will be no.
Continuing to force a child into situations where they are clearly uncomfortable or afraid does "harden them up", but it does so by brutalizing their sense of self to the point where they put up a wall so they don't have to feel. This eventually comes out as insecurity, jealousy, aggression and/or bullying because they have never been taught how to deal with these feelings - their only tool is defensive behavior. But don't worry, they are "hard." Awesome.

The world is a spectacular, wondrous place. It is also a dangerous place. The dangers shouldn't be the main focus, but refusing to admit that they could pose a threat to us makes them infinitely more dangerous. The more aware we are, the better we are able to protect.

One in three girls, and one in five boys, are sexually abused before they turn 18 - and this is only based on the estimated 35% of cases that are reported. If your daughter has three friends, the chances are, one of them has been abused, and who are the prime candidates for that abuse?: The father / stepfather / mothers current boyfriend, the older brother, the uncle, the neighbor. Now, keep in mind that these people do not have "Pedophile" stamped into their foreheads, so meeting them will not help - Hell, the child's mother lives with them and is usually clueless.

Do you send your daughter to her friends house for a sleepover?

I can not control everything, I know that, but if somebody dares utter the phrase: "don't worry, everything will be fine," I will throw an award-winning tantrum. It is patronizing. It completely dismisses my rational fears. It is not true. So do not tell me that everything will be O.K. Unless you are psychic

So, for all the people out there who do not consider "survival" to be the only goal of parenting, for all the people who show respect and compassion towards their children and are ridiculed for it. For wanting their children to know that love should not be dependent on performance, behavior or whimsy. Who think the phrases "it was good enough for me" and "it didn't do me any harm", are laughable, because they want so so much more for their children. And for those who are aware that sometimes, even bringing the world to it's knees to protect a child is not enough, but never use that as an excuse to stop trying. To you I say thank you. You are walking a path that is mostly unbeaten and strewn with obstacles, but you are raising magic - the children that will make this world a better place simply by existing.

And that is something to be applauded.

xox

Lest we Forget...

Connah: "Once we have grown up, we can't go back to being little again aye?"

Me: "No. Do you think you'll want to?"

Connah: "I think I'll still want to be littler sometimes."

Me: "How big do you think you'll want to go back to being?"

Connah: "Exactly how big I am now."

And that, right there, is how I know I'm doing OK.

It's easy to get caught up in the worry and stress of all the dangers out to get our children - Are they watching too much T.V? Are they eating the right kind of food? Do they play independently and / or socially enough? Are their friends a good influence? Are they going to the right school? Should they be going to school at all?! What if their teacher is on DRUGS?!? Or is a PEDOPHILE!?! What if there is a NATURAL DISASTER?! HOLY CRAP THEY ARE NEVER LEAVING THE HOUSE AGAIN!!!!!!

I don't often doubt myself, however I do have a tendency to obsess over details.

But when Connah said that, it blew right through all the stress and exposed the simple truth:

My child is happy. And he is self-aware enough to recognize that.

I am doing awesome.

xox

All the Pretty Horses...

Horses are magic. I think this is because they are closely related to the unicorn, and while they weren't blessed with being able to time travel, or sneeze rainbows, they do seem to possess the charisma of their magical cousins. Also, possibly their mind-reading abilities - when a horse is looking you in the eye, you can rest assured that it is indeed searching your soul, and if you did take that $20 from your brothers wallet, or talk smack about your best friend behind her back, you best confess your sins and repent right smartly, or the horse might just stomp you to death. Horses are good like that.

So imagine my delight when Connah announced one day that he wanted to go horse riding. He is pure of heart and intention, therefore is perfectly safe from the stomping, so I quickly went about making arrangements for him to ride and found a place that had lead ponies available for beginners.

This seemed like a good place to start. Ponies are just small horses really, so they must also be related to unicorns. We packed up the boys and set off for our pony adventure.

When we arrived, we were shown to the ponies and given a few instructions on how to lead them, and how to get them going again if they decided to stop, (to which I responded with a silent condescending snort. I mean really, if they stop I'll just beam my wishes directly into their magical brains. It's not rocket science people.) and with that, our instructors pointed us in the general direction of the "beginners trail" and galloped off into the sunset.

We adjusted the stirrups to ridiculously short, got Connah mounted atop a bay gelding named Elmo, and set off along the path which would lead us to the trail.

Connah took to riding well. After a few initial wobbles, which involved intense concentration and a death hold on the saddle, he learned that it was not a motorbike, and if you moved with the horse it was a lot easier and less bumpy.

So, along the path we went, occasionally sinking up to our ankles in mud, until we reached the gate that marked the start of the beginners trail. And it was here that Elmo dug his hooves in, refused to go any further, and I learned that ponies are in no way related to unicorns.

First I tried beaming the thoughts. I beamed hard, and all I got in return was a steely stare, and the definite impression that I was gonna get head-butted if I didn't get out of his face. Mortal tricks didn't work either, and after about twenty minutes of standing in a mud puddle, no closer to the elusive beginners trail than when we started, I sighed in defeat and turned him back the way we came. Surprisingly enough, he happily started down the path, so I quickly turned him back towards the gate to see if we were on a roll, but alas, he stopped again. Turn towards the path: Go. Towards the gate: Stop. Path: Go. Gate: Stop.

This was when I realized that he was happy going down the path, because that would lead him back to where he gets tied up. So he can just stand there. Like a lump.

Now, I'm not a fan of stubbornness, but I can understand it. Laziness however, is just not something I tolerate well. My own stubbornness kicked in and thus sparked an hour long struggle between Elmo and I each trying to force the other to go where we wanted. This involved lots of "talks" which basically consisted of me stamping my foot and saying "Seriously?!" a lot, and him jerking his head up in a ridiculously lazy attempt to rear up like a mighty stallion, except, you know - without putting in the required effort to get his feet off the ground.

Eventually we ended up back at the arena, where I tied him to his fence and left him sullenly standing in the dirt staring off into space. (How is that more fun Elmo?! How?!?!) He wouldn't even look at me by this stage, and I kinda got the impression that he felt violated by the whole experience.

So, the pony adventure did not go precisely the way I had planned, but it was still an adventure. Connah had a fantastic time, he didn't seem to mind that we were mostly going in circles, and I gained a valuable piece of knowledge: Ponies are most definitely not related to unicorns - they are related to sloths. And ink stains.



xox

Dinosaur king...

Connah usually has an obsession. I'm pretty sure he was born with the tendency to obsess, but it didn't became noticeable until he was around 10 or 11 months old. His third word (about six months before "mama" or "dada") was "Digger".

Digger.

This sparked a year long fixation which included stopping the car every time we saw a excavator working on the side of the road, digger toys/books/clothing, buying eleventy billion bags of flour a week because diggers working in "snow" were way better than diggers working in dirt, the beginning of his you-tube fascination, and sleeping with a little die-cast digger in each hand every night.

Next came trains. We became very familiar with the local train station, and our house resembled one of those train convention shows for about eight months.

A variety of interests followed: Hot air balloons, Spiderman, Motorbikes, but none of them developed into a full-blown obsession.

Until, at three and a half years old, he discovered dinosaurs.

I am writing about this now, because I feel like this dinosaur phase is coming to an end, and I need to remember it. Because it was an awesome one.

Connah devoured all the information I could provide him on the subject within about six minutes, so we have been learning together this time.
By the time he was four he could recognize and pronounce all the commonly documented dinosaurs. His attention to detail means he can easily identify the similar looking dinosaurs from each other.

Have you ever had this conversation with your four year old?:

Me: "Connah, check out this Triceratops!"
Connah: "No, that's not a Triceratops, it has horns on it's neck frill, and it's nose horn is longer than it's head horns - it's a Styracosaurus."

I have that conversation in varying forms every day.

His favorites have included Velociraptor, Pachycephalosaurus, Spinosaurus, Allosaurus, and of course, Tyrannosaurus Rex.
He is able to distinguish the carnivores from the herbivorous and the omnivores. He can tell you the difference between a palaeontologist and an archaeoliogist. And he will patiently and repeatedly tell his father to stop referring to Pteranodon as a dinosaur, as because it is a flying creature, it is not technically considered a dinosaur - it is a Pterosaur.

It's pretty fricken cool.

Unfortunately, he refuses to be a show pony, so I have no video evidence, you just have to take my word for it. My child is a genius.

Yes, yes I know all parents think that about their children, but in this case it's actually true. No, seriously, it is! - He's better with numbers than a lot of adults I know, and his reasoning skills are fairly epic. If you can just discount the fact that watching him try to do a puzzle is like watching a unicorn try to use a knife and fork, the genius theory is totally sound. (And really, puzzles were only created to make people feel like idiots anyway, so I'm completely down with destroying them all and pretending they never existed.)

And I'm starting to flail about off-topic, so I'll just end this here by hitting the high points: My child is a genius. Puzzles should never have been born. Dinosaurs rule. Feel free to tell your friends.

xox

Serendipity...

Connah: "What's a wife?"

Me: "Well, when you get big, you might find a girl who's so awesome that you want to live with her for your whole life, and if you marry her, then she would be your wife. Do you know those pictures on the wall at home of mummy and daddy at Taitua before you were born? That's when we got married, which is where we told everybody that we chose to spend our lives with each other. After that day, I was his wife."

Connah: "And Daddy found you? Out of the whole world?"

Me: "Yes"

Connah: "And he didn't want to find anyone else after that, aye?"

Me: "No"

Connah: "Hmmm..... That's so lucky, that he found you then, so you can be his wife, and our mummy."

Me: "Yes Connah, that was so very lucky."

xox

The Space Between...

I know that we are not supposed to compare our children to one another. It is bad. It will lead to all sorts of super-evil stuff like sibling rivalry, jealousy and issues with inferiority and self worth.

I'm pretty sure most parents do it all the time. I secretly compare my children at least once a day. I love the differences, and the best way I've found to highlight their individuality is to compare them to the only other child I know well enough to comment on - their sibling.

Connah is my oldest child. He introduced me to the world of parenting, and everything he experienced was new and exciting.
He is thoughtful, intense, and introverted. He likes details, and once interested in a subject, will seek out relevant information with a single minded ferocity which borders on obsession.

Ashden is my youngest child, so everything he experiences is my last chance to do so too.
He is exuberant, astute, and extroverted. He demands attention and participation when preforming an activity, and gets quite upset if things don't go the way he plans. He is sensitive to external disturbances, especially loud noises. And he loves to make people laugh.

Connah glows.

Ashden sparkles.

They do share some similarities which are celebrated alongside the differences: They are both insightful. They both have elephant memories. Their eyes are the exact same shade of blue - the same shade as their father. They both stick their tongue out when they're concentrating really hard. They can both throw an award-winning tantrum when properly provoked.

They are both vital to my world.

But it's their differences that I find fascinating. They are miles apart in personality, and it sometimes feels as though I'm raising two totally different species of mammals - the learning curve was pretty fricken steep with Connah, and it ended up not helping much at all with Ashden as they respond so differently to the same information. But I could never wish that one was more like the other, because that would make him less than exactly who he is. Exactly who he's supposed to be.

So I will continue to compare them, because they are growing up so very fast - changing daily - and it's my way of stopping and looking at what's really there, instead of assuming it's the same as what was there yesterday. All too soon I will be watching them forge there own paths, separate from my own, and that will be celebrated too.

But for now, I exist somewhere in the space between them, in the wake of the glow, with the light of the sparkle shining in the distance, and there is really no better place to be.

xox

The Terrible Twos...

I seriously thought it was a myth.

With Connah, we sailed through his second year in a blissful sea of learning and adventure. The amount of knowledge that was packed inside his head during that year was epic, and he quietly analyzed it all and stored it away for future reference.

The Attack however, seems to think that being two is something that the universe has done specifically to irritate him.

He learns. He learns a lot. But he does it loudly. There is no quiet contemplation with the Attack - he works through his confusion emotionally, verbally, and right smack in your face.

One of his biggest tantrum inducing conversations goes like this:

The Attack: "Carry me."

Me: "No Ash, you don't need a carry, that's why you have legs."

The Attack: "No! I neeeeeeeed a CARRYYYYYYYY!!!" AHHHHHHHHH WAAAAAAA WAAAAAAAAAAA WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AHHHHH WAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

This continues until he gets distracted. Sometimes two minutes, sometimes an hour. Fortunately, this list of things capable of distracting a meltdown of this magnitude is fairly long, but nothing works every time. It's a matter of making your way through the list until something clicks:

Me: "Ash, do you want to play cars?"

The Attack: "WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NO!!! CARRY ME!!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. *Stamps foot repeatedly.*

Me: "Do you want to hold Koko?

The Attack: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! WAAAAAAAA EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! *Throws himself on the floor.*

Me: "Do you want to hide in the cupboard?

The Attack: "O.K." *Picks himself up off the floor and smiles, which is adorable even though he is covered in tears and snot and dog hair from rolling around on the ground.*

This happens 17 times a day.

These episodes are interspersed with bouts of intense hyperactivity, (he likes to run at you at full speed and then launch himself onto you while screaming BOINGGGG! It's more fun if you're not expecting it,) and slightly exaggerated accusations tossed in Connah's direction, (he once woke up in the middle of the night to tell me that Connah had just kicked him in the face. Connah was sleeping in his own room on the other side of the house.)

He loves trying new things. As long as they go exactly the way he imagines they will in his head.

His first trip to the snow was awesome, for six minutes. Then he slipped over. He stared at that snow like it had just committed an unimaginable act of betrayal, his brain couldn't seem to accept the fact that snow is cold and slippery. He then spent the best part of the next two hours crying that he wanted to go home.

The beach was the same: Yay! Sand! Sand castles! Water! Digging holes! Fun!!! But wait... The sand is hot, and the water moves! TOWARDS YOU! HOW CAN THIS BE?!?!

He is still very sensitive to loud noises, (unless he is making them,) so will often be seen trucking around with a pair of earmuffs on.

Reasons to wear earmuffs:

1) Someone is vacuuming, or mowing lawns.

2) The scary part in Shrek is coming up.

3) A bird is singing too loud.

4) Connah wants to wear the earmuffs.

If earmuffs are unavailable due to them falling in the toilet / the dog eating them / leaving the house without them, then I must cup my hands over his ears really tight. This is a little disturbing to do in public places, as the way he likes me to have my hands kinda makes it look like I'm trying to pull his head off. I'm not, just so we're clear on that.

During the times when he's not melting down, or being betrayed by the world, The Attack is hilarious. He picks up adult speech readily, and easily incorporates it into his own vocabulary. When asked why he wasn't eating last night, his response was: "My capsicum tastes a little funky - it's probably rotten." Awesome.

"That's OK, though" has become his catch phrase as of late:

Me: "Ash, we need to get your shoes on, we're already late."

The Attack: "That's O.K, though."

Me: "Ash, don't put your cup upside down on your head, you just spilled water all over yourself."
The Attack: "That's O.K, though."

Me: "Go to the bathroom before you pee all over the floor!"
The Attack: "That's O.K, though."

Ashden is funny, cheeky and adorable - which is a fairly lethal combination. He makes the whole world grin like a idiot dancing in the whiskers of baby kittens.

And then he'll realize that the car he is holding in his hand is the blue Porsche, when he actually wanted to play with the blue Lamborghini, and he'll explode. Like a bomb. It. Is. Spectacular.

He turns three in September. I'm kinda hoping three comes with a tantrum switch, or at least a touch more logic.

Four more months...


xox

The Birds and the Bees...

I am a thinker. I like to think things through before I speak.

This makes me fairly incompetent in social situations, because people generally don't like to wait for extended periods of time to get answers to questions such as "How are you?" or "What have you been up to lately?".

I have adapted somewhat, because the future I once envisioned for myself - the future that involved me shunning human companionship completely, and frolicking off into the forest to live with the fae and be at one with the universe (don't laugh, I know you think it sounds awesome) - no longer exists for me. I have chosen to live here, in all the messy mortal glory that comes with being a wife and mother.

Unfortunately, It also comes with responsibilities like small talk, because lets face it, you're not gonna let your kid go for a play date at the crazy mute lady's house.
So I lie. I tell people what they want to hear, but often just end up rambling because I really don't know what the hell I'm doing.

Dealing with questions from my boys however, demands more effort.

My unwillingness to lie to them, coupled with my possum-caught-in-the-headlights reaction to questions, makes for an almost inevitable disaster. But, I've found disaster can be avoided with a few simple techniques:

#1. Immediately upon hearing it, repeat the question back, preferably rephrased.
This has two benefits, the first being that you are showing that you are listening and interested in the question (and also making sure you have it right. If I had implemented this earlier, I could have avoided the long racial conversation I had with Connah when he asked why his friend was a different colour to him. Seriously, I was rambling about genetics and DNA for twenty minutes, which was pretty hard, 'cause I know crap-all about genetics and DNA. Also, completely unnecessary because as It turns out, his friend had really bad sunburn.)
The second (and probably most important) reason for this is that it buys you time to gather your scattered thoughts and come up with a coherent answer.

#2. Do not offer candy and / or cookies as a ploy in order to distract the child and buy yourself more time to think.
By the time they finish eating (and you've come up with an explanation worthy of an award of some kind) they will have lost all interest in anything you have to say unless it directly relates to them getting more candy.

#3. Whatever it is that you come up with to say, simplify it.

Expanding a small child's vocabulary is great, but expecting them to understand you when you're explaining about the moral and ethical dilemmas of lying is unrealistic. To avoid becoming a human thesaurus during your speech, save vocabulary lessons for another time

#4. While it's important to tell the truth, it's fine to omit things that are not age appropriate.
Is it really necessary for your toddler to know the exact blood spatter pattern of the possum you hit with your car last night?

How about why your neighbor, Mrs Jones sneaks out of her house every night that her husband goes away on business trips?
This is where editing comes in handy. The possum died. Mrs Jones is visiting a friend. Unless they specifically ask for details you're pretty safe.

However if the child has a genuine interest in something you deem inappropriate, you would have to judge whether they are mentally / emotionally able to understand and cope with the information, and go from there. Just try not to raise a serial killer - that would be bad.

So, keeping in mind my complete inability to answer questions like a normal person, and the subsequent list of rules I need to refer to in order to make any sense at all, this is what I came up with during my first attempt at answering one of the most feared questions of parents everywhere:

Connah: "Where do babies come from?"

Me: (Repeat. Maybe this has something to do with sunburn too...)"Do you mean how are babies made? Or where do they come from?"

Connah: "No, I mean how do you get one?"

Me: (The cabbage patch. No, stalks bring them! Crap! No lying! ) "Well, when you're grown up, you have to find a girl that you want to share one with and then she will grow it in her belly until it gets big enough to be born. Then you have a baby.

Connah: "I have to share it with a girl?! Can't I just grow one in my own belly?"

Me: (Well with the advances in medical technology, it is actually possible for a man to carry a baby to term... Edit: Unnecessary information at this time...) "No, only girls grow babies in their bellies. Boys don't have the right parts inside them to grow one."

Connah: "What if two boys want to share a baby?"

Me: (Not the time for an adoption or gay rights speech... simplify...) "Then they have to find a girl who doesn't want to keep her baby, and ask if they can look after it."

Connah: "But only girls grow the babies?"

Me: "Yes."

Connah: "Mummy?"

Me: "Yes Connah?"

Connah: "When I'm grown up, will you ask a girl to grow me a baby, cause ummm, I'm gonna be busy that day."





xox

Breastfeeding: A Mothers Choice, or her Sentence?

All new mothers are advised to breastfeed. We're told that there are so many benefits to breastfeeding, and that it is the best thing we can do for our child.

We're told it's natural, it has just the right nutrients for your baby, it promotes better bonding between mother and child, it provides antioxidants to keep them from getting sick, it's environmentally friendly. It's a magic potion of rainbows and unicorns that can rid the world of evil whilst simultaneously doing your taxes.

The medical profession, the media, family, and strangers in the street, all eulogize the benefits of breastfeeding.

This makes me want to choke them a little.

The doctors, nurses and midwives are especially frustrating to me - they should be providing new mothers with information and support regarding their preferred method of feeding their child, not ignoring bottle feeding entirely, and using guilt and pressure to 'encourage' breastfeeding.

It is completely ridiculous to think that if you pretend bottle feeding doesn’t exit, then all mothers will breastfeed.

The number of mothers who start breastfeeding but then go on to formula is very high, particularly in the first week. It is vital that they get basic information on how to prepare it properly, and the importance of sterilizing.

Promoting breastfeeding as being the best option if you are able and willing is fine, but villanizing mothers who bottle feed is not.

You are looked upon as selfish if you choose to bottle feed. You are given sidelong glances, and the occasional snarky comment if you dare to be seen in public with a bottle. Breastfeeding fanatics imply – when they don’t just say it outright – that you are either too callous or ignorant to do the 'right' thing by your child – you obviously don’t care about it's well being if you're feeding it formula! (gasp). You may as well be dressing it in plastic bags and letting it play on the road with rabid dogs.

Contrary to popular belief, baby formula is not in fact poison.

Today's baby milk formula is the closest it has ever been to breast milk. It also comes fortified with many nutrients that are low or absent in many mother's milk. Formula milk is fortified with iron and vitamin D and contains two essential fatty acids found in breastmilk, DHA and ARA. It is a nutritionally complete food for babies.

During my research for this post, I asked the people around me what they believed the benefits of breast feeding to be, and if they chose to do it, Why? Interestingly, convenience and the fact that it was free was high up on the list. But there were four other benefits that were present in most peoples minds, so I wanted to look further into them. This is what I found:

#1: Breastfeeding promotes bonding.
Many people who did not enjoy breastfeeding speak of only bonding with their child once they stopped. Many people who do enjoy breastfeeding speak of it as being the most bonding experience of their lives. In short, people are different and therefore will not always find the same activities bonding. Breastfeeding does help some woman form an attachment with their children, but if you are unable or unwilling, it can be very detrimental to bonding. If this is the case, the good news is that you do not need your baby to be physically attached to your body in order to bond with them. Spend time with them. Hold them. Play with them. Love them. It works really well.

#2: Breastfeeding passes antibodies to the baby.
Most mammals are born without any antibodies (or only the tiniest amounts) circulating in their blood. This leaves them defenseless at birth against viruses, bacteria and other pathogens. If a kitten is deprived of it's mothers colostrum after birth, it will probably get sick and die. Fortunately, the antibody molecules in colostrum are easily able to pass through the bowel walls of these baby mammals and protect them.

Human babies however, are able to absorb antibodies into their blood before birth via the placenta. Unlike other mammals (except monkeys) human babies are born with all the maternal antibodies that they will ever have.

Colostrum and breast milk are full of antibodies, but babies are never able to absorb them into the bloodstream except maybe in tiny amounts. The antibodies in breast milk do protect against infection, but they only work locally - inside the baby's gastrointestinal tract.

#3: Breastfeeding your child increases it's IQ.
If we are working on statistics (Which most of these studies do) it is worth noting that mothers who elect to breastfeed tend to be more intelligent themselves. Intelligence is genetic.
Experts originally believed that an acid called DHA which is found in breast milk, was responsible for the slight increase of IQ in breastfed children. But when they adjusted the results to take into account factors such as the mother’s own IQ and level of education, the difference between the intelligence of breastfed and formula fed babies disappeared.
There is also no statistical difference between the intelligence of siblings when one was breastfed and one wasn't.

#4: Breastfeeding reduces the risk of SIDS.
Yes it does, but that has nothing to do with anything in the breast milk. More likely it has to do with the frequency of which the child wakes to feed, or the fact that statistically, more mothers from higher income families choose to breastfeed and they can afford to buy new bedding for their children. Protective covers for bedding eliminate the risk of SIDS. Buy one today: http://www.babymattresscovers.com/

There are so many studies and reports out there showing the vast superiority of breastfeeding, but most of them share one glaring fault: Researchers can not ethically tell a woman how to feed her child, so they are forced to simply compare groups of babies being breast fed, against groups that are not.

Statistically we know that many mothers who choose to breastfeed are relatively intelligent, are more educated, come from higher income families, tend to provide more stimulating home environments, are more likely to use attachment parenting, and are slightly older than bottle feeding mothers. It is almost impossible to distinguish which benefits come from breastfeeding and which come from genetics, environment and parenting choices by simply observing these mothers.

Thousands of these observational studies have been published claiming the undeniable benefits of breastfeeding, but most of these claims have never been proven in the lab.
Connections between breastfeeding and obesity, allergies, preventing leukemia, cognitive development, heart disease, diabetes, (the list goes on...) are brandished about as if they are fact, but the science does not support these claims.
The studies are just comparing one group against another without taking any other relevant factors into account.

Does this mean that formula is better than breast milk? Not at all, there are many benefits to breastfeeding, this is only intended to make people think, and not judge others based on something that they've been spoon-fed.
Breastfeeding is a natural function and if you are able and willing, a really good choice. However, circumstances exist where bottle feeding is the better decision for some families - this decision is not child abuse, and shouldn't be treated as such.

You can not decide if another persons reasons are valid. Some may find breastfeeding to be an enjoyable / spiritual / rewarding experience, but that doesn't mean everyone will, or that they are even capable of feeling that way given their personality or history. Trying to force someone into it by making them feel as though they are inadequate, or a bad parent is cruel and irresponsible. You are not them. The breastfeeding movement is supposed to be a positive empowering thing, and instead it attempts to take the power of choice from mothers by providing inaccurate data and bullying, and it is hurting babies through lack of information.

When it comes to how you decide to feed your baby, no body else gets to have an opinion.

The best thing you can do for your child is be the most awesome parent you can. Look beyond conception, birth and nursing to the world into which they are born, where everything they see, feel and hear starts to shape the person they will become. Your children need you to be happy, confident, and capable much more than they need breast milk, and having a stressed, overwhelmed or resentful mother is far more toxic to them than anything found in formula.


xox

Once upon a time, there lived a mouse. She was the finest mouse in all the land, with long golden fur, and shiny red eyes, which surprisingly did not make her look creepy at all.

Her name was Cinnamon.

Cinnamon was best friends with the young prince, who loved her dearly and carried her about with him for over half of his life. They played royal games such as "Spider mouse" and "Flying in a rocket ship". The prince told Cinnamon stories of his travels around the kingdom. and they went on many adventures to far off lands like The Bathroom, and The Couch.

All was well, and the days swept by in a blissful haze of laughter and happiness.

Until one day the young prince was teaching Cinnamon how to drive his truck, and Cinnamon did not want to. She tried to get out of the truck, but the young prince wanted her to stay in, and shut the trucks door.

On her neck.

Cinnamon did not survive this ordeal, and the young prince learned a harsh lesson: When you squish a small mammals head, it dies.

The End.


I hate that this happened.
I hate that this is part of his history now.
I hate that this is my fault.

He did not intend to hurt her, of that I am sure. He has been carting around tiny fragile animals since before he could walk, and the only damage he's done is stand (repeatedly) on a cats tail, (but in his defense, that cat is evil, and I think it deliberately puts it's tail under peoples feet so it can then feel justified in scratching the crap out of them,) and occasionally asking if he can hold an animal "like a pants" (which he has never actually done.)
I had grown accustomed to trusting that he wouldn't harm them. Which sounds a bit ridiculous really... He is only two, and he really wanted Cinnamon to drive that damn truck. The outcome was fairly predictable in hindsight.

I took this a lot harder than The Attack. Cinnamon was his constant companion, but if we had obtained another mouse for him, he could have switched his allegiance quite easily - he doesn't yet possess the cognitive ability to really understand pets as individual entities, they are still like toys to him, and therefore interchangeable. But he doesn't have a new mouse, and so he misses his old friend. He still asks me everyday "Where's Cinnamon gone?"

And I have to explain. Again.

I think this is the only thing I can do to help him understand - let him feel her absence.

The image of my two year old son running up to me with wide eyes and the limp body of his pet mouse in his hands, is one that is now seared into my memory. Not because it was so horrific (though it did kind of feel that way at the time... your child holding the corpse of his pet is hardly pleasant,) but because I recognized immediately what had happened, and that this was a lesson that he had to learn - I shouldn't interfere to make it easier for him. And that is hard.

So, there is no happily ever after for this tale, just life, and learning, and growing from it.

Goodbye Cinnamon, you really were a good mouse.


xox

Get a Real Job...

Join me, would you, for a mild rant? It'll be fun... promise.

Somebody said something to me the other day that raised my hackles and almost brought about a Connah-sized hissy fit.
It was said in sympathy, because I am currently sick and tired and I look sick and tired, (seriously, I'm a bit of a train wreck) and this person was obviously trying to make me feel better - she had no idea how offensive her words were to me.

So what was this thoughtless, inexcusable statement that made me want to choke her a little?:

"Oh well, at least you don't have to work in the morning."

I know, right?!

O.k, let me explain myself so I don't come of like a total shrew.

Since having children, I have stayed at home with them full time, I have worked full time, and am currently working part time. I do actually have to work in the morning, but that's not the point.

The point is, I hear this statement all the time, most often in reference to fathers who really shouldn't be woken to attend to the baby during the night, as they have to get up for work in the morning.
So, what then? If you do not get sufficient sleep, you are not able to preform your duties at work?
But, if you are staying at home with children, it's OK to do a sub-standard job due to over-tiredness because...

You are not getting paid?
You will not get fired?
Those in your care are unwilling, or unable to complain?

Taking care of children is physical. It is fraught with emotional and intellectual difficulties as you try to find your way through the minefield of growing little people into big people, and you do not get breaks. Ever.

It is awesome. And it is terrifying. Every day.

To have this woman - a mother herself - belittle what so many of us do on a daily basis, made me want to smack her upside the head. If parents don't even understand the value of what they are doing, no one else is going to either.

So next time some kind-hearted person decides to drop that empathy-bomb on you, you need to turn to them, smile sweetly, and say:

"If you find it easier to stay at home and parent your children when you are sick instead of going to work, then you are probably doing it wrong."

And that concludes today's rant.


xox

Like a Pants...

Pants is a hilarious word to me. Not because pants are an excessively amusing item of clothing, and not because of any sort of entertaining situation that has arisen whilst I have been wearing pants, but because of The Attacks use of the word.

Whether it has come from misunderstanding something he has seen or heard, or whether he just feels that this is the correct way to hold your pants, I don't know.

It started with a water balloon, which as he picked up, slipped halfway out of his hand. He stared at it for a while before the epiphany hit him and he held it up in front of him and announce triumphantly: "I IS HOLDING IT LIKE A PANTS!" Whereupon he starting plucking each balloon out of the bucket and telling it "You is like a pants" "Pantsy Pants Pants."

And if you've never seen a two year old dancing around half naked with water balloons, singing about pants, you're really missing out. Here, I'll give you a definition so that you can properly visualize it:

Definition: "Like a pants" To hold something 'like a pants' is to grasp it firmly at it's very top most region using ones whole fist to grip, and then it must be held up and out from the body so that it dangles downwards. The item may or may not be waggled. See also: "Like a pantsy"

There. Isn't your life more complete now? You're welcome.

Almost anything can be held 'like a pants', toys, curtains, plastic ware, rugs, giant inflatable furniture ect. Food seems to be a favorite choice for pants holding, as apparently it's way more fun if stuff flings off of it while it's waggling.

So next time you are feeling stressed, grumpy, or just need some amusement in your day, think of a small boy holding out a barely hatched pigeon, asking in a hopeful voice: "Hold him like a pants?" and you will smile.

Pants.

It's a funny word.



xox

A Message for Christchurch...

You have been dealt a huge blow today. A blow that is resonating throughout the country invoking shock and disbelief wherever it touches.

I have no inspiring words of comfort for what you have lost. There is very little comfort to be had after having your sense of security torn asunder, so instead, I will write what I have seen.

In the last eight hours, I have seen images of brutal death and destruction. I have seen buildings leveled, and streets carved into pieces. Buses buried beneath rubble, and billowing smoke and dust rising to the sky.



And I have seen people.



Devastated people. Blood soaked people. Broken people. People wandering aimlessly, in disbelief over what they have lost. People pulling themselves from crushed cars, and demolished buildings.

And those same people returning to the buildings they have just escaped from, to assist others still trapped. People wrapping shell-shocked strangers in blankets to keep them warm. People holding hands while they wait to hear word of their missing loved ones. People offering what little they have left, to those who have lost everything.



There is strength here. And vast amounts of courage.



Tonight will be a long night for many of you. The following days filled with confusion and uncertainty. But also with hope, and bravery, compassion and philanthropy.



And though it seems incredibly inadequate, we are all sending our thoughts and our love to you during this time.





xox

I Have A Dream...

A while ago, Connah started saying things that made very little sense. He has always come out with things that don't make much sense, but if you pay enough attention, and dig deep enough, you can usually figure out where it's come from.
This was different. Example:

Connah: *Stares accusingly at me* "You forgot!"
Me: "What did I forget?"
Connah: "You said I could have another hold before Ashden went to grans house, and I didn't!" *Glares with a look of utter betrayal.*
Me: "A hold of what Connah?"
Connah: "The baby sea lion!"

Umm ok.

Me: "Connah, we don't have a baby sea lion."
Connah: "Not anymore, you had to take it back to the store so it could have a play with that robot thingy!"

Holy crap, what just happened?

Oh, he had a dream. Well, awesome. Anyone ever tried to convince a four year old that their dreams aren't real?

Me: "Connah, you must have had a dream about it while you were sleeping."
Connah: "No I didn't."
Me: "Yeah, I'm pretty sure you did. That's when you just think stuff in your head that's not really happening in real life."
Connah: "No! I didn't! I saw that sea lion! I saw it really good! It was brown like Koko!"
Me: "Yes, you can see stuff in your dreams, but it still didn't happen in real life."
Connah: "Is that real?" *Points at train track on the floor*
Me: "Yes."
Connah: "Well I can see that just like that baby sea lion!"

A little help here, anyone?

We talked about it for a couple of weeks, and he now seems to understand the basics of dreaming, he knows they happen when you're asleep, and that your body doesn't go anywhere, and it all goes on in your head, but I'm pretty sure he still doesn't really believe me when I tell him they aren't real.

Now the conversations go like this:

Connah: "I want a remote control Pachycephalosaurus, that is red and growls and is bigger than me, and eats stuff when I feed him."
(Note: Pachycephalosaurus - pronounced: Pack-e-seff-o-la-saw-rus, (Connah learned to pronounce this well before me, thank you very much you-tube.) is a herbivorous dinosaur of the late Cretaceous period. It has a very thick bone on top of it's head which it used to head butt other dinosaurs. I only know this because Connah is going through a dinosaur phase, and if I wish to converse with him at the moment, I had better damn well be able to talk about dinosaurs.
Me: "Connah, I don't think such a thing exists."
Connah: "Yes it does. I had a dream about it."

Or:

Connah: "Can I have icecream for dinner?"
Me: "No."
Connah: "But in my dream you said I could!"

So, my problem is this: He thinks I'm lying to him. It is completely irrelevant that I'm actually not, he believes that I am.

Are all the benefits of my being completely honest with him for four years going to be undermined by dreams? I mean, eventually he's going to realize what's really going on and it wont be an issue anymore, but by then niggling little insecurities and doubts could have wormed their way into his impressionable little brain and started a chain reaction that will inevitably lead to Armageddon. Super.

Ok, maybe not Armageddon, but this is a bit of a slap in the face - a reminder that I have very little influence over how his brain processes the information given to it. Not just with the dreaming, with everything. All I can do is feed in as much goodness as possible, and hope.

I don't much care for hope. It's unsubstantiated comfort, and faith that everything will turn out as planned - which is very nice, and maybe even necessary for our humanity, but it's also a deep dark pit of helplessness, because there are no steps to take to ensure our outcome. No formula to follow to achieve our goals.
There is only...... Hope.

Hope.

It will have to be enough.


xox

I Would Die For You...

Before I start this, I just want to say that I am not suicidal, nor do I have any intention of killing anyone. I have been told that this subject is probably not something I should write about, because it makes me sound like a crazy person. But once I get a thought in my head, I have to work it all the way through to some semblance of a conclusion, otherwise it just bugs me.



You have been warned. :p



"I would die for you."



This concept seems to be a commonly accepted way to measure love. A romantic notion of leaping in front of trains, and taking a bullet to spare the one we love, and prove our eternal affection.



And while I understand this desire to protect that which we love - with our very lives if necessary - I do not agree with the notion that it is the ultimate act of selflessness, and courage.





Before I had children, I believed that I would give up my life for just about anyone. I did not want to die, and hoped that it wouldn't happen, but I believe all life has similar value, so it didn't make sense to put mine above a strangers when I had no idea what their potential or capabilities were.

Also, I wasn't overly concerned about what went on after I died, because I would be dead. Depending on your belief structure, it wouldn't matter to me what happened after I died, because either I would have no brain function and therefore no conscious thoughts to think with, or I would have transcended to a place of all knowing all seeing blah blah blah, and would be aware that everything was happening exactly as it should.



See? None of this is courageous or romantic, It's just logical.



Fast forward several years, and two children later: Sorry strangers, I will not be dying for you anymore.



Children did not give my life meaning. I have never been adrift or seeking purpose as such, What they did do is connect me to this world in a way that I'm now all tangled up in It. I can't be "apart" from it anymore, I have to actually live here. Most people will say that that is probably a good thing, and I do think it was quite necessary for the raising of sane children, but I don't like it much most days.



So I can't die for strangers anymore, because now I have to care about what goes on here after I die, and the emotional pain that that would inflict on my children is not worth a strangers life to me. Is this logical? No, not really, it's just true.



The bizarre thing I've found out about myself after having children has been that my emotional connection to them has rendered my logic fairly useless in any situation that involves their safety or mental well-being. Do their lives have more value then other lives? Probably not. Does that have any impact on who I would destroy to keep them safe? Not at all.



But would I die for them? The short answer (because I've started flailing around somewhat without actually hitting on any relevant points...) is yes, of course I would. If there were no other options - them or me - there is no choice.



But, it's a selfish choice. It's not even about valuing their lives over mine - I would die because I would not be able to live with myself if they died and there was something I could have done to prevent it - It's easier to die yourself rather than deal with the aftermath of someone you love dying. Selfish.



So, declaring your love for someone by telling them that you would die for them is like saying: "I love you enough to sacrifice my physical body, but not enough to spare you from the emotional trauma and survivors guilt that the one of us left standing will have to cope with, so I'll just leave that part for you. Selfish.



Then how will we measure our love? What is the highest level attainable if we can't measure it against the fact that we would throw ourselves upon a sword to prove our devotion?



How about this - is there anyone you wouldn't kill to save the one you love?



Your Mother?

Your Sister?

Your Son?

Your Best friend?

Your Girlfriend?

Your Husband?



Gun to your head - who do you kill?



This is a much less romantic notion, but for those who insist on having a way to prove their love, it seems a much more accurate way to test it. You would actually be forced to choose, and sacrifice someone else you love and then live, and deal with the ramifications of your choice afterwards - And that would take much courage.







I'd just like to add that people don't need to know if you would die for them, or kill for them.

Love is what it is, and therefore it's completely unnecessary to measure it, or "prove" it with anything, including declarations of self sacrifice or murder.



And really, sitting someone down and listing all the ways you would die for them is a bit crazy-stalker like, and ticking off a list of friends and family that you would slaughter for them might just end you up in jail. Nothing good will come of it. Seriously.







xox